I'KK.SI'.Wriil 
 
 i'HV.SKxn-:n isy 
 
THE SAILOR WHO HAS SAILED 
 
THE SAILOR WHO 
 HAS SAILED 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 BENJAMIN R. C. LOW 
 
 NEW YORK 
 JOHN LANE COMPANY 
 
 MCMXI 
 
 
^.'.^ 
 
 
 Copyright, 1911 
 By John Lane Company 
 
 Gift 
 tec i 181 t 
 
 THK UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, V. S. A. 
 
TO 
 
 MY MOTHER 
 
Contents 
 
 Page 
 
 The Sailor Who Has Sailed ... 9 
 
 The Vigil-at-arms 11 
 
 Any Young Man 20 
 
 The Fourth Window 29 
 
 Invocation 47 
 
 Dedication 49 
 
 Forever 51 
 
 Tristan to Iseult, on the Sea. . . 53 
 
 Penelope 60 
 
 LlEBESTOD 
 
 I. Love and Death 67 
 
 II. Love Without Death 74 
 
 Seaward 80 
 
 Even-Song 82 
 
 Sanctuary 84 
 
 In April 86 
 
 Fragment Written in a Time of 
 
 Drought 89 
 
 Border Things 91 
 
 To the Absolute 92 
 
Contents 
 
 Page 
 
 Israel 98 
 
 Galatea 107 
 
 The Garden of Sleep no 
 
 The Glory that was Greece ... 115 
 
 To Edgar Allan Poe 117 
 
 After a Visit to a Far Country . 119 
 
 To A Nereid 121 
 
 In an Anthology 123 
 
 After Seeing Lake Maggiore for 
 
 the First Time 125 
 
 In Memoriam J. B. A 127 
 
 New York 128 
 
 To A Little Girl Watering a Plant 
 
 in the Window of a Tenement . 136 
 
 The "Sandwich Man" 140 
 
 Requiem in the Snow. 143 
 
 The Use of it All 149 
 
 For Youth 153 
 
 On a Maiden Narrowly Escaping 
 
 Capture by a Shark 157 
 
 Alma Mater Yalensis 162 
 
 The Troubadour ......... 164 
 
 For Art's Sake 168 
 
 hiKE A Wave of the Sea 170 
 
THE SAILOR WHO HAS SAILED 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 I HAVE dreamed the dream of the unknown sea, 
 
 And stood on the sightless shore ; 
 I have looked in the eyes of reality . . . 
 
 And I am young no more. 
 
 There were old sea-kings that led me far 
 
 With songs of the ancient quest; 
 There were sails that followed the still north-star, 
 
 And helms that hung to the West: 
 
 There were speeches fair, and stories told, 
 
 And much that was promised me; 
 There were great sea-chests, and hidden gold ; — 
 
 " Sail out," — they said, — " and see ! " 
 9 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 I have sailed the reach of a trade-wind's hand, 
 
 And left long wakes behind; 
 I have battled out from a lee-shore land, 
 
 And fought with a gale gone blind: 
 
 I have dallied in harbors, and moored at quays, 
 And jostled the world's worst men; 
 
 I have followed the tide to the utmost seas, 
 And I am come back again. 
 
 There is treasure-trove in my hands, but gold 
 
 I bring not back with me ; 
 There are songs on deck and in the hold. 
 
 But no wild minstrelsy. 
 
 I have dreamed the dream of the unknown sea ; 
 
 I have sailed from the sightless shore; 
 I have looked in the eyes of reality, 
 
 And I am young ... no more. 
 
 lO 
 
The Vigil-at-arms ^ 
 
 THOU that in the deepness of the night 
 
 Beholdest me ; — 
 Captain of Kings, invisible and dight 
 
 With mystery : 
 Thou that art death, and ridest on a sword; 
 Thou that art love, upon a cross adored; 
 Thou that art life, and life eternal, Lord, 
 
 I kneel to thee. 
 
 1 am as yonder taper on thy shrine, — 
 
 Late-lit and tall; 
 My spirit bows with every breath that thine 
 Here letteth fall : — 
 
 ^ By kind permission of Scribner's Magazine. 
 II 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 The flick'ring world is witched and turned and 
 
 trolled ; 
 And oh, my heart is wax, that once was bold; 
 I perish straightway save that thou uphold ; — 
 Thou that art all. 
 
 It was but lately that a child I came 
 
 First upon life; — 
 Loving spring flowers, gentle, without blame, 
 
 Knowing not strife: 
 The world was old ere battles bloomed for 
 
 me; 
 Boyhood was dreams, and swooning minstrelsy; 
 I wandered all alone and wandered free 
 
 Where dreams are rife. 
 
 But all at once the silver-crested surge 
 Ceased to be cloud, 
 12 
 
The Vigil-at-arms 
 
 And thundered over me; I felt the scourge 
 
 And sting, and bowed 
 Under the brine, until, half-dead, I lay 
 Forspent upon the sand; and from that day, 
 Triumphant-tongued, the fury of the fray 
 Calls me aloud. 
 
 Let priestly pardoners still shrive the world, 
 
 White and aloof; 
 Mine be the battle-flame, the fear unfurled, — 
 
 The storming hoof ; 
 Let me be mingled with a maze of blows ; 
 Hard pressed to live, heart mad, beset with foes. 
 Or, lance in rest, ride down the lists' enclose 
 
 To peril's proof. 
 
 I would drink deeply. Lord, past joy and pain, 
 Down to the lees; 
 13 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 I would live life to every utmost vein ; 
 
 Like sap in trees 
 Let me know root and branch; let this be 
 
 mine, 
 To drain the world's whole heritage of wine ; — 
 Co-parcener of pain with thee and thine. . . . 
 
 I ask not ease. 
 
 Yet . . . round my battered helm may dreams be 
 born, 
 
 And raptures spring, 
 As I have seen fair clouds a craggy horn 
 
 Engarlanding : 
 Let dreams be wings and waft me from the 
 
 ground ; — 
 With sprigs of Arcady my brow be crowned. 
 And where I lie, all battle-stained, be found 
 The fairy ring. 
 14 
 
The Vigil-at-arms 
 
 Let me look back on boyhood and be fain 
 
 Of childish cheer; 
 Make after fight, like robins after rain, 
 
 Glad thoughts appear : 
 Remind me of the sweetness of the May; 
 Pink apple-blooms with starlight on their spray ; — 
 Exotic odors out of yesterday, — 
 
 Let such be near. 
 
 Let such be near, through all the storm and 
 fret, — 
 
 Near in the fight; 
 The bitter wrong, the sorrow, the regret. 
 
 Let these make right: 
 For I no longer, Lord, take bribes of joy. 
 Nor follow rainbows as did once a boy; — 
 Give me my dreams and let the years destroy 
 
 Other delight. 
 15 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Give me the steps that unto Heaven's blue 
 
 Steeply aspire; 
 Lift me with song, and all my thoughts imbue 
 
 With spirit fire : — 
 Mine be the mould and measure of a man ; 
 Let me be strong, O Lord, to build thy plan. 
 But lest I fail ... let me be greater than 
 
 My heart's desire. 
 
 Like one that dwelling inland comes at last 
 
 Upon the sea ; — 
 Breathing strange breaths, and but a pebble-cast 
 
 From mystery; 
 So I upon a headland here do stand 
 Fronting the whole of life, my forehead fanned 
 With strong sea-wind, and out, far out, from 
 land 
 
 The future see. 
 i6 
 
The Vigil-at-arms 
 
 Lord, is ft cloud, or is it castle, there 
 
 Beyond the brim? 
 What heavenly towers. Lord, are those, so 
 fair, 
 
 So great and grim? — 
 Are those the gates that glitter, as with gold ; 
 In mother-of-pearl are those the bastions bold; 
 And is it war, and do the warriors hold 
 
 The ocean's rim? 
 
 Nay, for the long horizon fills with rain, — 
 
 Soft shadows creep, 
 And blind oblivion falls upon the main, 
 
 As of a sleep : 
 I drink old voices, drear and out of kin; 
 Half-uttered wails of prophecy begin ; — 
 I hear of heroes dying, in the din 
 
 Where dies the deep. 
 17 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 I am afraid, Lord; is it thither thou 
 
 Would'st have me go? 
 I am afraid, and would wend backward now 
 
 Where violets grow: 
 My heart is fickle for the fields, I yearn 
 Once more at eve to see my windows burn; — 
 Once more, ah, let me, down old paths to turn, — 
 I love them so! 
 
 Nay ! — 't is the morrow, yonder leaded panes 
 
 No more are dim 
 With dark-browed infidels, but are the fanes 
 
 Of seraphim; 
 And holy saints and warriors are dight 
 With jewelled colors flaming in their flight. 
 And out of Heaven, wrapt in lovely light. 
 
 The rafters swim. 
 i8 
 
The VIgll-at-arms 
 
 It is the morrow, Lord, the sweet airs blow 
 
 Up the long nave, 
 And plight the day's full troth, yet . . . ere I go, 
 
 One thing I crave: 
 Thou that art death, and ridest on a sword; 
 Thou that art love, upon a cross adored; 
 Thou that art life, and life eternal. Lord . . . 
 
 Let me be brave! 
 
 19 
 
Any Young Man 
 
 Scene: A plainly furnished room in a city house. 
 A young man pacing up and down, his hands 
 clasped behind him. Distant sounds from 
 the street below. 
 
 The young man speaks. 
 
 Read ? No ! dull print 's a traffic not for those 
 Who merchant on high seas; I cannot read: 
 I must embark; project some enterprise; 
 Set sail; not swing at anchor for the tides 
 To whim with. No ! my heart is turned a cage 
 Wherein a thousand winged things look up, 
 And cannot fly. My soul is sick with that 
 It will not bring to birth ; — I cannot read. 
 20 
 
Any Young Man 
 
 He goes to the window, draws aside the curtain, 
 and looks out. 
 
 Now does the deep and weary world come forth ; 
 
 And like uncitied ants, its folk do fare 
 
 Most whither each most would. Men do not now 
 
 Seek reason ; but with hounds of impulse ride 
 
 Hot upon pleasure. They are not despised; 
 
 They do but that which easy neighborness, 
 
 Sure of its fellows, easily implies. 
 
 They say of pleasure, not that it is base; 
 
 No! rather that it is themselves; their life; 
 
 The bough of nature budding to its fruit. 
 
 "Hungry?" they say. "Then, surely, let us 
 
 eat! 
 If food, partake it. Poison does not grow 
 On apple trees ! " They eat ; and why not I ? 
 The nobler feed on abstinence? What then? 
 
 21 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 That they may pleasure where I cannot go. 
 The nobler? that have wealth, and friends; 
 
 that dine 
 Into a dulness fit for naught but sleep. 
 Nobler? the nobler live to live; — so I! 
 
 He drops the curtain roughly, and resumes his 
 walking. 
 
 Its own reward ? — virtue ? — rewarded how ? 
 Will virtue wet the wrinkles from my tongue, 
 Or fill my body with warm food? Shall I, 
 Once virtuous, be quieted of this, — 
 That I would live, and learn, and do . . . all 
 
 things? 
 I think not. 
 
 Abstinence ! — say cowardice ! 
 They that turn back have either less desire, 
 22 
 
Any Young Man 
 
 Or fear regards them more. Abstinence! 
 These praters, with their " abstinence " ; these 
 
 fools ! 
 If Nature's false, then are her children liars. 
 Thus they themselves are by themselves forsworn, 
 And I should do whatever likes me most. 
 I will! 
 
 He goes to the door, takes down his coat, and 
 
 begins to put it on. 
 Pray? Wherefore pray? — that I may be 
 Hindered from having the very thing I seek? 
 Pray, that I lose the thing I most desire ? — 
 That were a fool's resort. I will not pray. 
 
 About to extinguish the lamp, a picture on the 
 
 mantel halts him. 
 Your ej'es! 
 
 23 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 He takes the picture in his hands. 
 Your eyes, your eyes ! 
 
 He flings himself to his knees before the bed, the 
 picture clasped in one hand, his face buried 
 in the bed. 
 
 Oh, God! 
 
 The lamp burns low, and in the wall, over the 
 bed, becomes visible a man in white armor. 
 His visor is raised, but his face is in shadow. 
 He leans on a sword, which gives forth a 
 pale, flickering light. He speaks. 
 
 Poor soul! 
 
 Poor, ridden soul ! I know, 't is hard with thee : 
 
 The strokes and buffetings forsake thee now; 
 
 The bleeding yet goes on. Poor, ridden soul ! 
 
 Thou thought'st thyself alone; knew not, as I, 
 24 
 
Any Young Man 
 
 What stricken acres of thy partisans 
 Surrounded thee. Could'st thou have seen, as I, 
 The writhe of battle knotted on the hills: 
 Could'st thou, as I, have heard the storm of mail 
 Break, as when icebergs bitterly engage, 
 And take the poignant steel . . . Nay, thoii 
 
 could'st not. 
 Poor soul ! — thou thought'st thou wast alone. 
 
 O years, 
 Slow, human years; most sorrowfully slow! 
 You are but sand wherewith to fill the sea; 
 Each year one grain of sand dropped in the 
 
 deep: 
 But sand, O years. Oh, children, children, 
 
 we! 
 That in our fingers hold one, drifting life. 
 And pour it forth, that we may feel it go. 
 25 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Oh, children, we that have one pinch of sand, 
 And squander it . . . because our comrades do! 
 
 Life ; — 't is to lead our lives ; not let them 
 
 go: 
 Whose tenure is of nature turns unnatural so, 
 For nature asks not kingdoms, but a king; 
 And is a rebel but that kings may rise. 
 Poor soul, here hanging to one, glimm'rlng star ! 
 That fear'st to breathe, lest by a breath it be 
 Obscured, thy one, sweet oriflamme of eyes; 
 Think not, ah, think it not that sacrifice 
 Can fade or wither ever; — not for aye: 
 But jewelled it shall diadem thy days, 
 And be eternal, thine. Think not that joy. 
 Let flutter from thy hand, is lost ; but know 
 That like a bird set singing in a sky, 
 26 
 
Any Young Man 
 
 Thy joy forever cometh back to thee, 
 Forever flieth thine. 
 
 The feet of day . 
 Bring bitter pain upon the golden stars; 
 But by the vintage of that treading, see! 
 The whole, great East is radiant and glad! 
 Now, like Prometheus tortured to a cliff, 
 Dark vultures have investiture of thee ; 
 But thou hast scaled high heav'n, and gathered 
 
 down 
 The fire from her most sainted battlements. 
 Now dost thou bleed, poor soul, unloved, alone ; 
 Yet thou hast gained a thing more fair than 
 
 smiles, 
 Sweeter than friends, more precious than all 
 
 praise ; 
 
 27 , . 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Dearer than dateless worship of men's eyes; 
 The pith and pertinence of life . . . thyself. 
 
 He remains in mute contemplation of the young 
 m.an; then slowly fades from sight. The 
 young man has not moved. He remains 
 kneeling, his arms flung wide, his face buried 
 in the bed, motionless. 
 
 28 
 
The Fourth Window 
 
 Scene: A square room, with a window in each 
 of the four stone walls, looking to the four 
 points of the compass. In the centre of the 
 room, a large, rough-hewn, stone table and 
 chair. A young man stands looking out of 
 that window which opens towards the North. 
 A person in white sits in the chair, at the 
 table, watching the young man. The person 
 speaks. 
 
 What see you at the North? 
 
 The young man does not reply i?nmediately, but 
 stands, gazing, in silence. At length he 
 speaks. 
 
 29 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 I see the snow, 
 And ever3rwhere the snow: meseems the sky 
 Congeals with fear, and Earth is blanched white, 
 Beholding it; I see the unguided flakes 
 Hurry to hide, as from a rush of doom : 
 They are the souls of unrequited loves. 
 Who wander homeless up and down the world, 
 And cannot die. I see the snow. 
 
 The person: 
 
 What more? 
 The young man: 
 
 I see . . . methinks it is a stone, drift-deep. 
 And wearing a white crest ; like a lone wave 
 Looming ashore. Its face is bare and gray; 
 'T is older than the wind, and bleak with care. 
 
 The person: 
 Is 't all? 
 
 30 
 
The Fourth Window 
 
 The young man: 
 
 I see a form, a miserable form; 
 It is a woman, lying by the stone. 
 She does not move . . . her hands are very white : 
 Her hair is stiff with rime . . . she does not 
 move. 
 
 The person: 
 Is 'tall? 
 
 The young man: 
 
 I see a babe, a little babe; 
 
 The woman died for it. Its limbs and frame 
 
 Were flushed and rosy once ... a little babe. 
 
 The person: 
 
 Is 'tall? 
 
 31 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 The young man, turning suddenly, and vehe- 
 mently, on him: 
 
 Is 't all ? Great God ! and is it all ? 
 Is 't not enough ? Thou and thy God . , . will 
 
 He, 
 Thy perfect one, thy Father of the World, — 
 Will He permit of this, His children's woe? 
 What world is this He fashioned for our pain ? 
 What bounteous blessing of a Father there? — 
 There by the stone? How had they injured 
 
 Him, 
 And were they born for this? Why born at 
 
 all; 
 Unless as children, to be loved? Is earth, 
 Then, but a juggler's ball, with coins inside, 
 Awhile that clink, and at the Magi's will. 
 Are silent, to be heard no more ? Is 't all ? 
 32 
 
The Fourth Window 
 
 The person looks at the young man long and in- 
 tently, and with great sadness, but not un- 
 kindly; and at length replies. 
 It is not all. I think the stars that shine, 
 Each night, above this world, know more than 
 
 we: 
 They know it is not all; for as they go 
 Into the measureless, moving on, meseems 
 They march to some great victory afar; 
 And looking down, are sorry for our pain, 
 And would we went with them, to end it all. 
 
 I think that He, first moulder of the plan 
 Wherefrom we all derive, I think that He 
 O'er turned them all, and took this one at last, 
 Out of an agony of dreadful dreams; 
 Took this, the noblest of them all, and knew 
 That taking it. He nailed Him to the Cross. 
 33 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 And they that lately died . . . there in the 
 
 snow; 
 I have a vision of an ageless game, 
 Toughly fought out 'twixt deadly opponents, 
 Hither and thither, over all the world: 
 And ever and anon I glimpse a hand 
 Reach through the gloom, and murky smoke of 
 
 time, 
 And take life forward, one square more, or else, — 
 Yield up a pawn, as these, to gain much more. 
 
 They died, in truth, not needlessly . . . for 
 
 Him: 
 They shall have joy of it, be sure, for aye. 
 They lived because 'twas needful, and they died 
 Even for life to triumph on their bones: 
 And in their dying life was justified. 
 34 
 
The Fourth Window 
 
 Think not that He, the Father, lets them go 
 Uncaringly, and blunted to their pain: 
 Nay! like a river smitten with its reeds, 
 He also takes of it, — the Crucified ! 
 
 The young man gazes at him in silence, making 
 no reply. At last he turns to the East win- 
 dow and looks out. The per son j after a 
 time of silence: 
 
 What see you at the East ? 
 
 The young man, without turning round: 
 
 I see a plain. 
 Well-nurtured, and infringing on the sea; 
 And everywhere thereon are earnest men, 
 Each plying some deep task. One seems to probe 
 The flowers, delving for their rooted ways; 
 Another plots the stars upon a globe: 
 35 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Here are wheels turned, and groaning enterprise ; 
 A vasty structure there, by tedious toil 
 Stoutly upreared; and lo! where men embark 
 On mighty ships, contemptuous of the wind! 
 And some I see exploring of the deep 
 As though their mothers bore them with red gills 
 Instead of gasping mouths ; and some, like birds, 
 Swim to the blue, not chained, like men of old, 
 To mottled Mother Earth . . . and more . . . 
 much more! 
 
 The person: 
 
 What think you of it all ? 
 
 The young man, turning towards him: 
 
 I dream that men 
 Emancipate themselves, and even now 
 36 
 
The Fourth Window 
 
 Gnaw at the last, thin thread of fetich fear, 
 That old idolatry! I dream that now 
 No longer do men own divinity, — 
 Look them no longer for a spill of death 
 To follow blasphemy ... so named of fear; — 
 But leap the widest cast of Christendom, 
 As fearlessly as children plucking flowers: 
 Nay, though they need no god, yet, since they 
 
 hold 
 A tenure of tradition, seek they still 
 The feudal master of tradition's fee. 
 Much have they found; have entered, wall by 
 
 wall. 
 Over the outworks: now the donjon keep 
 Alone remains them to be won ; they'll find, 
 I ween, an erstwhile-emptied throne ; — no 
 
 more! 
 
 37 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 The person, with scarcely-restrained anger: 
 The widest cast of Christendom would hold 
 Few such; its meshes are too great for them! 
 
 Controlling himself: 
 
 The spoils of centuries, the dint of time ; 
 
 Yea, all the insect wisdom out of eld; 
 
 They are but dust heaps whence the ants may 
 
 spy 
 Down on the earth, and see some inches more ; 
 May drag their toil less was^wardly, perhaps; 
 May thence espy an enemy unseen 
 Save for this eminence; may hoard their spelt 
 More cunningly henceforth for this, may go 
 More fearlessly; bolster their lives more smooth; 
 May learn to use their world, the worth of 
 
 things, 
 
 38 
 
The Fourth Window 
 
 The vantages, the wisdom of fixed ways: 
 
 They know not once who laid the roots of 
 
 this. 
 Nay! but the children find Him everywhere: 
 The children meet Him smiling out of flowers, 
 And pluck His footfalls with a wayside rose. 
 He lives for such! . . . 
 
 What see you at the South? 
 
 The young man, turning languidly, replies 
 
 eagerly : 
 I see a glade, 'midst of a forest fair, 
 And thither wends a goodly company, — 
 Maidens and men with garlands and fresh 
 
 flowers, 
 Down through the grasses by the river's brink, — 
 All young and laughing, two by two ; and go 
 Through dimpling shadows: they are very fair. 
 39 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 The maidens kiss the men; the men, the maids, 
 And intertwine their fingers: and their hair 
 Is as the forest shadows, brown on gold, — 
 So closely do they heed each other's eyes. 
 And in the glades they yield them all to love, 
 And all are happy ... all save only I, — 
 I in my youth, and orphaned of youth's joy. 
 Oh, better far to love, as these, until 
 Youth is burned out, and love can love no more, 
 Than turn, face-frozen to the wall, as I ! 
 
 The person, looking at him with great compas~ 
 sion : 
 
 There is a river, bending between meads, 
 Its lovely marge all misty with first flowers; 
 And many come to drink thereof, but all 
 Who stoop to it, take fever to their veins; 
 40 
 
The Fourth Window 
 
 Sweet to the taste, but bitter to the heart . . , 
 And only they who walk the perilous brink 
 Unstoopingly, not cheated by its suage, 
 Ever arrive upon that certain well, 
 Deep in the wood and quaint with solitude, 
 Wherein white pebbles gush forth crystal waves: 
 But they that quaff that spring . . . drink 
 paradise. 
 
 After a space of silence: 
 What see you at the West? 
 
 The young man turns reluctantly away from 
 the South window, and looks vacantly out 
 towards the West. After an iiiterval, during 
 which neither speaks, he replies: 
 
 I see ... a room, 
 Clad in complete darkness, save where one 
 41 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 FuII-moted beam has broke the leaguer there, 
 And lies . . . upon a bed. I see two hands, — 
 White hands, as white as snow, and fair: they 
 
 seem 
 Laid lightly, as in sleep. They do not move, 
 Nor clasp on dreams that slip from them, but 
 
 lie 
 Straight on the coverlet, and are as white. 
 
 I see ... a face, asleep, and yet . . . not dead? 
 Dear God! she dreams, or I ... it is a dream. 
 And I shall wake . . . she would not die . . . 
 
 not yet, 
 With all the largess of her heart unspent: 
 Dear God ! I 've seen the color in her face. 
 As warm as summer and as pink as May, 
 Fall back upon her heart for some rich thought, 
 43 
 
The Fourth Window 
 
 And leave her pale as winter, ere it came 
 Mantling and mounting, like the rosy tide 
 That turns at evening, vi^ith the v^rhite sails, 
 
 home. 
 She must not die ... I knew she could not 
 
 die; 
 She will awake; you'll see, she will awake. 
 
 He turns from the window, covering his face with 
 
 his hands J and continues: 
 Her neck is soft and young; her hair falls down 
 Just as in sleep : she is asleep ; her eyes 
 And hair . . . just as in sleep ... it cannot 
 
 be; 
 She could not go . . . she was not yet made 
 
 mine ; 
 I have not kissed yet; come just where the gold 
 43 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Refrains at last, and leaves the throat half 
 
 bare . . . 
 She has not gone . . . 
 
 He slowly approaches the table, all the while 
 wringing his hands: 
 
 Say, can I surely know ? — 
 She that is dead ; is that the end of her ? 
 Is she no more than April violets; 
 No more than summer? does she fade away 
 Forever, like a pageant of the sky? 
 Where has she gone ? — for I will follow her : 
 Is life a breath on glass, a mist that goes . . . 
 I know not where it goes ... is that, then, all ? 
 
 The person, looking at him very sorrowfully, and 
 
 gravely : 
 
 It is not . . . all. 
 
 44 
 
The Fourth Window 
 The young man, eagerly: 
 
 And shall I make her mine, 
 Enfold her with two arms, and cling, and be 
 Breathless with kisses; shall I come to her 
 Out of the evening; hear her come ... to me, 
 And see her eyes droop under maiden lids 
 Too late for love to hide? — will this be mine? 
 Speak to me . . . speak, ah, speak ! — will this 
 
 be mine? 
 Why answer'st not? Oh, speak! 
 
 The person buries his face in his arms and falls 
 to sobbing bitterly, so that his whole body is 
 shaken with the violence of it. 
 
 The young man seizes him roughly by the shoulder 
 and, almost in agony, cries out to him: 
 
 Speak ! 
 45 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Slowly the sobbing becomes more fitful; its 
 storminess passes away, and the person lifts 
 his eyes, all full of tears, to those of the 
 young man, and very tenderly, replies: 
 
 I believe! 
 
Invocation 
 
 Do but touch my lips 
 
 As thou hast touched my heart ; 
 And let my words from this day forth 
 
 Bespeak thee as thou art. 
 
 Else I am but dumb 
 
 With looking in thine eyes; 
 And all the lakes that lie therein 
 
 Enhance my deep disguise. 
 
 Always I do bear 
 
 Most breathlessly with thee; 
 The smallest tremble of thy mouth 
 
 Makes memories for me, 
 47 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Do but touch my lips, 
 
 As thou hast touched my heart; 
 And loose the strings that hold fast bound 
 
 The loveliness thou art. 
 
 48 
 
Dedication 
 
 All that eyes have ever thought 
 And have never spoken; 
 All that hearts have ever wrought 
 And have never broken; 
 Thou art all, and unto thee 
 Runneth my endeavor; 
 If a time of love there be, 
 Let mine be forever. 
 
 Thou shalt give me, evermore, 
 Guerdons of thy choosing; 
 
 I will serve thee, and implore 
 Nothing past refusing: 
 49 ■ 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Not the wideness of the sea 
 
 Heart from heart can sever; 
 
 If a time of love there be, 
 Let mine be forever! 
 
 50 
 
Forever 
 
 Forever and ever and ever; 
 
 What should eternity be ? 
 Infinite rest in a dying West? 
 
 Give it me all with thee. 
 
 Near to the westernmost islands, 
 
 Golden in afterglow; 
 Under their lee on an emerald sea, 
 
 Let us make sail, and go.. 
 
 There shall we find us the places 
 
 Lost in the long ago; 
 There shall we find all we divined. 
 
 And never, on earth, could know. 
 51 
 
Forever 
 
 Forever and ever and ever; 
 
 What should eternity be? 
 Infinite rest in a dying West: 
 
 Give it me all, with thee! 
 
 52 
 
Tristan to Iseult, on the Sea 
 
 Lady of Liege, a fair wind follows after, — 
 A fair wind, to France; 
 
 Under our prow sleek billows bubble laughter, 
 And diamonds dance: 
 
 Scarcely the mast betrays a tilt of motion 
 
 'Twixt yon fleece cloud, and bosom-breathing 
 ocean ; 
 
 The soft sea air spells heavy eyes, a potion 
 And a poppied trance. 
 
 Spring is in England now; the broom and 
 heather 
 
 Will be fain to please; 
 Spring is in England now; fields run together, 
 And orchards are seas: 
 53 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 You must clap hand to note our England 
 
 smiling ; 
 Blowzed country lads, and lasse;s them beguiling; 
 And, all around, the blue-eyed sea enisling 
 Our England of ease. 
 
 Mark and his castle, eagle and his eyry. 
 
 Are aloof on rocks 
 Wraithed with sea mist, and lapped in sunsets 
 fiery 
 
 Where the ocean knocks: 
 Mark, a stern man, but just and fair of dealing. 
 Takes of his own cliffs ; blunt, ashamed of feeling. 
 Yet, here and there, in sunny nooks revealing 
 
 The flowers he mocks. 
 
 Holds the wind fair, England is ours to-morrow, 
 And our journey's end ; 
 54 
 
Tristan to Iseult, on the Sea 
 
 Would it were . . . well, there is always sorrow 
 
 For new joy to mend: 
 You will rejoice to hear the snuffed keel grating; 
 There will be jousts, and village masques, and 
 
 feting ; 
 Mark, with his troopers, on the shingle waiting 
 For his bride — and friend. 
 
 I shall return, with speed, and spurs of glory, 
 To that kingly realm, — 
 
 Arthur's, the Table Round ; esteemed of story, — 
 That like a broad elm 
 
 Branches to doughty deeds and rugged making: 
 
 Man must to horse, and ride; his earthly 
 aching 
 
 Else will ride him ; to horse, and battles breaking 
 
 Through a slitted helm. 
 
 55 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Life is not bloomed from boys' and girls' be- 
 lieving ; 
 
 There is more of pain; 
 Were it a whole, in warp and woof one weav- 
 ing! 
 
 But the rifts remain. 
 All the brave cities ever laid in leaguer, — 
 All have been lost, when I, a boy too eager, 
 Climbed; or were cloud-drift, without substance, 
 meagre 
 
 As the moon's white rain. 
 
 Life ... to be happy . . . were it so, then dying 
 
 Were indeed to die; 
 Life's to be lived, and stoutly, not with sigh- 
 ing .. . 
 
 How the westward sky, 
 56 
 
Tristan to Iseult, on the Sea 
 
 Look! is a battlefield and lifting lances; 
 Day will be dearly sold ere night advances; 
 How that one star outrides them all, and prances 
 White-plumed . . . were it I ! . . . 
 
 Thou wilt be held like unto distant singing, 
 
 An undying song 
 Men will recall with breaths of April, bringing 
 
 The violets along: 
 Thou wilt be whispered by the waves forever, 
 Out on sad shores, to those the tides dissever; 
 Live and endure through all the world's endqavor, 
 
 A strength for the strong. 
 
 May it be thine ; the quiet starlight, sifting 
 Through the leaves of life; 
 
 May it be thine; the tender twilight, drifting 
 Over day-long strife: 
 57 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Be it to thee, thy gift, to hear unspoken, 
 
 Things that a child, thy children, bring thee 
 
 broken ; — 
 Theirs to be healed of thee, a mother's token; 
 Be it thine ... his wife. 
 
 Will there be where, I wonder, in hereafter, 
 
 The lost is regained? 
 Now the wind dies, and with it dies the laughter ; 
 
 The West is still stained. 
 Pale, now, an ocean full of isles and dreaming, 
 Deep, tranquil bays, and limpid shallows gleam- 
 ing; 
 Oh, to be there ! — to find it real, not seeming, 
 
 And faith . . . unprofaned! 
 
 Lady of liege, a soul is but a sorrow. 
 It is best, I think. . . . 
 58 
 
Tristan to .Iseult, on the Sea 
 
 You will be his, and I shall ride ... to- 
 morrow . . . 
 
 Now, the first stars sink 
 Into their sleeping; so must thou; yet . . . 
 
 going, 
 Ere thou art gone, give me thine eyes, for showing 
 We were friends once ; friends the one wind was 
 blowing, 
 
 And so ... we did drink. . . . 
 
 59 
 
Penelope 
 
 I WONDER with what winds thou art, my own, 
 Under what skies and cloudy drift of stars; 
 Art thou at sea, I wonder, or at rest 
 In some sweet haven ; dost thou lay thy head 
 Contentedly on rough, beweathered boards, 
 And art thou warm, my own, and dry? for rain 
 Loves not the aged, and I fear for thee. 
 Thou wilt be coming home no more. I knew, 
 Always I knew, I was not widowed, when 
 Troy was a long while falling, and my king 
 Beleaguered her. But now, now thou art gone 
 A great way farther: I have dreams at night 
 That thou art sailing to the world's white end, 
 Even to where the sea is sea no more; 
 And in the mist I lose thee at the last. 
 60 
 
Penelope 
 
 Those early days ! — I mind me well when thou, 
 Dark-ej^ed, a boy full of deep thoughts, 
 Inveigled me of love ; we thought the world 
 Could be contained, the whole of it, in our 
 Young, tendril arms; when flowers dawned on 
 
 us, 
 We deemed they were our kisses, and white 
 
 clouds. 
 All deeply fragrant with the sunset, were 
 The promises we plighted o'er and o'er. 
 Rememberest, I wonder, how we found 
 Twin shells upon the sand? I have them yet: 
 We would be like them, never be but one, 
 Even in death. A kiss made sure of it. 
 Then came the scourge from Troy : — I saw thee 
 
 go. 
 A shine of arms, beyond the wind-blown sea. 
 6i 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 My beauty, like the moon, filled more and more ; 
 And like a flower looking to the sun, 
 I held my heart to thee; and thou away. 
 It pained that I was youthful not for long. 
 And beautiful for none to fondle me, 
 Or dote upon my softness, as the wind 
 Creeps in from sea, over warm droves of flowers. 
 I could not peak and pine, lest thou return. 
 And find me faded . . . for I lived for thee: 
 But others came, pretending to my hand, 
 Sweet-spoken courtiers having honeyed lips 
 And garmented with praises for my eyes. 
 It pained that they should see my loveliness, 
 And find me worshipful, when he, the one 
 In all the world, my Lord, was blind of me. 
 
 At last, at last ; — I mind me well the day : 
 Thou wast a tempest scurrying dead leaves, 
 62 
 
Penelope 
 
 And afterwards, — an autumn of calm sky ; 
 We were so happy with each other's eyes. 
 But in the years I've seen it come for thee, 
 The old, old longing, never far away; 
 I 've watched thee, when thou knew it not, asleep. 
 Or dull before the fire; and I've seen 
 The sinews tighten to receive a blow, 
 And e'en beheld thee half rise up, to meet 
 Great captains coming to thy tent; or else . . . 
 A rift of sunshine on a wan, gray sea, — 
 Remembrance of a glorious day of fight. 
 I knew that thou must go; thou art a man 
 Moulded for more than me, — a man whose 
 
 name 
 Was pricked in stars before his birth, and now 
 Men give Ulysses to their sons to guide. 
 I knew that thou must go; thou art a man, 
 63 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 And all the privilege of accident 
 
 Is thine; thou art for deeds, blows, danger — 
 
 death : 
 It is thy state to sue such bright emprise, 
 That in the dint o' it, either thou dost fail. 
 And dash to earth; or . . . ride with perfect 
 
 wings 
 Right in the stormy current of a star! 
 Thou art a man; I knew that thou must go. 
 
 I am a woman; often I have lain 
 All night, unsleeping, when the wind was out. 
 And hearkened to the sorrows of old times 
 Pleaded with tears that happened long ago; 
 The loves of other women and the pain 
 That love presumes ; and rising with the dawn, 
 Have watched the surges whiten on the shore, 
 64 
 
Penelope 
 
 Ever and forever, wasting, vi^ithout end. 
 
 I am a woman; half my life I live 
 
 On with the seasons, half ... I do not know ; 
 
 I seem to grope in ancient memories 
 
 The years have blurred upon with blinding rain; 
 
 I am a woman ; more I cannot tell. 
 
 There will be no returning, yet I live 
 That I may go with thee, where'er thou art, 
 As I have ever gone, and lived, with thee. 
 Thou canst not sail so far beyond the rim 
 That I shall lose thee; always I shall be 
 Pale light, like dawn, upon a troubled sea, 
 And when the wind is soft, and south, 'tis I 
 Shall breathe on thee, and wanton with thy hair; 
 And in the darkness thou art not alone, — 
 My heart shall come to thee; and every day, 
 65 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Once in the morning, once at evening, I 
 Will touch the sea that thou art sailing on, 
 And tell it to be kind to thee. Farewell ! — 
 Into the sunset go, with sails of cloud, 
 A rose-leaf cloud; into the distance, till 
 The twilight swallow thee. My King! 
 farewell. 
 
 66 
 
Liebestod 
 
 LOVE AND DEATH 
 
 Till death us part ; — I dreamed that death was 
 
 now, 
 Pallid and old, unsought and drawing nigh: 
 I dreamed that death was now, and fled to thee 
 For thy warm mouth and beating heart, but 
 
 thou — 
 Thou could 'st not stay him, he was come for me; 
 I felt his fingers cold take mine to die; 
 Till death us part ? — I dreamed that death was 
 
 now. 
 
 67 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Methought down wintry reaches of the dark 
 That I was led, to be for ages borne 
 On old, unhallowed seas, unlit with fire : — 
 I dreamed, and waking, heard the cry, " Em- 
 bark! " 
 Heard still thy tears, felt still the torn desire. 
 And wandered yet those wintry seas forlorn; 
 My other soul, I lost thee in the dark! 
 
 My other soul, made mine but yesterday, 
 Made mine, engirdled in one zone with me; 
 Held in my arms, till holding had possessed; 
 Thine eyes my eyes, till eyes were kissed 
 
 away ; 
 Thy heart my heart that stifled in one breast: 
 Mine, thou art all that being mine could be. 
 Yet art not mine, for I am death's, to-day. 
 68 
 
Liebestod 
 
 I dreamed : — 'twas but a dream that went and 
 
 came ; 
 Slipt moonshine between clouds ; and yet, — 
 Be thou the proof of that ; my fingers -^ there — 
 I am not dead, then; follows still the flame 
 After me, where I brush your forehead bare: 
 I am not dead; your heart does not forget, 
 Your lips still know, your eyes droop down the 
 
 same: 
 
 A thousand kisses were no surfeiting; 
 I am not dead. But if the dream came true. 
 And I bereft thee at the last? Oh, then. 
 When lovers kissed, thus, 'twere a foolish thing. 
 And love, no more than idle summers, when 
 Flowers are blown, and breezes chance them 
 through, 
 
 69 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 And take their hearts, and leave them — lan- 
 guishing. 
 
 I might bear out such severance from thee 
 As years would eke the other's life on earth; 
 I might endure to wander sterile days 
 Without thee, so the end of it should be 
 Thyself: to hear thee from along deep ways, 
 And see thee coming, like a star, to birth, 
 Over sad marches, to eternity. 
 
 But, like twain candles, gutter life away. 
 And flicker down to nothingness ? • — ah, no ! — 
 If that be love, then I will love no more; 
 I will not stoop to it, I will not stay 
 One further moment kneeling at thy door ; 
 If that be love, I '11 to a desert go. 
 And weather out the future, loveless; nay, 
 70 
 
Liebestod 
 
 I would not even live, if that were all! 
 
 And still I hold thee, here, and still thou art 
 
 Continuous, like music, loving me. 
 
 But if no death, yet, when our fingers fall 
 
 At last from one another's, then shall we, 
 
 Man without strength, and woman without 
 
 heart, 
 Love as of old ? — can spirits love at all ? 
 
 From what wraith-mist of nebulous disguise 
 Wilt thou unveil thyself; or, being known, 
 What moon-white love can give us what we 
 
 knew? 
 For I shall have no arms in Paradise, 
 Nor thou, such lips to bring deep kisses to ; 
 And all the pangs our hearts have overflown, — 
 How shall we speak, no longer having eyes? 
 71 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Forever sailing, here we find not, here 
 
 Are only haze and last horizon line ; 
 
 Here only stars that dream around the world, 
 
 That droop, and dim, and draw not ever near ; 
 
 Here only stars, and cloudy sails unfurled; 
 
 No landward lights, ours only, mine and thine ; 
 
 No hoped for hills and pleasant islands here. 
 
 And yet — I would sail on so, having thee ; 
 I would sail on, unnoticed and unknown, 
 Our soft affreightment slighted of the years, 
 Our mortal life made immortality; 
 I would sail on so, even with my tears; 
 Forever breathe thy loveliness, my own, 
 And ever, waking, wind thee nearer me. 
 
 The looms of Time weave on, weave on, — and 
 will; 
 
 72 
 
Liebestod 
 
 The dial-shadow moves unmindful of 
 The lovers leaning on its travels so : 
 I know that somewhere destinies fulfil, 
 And howsoe'er I lose thee now, I know 
 That I shall find thee, yet — O God of love, 
 Let us, let us, be man and woman still! 
 
 73 
 
II 
 
 LOVE WITHOUT DEATH 
 
 A crimson emptiness I've proved the rose, 
 That in its budding promised me divine; 
 The star that from the sunset's pallor blows, 
 Sinks in the sunset's half-drained lees of wine: 
 Deceitful was the happiness that drew 
 My hunger to the Islands of the Blest; 
 I was not happy though I came thereto, — 
 Pity was mine, and shame, and great unrest : 
 I heard the sirens singing overseas, 
 And caught wept beauties from the Lotus shore; 
 I touched the blue-encircled, far Hesperides ; — 
 All, all were mine ; I wish them mine no more. 
 
 I have no pleasure in their pleasing, none ; 
 
 I only live that I may live for — one. 
 74 
 
Liebestod 
 
 I see thee stand, beyond the death of dreams, 
 Above the drift of flower-fading years ; 
 Thou wilt not ride the downward-running streams 
 To blue oblivion ; thy tender tears 
 Have lifted thee too far for Time's hard hand, 
 The love that thou hast given gives thee now 
 Forgetf ulness of fear : I see thee stand 
 Like some clear peak, the sunset in thy brow; 
 Immutable of heart, and gazing where shall shine 
 A thousand stars of holiness ; where soon 
 Thou shall put on a whiteness more divine, — 
 Withal, thy whiteness, underneath the moon. 
 Thou art so true, thou art thyself, and I, 
 I shall have thee when all the others die. 
 
 I shall have thee; — I know not in what land, 
 Past what imperial outposts never seen. 
 Beneath what tow'rs too bright to understand ; 
 
 75 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 I know not, save as sometimes I have been 
 Hard at their boundaries, looking, not M^ith eyes, 
 Over broad seas, and twilight hills, or through 
 Wind-mingled boughs far upward into skies; 
 Save as I've heard strong voices that I knew, 
 Struggle to be, from under storms in trees. 
 And out of smothered speech that silence gave ; 
 I know not in what land, beyond what seas 
 I know not, save that I shall have thee, save 
 That at the last no loss can ever be, — 
 Thou wilt reach down, and I shall come to 
 thee. 
 
 For we were always wedded, I and thou, — 
 In far, forgotten climes, beyond old seas; 
 Methinks dim ages gone remember how 
 I followed thee, gave worship, sought to please : 
 Thou wast a star that dreamed all night, and I 
 76 
 
Liebestod 
 
 The dew-drop of thy dream; I saw thy face 
 Laugh from my eldest summer, full of sky 
 And little petals flutt'ring to embrace; 
 I heard thy voice before my mother spoke, 
 Or ever words had bodies; knew thy hand 
 Before the stars brought bigness to an oak, 
 Or rain gave gladness to a thirsty land. 
 
 I needed not to learn thee, for I knew ; — 
 Dreamed, and awoke, and found my dream- 
 ing true. 
 
 And more than dreams, and half-remembered 
 
 days ; 
 Higher than clouds of sunset-tinctured hue: 
 Deeper than seas, and all sea-hidden ways, — 
 My thoughts fly out, my love comes back, to 
 
 you. 
 Then, like the ripples on sky-sweetened lakes, 
 77 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 That lap forever on a shadowed shore, 
 My heart in music out of prison breaks 
 Into the wideness of the world before: 
 Into the wideness, where the unbreathed night 
 Sleeps at the lids of never-dying day; 
 Into the wideness, and the trance-held light, 
 My 'prisoned heart in music slips away. 
 
 I drink thee with the stars, and fain would be 
 Where I may take eternal fill of thee. 
 
 Not man, of woman, more ; but soul, of soul ; 
 In such white tenderness as wind-strewn May 
 Affords first lovers, wondering that stroll 
 Twin-sainted paradise ; in such sweet way 
 As rivers take of clouds when ripe with rain, 
 Or hands of little children touch young flow'rs, 
 Not plucking them, resentful of their pain; 
 Soul of my soul, such taking shall be ours: 
 78 
 
Liebestod 
 
 But more than voices molten into song, 
 Closer than streams commingled in the sea, 
 Life unto life shall each to each belong, 
 And love be love's beyond eternity; - 
 
 And love be love's, — not words, nor lips, 
 nor eyes, 
 
 But only love, can speak love's paradise. 
 
 79 
 
Seaward 
 
 The little boats, the little boats, 
 
 Go sailing out to sea; 
 With courage manned they leave the land, 
 
 And steer them steadfastly: 
 The sun turns gold, and on they hold, 
 
 A-sailing out to sea; 
 And I should like, and I should like, 
 
 To sail with them to thee. 
 
 The little birds, the little birds, 
 Go flying out to sea; 
 
 At some far call relinquish all. 
 And go intrepidly: 
 80 
 
Seaward 
 
 The sun's last red is in their stead, 
 And still they fly to sea; 
 
 And I should like, and I should like, 
 To fly with them to thee. 
 
 The little stars, the little stars. 
 
 Come out upon the sea; 
 Each candle light is lit to-night 
 
 With loving memory: 
 The day is done and one by one 
 
 They hover on the sea; 
 And I should like, and I should like. 
 
 To look with them on thee. 
 
 8i 
 
Even-Song 
 
 The night and the day have met on the road, 
 
 Travellers faring afar ; 
 Have met and kissed and gone on their way, - 
 
 Their kiss is the evening star. 
 
 The night and the day have met on the road, 
 
 Wayfarers passing by; 
 The day has blushed at the glance of the night, - 
 
 Her blush is the evening sky. 
 
 The night and the day have met on the road, 
 Longing to linger - there ; 
 
 Have looked and sighed and said farewell, — 
 Their sigh is the evening air. 
 82 
 
Even-Song 
 
 The night and the day have met on the road, 
 Tremulous, O my Sweet; 
 
 And all the twilight is fainting with prayer 
 That thou and I should meet! 
 
 83 
 
Sanctuary 
 
 The shadow of a sail upon the sea; 
 
 The shadow of a cloud upon the sand ; 
 I lie remembering of thee, 
 
 In a thirsty land. 
 
 Take me from the weariness of days 
 
 To where thou art, in fadeless beauty set; 
 
 Fold me from the sun's fierce blaze 
 With thy wings, dew-wet. 
 
 Be mine the utter wakefulness of night. 
 To lose no single graciousness of thee ; 
 
 Reach thou cool fingers of delight 
 To my brow, the sea. 
 84 
 
Sanctuary 
 
 Let me be the rippling refrain 
 
 Which followeth the music that thou art: 
 Wind me with a silver skein 
 
 To thy beating heart. 
 
 The starlight that is lost among the trees; 
 
 The moonlight that is wasted on the land ; 
 Thy love, which Heaven only sees, 
 
 Be mine — near at hand ! 
 
 85 
 
In April 
 
 If there's wind upon the meadow, there is sun- 
 light in the trees, 
 There is glowing, golden sunlight, and desire; 
 If there's storm on stream and river, there are 
 songs and melodies. 
 There are songs that follow shepherds, and the 
 lyre. 
 
 Up around the walls and hedges, down the road- 
 sides and the lanes, 
 There is strewing of first flowers, and delight; 
 There are evenings, long and shadowed, there 
 are homeward-wending wains, 
 There are robins giving gladness, and good- 
 night, 
 
 86 
 
In April 
 
 If there's winter on our faces, there is summer 
 in our hearts, 
 There is laughing, leaping summer in our 
 eyes ; 
 And although as young as April, we are older 
 than all arts, 
 We are wiser than all wisdoms of the wise. 
 
 We have risen up from winter and are waiting 
 
 with the spring, 
 
 We are breathless for the summer and await; 
 
 Far away on distant mountains we have heard 
 
 her heralding, 
 
 We are breathless for the summer, and a mate. 
 
 If there's wind upon the meadow, there is sun- 
 light in the trees, 
 87 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 There is golden, glowing sunlight, and desire; 
 If there's storm on stream and river, there are 
 songs and melodies, 
 There are songs that follow shepherds, and the 
 lyre. 
 
 88 
 
Fragment Written in a Time 
 of Drought 
 
 Oh, give my weary eyes the flush of dawn, 
 
 That flames to reach the one last star withdrawn 
 
 Beyond its touch ! Let moonbeams weave for me 
 
 A silver scarf about the bosomed sea, 
 
 And sunlight fleck and falter through the leaves 
 
 Of forests cool and tall, till Night achieves 
 
 Her way. Or let me lie my length, and gaze 
 
 Upon a goodly pastureland, where graze 
 
 Soft-moving sheep, and clouds in fleecy dress 
 
 Career the gentle sky, and with caress 
 
 Of shadow smooth the care from blunt-browed 
 
 hills, 
 While lavish green a grateful peace instils. 
 89 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Oh, give my longing ears the voice of spring, 
 The song of birds, the cheerful cries that ring 
 From marsh and meadow, hedge and leafy spray, 
 And all the sounds that charm the longer day: 
 Let billows broach rich thunder on the shore, 
 And burly breezes through the branches roar; 
 Or let me list to soft, enthralling airs, 
 Played broodingly by one who knows, and 
 
 cares. 
 Oh, let me breathe the breath of salty seas. 
 And snuff the vigor of a thousand trees 
 Distilled by sudden rain. 
 
 90 
 
Border Things 
 
 The owl-moon sits in a gnarled old tree; 
 An elf bird sings in an elfin key; 
 And miles of marshes meet miles of sea, 
 And set me free, and set me free. 
 
 October woods with leaves of long ago; 
 October hills in haze and golden glow; 
 The wistfulness of winds and brooks run low, 
 That I may know, that I may know. . . 
 
 Light limbs of children, far sounds of glee; 
 Stars above breakers, sunsets at sea; 
 Twilight and wood-light and faery, 
 And I am free, and I am free. 
 91 
 
To the Absolute 
 
 O WIND of death that blowest in the night, 
 
 That blowest, and art still; 
 O icy hand that comest with thy rite 
 Of cruel terror, just before the light, — 
 
 The darkest hour of ill ; 
 O breath of fate that whisperest away 
 The loves of years, the friendings of to-day- 
 Have ye not yet your fill ? 
 
 So must it be forever, even so? — 
 The ebbing tide of change 
 Draws out to lost horizons all we know, 
 All we have loved and clung to, long ago, 
 Leaving us . . . something strange: 
 92 
 
To the Absolute 
 
 The dear, familiar lights die out at last; 
 The late, lost voices fading down the blast, — 
 They too . . . pass out of range. 
 
 O hidden life, O life, O unattained! 
 
 Not only in our dreams, 
 But given inwardly, and unexplained, 
 Through every word and memory ingrained, - 
 
 Deep as undryihg streams : 
 Thou comest out of other realms than sight ; 
 There is naught earthly in the glamor light 
 
 Which on thy vesture gleams. 
 
 There is naught earthly, yet thou comest here 
 
 Askance, and half-astray ; 
 As wayside lights, that suddenly draw near 
 To railroad wand'rers, blaze, and disappear, — 
 
 So thou art torn away: 
 93 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 But ever, on the darkened window glass, 
 Our weary world goes with us, and alas ! — 
 Thou art a dream, alway. 
 
 Thou art a dream, a somewhere out beyond 
 
 The sunset and the sea; 
 Thou art just failed of by the fingers fond 
 Of silver moons ; thy magic shores respond 
 
 Only to melody; 
 Only to waves that fling their hearts to die 
 Far out where souls are sailors, and the sky 
 
 Is breaking over thee. 
 
 Thou art a dream, that moves not in the mind; 
 
 Thou art not thought, nor seen 
 With lidded eyes ; thou f eedest not the blind 
 Of mortal vision, — rapturous, undefined. 
 
 Eternally serene! 
 94 
 
To the Absolute 
 
 Thy beauty waits no falt'ring, feeble hand ; 
 We part the petals, nor do understand 
 That thou should'st slip between. 
 
 But sometimes ... as on country roads we hear 
 Wind-murmured wires hum ; 
 
 Thy breath makes music to an awestruck ear, — 
 
 Wild music of wild airs, of bliss and fear, 
 And hearts to heaven come — 
 
 Thy whisper wakes what only slept before; 
 
 Our silent souls are silent now no more — 
 We speak, who once were dumb. 
 
 But man is man, and may not lift too far 
 
 His earthly, frail reply; 
 Man is but man; in pattern like a star, 
 His utmost efforts in this twilight are 
 
 A fitful firefly; 
 
 95 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 He may not . . . ah ! — to know, and yet to fail ! 
 His hands may tremble to, not touch, the Grail 
 That hovers from on high. 
 
 The whirlwind passes, lust and shame and sin, 
 
 And anger passion-blind; 
 Remorse burns out, a flame, a deadly djinn; 
 And seven devils wait to welter in 
 
 The smitten, tortured mind: 
 And after these, a voice exceeding small. 
 Lovelier than lutes, or waves, or waterfall 
 
 Leaving green woods behind. 
 
 There comes a voice, but lingers not for long; 
 
 A sighing in the trees. 
 It also passes, and the shadows throng 
 Once more ; once more old fears grow strong, 
 
 And ancient fantasies: 
 96 
 
To the Absolute 
 
 In doubt and darkness, baffled and misled, 
 We walk the world, and hear, far out ahead, 
 The thunder of veiled seas. 
 
 Oh, at the last, when shattered, blow by blow, 
 Must man die out like flame? 
 
 Nay ! — but methinks I see him, bent and low, 
 
 Set free by failure, lift his head and go 
 By where the sunlight came: 
 
 Methinks I see him where his dreams were gone ; 
 
 And lo ! — a wonder in his eyes, and on 
 
 His lips . . . the wonder's name! 
 
 97 
 
Israel 
 
 " And there wrestled a man with him until the 
 breaking of the day." 
 
 And wherefore I ; and wherefore these lit stars ? 
 And whence, and how, and whose? 
 
 First I besought 
 The wise, who creep down stairways of the dead, 
 And cling, like bats, in crannied nooks of eld ; 
 Who, from their nested books, hatch wingless 
 
 broods, — 
 Birds without feathers, in the dark; the wise, 
 Who dream with towers to abash the stars, 
 And shame the moon with glintings of a shield; 
 I asked them this. They gave me a " first cause " ; 
 And when I asked the showing of this " cause," 
 98 
 
Israel 
 
 Alas, they also sought it, had it not. 
 
 And bade me dig with them. I found but moxild. 
 
 I did not find thee in the market, where 
 Traffic and trade and tribes go murmuring; 
 Where men buy fretted ivory, and gold 
 Looped into labyrinths, and gems which are 
 The tears wept by a rainbow; idols, too, 
 And slaves; ripe fruits, and sweating merchan- 
 dise — 
 I did not find thee there. Nor in the gloom 
 Of temples dark with sacrifice, where men 
 Spill blood and worship gods; where fires burn 
 Iniquitous with incense, and in vain. 
 
 I have sought happiness in all the world : 
 First I sought happiness as swallows fly, — 
 99 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Skimming and skirmishing, away and here; 
 Unaiming, almost ; half intending, — gone. 
 Then I sought happiness as minnows leap, 
 Right into sunshine, and fall back again ; 
 Unlearned of a failure, not deterred — 
 Seeing the sun aswim, and lusting it. 
 Now I seek happiness as one who knows 
 That seeking finds it not; yet seeketh still. 
 
 There is no mind in me, but all is blood; 
 
 I flow not like a river straight and sure, 
 
 But am the sea, the open, aimless sea ; 
 
 I tide me by the moon, and bear away 
 
 With moonbeams; there is storm and calm in 
 
 me; 
 I drink the stars, and lie too deep for day. 
 The building of my destiny is here, 
 
 lOO 
 
Israel 
 
 Here in my heart, here in my beating blood ; 
 Not withered into codes by some dull brain, 
 But gendered out of leaping arteries, 
 And sung in strophes of impetuousness. 
 Whereof the singing bears all thought away. 
 
 Oh, tree that is my heart, oh, fruitless tree ! 
 That hears and sighs, and bringeth not to birth; 
 Oh, tree of dreams and bootless imageries; 
 Lurer of butterflies and birds, that stirs 
 With every leastest wind, and wakes, and goes 
 Hither and thither, and comes back again; 
 That looketh up so high, and lies so low ; 
 Oh, fruitless tree! 
 
 I have had hopes, dim hopes, 
 As of horizons buried in the West 
 By dappled oceans fading far away; 
 
 lOI 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Hopes that the sun leaves with its languid gold, 
 When clouds are islands, and the sky, a sea 
 Beset with shoaling tides ; high hopes that hang, 
 Star-poised, upon the pinions of a bird 
 Looking and seeing over unknown lands. 
 And praising them ; hopes that the moon conceals 
 Behind her shadowings, when all the world 
 Takes deep allegiance in mysteriousness ; 
 Hopes that the flowers hide and bees bring forth ; 
 The hopes of summer mornings half awake, — 
 Of furrowed hills, straight trees, and silences; 
 Dumb, prisoned hopes, ice-held in brooks, and 
 
 loosed 
 Turbid with spring; hopes of the eyes and 
 
 heart, — 
 Young hearts in love with eyes — hopes in them 
 
 all. 
 
 102 
 
Israel 
 
 I was a child a-tip-toe for the moon, 
 A seeker-out of sunbeam motes; a child 
 That hunted rainbows and opined the gold 
 Pent in their roots ; that hollowed out a hand 
 And fished for raindrops, hoping he should find 
 Sweet pearls therein from stars; took bees for 
 
 elves, 
 And hid heart wishes in a flower's foot ; — 
 A child. 
 
 But these high stars . . . 
 
 Who art thou, then, 
 That I may find thee? 
 
 I have walked the world; 
 Wherever men have spoken I have been : 
 I have ta'en sail on all the eastern seas, 
 And proved their isles and archipelagoes; 
 I have cast anchor in a hundred bays, 
 
 103 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 And mounted rivers bearing wealth to kings, - 
 
 Imperial purple past imperial shores; 
 
 Gold from the East, and Western merchandise. 
 
 I have seen cities M^ith the vv^alls of God, 
 
 Hung out of heav'n, huge battlements that stood 
 
 Like everlasting hills, — too old to die ; 
 
 And cloudy towers woven like a dream 
 
 That endeth out of mind. I saw not thee. 
 
 Why do I seek thee thus, and wherefore flows 
 Pain from pure joy, from loveliness, desire? 
 I thirst, and quaffing, thirst a fever more ; 
 My eyes are inroads of unquietness ; 
 The songs of birds proclaim me some great loss 
 That longing yet might save, and saveth not. 
 Oh, I have seen the shadows of men's souls 
 Troop o'er my heart, and flung the casement wide, 
 104 
 
Israel 
 
 Hoping to tarry them, and failed it, — for a 
 
 word. 
 If thou art sending, send no more, or else 
 Make me a flower for a single day, 
 That owneth happiness one undiluted day; — 
 Let me be rain and fall one perfect flight 
 To a forgetful sea; give me to know 
 One utmost poignancy of love, and die! 
 Take back my pain ; if thou hast sent, — unless, — 
 Unless thyself . . . thou art . . . unless thou 
 
 art . . . 
 
 Thou . . . art . . . my hunger and uncer- 
 titude ; 
 
 Thou art . . . my pain, and my so great de- 
 sire! 
 
 Thou art the sadness of too perfect flowers, 
 105 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 The wistfulness of evenings all of stars; 
 Thou art the pity of the sunrise, thou, 
 The wonder of all beauty, and the woe. 
 
 And I have seen thee — fading down lost seas 
 With foam of exiled ships at evening, or 
 Fast held in hills with woody breaths of flowers ; 
 Seen thee in maidens mysterful, with eyes 
 Half oped in heav'n ; and I have heard thee when 
 Thou art a child close-counselling a bird. 
 Or giving souls away with sighs — in songs. 
 All intertwined with tears — thy voice — 
 Thy face — Oh, thou art everywhere ! 
 
 Thou . . . Thou . . . 
 
 io6 
 
Galatea 
 
 My former loves have stiffened into stone, 
 And in the darkness call me not by name; 
 They line the garden where I lately came, 
 Their tresses in the twilight were unblown. 
 
 I think that all their loveliness is fled 
 From them to thee, thou art so very fair ; 
 Thou art as perfect as a child's first prayer, 
 Fallen asleep before the half was said. 
 
 Thou art the closing of a flower's eyes 
 At nightfall, lest the gloaming sadden thee; 
 Thou art too precious for the dark to see, 
 Too fragile for the evening sacrifice. 
 107 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Thou art ail overbreathed with breathless things 
 Hushed winds have given thee, and hearts ex- 
 haled, 
 Old fragrance of old loves, that burned and paled. 
 Or left their beauty in the arms of kings: 
 
 I think thou art a song that blew so high, 
 The gods took love of it, and altered thee, 
 Since music dies, to immortality; 
 Thy parted lips just frozen on a sigh. 
 
 It seems thou art asleep, who dost not drain 
 One drop of madness from the lips of Spring; 
 Thy beauty wears no flushed remembering 
 Of eyes that see thy loveliness too plain. 
 
 Thy beauty . . . is as wistful winds that fall 
 Out of the evening, over moon-white seas, — 
 1 08 
 
- Galatea 
 
 In murmurous, deep vistas of dark trees; 
 
 I faint with it, yet . . . beauty is not all. . . . 
 
 Skies that have lost their light, my loves are flown ; 
 Dead, dead they are, with dreams that were 
 
 untrue. 
 Cold clouds, once tremulous, and warm, and 
 
 new, 
 And in the darkness there is thou alone. 
 
 Oh, if it be that thou art nothing more, 
 But only beauty, frozen and divine . . . 
 I'll count my life no better than spilt wine. 
 Tossed from a cup upon the tavern floor. 
 
 109 
 
The Garden of Sleep 
 
 Beneath the sunlight and the wide, sweet skies, 
 
 Immersed in purple shade, 
 The garden of the well-beloved lies, 
 And looses to the world through half-shut eyes 
 
 Dreamings too deep to fade. 
 
 Adown the sloping verdures of its breast, 
 
 In long, unordered row. 
 Are laid alike the lately-bidden guest 
 And they that herein entered into rest 
 
 A hundred years ago. 
 
 And all alike perpetually share, 
 
 Past understanding, peace; - 
 no 
 
The Garden of Sleep 
 
 On all is shed the tranquilizing air 
 Of easeful earth, and silence everywhere 
 Has everlasting lease. 
 
 They are securest, they that slumber here, 
 
 And know no troubled sleep; 
 Unvisited are they of fret or fear, 
 Nor earthly perilings to them draw near 
 Whom all the heavens keep. 
 
 No passionate persuadings rim them round, 
 
 With afterword of woe; 
 No stir is here, no restless songs resound, — 
 Save of the birds, and leaves that on the ground 
 
 The changing seasons sow. 
 
 They are unsorrowful, — Time's hurried feet 
 No longer fashion pain ; 
 III 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 For in the years' inevitable beat, 
 The loved and parted here once more may meet, 
 And meeting, here remain. 
 
 We call them dead, and weep that they must die: 
 
 Ah, tenderness and tears! 
 That lips on lips unanswered must lie. 
 And warm entreaty fall without reply 
 
 On once so heedful ears. 
 
 We call them dead, that on the breast of sleep 
 
 Beyond our borders go ; 
 Yet know we not what hovers in the deep, 
 Dark-furrowed lineaments of Death, and weep 
 
 Because we do not know. 
 
 But I have seen the sunlight from the West 
 Wane with the tide away, 
 112 
 
The -Garden of Sleep 
 
 And watched the heavens, rosily distressed, 
 Grow pale, and shed those tears of stars that rest 
 Upon the fringe of Day: 
 
 And I have trod the thunder-throated strand 
 
 Of bright, perplexing seas; 
 Looked into Summer's eyes and Autumn's hand, 
 And heard a lover in his lover's land 
 
 Of immortalities. 
 
 These silent lips and unillumined eyes. 
 
 All-eloquent of death. 
 They too have learned of love, and waxed wise 
 In that rare wisdom lingering in skies, 
 
 Or in a flower's breath: 
 
 They too have felt unutterable things, ^ ' 
 The sweet, half-prisoned flow 
 113 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Of high infinities ; the poise of wings 
 On ecstasies of song no poet sings ; — 
 More bliss than lovers know. 
 
 And here they He, tl;ie well-beloved, here, 
 
 With cypress and with yew; 
 They dreamed as I, and this, their sleep austere, 
 Is but a severing, a soul got clear. 
 
 And they . . . their dreams are true. 
 
 114 
 
The Glory that was Greece 
 
 Dodona's leaves no longer are divine, 
 Nor poets frenzied at Apollo's hand; 
 i^^gean airs bear in no more to land 
 The gold of Delos, and the Lesbian v^^ine: 
 Her storied temples feed the clinging vine, 
 Which Orpheus-like their dying would with- 
 stand, 
 Or strew, like some lost argosy, the sand ; 
 Hellas is dead, long dead, and all her line. 
 
 Exotic marbles harried over seas, — 
 Strange-voiced as shells far inland from their 
 shore, 
 
 115 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Remain some scions of Praxiteles, — 
 Deific children such as Phidias bore ; 
 But . . . songs are silent in Dodona's trees ; 
 ^gean airs bring in the gold no more. 
 
 ii6 
 
To Edgar Allan Poe 
 
 PoE^ by the breath that stirred Apollo's trees, 
 
 And frenzied poets to prophetic ire, 
 
 Why didst thou go, so lightly, with thy lyre; 
 
 When thou couldst weep such melting har- 
 monies ? 
 
 Why didst hie on beyond th' Hesperides, 
 
 And leave thy Hellas so forlorn of fire? 
 
 What heavenly song, star-stooping from the 
 Choir, 
 
 Dissuaded thee . . . sailing the wine-dark seas ? 
 
 Mayhap did Dian craze thee with a kiss. 
 That sang in thee e'er after, as a shell 
 117 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Sings of its seas; mayhap that swooning bliss 
 Discomforted all other ; — I know well 
 Some voice allured thee to that world from this, 
 And there thou singest now . . . with Israfel. 
 
 ii8 
 
After a Visit to a Far Country 
 
 I DREAMED. A Swinging ocean, and a shore 
 Whose rocks were murmurous, bright-hued, and 
 
 steep ; 
 Islands that were a necklace looped in sleep ; 
 Hills that outlived the stars, and vales that 
 
 wore 
 Green garlands, were around me more and 
 
 more : — 
 Then might I move down into forests deep. 
 Where sunless flowers did their quiescence keep 
 Unstirred and dreaming on a moss-grown floor ; 
 Thence ways were mine, magnificent and slow, " 
 Steep-searching stairways to the clouds, it seemed. 
 But ah, no longer! . . . faded long ago 
 119 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 The last great sunset from those hills that 
 
 streamed ; 
 Long since the valleys melted out like snow; 
 The forests died; all, all are gone: I dreamed. 
 
 120 
 
To a Nereid 
 
 Of oceans blue and dancing sunlights born, 
 Fond-cherished child of mistiness and foam, 
 Dim waters wreathing build thy changeful 
 
 home, 
 And starred horizons gird thy nights forlorn: 
 Oft has the turbulence of Triton's horn 
 Dispersed thy slumbers; oft where smoothly 
 
 comb 
 The dark-browed seas, great Neptune in the 
 
 gloam. 
 Glimpsing thy hair, has challenged thee for morn. 
 
 I cannot keep thee longer, thou who art 
 By breathing billows yearned for and sighed; 
 121 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 To distant joys all fortunate depart; 
 Yet . . . may thy wanderings be not too wide, 
 Nor flutter thee too far thy wayward heart, 
 And for thy coming leave me hopeful-eyed. 
 
 122 
 
In an Anthology 
 
 This is the world, and in these pages lie 
 
 Our little lives a-written long ago; 
 
 Here is the all that ever we shall know 
 
 Of life and hearts, of earth and sea and sky; 
 
 Here are sweet words for every passer-by, — 
 
 Most precious words from lovers' lips that 
 
 flow; 
 Sighs here, and pain, and wistful afterglow, — 
 Even of flowers pressed ere they die. 
 
 Most gentle reader, take, then, to thy fill, 
 From these conserved blossoms honeyed toll; — 
 Out of their sweetness living sweets distil, 
 123 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 And these high hearts . . . engrave them on 
 
 thy soul! 
 Ah, give them resurrection, and they will 
 Bear up thy wings and lift thee to their goal. 
 
 124 
 
After Seeing Lake Maggiore for 
 the First Time 
 
 Blue-damasked maid, I saw thee in thy sleep, 
 Where Time had left thee, loved asleep, to lie 
 Drawn round with dreams, dear daughter of the 
 
 sky; 
 I saw thy soft-blown hair with shadows deep 
 Empurple thy pale face, and drift, and weep 
 Down from the hills that thou didst deify; ^ 
 I saw thee, Maggiore, dreaming, not to die; 
 Left in thy love still youthful, and asleep. 
 
 So let me leave my youth, unmoved as she; 
 So let me leave them lying, not grown old, 
 125 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Forever fair, the days that dreamed with me ; 
 Gentle as Maggiore, beautiful to hold; 
 So let it lie, the thing I cease to be ; 
 So let it He, and sleep . . . my age of gold. 
 
 126 
 
In Memoriam J. B. A. 
 
 The wind has murmured in the trees once more, 
 And dying, uttered one more life away; 
 The star of death has lit once more a day; 
 One other wave is spent upon the shore: 
 Oh, life-lined face, the well-beloved wore! 
 Oh, kindest eyes, that look from yesterday! 
 A gentleman! . . . 'tis so his children pay 
 Most perfect tribute past the closing door. 
 
 The wind has murmured, and the woods are still ; 
 Along the lake the last live ripples go; 
 A life has spoken, and our hearts fulfil 
 His echoes, whom we knew, and loved to know. 
 High are the peaks of mortal mind, and chill ; 
 This man was sunlight — on eternal snow. 
 127 
 
New York 
 
 Whither are ye bent, 
 Who are a multitude, and come and go. 
 
 With fevered intent, 
 Through all the city's weary row on row ; 
 
 Wherefore leave behind 
 The open country and the quiet mind, 
 To thread the currents of this river's rind 
 
 So sorely besprent? 
 
 City by the sea, 
 Lapped in thy mantle, with thy head bent low, 
 
 And thy face not free; 
 That art inscrutable, as with some woe, 
 
 And yet would be found 
 128 
 
. New York 
 
 And followed, like a far-off sound 
 That seems to call, and dies along the ground 
 What would'st thou with me? 
 
 City by the sea. 
 Brooded and builded on a nest of ships; 
 
 Alike are of thee 
 Streets full of heresies and hucksters' lips, 
 
 And the wider ways 
 That in the midst of thee do bloom and blaze 
 City that art already old in praise, 
 
 What wilt thou with me? 
 
 O my heart, I turn. 
 With utter weariness and closing eyes; 
 
 O my heart, I yearn 
 Unto a land of dreams, and of surmise, — 
 
 Regions lying low, 
 129 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Beyond the margin's utmost bend of bow, 
 Lost in the sunset, ages long ago, 
 
 And dear to discern . . . 
 
 How closely it clings, 
 Inseparable of thee, thy cloak of care; 
 
 How near are the wings, — 
 Or wraiths of wings, — the hopes that perished 
 there ! 
 
 Children all aglow, 
 Lovely with life ; — who let their fingers go ? 
 In what dark scripture of our weal and woe 
 
 Are hidden these things? 
 
 What matters one more? 
 Millions they brush me by, and millions are 
 Shadows at thy door; 
 130 
 
- New York 
 
 It irks that over thee should pause my star, 
 
 Not out, as in dreams. 
 Aloft some mountain lake unswept by streams; 
 Thy murk of highways mirrors back no gleams, 
 
 Unrestful thy floor. 
 
 'Tis not thou, but I . . . 
 As out of a long sleep who wakes at last. 
 
 And lets his dreams die; 
 Who dimly knows his perils overpast. 
 
 And slowly regains 
 His own good world; and flinging wide the 
 
 panes. 
 Bares a brisk morn, of glinting weather-vanes 
 
 And fresh fields; — so I . . . 
 
 Rift the clouds for me. 
 And over thee a golden glory falls; 
 131 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 And winds from the sea 
 Are sweet with sunlight fingering dull walls 
 
 In thy deepest ways ; — 
 Around thy towers an enchantment strays, 
 And drifts of steam are upward breaths of praise 
 
 For the gift of thee. 
 
 Thou art all confessed; 
 Beautiful thou art, and flushed with life, and fair ; 
 
 Youth is down thy breast, 
 And worship in thy shoulders and thy hair: 
 
 Thy voice Is of seas 
 That speak, and fall away ; " Our destinies 
 Are with each other ; not with stars and trees 
 
 And a dying West ! 
 
 " With each other now : 
 To unperplex a fate from stars ; — no more ; 
 132 
 
' New York 
 
 No more bend a prow 
 By aching oracles ; not now, as before, 
 
 In auguries blind 
 The earthquake of a sovereignty to find; 
 No more obey the rustle of the wind 
 
 In a beech tree bough. 
 
 " It is over now: 
 To seek a bliss in deserts far away; 
 
 To wrinkle a brow 
 Over one soul (that only breathes a day) ; 
 
 To live to be blest, 
 And leave as infidels to die — the rest ; 
 To kiss the cross upon a bloody quest; 
 
 It is over, now. 
 
 " O stars that turn pale. 
 It is the dawn, and day is coming fast ; 
 133 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 O outward-bound sail, 
 The sea is blowing bright for thee at last ! 
 
 At last do men know 
 That God is hidden in their brother's woe; 
 That God is given with themselves, and so 
 
 This, this is the Grail! . . ." 
 
 Thy voice is of seas; 
 And after it, from very far away, 
 
 Are winds in the trees, 
 And sighings-down, and whispers gone astray, — 
 
 Words and broken prayers . . . 
 Oh, children's lips, and warm, young human 
 
 cares ! 
 Oh, bliss, and death, and endless toil of stairs ! — 
 
 They are living these. 
 134 
 
. New York 
 
 Softly, like a spell, 
 In one long breath the cold, clear evening skies 
 
 Fade, and it befell 
 That thou art turning home thy drooping eyes : 
 
 City by the sea. 
 This is the worth and wonderment of thee — 
 Out of much pain much love shall also be. 
 
 All's well, and all's well. 
 
 135 
 
To a Little Girl Watering a Plant 
 in the Window of a Tenement 
 
 Little child, with little hands and feet, 
 
 And face much too old; 
 Above the pavements difficult v^^ith heat; 
 Above the bedlam of the cobbled street ; 
 
 Above Bought and Sold. 
 
 No vj^aterpot of firkins to the brim; 
 
 No rose tree to tend; 
 A sprig of fern, a single leaflet slim. 
 Out of a fissured teacup helping him 
 
 To drink, like a friend. 
 
 Yet in thy heart I read thee far away. 
 In lands overseas; 
 136 
 
To a Little Girl Watering a Plant 
 
 Thou art a princess reigning in Cathay, 
 Whom dusky slaves and courtiers obey, 
 And kings hope to please. 
 
 Mayhap but now thou art alone, and free 
 
 To roam thy demesne; 
 Mayhap dost seek the haunt most dear to thee, 
 The hidden garden by the cypress tree 
 
 None other has seen. 
 
 Where lies a pond of lilies, in the gloom. 
 
 With drops of blue sky; 
 Where drift pale petals of unspared perfume. 
 And Juno's peacocks prink and boast and plume, 
 
 And winds softly sigh. 
 
 Where, as thou comest, fragrant evening hies, 
 With scarce filled-out sails; 
 137 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Down steps of rose the drowsy daylight dies ; 
 Behind dark trees Diana mounts the skies, 
 And wake nightingales. 
 
 Where music floats, in ever widening rings, 
 
 Soft, from far away; 
 From cool, white hands that fondle muted strings, 
 And mingle melody with hearts and things 
 
 They alone can say. 
 
 But as thou kneelest, breathless, in the shade. 
 Lovely, with thy hair . . . 
 
 Against thy realm are enemies arrayed; 
 
 A burst of discord makes the dream to fade 
 At once into air. 
 
 O little child, whose world is on the street, 
 Dirty and defiled, 
 138 
 
To a Little Girl Watering a Plant 
 
 Go down thy dreams with little hands and feet; 
 God give thy garden somewhere thou shalt 
 meet, — 
 
 Not here . . . little child. 
 
 139 
 
The "Sandwich Man" 
 
 The lights of town are pallid yet 
 
 With winter afternoon; 
 The sullied streets are dank and wet, 
 The halted motors fume and fret, 
 
 The world turns homeward soon. 
 
 There is no kindle in the sky, 
 
 No cheering sunset flame; 
 I have no help from passers-by, — 
 They part, and give good-night; but I 
 Walk with another's name. 
 
 I have no kith, nor kin, nor home 
 Wherein to turn to sleep; 
 140 
 
The "Sandwich Man" 
 
 No star-lamp sifts me through the gloam, 
 I am the driven, wastrel foam 
 On a subsiding deep. 
 
 I do not toil for love, or fame, 
 Or hope of high reward; 
 My path too low for praise or blame, 
 I struggle on, each day the same, 
 My panoply — a board. 
 
 Who gave me life I do not know, 
 
 Nor what that life should be, 
 Or why I live at all; I go, 
 A dead leaf shivering with snow, 
 Under a worn-out tree. 
 141 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 The lights of town are blurred with mist, 
 
 And pale with afternoon, — 
 Of gold they are, and amethyst: 
 Dull pain is creeping at my wrist ... 
 
 The world turns homeward soon. 
 
 142 
 
Requiem in the Snow 
 
 Winter and winds, the world is gone away 
 
 With sorrow, to-day; 
 Winter and winds, there are so many feet 
 
 In the well-worn street. 
 
 1 have such fear for him, lying at night 
 
 Under all this white; 
 Should we not heap on him better than mould ? 
 
 Will he not be cold? 
 
 Could we not gain from him one more goodbye, 
 
 Tell him, you and I, 
 All our great love for him, break through our 
 sorrow 
 
 Just till to-morrow? . . . 
 143 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Could we but have from him one certain sign, — 
 
 A flush, as of wine, 
 Scarcely seen, yet assured of, one faint breath 
 
 That death is not death! 
 
 He is so dead; — his dear hands are so dead, 
 
 And his manly head: 
 One would think the smile he died with remained 
 
 Lest his friends be pained. 
 
 Who has forgotten how, short months ago. 
 There was naught of snow, 
 
 And the earth let loose her bright hair, and lay 
 In a rapture of May? 
 
 And children went wide in the fields at will? 
 
 I can hear them still, 
 Calling, and ever calling, tipped with joy, — 
 
 Each girl and each boy. 
 144 
 
Requiem in the Snow 
 
 There were bird-songs then; and butterflies flew 
 
 In a heaven of blue; 
 And life was all laughter, and living, and gay, 
 
 And — not like to-day. 
 
 And he ... he also was glad with it, spoke 
 
 Of how the buds broke. 
 And fruit trees were tardy but promised well — 
 
 No thought of farewell: 
 
 No thought that he lived his last days on 
 earth — 
 
 Knew not their great worth 
 Any more than we do, who think that our years 
 
 Give defiance to fears. 
 
 But where was the use of it ? — why live at all ? — 
 
 One scarcely would call 
 
 145 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Life, what completely was not come to flower: 
 One over-short hour, 
 
 And all that he promised, and thought to fulfil. 
 Was — wholly made nil. 
 
 All beginning, no ending; can life be 
 Such waste as was he? 
 
 I, for one, do not think it ; I maintain 
 
 The drift in the grain 
 Places the wood, — all one tree from the first : 
 
 When the lightning burst 
 
 Into its branches, and rived it with flame. 
 We told the tree's name 
 
 From the one splinter left us; it is so 
 With a man, we know 
 146 
 
Requiem in the Snow 
 
 A friend through his changes of body, find 
 
 A loved one still kind 
 After ages of absence; in his face 
 
 No need to replace. 
 
 Though time has done much to turn us astray, 
 With its sprinkled gray, 
 
 And its care-lines ; but still — the soul shines 
 through, 
 
 The same that we knew. 
 
 Here was a swimmer, headlong in the free, 
 
 Unmerciful sea, 
 Who lingered but a breath in that dark place, 
 
 Then lifted his face 
 
 Once more to its heaven; here was a flower, 
 Plucked up, ere an hour, 
 147 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 And carried to a garden, where it thrives; — 
 Happiest of lives! 
 
 Here is a song, unfinished for a kiss, 
 Snuffed out for a bliss. 
 
 But singing on in silence, and more sweet 
 For that lips did meet 
 
 And make it into joy. He is not dead. 
 
 Only vanished: 
 He left us this ... for proof that it was so ! 
 
 This, and the late snow. 
 
 Winter and winds, the world is gone away 
 
 With sorrow, to-day; 
 Winter and winds, there are so many feet 
 
 In the well-worn street! 
 
 148 
 
The Use of it All 
 
 Music in the folded heart, — 
 Is it more than pain? 
 
 Murmurs out of storms that start, 
 Are they only rain? 
 
 All the folk-songs sung by trees; 
 
 All the voice of night; 
 All that thunders in with seas; 
 
 All that birds recite: 
 
 Every sighing of the sedge 
 
 By the river's brink . . . 
 
 Are but plightings of the pledge 
 
 All the world doth drink. 
 149 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Pledge of life, that lives it all, 
 
 Even unto death; 
 Pledge of love, that hears the call. 
 
 Holding of its breath. 
 
 From the silence of the soul. 
 
 Hears the footsteps pass; 
 
 Pauses, trembling, by the bowl 
 Shivered into glass. 
 
 Then, low down, hand over breast, 
 
 Leans upon the sill; 
 Sees the world new-manifest. 
 
 Sees the good and ill. 
 
 Life, that draws beyond the ken ; 
 Death, that turneth home; 
 150 
 
The Use of it All 
 
 Years, mayhap threescore and ten, 
 Days, that drift and roam. 
 
 Sees the measure of its ways 
 Spread before its feet; 
 
 All the hopes of younger days, 
 Memories that meet. 
 
 Understands all mysteries, — 
 
 Save its own, dread heart ; 
 
 Looks far out, and over seas. 
 
 Where sad ships depart. 
 
 Then returns, new-clad and clean, 
 In its own content; 
 
 Having God in Heaven seen, — 
 Knowing what He meant. 
 151 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Love that suffers deep of heart, 
 Findeth more than pain; 
 
 Storms that out o'f oceans start . . . 
 Go not forth in vain. 
 
 152 
 
For Youth 
 
 O WORLD full of years, that yet art youthful for- 
 ever, 
 
 Wrinkled and yare ; 
 O world full of hearts that find in a day's en- 
 deavor 
 
 Too much to bear; 
 O world, for the youth that life so soon will dis- 
 sever, 
 
 Receive our prayer. 
 
 The children; — oh, give them fields, knee-deep 
 in soft grasses. 
 
 Wherein to hide, 
 Wherein may be sprawled a length while Hunt- 
 ing-Blind passes. 
 
 And where abide 
 153 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Tall daisies of June, and clumps of cloudy-haired 
 lasses, 
 
 Wonderful-eyed. 
 
 Beguile them with gnarly-limbed trees, and fruit 
 that beseeches 
 
 Robbers to raid ; 
 Allure them down brooks, and out on pebbly 
 brown beaches, 
 
 Featly to wade; 
 Bring pools full of fish, and woods with Robin- 
 Hood reaches. 
 
 For outlaws made. 
 
 Incite them with metes and bounds and a buried 
 treasure 
 
 Some pirate chief 
 154 
 
For Youth 
 
 Pent up and forsook, for their particular 
 pleasure ; — 
 
 Some swarthy thief, 
 Tatooed with crimes, and sailing the sea at leisure, 
 Till a coral reef 
 
 Supplied retribution . . . leave the children the 
 fancies 
 
 Men have outgrown : — 
 White petals invoked for sooth, and fluffs, for 
 romances 
 
 Breathlessly blown; 
 That swales in the grass, and rings, are relics of 
 dances 
 
 By fairies sown; 
 
 That winds in the woods are words and whispers 
 of wonder; 
 
 155 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Things that they knew 
 Long since, and forgot ; and waves, when seas full 
 of thunder, 
 
 Breaking they brew, 
 Are counsellors: — leave them the faith that lies 
 under 
 
 All that you do. 
 
 Needs must that our bread be bought by dint and 
 endeavor, 
 
 With blood, and sweat; 
 It needs that our eyes be clear, that our hands be 
 clever 
 
 The gain to get; 
 'Tis well that we heed, well that we travail 
 forever, 
 
 And yet . . . and yet . . . 
 
 156 
 
On a Maiden Narrowly Escaping 
 Capture by a Shark 
 
 After Gray 
 
 There is an island, far away, 
 Where, on a certain summer's day, 
 
 A maiden fair to see, 
 Uncareful of the breakers' din, 
 Most venturelessly paddled in 
 
 The blue and briny sea. 
 
 Her hair was of the sunny hue 
 Of rocky headlands lifting through 
 
 A mist of flying foam; 
 The star that fluttered in her eyes 
 157 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Was as the star of evening skies, 
 That speaks the sailor home. 
 
 With slender arms she tossed aside 
 The bright attentions of the tide, 
 
 And sought the weedy crest 
 Of one sea-circled rock, that rose 
 Just at a height to leave her toes 
 
 Clear of the ocean's breast. 
 
 Small wonder that from every cave, 
 And every little leaping wave, 
 
 Adoring fish should come: 
 Small wonder, that to view this maid, 
 Old Neptune ventured, half afraid, 
 
 And Triton, smitten dumb! 
 158 
 
On a Maiden Escaping a Shark 
 
 Meanwhile the maid sat sunning there, 
 With languid arms and streaming hair, 
 
 And far-ofF, wistful eyes; 
 Till chanced a shark, a youthful knight. 
 Adventuring the world, to sight 
 
 This first and fairest prize. 
 
 " Was e'er her like ? " said he. " Such charms 
 Should only blossom in my arms ! " 
 
 (Remember, though a fish, 
 In dealing with our mortal kind 
 'Twas only natural his mind 
 
 Should frame a human wish.) 
 
 But now the maiden drew her dreams 
 In nearer circles, till the gleams 
 Of something harmful in 
 159 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 Her easeful ocean, caught her care. 
 She looked, and soon descried there 
 A black and rampant fin. 
 
 Not lighter does a lost star die 
 Into the over-arching sky. 
 
 Than fled this maid to shore; 
 Her loosened locks streamed in the wind; 
 The billows bore her from behind, 
 
 The foam flew on before. 
 
 She's safe! at length; her lawless foe 
 Back to his dreary wars must go, 
 
 Uncompanied by bliss. 
 She's safe! and on the yellow sand 
 Is well content to take her stand, — 
 
 A much demurer miss. 
 1 60 
 
On a Maiden Escaping a Shark 
 
 Be warned by this, ye maidens fair ; 
 Be not too bold, nor everywhere 
 
 Your witcheries display: 
 And heed, young men, this fish's fault — 
 Troy was not taken by assault, 
 
 Nor Rome built in a day. 
 
 i6i 
 
Alma Mater Yalensis 
 
 O VOICE of a mother calling far; 
 
 O song of the tide to the sea ; 
 O breath of a breeze, O lift of a star, 
 
 O love to eternity! 
 Through the gloom and the vision, the drift and 
 the dream; 
 
 Through life and the golden trail ; 
 Through the cost and the conquest, the gift and 
 the gleam 
 
 Thou callest, our Mother, Yale. 
 
 The sword is quenched, the bow unstrung, 
 
 The thunder and battle fall ; 
 The gates with shouts are inward flung 
 
 To the old, ancestral hall: 
 162 
 
Atma Mater Yalensis 
 
 The toast is set forth in bowls of flame 
 
 Forever burning true; 
 And homeward warriors pledge the name 
 
 Their fathers' fathers knew. 
 
 We have dwelt at thy feet in the cities of pride, 
 
 And pleasured with roses and youth; 
 We have measured thy strength with the strong 
 and the tried, 
 
 And marshalled in might of thy truth: 
 There is living in alien lands, alone ; 
 
 There is fighting where few prevail; 
 There is losing, great loss, but thou art our 
 own, — 
 
 Forever, our Mother, Yale ! 
 
 163 
 
The Troubadour 
 
 Love me soon, love me soon; 
 Love me, love me. Lady, soon. 
 
 Thus the troubadour, a-trolHng, 
 
 Light of heart and sweet of tune ; 
 
 Down the hill at sunset strolling, — 
 " Love me, love me, soon." 
 
 In her ivied bower, dreaming, 
 Sat the fairest of the fair; 
 
 Heard the song, and sat a-seeming 
 Lost in love beyond repair. 
 
 " Ah, my knight, I love, I love thee, 
 Now, and now, and long ago; 
 164 
 
The Troubadour 
 
 Do but lift thine eyes above thee, 
 
 Do but breathe, and I shall know: 
 
 " Oh, how sweet are love and singing ! " 
 Low she laughed and soft she sighed ; 
 
 Bade her maids, the rush-lights bringing, 
 Set the crimson casement wide. 
 
 On a stricken field lay dying 
 
 One who loved the lady fair; 
 
 Marked for death, but death denying, — 
 Spent his life blood, debonair. 
 
 " O my lady, is it ended. 
 
 This, the life I held for thee? 
 Is it thus, the strength I tended, 
 
 Is it thus — no more to be? 
 165 
 
The Sailor Who Has Sailed 
 
 " Ah, my Sweet, I love, I love thee, 
 Now, and now, and long ago; 
 
 Could not lift my eyes above me. 
 
 Could not give that thou should'st kno\y. 
 
 " Love is not to speak, my dearest ; 
 
 Love is not for laugh and song; 
 Love is unto life the nearest; 
 
 Not so near are death and wrong. 
 
 " So I could not tell thee, ever ; 
 
 So I could but live for thee; 
 So I loved and fought, and never 
 
 Wist thou. Lady, aught of me." 
 
 In the twilight she sat yearning, 
 
 Languid, where the moonlight lay; 
 1 66 
 
The Troubadour 
 
 Till the troubadour returning, 
 
 Sang once more his roundelay. 
 
 " 'Tis not sweet, but sadness bringing; 
 
 Love is more than words a-tune ! " 
 Cried the lady, and the singing 
 
 Died away beneath the moon. 
 
 Love me soouj love me soon; 
 Love me, love me. Lady — soon. 
 
 167 
 
For Art's Sake 
 
 Out of the thought of undiscovered places 
 
 Bring me a song ; 
 Out of the look of strange, unspoken faces, - 
 
 Out of their wrong, 
 Out of false love and out of lost embraces, 
 
 Bring me, oh, bring me a song. 
 
 Let it be toned to very heart's undoing; 
 
 Let it be strong ; 
 Let it be brought not like a lover's wooing; 
 
 Let it belong 
 Unto lost souls for swift destruction suing. 
 
 Sing me, oh, sing me a song. 
 1 68 
 
For Art's Sake 
 
 Sing me a song, that I may hear thee singing, 
 
 Singing my song; 
 Tune me harsh words, the while I see thee bring- 
 ing 
 
 Love that is strong; 
 Sing me no joy, and I will know thy singing 
 Is but a song, a song. 
 
 169 
 
Like a Wave of the Sea 
 
 Up from a misty, morning verge, 
 From unfound seas I came; 
 
 The sunrise rode upon my surge, 
 My semblance was of flame. 
 
 The memories of early stars 
 
 Gave sparkle on my crest ; 
 I leaped with light, and golden bars 
 
 Made radiant my breast. 
 
 But now my heart is torn with tides. 
 
 And, fraught with weed and wrack, 
 
 I follow gloomy tempest guides 
 Around a bitter track. 
 170 
 
Like a Wave of the Sea 
 
 The murkiness of sunless days 
 
 Is ever in my eyes; 
 And ever on my weltered ways 
 
 More baleful shadows rise. 
 
 But shoaling sands at length shall make 
 My journeyings complete : 
 
 Oh, may I, in the darkness, break 
 White ... at Thy waiting feet! 
 
 171 
 
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