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 http://www.archive.org/details/shoesthatdancedoOObran 
 
^j> 3lnna ^empstealr !SrantS 
 
 THE SHOES THAT DANCED, AND OTHER 
 POEMS. i2mo, $i.io, «<?/. Postage extra. 
 
 THE HEART OF THE ROAD, AND OTHER 
 POEMS. i2mo, li.oo, net. Postage 8 
 cents. 
 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & COMPANY 
 Boston and New York 
 
THE SHOES THAT DANCED 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
rhe 
 
 SHOES THAT DANCED 
 
 and Other Poems 
 
 By anna HEMPSTEAD BRANCH 
 
 
 
 BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
 HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY 
 
 1905 
 

 //SO^^ 
 
 COPYRIGHT 1905 BY ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 Published April 1Q05 
 
TO 
 
 MARY A. JORDAN 
 TRUE TEACHER AND DEAR FRIEND 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 THE SHOES THAT DANCED I 
 
 THE RIDERS 55 
 
 WHILE LOVELINESS GOES BY 60 
 
 SWEET WEARINESS 6l 
 
 THE WOUND 62 
 
 A SONNET FOR THE EARTH 63 
 
 MY FOOLISH DEEDS 64 
 
 SONNETS FOR NEW YORK CITY 65 
 
 I. NEW YORK AT SUNRISE 65 
 
 II. A POLITICAL " BOSS " 66 
 
 III. SHAME ON THEE, O MANHATTAN . . 67 
 
 IV. THE FOUNTAIN OF LIFE 68 
 
 TO A NEW YORK SHOP-GIRL DRESSED FOR 
 
 SUNDAY 69 
 
 FORGETFULNESS 73 
 
 THE PURITAN 75 
 
 THE JOURNEY 79 
 
 ^ THE RETURN 83 
 
 ^KNOWLEDGE 84 
 
 THE ROAD OF SLEEP 85 
 
 SPRING SONG 87 
 
 IN A VISION OF THE NIGHT 90 
 
vui CONTENTS 
 
 THE STORM 98 
 
 TO DUST RETURNING . . loi 
 
 A girl's song in the wilderness . . .107 
 
 THE MADONNA OF THE EARTH 109 
 
 LADIES FAIR I18 
 
 GRIEVE NOT, LADIES 120 
 
 THE DESCENDANT AND THE ID laa 
 
 GLADNESS 134 
 
 \to nature 136 
 
 ^SERVICE . 137 
 
 OH, TELL ME THAT THE BIRD HAS WINGS . .139 
 
 FIRST SIGHT 140 
 
 TO BEAUTY 142 
 
 THE BLESSED HANDS OF SLEEP 143 
 
 WHO WON THE DAY ? '144 
 
 THE SLEEP IN GETHSEMANE 146 
 
 MAXIMS FOR AN OLD HOUSE 147 
 
 THE COMMON LOT 151 
 
 SONGS FOR MY MOTHER 153 
 
 I. MY mother's clothes 153 
 
 II. HER HANDS 154 
 
 III. HER WORDS 155 
 
 IV. HER STORIES 157 
 
 eve's SONG . 159 
 
 THE THEATRE-CURTAIN 163 
 
 THE PILGRIM 168 
 
 A mother's song 170 
 
CONTENTS ix 
 
 CLOD OF THE EARTH . 172 
 
 THE DREAMING MAN 173 
 
 UNDER THE TREES 180 
 
 ORA PRO NOBIS 185 
 
THE SHOES THAT DANCED 
 
 Scene : Watte au's Studio, Lancret, his pupil^ 
 works at a painting. Watte Au's portrait of the 
 Queen, which has recently gained for him the 
 appointment of Court Painter^ occupies a promi- 
 nent position. There is a hurst of singings a 
 clamor of voices^ and Pierrette and Faus- 
 TINE, hallet dancers^ accompanied by CouRTiN, 
 an artist ^frolic into the studio, 
 
 VOICES {singing outside) 
 Blossoms perish in the snow ! 
 Columbine won't kiss Pierrot, 
 
 (Shouts) 
 The New Academician ! 
 
 Court Favorite ! 
 
 \_Enter Courtin with Faustine and Pierrette] 
 
 ALL (singing) 
 Blossoms foating in the wtne^ 
 Harlequin loved Columbine / 
 
 courtin 
 Watteau ! 
 
THE SHOES THAT DANCED 
 
 FAUSTINE 
 
 Where is Watteau ? 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 PIERRETTE 
 
 FAUSTINE 
 
 He 's out. 
 
 To-day ? 
 
 Why, sir, to-day the queen comes to the studio 
 To see her portrait ! 
 
 COURTIN (looking at Watteau's portrait of the 
 Queen) 
 
 Oh, majestic Lady ! 
 With all her pride and beauty painted here 
 As real as life. Insolent loveliness ! 
 And in her hands — for woman's vanity — 
 Watteau has sketched the world ! What she will 
 
 have, 
 That she will have, — most arrogant of queens, 
 That never knew denial. God himself 
 Refuses her not anything at all 
 Save lovely meekness. So in very truth 
 This Lady has for hers the great round world 
 To give or take. 
 
THE SHOES THAT DANCED 3 
 
 FAUSTINE 
 
 To-day she only gives. 
 And Watteau has the bounty. 
 
 COURTIN [saluting the portrait) 
 
 To the queen — 
 That rescued him from an oblivion 
 Thick as Egyptian darkness. Yesterday 
 He hired out to a confectioner 
 And painted little Cupids upon bonbons — 
 
 PIERRETTE 
 
 On bons ! bons ! 
 
 FAUSTINE 
 
 Cupids ! 
 
 PIERRETTE 
 
 Watteau's masterpieces ! 
 
 COURTIN 
 
 To buy him bread. 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 Or painted — Columbines ! 
 
 FAUSTINE (indignantly) 
 The Columbine ! 
 
4 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 
 
 PIERRETTE 
 
 What is there in that creature 
 That artists all pursue her ! 
 
 FAUSTINE {humming) 
 
 Blossoms lead the April in ! 
 Columbine flounced Harlequin ! 
 
 COURTIN 
 
 Now fortune changes, and in one brief day 
 
 This portrait charms the eye of royalty, 
 
 And makes Watteau the painter to the queen. 
 
 FAUSTINE {in acclamation) 
 Watteau ! 
 
 PIERRETTE {joyoUsly) 
 
 Court painter ! 
 
 COURTIN 
 
 Lancret, you are silent. 
 
 LANCRET 
 FAUSTINE 
 
 On what, Monsieur Lancret ? 
 
 I am at work. 
 
THE SHOES THAT DANCED 5 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 I paint — the queen. 
 
 FAUSTINE 
 
 Like great Watteau ! 
 
 COURTIN 
 
 Disciple ! 
 You catch the master's spirit. 
 
 LANCRET (morosely) 
 
 No — not yet ! - — 
 The dance, the dream, the fire, the poised music ! 
 [Watteau enters the studio^ and joins the 
 group unseen^ 
 If I could see his heart — 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Look to your own. 
 
 FAUSTINE 
 
 Watteau ! 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 The master ! 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 To your own, I say. 
 
6 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 
 
 And find perchance some spelling writ thereon 
 By the hand of God. 'T will prove instructive, 
 
 maybe, 
 As aught of mine. 
 
 LANCRET (^pointing to Watteau's portrait) 
 
 Nay, master, I can never 
 Accomplish — that, 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 True ! Who in all the world 
 Can paint such splendor ? I am the one Watteau 
 That Heaven has achieved. 
 
 And yet — poor humdrum ! 
 Thou art not what I dreamed ! What is success ? 
 Since all our triumphs are but shadows at noon 
 Whereby we measure failure. Let it be ! 
 I hate the work of my hands. I am not like 
 
 God. 
 I look upon it and do not find it good. 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 Not good ! 
 
 FAUSTINE (^gazing at portrait) 
 
 I beg of you, Monsieur Watteau, 
 Paint me f 
 
THE SHOES THAT DANCED 7 
 
 PIERRETTE 
 
 Yes — make us beautiful) Watteau — 
 The little ballet dancers ! 
 
 FAUSTINE 
 
 Oh, Watteau ! 
 Have you grown scornful now you go to court ? 
 
 PIERRETTE 
 
 He only strives to please great ladies ! 
 
 FAUSTINE 
 
 Called 
 To deck the boudoir of the queen with Cupids ! 
 
 PIERRETTE 
 
 To charm her walls with fauns that dance ! 
 
 FAUSTINE 
 
 To wreathe 
 Her fan with roses ! 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 No. 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 To what then, master, 
 Has the queen summoned great Watteau ? 
 
8 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 My friend, 
 The queen has bade me to the Sistine Chapel — 
 
 FAUSTINE 
 
 Never ! 
 
 PIERRETTE 
 
 For what ? 
 
 COURTIN 
 
 What would she have you paint ? 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 A great Madonna. 
 
 FAUSTINE 
 
 Toul 
 
 PIERRETTE 
 
 Watteau ! 
 
 COURTIN 
 
 But man — 
 To paint — Madonnas ! 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Well — 
 
THE SHOES THAT DANCED 9 
 
 COURTIN 
 
 Who could have thought 
 Watteau had dreamed of this ! 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Yet I have dreamed ! 
 
 COURTIN 
 
 But can you do it ? 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 (Producing from a box a pair of satin slippers^ 
 exquisitely painted^ and handing one of them 
 to Courtin) 
 
 Look! 
 
 COURTIN 
 
 But this is — 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Shoes ! 
 
 FAUSTINE 
 
 A lady's slipper ! 
 
 COURTIN 
 
 Watteau turned shoemaker ! 
 
lo THE SHOES THAT DANCED 
 
 PIERRETTE 
 
 Blue satin ! 
 
 COURTIN 
 
 For some foolish girl to dance in. 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 What craft ! 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 I painted Cupids round the edge. 
 
 COURTIN 
 
 But man — 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 He 's mad. Let him alone. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Why so 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 These figures are perfect ! 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 That is what I thought. 
 
THE SHOES THAT DANCED ii 
 
 COURTIN 
 
 It 's worth a thousand francs ! 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Indeed ! 
 
 COURTIN 
 
 A thousand ? 
 It 's worth a fortune ! Show it to the queen, 
 For what she covets that she surely buys. 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 The fineness of it ! 'T is a masterpiece. 
 
 COURTIN 
 
 You can do all things ! 
 
 FAUSTINE 
 
 Rosebuds — butterflies — 
 And little Cupids round and round about. 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 How nonchalant he is ! 
 
 COURTIN 
 
 Watteau, you fool — 
 Be all distraught with it ! Roll a frenzied eye ! 
 
12 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 
 
 Shout out, " I did it ! " Be inebriate 
 With the cup of glory. Stagger splendidly. 
 Shout out, " I did it ! " 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Have you seen the sole ? 
 LANCRET {turning shoe over) 
 A Madonna ! 
 
 FAUSTINE 
 
 Ah! 
 
 COURTIN 
 
 Watteau, this little shoe 
 Is filled with fortune — painted o'er with fame 
 And immortality. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 You compliment me. 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 You were born for greatness. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Yes. 
 
 LANCRET (examining painting") 
 
 But what a face ! 
 
THE SHOES THAT DANCED 13 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 That is my dream, to fill the Sistine Chapel, 
 
 COURTIN 
 
 There 's nothing out of reach. The crucifixion ! 
 Archangels ! Ah — but how that blazoned chapel 
 Will roar with fiery wings ! 
 
 FAUSTINE 
 
 Drawn on the sole ! 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 What would you ? 
 
 COURTIN 
 
 Sketched upon a block of gold 
 In lasting lineaments. Why, satin, man. 
 Is a most fragile substance. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 So they say. 
 
 PIERRETTE 
 
 But one time round upon a polished floor 
 Will ruin this splendor. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 That 's the beauty of it. 
 
14 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 
 
 PIERRETTE 
 
 But a Madonna ! 
 
 COURTIN 
 
 On a lady's slipper ! 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 To show that she for whom I made this shoe 
 Owns all my craftsmanship ! I painted them 
 For Columbine to dance in — 
 
 LANCRET (^jealously) 
 
 Columbine ! 
 
 COURTIN {enthusiastically) 
 The prettiest dancer in the whole ballet ! 
 Rosebuds and Cupids, flower o' thistle down. 
 
 "[Enter Columbine wrapped in a scarlet 
 mantle'^ 
 Most fragile, fine spun, silver, fitful, fair — 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 I thank you, good Courtin ! Come here, Pierrette. 
 Take off my mantle. 
 
 PIERRETTE 
 
 I will not touch it. 
 
THE SHOES THAT DANCED 15 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 How ? 
 
 She 's jealous ! Faustine ? 
 
 (Faustine makes a gesture of refusal, Lan- 
 CRET and CouRTiN assist in taking mantle) 
 Thank you, gentlemen. 
 (She shines resplendent in a ballet gown) 
 I came between the acts of the rehearsal. 
 The queen will be there when I dance to-night. 
 Pray you, does anybody like my gown ? 
 
 We all admire it. 
 
 COURTIN 
 PIERRETTE 
 
 Oh, I hate this girl ! 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 She says she hates me ! 
 
 FAUSTINE 
 
 This air stifles me. 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 I make her sick ! The good Lord made me so. 
 Is it naughty, then, to be so beautiful ? 
 Monsieur Watteau — and have you any news? 
 
1 6 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Look at this portrait. 
 
 (^Displays portrait of Queen holding in her 
 hands the world) 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Well? 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 So slight a thing — 
 Yet it has brought me wealth, preferment, honor ! 
 And that great world I painted in her hands 
 She gives to me. 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 What -^- does she — 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Listen, child. 
 I am made Court Painter. 
 
 COLUMBINE {as if Startled) 
 
 Oh, Monsieur Lancret ! 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 The queen has bade me to the Sistine Chapel 
 To paint — Madonnas. 
 
THE SHOES THAT DANCED 17 
 
 COLUMBINE {indifferently) 
 
 But, Monsieur Watteau, 
 Where are the slippers that you promised me 
 To dance in ? 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Child — but hear me for a moment. 
 This is the day when all my dreams come true, 
 And Poverty no longer with a sword 
 Bids Watteau back from that high Paradise 
 Wherein are mighty deeds. My hour has come. 
 Great barren walls that cry aloud for wings ! 
 How I will blazon them with the vast glories 
 Of Heaven and Earth and Purgatory and Hell ! 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Watteau ! The painted slippers ! 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Columbine, 
 Just for a moment hear me — and rejoice ! 
 Be glad for me. My dreams rush on like tem- 
 pests 
 Full of great sound and fire. Heaven calls me. 
 Raphael says come, and Michael Angelo 
 Thunders affection from St. Peter's Dome. 
 The air is full of flaming robes of Titian, 
 
18 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 
 
 And pale sweet faces of Leonardo. Rembrandt 
 Disturbs my slumber ! All the mighty visions 
 I have dreamed of so long, — the wings, the 
 
 haloes, — 
 And high above the altar, pale with glory, 
 My great Madonna — 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Watteau — my satin slippers. 
 
 WATTEAU {putting them in her hands) 
 Then take them. 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Beautiful ! 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Rosebuds and Cupids ! 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 I '11 dance before the queen. 
 
 COURTIN 
 
 Nay — on the sole 
 Is sketched his masterpiece. 
 
 COLUMBINE (examining sole) 
 What — 
 
THE SHOES THAT DANCED 19 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 The Madonna* 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Painted for me ! Oh ! if the queen could see 
 
 them 
 How she would envy them — the satin slippers. 
 That are the ballet dancer's — Columbine's. 
 
 (Shouts are heard outside) 
 
 VOICES {outside) 
 Watteau ! Watteau ! Court Painter ! 
 
 
 [Boy runs in] 
 
 
 
 
 BOY 
 
 
 
 Sir, the guild 
 Of Paris Artists, outside in the street — - 
 
 Watteau ! 
 
 VOICES (outside) 
 
 BOY 
 
 Would honor you ! 
 
 
 
 
 VOICES 
 
 Watteau ! 
 
 
20 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 
 
 COURTIN {to WaTTEAU) 
 
 Out, then, 
 And quiet them. 
 
 [Watteau goes out with all but Columbine 
 and Lancret, who remain in the studio^ 
 
 VOICES (outside) 
 Watteau ! 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Monsieur Lancret, 
 I will be frank with you, since time is brief. 
 
 LANCRET (wearily) 
 So frankness has a reason. Columbine ? 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 But tease me not. This portrait rivals Watteau's. 
 I could not tell the difference. 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 I have stolen. 
 As a beggar steals a cloak to hide his rags, 
 A purple garment for my shabby talent. 
 The master's style. 
 
THE SHOES THAT DANCED 21 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Who can do, may do, Lancret. 
 I want the world for you. 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 Frail Columbine — 
 Purchased with glories ! 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Glory I will have ! 
 And stars to drink from and the sky to dance on. 
 Yes, shod with wind, this Columbine would dance, 
 Dance, dance for centuries. Listen, Lancret, 
 I die without my splendors. Lancret, listen. 
 Do you desire me ? 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 Child, what are you worth ? 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 I love you, Lancret ! 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 Love ? 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 But I have labored 
 
22 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 
 
 To bring you fortune. Coaxed the great sad 
 
 painter, 
 That loves not women but loves Columbine, 
 To teach you for my sake his mellow glories. 
 How I have seen you learning day by day 
 The master's powers and to this very end. 
 That you should be — hush ! Longed to smile on 
 
 you. 
 Yet dared not, lest he see and understand. 
 My protege I called you. A light boy 
 Worth helping only — a sort of studio spaniel 
 I liked to keep about me. So I won 
 His favor for you and the golden teachings 
 Watteau sells at no price but gives to you 
 To please — the Columbine. Oh, I have dreamed 
 Of honors, honors — such as the world can give — 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 And stolen from Watteau. 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Listen, Lancret, 
 At the opera all the dancers talk of you — 
 Lancret — the new Apollo. At the court 
 Mademoiselle Felise, who dresses hair. 
 Tells me the boudoirs speak the name of Lan- 
 cret 
 
THE SHOES THAT DANCED 23 
 
 Like a love spell. A wit, a beau, a gallant, 
 Gay chevalier — a genius too — great Lancret ! 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 I will not listen. 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 But to-day the queen 
 Will come to see her portrait, and if then 
 She chanced to look on yours — 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 Beside Watteau's 
 How pale it is! 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 But if the master's hand 
 Coaxed by the Columbine should touch your por- 
 trait 
 With divine magic — often he has done so, 
 To make his meaning clear of light and shadow — 
 And if the queen — they tell me queens are 
 fickle — 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 Even like Columbine ? 
 
24 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 But if the queen 
 Should see it — then — 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 I cannot listen. 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Nay — 
 What if the master in a tempestuous mood 
 Of black despair, such absolute distaste 
 As takes him like a madness and undoes him 
 And what he makes — why, I have seen him burn 
 A masterpiece one bargained for in vain, 
 And he half starved, because he said it lacked 
 Some light, some music, the angels told him what ! 
 You know the moods I mean. Well — if Watteau, 
 In such a spirit — 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 Hush ! 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Struck with his brush 
 {Pointing to Watte Au's portrait of the Queen) 
 Out, in one minute, that high and haughty smile. 
 Out, all the insolent glory of her face — 
 
THE SHOES THAT DANCED 25 
 
 LANCRET {with rebuke) 
 He is my master. 
 
 COLUMBINE {leaning over Lancret's portrait) 
 
 If the queen's eye fell, 
 Then, upon this, Lancret — 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 Vainglorious child. 
 Does splendor purchase you ? 
 
 [Watteau enters. Columbine goes to html 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Lancret ^ — I pledge 
 My hand to — the Court Painter. 
 
 Columbine, 
 Is that a riddle ? 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 No — Monsieur Watteau. 
 
 watteau 
 You love my office f 
 
26 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 No — Monsieur Watteau. 
 (Draws him to Lancret's portrait of the Queen) 
 Come ! See this portrait. Let us criticise it 
 And tease the artist for the golden manner 
 He stole from you. The boy amuses me. 
 He strives so hard to be Watteau. Come ! 
 
 come 
 
 Instruct my protege. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Why should I do so ? 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Because I ask you. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 That is cause enough. 
 Sound logic. 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Oh, this little me ! To think 
 I am so small and powerful. I feel 
 Big as a lion. Fear me, great Watteau. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Well — soldo. 
 
THE SHOES THAT DANCED 27 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 But why ? 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 White magic ! Spell 
 Of little meaning that the wit denies 
 And yet the heart believes. 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 How well you praise me. 
 Put out your hand. How big ! Now look at mine ! 
 Master, which hand is stronger ? 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Columbine's. 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Speak more such words. What would you ? 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Your heart. 
 
 'T is but a bauble. 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Why — so — . 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 I would die for it. 
 
28 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Would you, Watteau ? Then teach this silly boy 
 To learn his lesson. 
 
 WATTEAU {curiously) 
 
 Delilah ? Oh, Delilah. 
 
 I am not. 
 
 Ah? 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Master, he is a truant 
 Not swift at learning. I would have him learn. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 But if the pupil should outstrip the master — 
 So gracious, fine, fashioned so shapely, fair 
 To please court ladies ! 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 Master ! 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Oh, Watteau, 
 Teach him. 
 
THE SHOES THAT DANCED 29 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 But why ? 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 I love his sweetheart. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 True. 
 
 That is the very sterling coin of speech. 
 How could you spend it ! 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 She dances next to me 
 In the ballet. The one in scarlet slippers. 
 Her name is Anastase. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 But wherefore lie ? 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 I promised her to help him. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Wherefore lie ? 
 Yet such explicit guile is almost truth 
 It tells so on itself. 
 
30 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 
 
 COLUMBINE (^pleading) 
 
 Show him, Watteau. 
 Look, it needs you, 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 Master ! 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Then I will love you. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Sure ? 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Oh, I will ! I '11 take the heart of me 
 And put it in your hands. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 A sugar heart ? 
 With white doves painted on it ? 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 No, no, no ! 
 A really, truly, really heart, Watteau. 
 
 WATTEAU {to LaNCRET) 
 
 Lend me your oil. 
 
THE SHOES THAT DANCED 31 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 Master, how you trust me, 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 No, no ! my son — I love you well, but never 
 Think that I trust you. 
 
 COLUMBINE {holding oil for Watteau) 
 The oil. 
 
 WATTEAU {beginning work on Lancret's portrait) 
 
 Now learn of me. 
 (^He scrutinizes the oil) 
 Bah ! But you keep it clean. 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 But — 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 My own oil 
 Is full of dust J I clean it once a week. 
 And bits of stick and hair and cobweb too 
 I keep in it. Let moth and dust corrupt 
 What 's in this world. 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 But pardon me, Watteau^ 
 Your colors fade the sooner. 
 
32 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 That 's why I do it. 
 I advise that you do likewise. 
 
 (^He has altered the portrait) 
 Look ! 
 
 COLUMBINE {in triumph) 
 
 He has done it. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 That 's all. But just a high light and a line. 
 A little, little line. 'T was just that much 
 That made the gulf on the Heaven side of Dives. 
 By Monsieur Lancret — portrait of the queen. 
 As good as mine, I think. {Turning to his own) 
 
 Ah — how I loathe it 1 
 {He turns again to Lancret's portrait) 
 I advise you, Lancret, place it where the queen 
 May see it. 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 But — 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 It may advantage you. 
 For if she favors it above Watteau's — 
 
THE SHOES THAT DANCED 33 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Above your own, Watteau ? 
 
 {They stand before Watte Au's portrait) 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 'T is failure. 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Yet 
 The world would say success. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Sweet Columbine — 
 The heart heeds not the applauding multitude 
 But its own judgment. 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Nay — • 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 It sickens me. 
 
 COLUMBINE {scheming) 
 *T is not your best. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 What ? 
 
34 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 In a conquering mood 
 Think what you might achieve with such a face ! 
 Would I might see that portrait ! 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 I hate my work, 
 (/jr about to blot it out with his brush') 
 I will destroy it. 
 
 (Lancret catches his arm) 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 No! 
 
 COLUMBINE (passionately) 
 Lancret ! 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 Would you have had me ? 
 
 My child, 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Oh, fastidious workman ! 
 'T is that fierce conscience I admire, master. 
 That tries and burns the creatures of your brain. 
 'Twas just such valiant acts of regal spendthrift 
 That made me love you first. 
 
THE SHOES THAT DANCED 35 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Child! 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 When I saw 
 
 Kings could not bribe you — who would never 
 send 
 
 A painting scourged by your own soul's re- 
 proach, 
 
 To strut before an applauding public — then 
 
 I saw Watteau and loved him. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Woman ! Woman ! 
 Weave on. 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Watteau, you know how I desire 
 The world for you. Oh, win it royally 
 With no concessions. I am shy of him 
 That stoops to please — a court. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 I see. I see. 
 Oh, Columbine, you are a simple version 
 Of a mysterious tale whose magic thought 
 In words one syllabled is written large 
 In a child's primer. 
 
36 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 'T was a god I loved. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Or rather, the Court Painter. 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Court Painter ? No ! 
 I know him not. But Watteau, scornful, splen- 
 did, 
 In rags, half famished, with the eyes that look 
 Through, through — till I feel helpless as the air, 
 Transparent, simple — 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Simple as the air. 
 But yet — how subtle ! 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Now you have grown precious 
 Of work you value not. Like other men ! 
 How I should love you if with one bold stroke — 
 But men are cowards. Yet I would have you 
 
 brave ! 
 Watteau — I promise. If you lose it all, 
 The Court, the favor, here is Columbine ! 
 Yours, yours ! All yours ! 
 
THE SHOES THAT DANCED 37 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 I will not take your promise. 
 I have given you so much. Take back the word 
 By my free gift that otherwise your hand 
 Will filch from my souFs casket — when all 's 
 
 done. 
 Helplessly intricate ! And yet so plain • — 
 As complex things all are when once they are 
 
 learned. 
 You are not simple enough to evade my wit 
 Even though 't is slow. I give you back your 
 
 word, 
 One truth — in spite of you — as one would give 
 To a child a priceless gift he values not — 
 In case you should go up to it — and bewail 
 How little you have of honor. Now all 's plain. 
 And I '11 lose all, and you shall pledge your faith 
 To the Court Painter. Lancret — here's the 
 
 brush. (^Pointing to his own portrait) 
 Now blot it out. 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 I will not. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Columbine ? 
 
38 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 No ! No ! I dare not. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 What — are you afraid ? 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Let only him destroy it who has made. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Oh, Columbine ! God made you for the truth ! 
 You are so explicit. Wherefore weave and 
 
 weave — 
 So obvious, so cunning ! Ask me straight 
 For the thing you want of me. Let 's have the 
 
 truth. 
 Give me but that. Just for a moment lay 
 Your soul whole in my hands in a plain speech. 
 Be just for once clear and articulate, 
 Out of God's mouth as when he spoke you first, 
 So I may hear your music. Say, " Watteau, 
 I love this boy here, and I would have 
 The world for him and me. The world, Wat- 
 teau, 
 That means so much to us and is to you — 
 Well — treasure also. Pray you give it me.'* 
 
THE SHOES THAT DANCED 39 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 You do mistake. I do not want the world. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Why, then, you almost spoil my faith in God, 
 
 Who, being perfect, let his hand go astray 
 
 And spoiled you in the making. Was it so 
 
 hard 
 To fashion you more smoothly ? Wherefore 
 
 break us 
 To such discredit ? Maker of us all. 
 We do beseech Thee for a perfectness. 
 Oh, Architect of sighs, doubt, and disgust, 
 Builder of broken bodies and of souls 
 That bear the blemish of Thy hand, — no, no, 
 I will not think upon the bruised world, 
 That like the serpent shines beneath Thy heel. 
 Accursed and beautiful, afflicted, fair. 
 Bright and vindictive. Rather will I set 
 My hand to make perfection — if I may. 
 Be perfect as you are fair. Say, " Give it me." 
 Come, speak the words ! You will not, even 
 
 so ? 
 How I desire this honor for you, child. 
 Is it so hard ? What, even as a gift 
 Bought with no purchase money of your own 
 But my own blood ? 
 
40 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 I pray you, give it me. 
 
 (Watte AU dashes out the face of the portrait 
 with his brush) 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Vanitas vanitatum ! Let it pass. 
 \_J Page enters^ 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The queen. 
 
 [Queen enters with her Lady-in-waiting] 
 
 QUEEN 
 
 Monsieur Watteau, I come at last 
 To see my portrait. 
 
 (^She pauses before Lancret's painting) 
 It is changed. 
 
 watteau 
 
 Yes, madam. 
 
 QUEEN 
 
 How different ! Yet — I congratulate you. 
 That touch ! How full of you ! 
 
THE SHOES THAT DANCED 41 
 
 THE LADY 
 
 Your majesty. 
 The likeness is most perfect. 
 
 QUEEN 
 
 Watteau ? yourself? 
 Does it give you pleasure, sir ? 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 It is well done. 
 
 QUEEN 
 
 That bold technique ! A real Watteau ! 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 No, madam. 
 
 QUEEN 
 
 What do you mean ? 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 'T was not my hand that did it. 
 Lancret, a friend. 
 
 (^Points to his own painting) 
 
 There, madam, is my portrait. 
 A real Watteau. 
 
42 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 
 
 QUEEN 
 
 What, sir, would you insult me ? 
 Blot out my likeness ! 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 Madam, pardon me. 
 He compliments you. To his fastidious taste 
 It was not worthy of you. 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Lancret ! 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 Dear madam, 
 Genius is whimsical. In its own ways 
 It praises or dispraises. ^T was a dream — 
 Perfection — took the breath with loveliness. 
 Unheard of beauty ! To his fastidious taste 
 It was not worthy of you. 
 
 QUEEN 
 
 Watteau, Watteau ! 
 That was a savage compliment. But still — 
 Luxembourg waits for you. The Sistine Chapel 
 Is restless for angels and the great Madonna 
 I bid you paint there. 
 
THE SHOES THAT DANCED 43 
 
 WATTEAU {holding out the slippers) 
 
 Madam, upon these 
 I have drawn that great Madonna. 
 
 QUEEN {taking the shoes) 
 
 Satin slippers! 
 What butterflies ! 
 
 THE LADY 
 
 What wreaths ! 
 
 QUEEN 
 
 What pretty Cupids. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 I painted a Madonna on the sole. 
 
 (Queen turns them over) 
 
 QUEEN 
 
 A Madonna ! 'T is a wonder. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Madam — I spent 
 The dreams of many days and wakeful nights 
 Upon that little shoe. 
 
44 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 
 
 QUEEN 
 
 But this is spendthrift ! 
 One promenade upon a velvet carpet 
 Would spoil the glory of it. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Therefore, madam, 
 I wrought them as they are. 
 
 QUEEN 
 
 They are just my size. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 The smallest shoe in the kingdom. 
 
 I '11 try them on. 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Pardon me, madam. 
 
 QUEEN 
 
 So — 
 
 THE LADY 
 
 Monsieur is honored. 
 May I suggest thrice blessed is that man 
 That makes the queen a welcome gift ? 
 
THE SHOES THAT DANCED 45 
 
 QUEEN 
 
 And why ? 
 
 WATTE AU 
 
 They are not meant for — this. 
 
 QUEEN 
 
 I see ! I see ! 
 (^Reaching him her purse) 
 Well, Monsieur Watteau — was it meant for this ? 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 No, madam. 
 
 QUEEN 
 
 Nay — but, man, 't is the queen's purse. 
 With a thousand francs. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 About this little shoe 
 Is the sweet savor of my midnight dreams. 
 
 QUEEN 
 
 I triple it. 
 
 WATTEAU {holding shoe) 
 
 Oh, perfect only thing 
 That making I have loved, fragile and fair, 
 I '11 keep you — so. 
 
46 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 
 
 QUEEN 
 
 But I will have it ! Sir — 
 Five thousand francs. 
 
 WATTEAU {fondling shoes) 
 Sweet dream. 
 
 QUEEN 
 
 Then twenty thousand ! 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 I hear the Cupids play their little harps. 
 
 QUEEN 
 
 Is this another compliment, Watteau ? 
 It savors of insult, like the other. Nay — 
 A fortune ! Name your price ! 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Never — though I 
 Am hounded with debts clean to the very door 
 Of the debtor's prison. 
 
 QUEEN 
 
 Oh, I hate this man ! 
 Give me the shoe. I say — the shoe I '11 have. 
 A title — would you ? Why — do you not know 
 
THE SHOES THAT DANCED 47 
 
 What 't is to raise the enmity of queens ? 
 Down, down, you dog ! And lick my hand ! A 
 
 duke. 
 This will I make you. 
 
 WATTEAU {with a smile) 
 Ah? 
 
 QUEEN 
 
 Does he not hear ? 
 
 Sir — I command you. What, would you be 
 hanged ? 
 
 I '11 move the powers of Heaven and Earth and 
 Hell 
 
 To get these slippers. What I want, I '11 have. 
 
 You will not take rewards ? Then I will strike. 
 
 I banish you from court. Our doors in vain 
 
 Shall plead for the wings of angels. Not a 
 dream 
 
 Of Watteau's shall come true about the walls 
 
 Of the Sistine Chapel. Go and face despair, 
 
 Hunger and cold, imprisonment, disaster. 
 
 Even as of old before I favored you. 
 
 Dependent ! Slave ! That shall be scourged in- 
 deed 
 
 By my own hand ! Do you deny your queen ? 
 
 Sell me the shoes — or I will ruin you ! 
 
48 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 You cannot pay their price ! 
 
 QUEEN 
 
 I cannot ? What ? 
 Have I not coffers of gold, rich diadems, 
 Worth a king's ransom, fit to buy my whims ? 
 Is France so poor ? 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Ah, Lady, give me then 
 That gold whereof the streets of Heaven are made. 
 On which the steps of angels fall as sweet 
 As silver rain over a shining air. 
 You cannot buy from me these shoes. Oh, 
 
 Queen I 
 France is so poor. 
 
 QUEEN 
 
 Ah, now, I see! I see! 
 Artist — and poet ! Such folk must be paid 
 In magic coin. You are intricate 
 With your strange courtesies of finer worlds. 
 Forgive me, sir, that am but a Queen on Earth — 
 That small and vulgar province in Great Space. 
 I am not skilled to the urbanities 
 Of starry cities — the great gracious ways 
 
THE SHOES THAT DANCED 49 
 
 Of the far capitals of noble thought. 
 
 Pardon the rustic and her bourgeoisie ! 
 
 She will learn manners. I am rich, Monsieur — 
 
 And I will pay, but in more subtle-wise 
 
 Than gold or titles. I will give a treasure 
 
 Great Kings sigh for in vain. I pray you, sir. 
 
 Sell me the shoes — and I will pay — a kiss. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 That, gracious lady, is too much to pay. 
 
 I cannot tell my Lord, on the Day of Judg- 
 ment, 
 
 That I have stolen their treasure from Great 
 Kings. 
 
 QUEEN 
 
 Why, man — I am the queen ! 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 And I — Watteau. 
 
 QUEEN 
 
 So. Then I will be mild. I have behaved 
 Like a child that cried for a star. Is it so high ? 
 But you can give it, like the god you are. 
 I will not barter. I will beg. Monsieur — 
 Give me the shoes. 
 
so THE SHOES THAT DANCED 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Watteau — give me the shoes. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Oh, Columbine, so spun of sorceries 
 You could not trust me, even at the end, 
 But needs must win by guile what I would give ! 
 Ah, child — how fair you are ! Take them. 
 (^Giving her the shoes) 
 
 Thereon 
 Has breathed my soul. It is my masterpiece. 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 I '11 try them on. 
 
 {Putting one on) 
 Oh, see my darling foot ! 
 
 LANCRET 
 
 Watteau — oh, master ! 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 She is of little worth. 
 And yet — Lancret — we needs must love her. So ? 
 
 COLUMBINE (with both shoes on) 
 
 Ha — ah ! I 'm Columbine ! But these are shoes 
 In which to run. My feet feel happy in them. 
 
THE SHOES THAT DANCED 51 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 They are full of thoughts of you. 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 I feel like flying. 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 The wings of the butterflies wrought in the satin 
 Will bear you up. 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Oh, how I want to dance ! 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 You feel the tunes the little cherubs play 
 Upon their harps. Hush — somebody is crying ! 
 It is the tears of Watteau's lost Madonna. 
 
 COURTIN 
 
 He 's mad ! 
 
 COLUMBINE {dancing and singing) 
 Blossoms floating in the wine I 
 Every one loves Columbine ! 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Dance ! Dance ! 
 
52 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 
 
 QUEEN 
 
 Lancret, come to the court to-morrow. 
 I make you Painter to the Queen. 
 
 COLUMBINE {victoriously) 
 
 Lancret ! 
 
 QUEEN 
 
 Monsieur Watteau, I bid you an adieu. 
 
 (She and her Lady sweep to the door) 
 I go from your door. But when I go, monsieur, 
 Hunger and Desolation and Despair 
 Shall enter in. I pray you, see this man, 
 Who better loves a foolish Columbine 
 Than a Madonna ! When the centuries 
 Shall loose their tongues on him, their speech 
 
 shall be 
 Monsieur Watteau, great Painter and great Fool. 
 (She goes out with her Lady) 
 
 COLUMBINE {in Lancret^s arms) 
 But oh, Lancret, Lancret ! 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Dance, Columbine. 
 Upon those little satin shoes are painted 
 What made night perfect and on a barren day 
 
THE SHOES THAT DANCED 53 
 
 Shed light. Dance, dance, as Judith danced of old 
 With the head of Holofernes. ' 
 
 (Columbine dances and sings) 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Blossoms perish in the snow. 
 Columbine won^t kiss Pierrot ! 
 (^Her dance increases in wildness. Her skirts 
 glitter around her) 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Oh, whither ? Immortality and Fame, 
 Fortune and High Endeavor sketched thereon ! 
 
 COLUMBINE [singing) 
 
 Blossoms fade and we forget^ 
 She was fairer than Pierrette ! 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Whither ? ye flowering wreaths and little Cupids, 
 That play through satin all your subtle tunes ? 
 Oh, whither ? roses ! whither ? butterflies ! 
 Dance — dance ! 
 
 (Columbine sings and dances) 
 
 COLUMBINE 
 
 Blossoms lead the April in^ 
 Columbine founced Harlequin. 
 
54 THE SHOES THAT DANCED 
 
 WATTE AU 
 
 Whither ? oh, heart of Watteau, wrought among 
 The blossoming wreaths and all ye precious 
 
 dreams 
 That made it golden ! Rushing of vague wings, 
 Haloes and tears of Mary — all of these 
 That shone in it so long. Dance ! 
 
 COLUMBINE (^faltering) 
 
 I am tired ! 
 And — oh, Watteau ! 
 
 WATTEAU 
 
 Dance ! dance ! I bid you dance ! 
 (She dances aga'in^ more passionately than ever) 
 Forever and forever ! O Virgin Mary ! — 
 Dance ! dance ! Convey my visions to the dust. 
 Efface my dreams in darkness. Oh, the mad whirl 
 In which they all go out ! Dance them away — 
 Even to destruction and to utter death. 
 
THE RIDERS 
 
 But if I ride with you to-night, 
 
 Will you bring me back by early light ? 
 
 (Ride, quoth he.) 
 How can I leave my days of balm. 
 My perfumed, sweet, enchanted calm ? 
 The old life holds me like a charm. 
 
 (Ride, quoth he.) 
 
 My tranquil days are cool and fair, 
 I stitch my seam and plait my hair, 
 
 (Ride, quoth he.) 
 My broideries are silken fine ! 
 Oh, look, beneath this hand of mine. 
 Creep yellow grapes and muscadine. 
 And painted faces through them shine, 
 And golden flagons for the wine — 
 But yet I sicken, I fail, I pine. 
 
 (Ride, quoth he.) 
 
 Of innocence I am the daughter. 
 
 (Ride, quoth he.) 
 Soft as a lily under water 
 
 (Ride, quoth he.) 
 
56 THE RIDERS 
 
 I poise all day beneath a stream ! 
 Sometimes a wandering face will gleam, 
 Hover aloft and pass and beam, 
 Looking a moment in the stream. 
 Or I hear voices in a dream, 
 While I swing limpidly under the water ! 
 Soft and slow is time to me — 
 Of innocence the snow-white daughter ! 
 (Ride, quoth he.) 
 
 I have dashed my brow against a stone 
 That I might see the stars at noon, 
 
 (Ride, quoth he.) 
 For I have not seen the face of night — 
 I sit at dusk by candle light 
 In a small chamber, clean and white ! 
 
 (Ride, quoth he.) 
 
 Will you take me to the strange black town 
 Where rushing men heave up and down ? 
 
 (Ride, quoth he.) 
 I am so terribly alone ! 
 I want their bread that is not my own. 
 I will eat thereof though it be but stone ! 
 
 (Ride, quoth he.) 
 
THE RIDERS 57 
 
 Will you take me up to the top of the steeple 
 From which the Devil showed the people ? 
 
 (Ride, quoth he.) 
 Those kingdoms whirl like scarlet sand 
 Blown at sunset across the land ! 
 I would catch the red dust in my hand ! 
 
 (Ride, quoth he.) 
 
 Will you take me through the flames of Hell ? 
 If it burns as bright as I 've heard tell 
 
 (Ride, quoth he.) 
 I would fain be burned, so chill I go 
 As a dreaming wraith of pure, cold snow ! 
 On a blast of fire my soul would blow ! 
 
 (Ride, quoth he.) 
 
 Will you take my soul to Paradise ? 
 Warm with its lovely sight my eyes ? 
 
 (Ride, quoth he.) 
 Where two vast angels are spread abroad, 
 And none shall pass them, saith the Lord ! 
 But I will take to my breast the sword. 
 
 (Ride, quoth he.) 
 
 Will you take me up to Heaven's gate ? 
 The angels will lend me a robe of state ! 
 (Ride, quoth he.) 
 
58 THE RIDERS 
 
 Wonderful garments manifold ! 
 I would dance before them in garb of gold, 
 And the strong great angels, wise and old. 
 Would laugh to see me leap so bold ! 
 (Ride, quoth he.) 
 
 Will you take me through the wind and fire 
 To the land I know not but desire ? 
 
 (Ride, quoth he.) 
 Where stinging tears they all must weep. 
 Like cataracts their souls shall leap ! 
 Where grief is deep and joy is deep 
 And smooth as ivory is sleep ! 
 
 (Ride, quoth he.) 
 
 Strange times have galloped through my mood ! 
 
 (Ride, quoth he.) 
 Old cities dance along my blood ! 
 
 (Ride, quoth he.) 
 'T is Sodom has an adder's tongue — 
 But oh, what songs has Venice sung ! 
 With piercing Troy have I been stung, 
 Gomorrah through my heart has swung ! 
 'T was so with Christ when he was young ! 
 
 (Ride, quoth he.) 
 
THE RIDERS 59 
 
 Mother, I ride with him to-night ! 
 " My child^ you shall not leave my sight ! " 
 
 (Ride, quoth he.) 
 But through the dark they rode away ! 
 Whither they went let angels say. 
 They both came back at the break of day. 
 
 (Ride, quoth he.) 
 
 When she came back her breast was torn, 
 The sweetness from her lips was worn. 
 
 (Ride, quoth he.) 
 Her hands were pitiful with scars ! 
 They came from plucking at old wars 
 That rocked through Hell like meteors. 
 
 (Ride, quoth he.) 
 
 Her breast was wounded with the sword 
 That keeps the garden of the Lord. 
 
 (Grieve ! quoth he.) 
 But underneath her cloak of brown 
 Were pale glints of a golden gown. 
 
 (Shine ! quoth he.) 
 This way, that way, wisdom lies. 
 She had eaten the fruit and was made wise. 
 Now in her calm and smiling eyes 
 Laughed the flowers of Paradise ! 
 
 (Peace, quoth he.) 
 
WHILE LOVELINESS GOES BY 
 
 Sometimes when all the world seems gray and dun 
 
 And nothing beautiful, a voice will cry, 
 
 " Look out, look out ! Angels are drawing nigh ! " 
 
 Then my slow burdens leave me, one by one, 
 
 And swiftly does my heart arise and run 
 
 Even like a child, while loveliness goes by — 
 
 And common folk seem children of the sky, 
 
 And common things seem shaped of the sun. 
 
 Oh, pitiful ! that I who love them, must 
 
 So soon perceive their shining garments fade ! 
 
 And slowly, slowly, from my eyes of trust 
 
 Their flaming banners sink into a shade ! 
 
 While this earth's sunshine seems the golden dust 
 
 Slow settling from that radiant cavalcade. 
 
SWEET WEARINESS 
 
 Fatigue itself may be a pleasant thing 
 And weariness be silken, soft and fine ! 
 Upon my eyes its little vapors shine. 
 Trailing me softly like a colored wing ! 
 Tender as when beloved voices sing 
 It steals upon me and with touch divine 
 Lulls all my senses till each thought of mine 
 Is hushed to quiet, unremembering. 
 Oh, weariness thrice dear, so frailly spun 
 Of ended pleasure that still shines and glows ; 
 Oh, weariness, thrice dear ! What have I done 
 To earn this delicate and deep repose ? 
 Child^ thou hast worshiped at the setting sun 
 And looked long^ long^ upon the opening rose. 
 
THE WOUND 
 
 Wounded am I, yet happier — happier far 
 Than they who have not felt the precious sting ! 
 Poor feet that bleed not with this wandering ! 
 Poor hands that burn not, plucking at a star ! 
 Poor hearts unblessed and whole ! I bear the scar 
 Of a too piercing loveliness. The thing 
 Hung out of reach I touched, and now I sing 
 Mad with delight, more blessed than others are. 
 For since the blushing and ethereal hour 
 When loveliness upon my heart was born, 
 When I was stricken by her magic power, 
 I run — I run — wild, ecstasied, forlorn. 
 For beauty, when I go to pluck her flower, 
 Pierces my willing bosom with a thorn. 
 
A SONNET FOR THE EARTH 
 
 When I am weary for delight and spent, 
 Even as a bird that tries too long its wings 
 Will nest awhile amid the grass and sings, 
 So I drop downward from the wonderment 
 Of timelessness and space, in which were blent 
 The wind, the sunshine and the wanderings 
 Of all the planets — to the little things 
 That are my grass and flowers and am content. 
 
 Or if in flight my wings should beat so far 
 From the kind grass that is so cool and deep 
 That it must poise among the winds on high — 
 Yet will I sing to thee from star to star, 
 Piercing thy sunshine, and will always keep 
 A song for thee amid the farthest sky. 
 
MY FOOLISH DEEDS 
 
 When I, before the altars of repose, 
 Invited Slumber, she refused to stay. 
 But with a broken heart she turned away. 
 Astonished quite. Among the flaunting shows 
 That circled round, she perished like a rose 
 Cast among flames. Oh, bring her back — I pray ! 
 Then sternly to my heart a voice said, " Nay, 
 Thou canst not have her — tearfully she goes." 
 
 God might not join us, — for gorgeous, bright. 
 Adorned, conspicuous, sure, without disguise, 
 Strangely illumined with derisive light 
 They danced — they danced ! Oh, then I was 
 
 made wise ! 
 My foolish deeds, flaming before my eyes. 
 Denied me slumber all the livelong night. 
 
SONNETS FOR NEW YORK 
 CITY 
 
 NEW YORK AT SUNRISE 
 
 When with her clouds the early dawn illumes 
 Our doubtful streets, wistful they grow and 
 
 mild ; 
 As if a sleeping soul grew happy and smiled. 
 The whole dark city radiantly blooms. 
 Pale spires lift their hands above the glooms 
 Like a resurrection, delicately wild. 
 And flushed with slumber like a little child. 
 Under a mist, shines forth the innocent Tombs. 
 Thus have I seen it from a casement high. 
 As unsubstantial as a dream it grows. 
 Is this Manhattan, virginal and shy. 
 That in a cloud so rapturously glows ? 
 Ethereal, frail, and like an opening rose, 
 I see my city with an enlightened eye. 
 
66 SONNETS FOR NEW YORK CITY 
 
 II 
 
 A POLITICAL ''BOSS'' 
 
 Has he no country ? Is he of alien breed ? 
 Is this land not his home ? Oh, exiled one ! 
 Stranger to his own kind, where does he run ? 
 How he has shamed us, for the world to read ! 
 Oh, carrion, prowling where this people bleed, 
 Grown fat upon disaster, hide from the sun ! 
 A scornful nation asks, what has he done 
 With the public trust, the honor, and the need. 
 Not him with glorious hand will we indite, 
 Patriot, Statesman, in the Hall of Fame, 
 Nor will we let him flee into the night 
 Of safe oblivion ! But oh — that name 
 For our sons' sons a moving hand shall write 
 In scarlet letters on the walls of Shame. 
 
SONNETS FOR NEW YORK CITY (i^ 
 
 III 
 
 SHAME ON THEE, O MANHATTAN 
 
 Shame on thee, O Manhattan, whom I love ! 
 And shame on me that I have slept away 
 So many years while thy feet went astray ! 
 
 Thou ^ that should'st be white as any dove. 
 Thou Scarlet Woman ! Is there no voice to 
 
 move — 
 No hand to smite us ? Even for this I pray — 
 Some terrible scourging that we have let the day 
 Darken around us while we saw thee rove. 
 Last night I heard thee cry. Thy wandering feet 
 Went bleeding by me. On thy ruined breast 
 
 1 saw thee nurse a feeding child of flame ! 
 Desolate, gorgeous, frantic along the street ! 
 
 Ah, how I blushed in the dark that through my 
 
 rest 
 I felt the burning garments of thy shame. 
 
68 SONNETS FOR NEW YORK CITY 
 
 IV 
 
 THE FOUNTAIN OF LIFE 
 
 This day into the fields my steps are led. 
 
 I cannot heal me there ! Row after row, 
 
 Thousands of daisies radiantly blow. 
 
 They have not brought from Heaven my daily 
 
 bread ! 
 But they are like a prayer too often said. 
 I have forgot their meaning, and I go 
 From the cold rubric of their gold and snow, 
 And the calm ritual, all uncomforted. 
 I want the faces ! faces ! remote and pale. 
 That surge along the city streets ! The flood 
 Of reckless ones, haggard and spent and frail. 
 Excited, hungry ! In this other mood 
 'T is not the words of the faith for which I ail. 
 But to plunge in the fountain of its living blood. 
 
TO A NEW YORK SHOP-GIRL 
 DRESSED FOR SUNDAY 
 
 To-day I saw the shop-girl go 
 
 Down gay Broadway to meet her beau. 
 
 Conspicuous, splendid, conscious, sweet, 
 She spread abroad and took the street. 
 
 And all that niceness would forbid, 
 Superb, she smiled upon and did. 
 
 Let other girls, whose happier days 
 Preserve the perfume of their ways. 
 
 Go modestly. The passing hour 
 Adds splendor to their opening flower. 
 
 But from this child too swift a doom 
 Must steal her prettiness and bloom. 
 
 Toil and weariness hide the grace 
 That pleads a moment from her face. 
 
 So blame her not if for a day 
 
 She flaunts her glories while she may. 
 
70 TO A NEW YORK SHOP-GIRL 
 
 She half perceives, half understands, 
 Snatching her gifts with both her hands. 
 
 The little strut beneath the skirt 
 That lags neglected in the dirt, 
 
 The indolent swagger down the street — 
 Who can condemn such happy feet ! 
 
 Innocent ! vulgar — that 's the truth ! 
 Yet with the darling wiles of youth ! 
 
 The bright, self-conscious eyes that stare 
 With such hauteur, beneath such hair ! 
 Perhaps the men will find me fair I 
 
 Charming and charmed, flippant, arrayed. 
 Fluttered and foolish, proud, displayed. 
 Infinite pathos of parade ! 
 
 The bangles and the narrowed waist — 
 The tinseled boa — forgive the taste ! 
 Oh, the starved nights she gave for that, 
 And bartered bread to buy her hat ! 
 
 She flows before the reproachful sage 
 And begs her woman's heritage. 
 
TO A NEW YORK SHOP-GIRL 71 
 
 Dear child, with the defiant eyes, 
 Insolent with the half surmise 
 We do not quite admire, I know 
 How foresight frowns on this vain show ! 
 
 And judgment, wearily sad, may see 
 No grace in such frivolity. 
 
 Yet which of us was ever bold 
 
 To worship Beauty, hungry and cold ! 
 
 Scorn famine down, proudly expressed 
 Apostle to what things are best. 
 
 Let him who starves to buy the food 
 For his soul's comfort find her good, 
 
 Nor chide the frills and furbelows 
 That are the prettiest things she knows. 
 
 Poet and prophet in God's eyes 
 Make no more perfect sacrifice. 
 
 Who knows before what inner shrine 
 She eats with them the bread and wine ? 
 
 Poor waif ! One of the sacred few 
 That madly sought the best they knew ! 
 
72 TO A NEW YORK SHOP-GIRL 
 
 Dear — let me lean my cheek to-night 
 Close, close to yours. Ah, that is right. 
 
 How warm and near ! At last I see 
 One beauty shines for thee and me. 
 
 So let us love and understand — 
 Whose hearts are hidden in God's hand. 
 
 And we will cherish your brief Spring 
 And all its fragile flowering. 
 
 God loves all prettiness, and on this 
 Surely his angels lay their kiss. 
 
FORGETFULNESS 
 
 She was so recent. She had not yet learned 
 The sweet observances that make their days 
 Beautiful to the angels. She went dim 
 Among their shining, and unoccupied 
 Wistfully watched their pastimes. Then came 
 
 one 
 Who brought a fruit. 
 
 " Eat thou," the splendor said. 
 " I will not eat," said she. 
 
 For in his eyes 
 She saw forgetfulness and was afraid. 
 
 Then to her love on earth an angel came. 
 " We cannot heal her of her listlessness 
 Nor teach her the new ways, and memory 
 Grieves her with tears. She will not eat the fruit 
 That makes us wise and shows us to forget." 
 
 Dark is the road that leads to Heaven for one 
 Who is not dead. No angel goes with him. 
 Blind and with torn, vague feet and all alone 
 He came among them. Through the shining 
 place 
 
74 FORGETFULNESS 
 
 They saw him rush and saw the scarlet blood 
 Drip through the brightness. To his Love he 
 
 came, 
 And, lifting in his haggard hands her cheek, 
 He kissed her on the mouth and showed the 
 
 fruit 
 The Angel brought himv — terrible and sweet. 
 
 " Eat, Love," he said. 
 And she, that loved him, ate. 
 Then smiled at him with unremembering eyes, 
 And with her heavenly comrades turned away. 
 With bleeding feet back to the earth he came, 
 And through the barren days remembered her. 
 
THE PURITAN 
 
 The Preacher in his seat 
 
 Spoke a new word to-day. 
 
 He shook the rock beneath my feet 
 
 And left uncertain clay. 
 
 His tale was all of ease, 
 
 Of tenderness alone. 
 
 He was not there when Moses struck 
 
 A water from a stone. 
 
 Could I but speak the word. 
 The skies should not let fall 
 Celestial honey on my lips 
 When they had need of gall. 
 
 He preached a silken word 
 
 To fearful men and vain. 
 
 They want the sweet dews of our Lord 
 
 But not the hurricane. 
 
 ril have Him all in all — 
 Beneath His feet be cast ! 
 I have a heart that can endure 
 The glory of the blast ! 
 
76 THE PURITAN 
 
 Upon His breast like John 
 They would escape His rod. 
 But I would sweat as Jacob did 
 And wrestle with my God. 
 
 They are confused, perplexed ! 
 They say there is no sin. 
 That Hand that fashioned Paradise 
 Did slip the serpent in. 
 
 They are afraid of Death, 
 I scorn their fluttering brood. 
 Why I could die with a great laugh, 
 Declaring that 't was good ! 
 
 They say these things are dreams ! 
 Truly, they say not well. 
 For that Pale Horse John tells about 
 Was driven by Death and Hell ! 
 
 Let others love the Lamb, 
 And seek a gentle Lord. 
 I better like that honest God 
 That came to bring a sword. 
 
 I have no love of ease ! 
 
 My feet are shod with might ! 
 
THE PURITAN 77 
 
 If there 's no Devil in God's world 
 Then what have I to fight ? 
 
 I am a man of war ! 
 Such things I understand : 
 When Devils against Cherubim 
 Are leagued throughout the land. 
 
 The fragile and the small 
 
 In happy gardens wait. 
 
 But with the Angels of God's wrath 
 
 I will ride out in state. 
 
 The frail shall sit and feast ; 
 Behind safe walls are they. 
 Outside I '11 face the hounds of dread 
 And hold its dogs at bay. 
 
 When scarlet Hell heaves up 
 
 I have no fear at all. 
 
 Scarred, I beat back the advancing flames 
 
 That threaten their good wall. 
 
 They tell me that in Heaven 
 Our Lord will turn to love, 
 Calling the lambs about His knees 
 And to His breast the dove. 
 
78 THE PURITAN 
 
 Unto each man his lust ! 
 These words He speaks to me — 
 " / have set thee on a neighing horse^ 
 For I have need of thee ! " 
 
THE JOURNEY 
 
 Some there are that melt and meet 
 With all Eden in their eyes. 
 Irised loves that flame and beat 
 Shine as sweet as Paradise. 
 And they look and they know 
 And they glimmer and they flow 
 Like a murmuring in the water 
 Or a melting in the snow ; 
 Delicately they come near, 
 And the knowledge in their eyes 
 Leaves not any doubt or fear, 
 For wise Eden makes them wise. 
 
 Through the flood and through the flame, 
 
 Hostile roads of no delight. 
 
 Girt with bitterness and shame 
 
 Still our spirits came aright. 
 
 And I knew thee but to doubt, 
 
 And thy hatred found me out 
 
 Like a blindness all about 
 
 And a thunder in the night. 
 
 Still our bleeding feet would run 
 
 When our spirits bade them stay, 
 
8o THE JOURNEY 
 
 Destined for no other one, 
 Doomed to tread no other way. 
 
 If some other heart than mine 
 Housed thee for a dream or two, 
 If before some alien shrine 
 Any prayer of thine came true, 
 If She broke with thee the bread 
 While I went uncomforted, 
 I will love those hands that fed 
 Visions to the soul of you. 
 Dreams of beautiful and rare 
 I '11 not envy nor gainsay. 
 If her kiss has kept thee fair 
 I '11 not wear that kiss away. 
 
 Love — thou knowest for a while 
 How He kept my heart in his ! 
 Then I learned from out his smile 
 Love's guile and its mysteries. 
 Strange that his soul's lips should teach 
 Unto mine the silvering speech 
 That we talk now, each to each. 
 
 Singing words 
 That have flown beyond his reach 
 
 Like homing birds. 
 Dear, thy feast was spread so late ! 
 
THE JOURNEY 8i 
 
 And He bade my heart inside. 
 I was hungry and I ate — 
 Had I not, I should have died. 
 
 Now we meet and now we know. 
 Yet — 't is all so strange a thing — 
 When we love each other so 
 We cannot forego love's sting ! 
 Still our splendid sorrows shine, 
 And the bleeding pageant goes. 
 Swinging through thy heart and mine, 
 Of innumerable woes. 
 
 With my head upon thy breast 
 Still I fight thee and contend. 
 And those wounds disturb my rest 
 That you gave my heart, — O Friend. 
 They that love in lesser ways 
 Lesser toils their love may prove. 
 But we would not rid our days 
 Of the doubts through which we rove ; 
 Would not give, for all their flowers. 
 And their golden, perfumed showers, 
 This great grievous love of ours 
 And the solemn wars of love. 
 
 By our hearts that shall outlast 
 All the storm and stress of men. 
 
82 THE JOURNEY 
 
 By the dark ways of our past 
 
 And the wounds that grieved us then, 
 
 By the doubts through which we bled 
 
 By the faith that comforted, 
 
 By that love that leaves us dead. 
 
 Love shall raise us up again. 
 
THE RETURN 
 
 Now what have I brought from those brave lists ? 
 Love, what have I brought to thee ? 
 A scanty fame and my great shame 
 That thou wast there to see. 
 
 I bring thee only a broken sword 
 And a broken heart in me ! 
 More strong than I the war rushed by. 
 Yet, Love, I fought for thee. 
 
 Maids not so fair have better knights 
 Goodly and brave to see. 
 I would not have thee pitied of them 
 If thou shouldst mate with me. 
 
 So bid me hence, my own true love ! 
 There 's such scant worth in me ! 
 For from the fray I fought this day 
 I bring but wounds to thee ! 
 
 Then up and spoke my own true maid ! 
 Fairest of all was she ! 
 " Let each one go with the one she loves ! 
 Dear love — I love but thee ! " 
 
KNOWLEDGE 
 
 Once I thought that healing came 
 From the angels' wings. 
 
 Now the bruised hands of men 
 Seem the kindest things. 
 
 Once I thought to pluck and eat 
 
 The fruit of Paradise. 
 Now I break with these their bread 
 
 With un saddened eyes. 
 
 Once I thought to find on earth 
 Love, perfect and complete. 
 
 Now I know it carries wounds 
 In its hands and feet. 
 
THE ROAD OF SLEEP 
 
 He seems by day so strong, so gay ! 
 
 All day we laugh and sing : 
 This morning he said, " My last night's 
 sleep 
 
 Was such a pleasant thing." 
 
 Yet all the night and all the night 
 I thought I heard him cry, 
 " My soul has got a bitter wound ! 
 Love, help me or I die." 
 
 I laid my hand on him and cried, 
 " Love, did you call on me ? " 
 " You waked me from a pleasant sleep. 
 Heart of my heart," said he. 
 
 Oh, whither leads that road of sleep 
 Down which we fare alone ? 
 
 There was never a dream in all the night 
 Could show where he was gone. 
 
 Some wound he may not feel at all 
 
 Because it lies too deep. 
 With a loud voice cried out on me ! 
 
 I heard it in my sleep. 
 
86 THE ROAD OF SLEEP 
 
 What strange things happen in thee, O Sleep ! 
 Last night I heard him cry, 
 " My soul has got a bitter wound ! 
 Love, help me or I die ! " 
 
SPRING SONG 
 
 Now I am made strange again 
 With the old-time wildness. 
 Spring, that loves the hearts of men. 
 Save me by thy mildness. 
 
 Nay, thou art not mild ! 
 
 Thou art not any child. 
 Untamed art thou and swift to run. 
 Exquisite — savage as the sun. 
 A golden beast, in jungles of warm air 
 
 I make my natural lair. 
 Last night, in forests of the wind 
 I kept my watch and ranged. 
 With haughty eyes I viewed my kind. 
 
 Magnificent, estranged. 
 
 We are not gentle in our mood 
 When the great Spring takes our blood. 
 
 But passionate and fretful. 
 
 And of mankind forgetful. 
 
 'T is then we must be free ! 
 The daughter of the sky and wood. 
 Let no one lay a hand on me. 
 
 Nay, touch me not in Spring ! 
 
 Hardly look my way ! 
 
88 SPRING SONG 
 
 A glance is such a heavy thing, — 
 
 I need no friends to-day ! 
 
 In Summer maybe I '11 grow still 
 
 And bide because I love. 
 
 There 's no will now save my will, 
 
 My soul is fain to rove. 
 
 Always with the Spring 
 
 Comes the thought of journeying, 
 
 Mixed with the subtlest languor 
 
 That would advise me to the ground 
 
 Thereon to lie as soft as sound 
 
 That in its bosom stirs. 
 
 And so I do, — until at length 
 
 Grown primitive with anger 
 
 That has no source save youth and joy and 
 
 strength, 
 I run and shout 'twixt earth and sky. 
 And fling them from me and defy. 
 
 Being in need of prey, 
 
 Made boastful with the Spring one day. 
 
 To the granite rock that stood my way, 
 " Bubble, bubble, blue and gray," 
 
 Quoth I ; 
 " If I should touch you with my hand. 
 
 How you would quiver from the land ! 
 
SPRING SONG 89 
 
 I could make earth, sky, and seas 
 Tremble from me like the breeze." 
 Then everything grew soft and fair 
 Breathed out of visible air ; 
 And then, because I loved it so, 
 I let the whole earth shine and grow. 
 
IN A VISION OF THE NIGHT 
 
 Scene : A garden lit with moonlight. Enter The 
 IjKDY^ followed by Nanon. 
 
 THE LADY 
 
 My chamber is so hot, I cannot rest. 
 
 And when I wake, I needs must think. Nanon, 
 
 I '11 lie here in the cool and sleep awhile, 
 
 If sleep may come. Nanon ! 
 
 NANON 
 
 Dear Lady, yes. 
 
 THE LADY 
 
 Go get your lute and charm my slumber, lest 
 It bring me dreams that should not visit me. 
 
 [Exit Nanon] 
 In visions of the night — ! 
 
 Oh if my thoughts 
 Strayed from my lord and master, unto him 
 I must not touch — not even in a dream — 
 And lingered with him ! I am afraid ! For 
 
 thoughts 
 Do presage acts. I dare not think of him ! 
 
IN A VISION OF THE NIGHT 91 
 
 For thinking — I must see ! And if I see — 
 Oh Heaven, be merciful to me ! I say- 
 That women are as helpless, soft and strange, 
 As the frail water clinging upon stone — 
 A comfort in the noonday and at night 
 A very gentle solace. They abide 
 In sweet and delicate ways, and one shall 
 
 smile. 
 Saying, " She is with me always." Yet in 
 
 sooth. 
 Even while she tarries and makes him sweet and 
 
 blest. 
 Her thoughts are from him, woven in a cloud ; 
 For so the wind obtains her dreams and she 
 Is passing always, not to be detained. 
 (^She seats herself on the garden bench. Nanon enters 
 with lute^ singing) 
 
 NANON 
 
 The way that leads to hearths delight — 
 
 It is not very long^ 
 
 As brief as tears .^ as quick as smiles,^ 
 
 And ended like a song. 
 
 The road that lies to hearfs desire 
 
 Travels not very far ^ 
 
 There 's never a stone^ there *s never a brier — 
 
92 IN A VISION OF THE NIGHT 
 
 THE LADY 
 
 I do not like your song. 
 
 NANON 
 
 It is of love ! 
 
 THE LADY 
 
 Have you no ditty that is soft and cool, 
 As cool as snow, as soft and still as sleep ? 
 
 NANON {singing^ 
 
 My thoughts are gathered of thee as the wind 
 Gathers the mist of the water and so 
 " I could dream of thee ^ an thou hadst the mind^'' 
 ^uoth he in the dark — 
 
 THE LADY 
 
 Oh peace, Nanon ! Have you not any song 
 Would quiet love as death would quiet woe ? 
 
 NANON 
 
 Oh Lady dear, that song was never sung. 
 
 THE LADY 
 
 Be quiet, then. I '11 sleep. And the good angels 
 Must guard my dreams. 
 
 (She lies down on the bench) 
 
IN A VISION OF THE NIGHT 93 
 
 NANON {singing) 
 
 My thoughts are gathered of thee as the wind 
 Gathers the mist from the water — 
 
 (The Lady sleeps^ and Nanon, hushing her song^ 
 looks over the garden) 
 
 This great night 
 Wherein all things do sleep, is terrible. 
 Is there anything happening ? 
 
 (She walks away from the sleeping I^kdy^ among the 
 trees) 
 
 The air seems full 
 Of presences that meet and mingle! Oh — 
 Where are the stars ! Peace — peace ! Unstable 
 me ! 
 
 (Strikes her lute and sings) 
 I would have fed — but yet the heavenly powers 
 
 Brought back the road to you. 
 That God that made all love^ made this of ours — 
 But we that share it^ oh what shall we do ? 
 
 (She thinks she hears a movement and starts hack 
 
 to the garden bench) 
 Oh Lady dear — and have you waked so soon ? 
 (She sees that The Lady slumbers) 
 
 I thought I heard my Lady leave her couch ! 
 What did I see that flitted through the garden ? 
 
94 IN A VISION OF THE NIGHT 
 
 Shadows, I think, or else perhaps two lovers 
 That seek a lonely world of green delight. 
 Ah — I have sighed and sipped like all the rest, 
 Feasted and sorrowed, and would do so again ! 
 Ah me — what bliss has taken the midnight air. 
 What strange old sorrow and what vast despair ! 
 
 THE LADY {starting up) 
 
 I dreamed that in a garden I did sit 
 Where I had sat for centuries, and sang. 
 I heard his echoing steps sound far away. 
 He sought for me amid the thick green leaves 
 And found my hands but could not see my face. 
 I could not break from him nor did I try, 
 But crossing the moonlight looked into his eyes. 
 And looking, read that thing that had to be. 
 And we passed on and came together where 
 The night lay softly singing in the green — 
 And then — Nanon ! {As if in terror.) 
 
 NANON 
 
 Oh Lady dear — what now ? 
 
 THE LADY 
 
 Have I been lying quiet all this while ? 
 
 NANON 
 
 Dear Lady, yes. 
 
IN A VISION OF THE NIGHT 95 
 
 THE LADY 
 
 What happens in the night ? 
 
 NANON 
 
 All still. Nothing abroad save two black shadows 
 That through the purple darkness I saw flit. 
 
 THE LADY 
 
 Then go, Nanon, and leave me here alone. 
 (Nanon goes out and The Lady's lover enters) 
 
 THE LADY 
 
 What are you doing here ? This time of night ! 
 
 HER lover 
 
 I was roused from sleep. I had so strange a 
 dream. 
 
 THE LADY 
 
 What ? Had you then ? I pray you — tell your 
 dream. 
 
 HER LOVER 
 
 I dreamed that through a garden at dusk I came. 
 
 THE LADY 
 
 Not that ! 
 
96 IN A VISION OF THE NIGHT 
 
 HER LOVER 
 
 I heard you sing. 
 
 THE LADY 
 
 I am afraid ! 
 And what came then ? 
 
 HER LOVER 
 
 When I that singing heard 
 I sought for you amid the thick green leaves. 
 
 THE LADY 
 
 Oh peace, you babbler of a foolish dream ! 
 
 HER LOVER 
 
 And found your hands but could not see your face. 
 
 THE LADY 
 
 Oh go ! My heart will break. I bid you go ! 
 
 HER LOVER 
 
 And then I saw your face and in your eyes 
 I read what was to be. 
 
 THE LADY 
 
 In my eyes ? No — 
 You have forgot ! I read that end in yours. 
 
IN A VISION OF THE NIGHT 97 
 
 HER LOVER 
 
 And we two rose and went together where 
 We heard the twilight singing in the green. 
 
 THE LADY 
 
 Wonderful twilight singing in the green ! 
 
 HER LOVER 
 
 And then — 
 
 THE LADY 
 
 And then, oh sweet ! I know it well — 
 
 HER LOVER 
 
 You know it ? — 
 
 THE LADY 
 
 Let me go ! I too did dream. 
 
THE STORM 
 
 The wind was a crowd, 
 Wet birds were the skies, 
 
 I marched laughing aloud 
 With the storm in my eyes. 
 
 Part beast and part bird, 
 
 A waif of the plain, 
 My laughter was heard 
 
 With the voice of the rain. 
 
 I thought I remembered 
 
 A night long ago 
 When our hoofs beat the sod 
 
 And we rushed to and fro. 
 
 Our flanks steaming hot. 
 Rain-driven and warm! 
 
 I had almost forgot 
 
 Till I ran with the storm. 
 
 I thought I remembered 
 Black roads to a star. 
 
 When the wind in our pinions 
 Beat us up and afar. 
 
THE STORM 99 
 
 How shrill were our cries, 
 As we flew from the plain ! 
 
 Oh that road to the skies, 
 Beaten up by the rain ! 
 
 The flails of the storm 
 
 Beat my soul from its mesh. 
 
 It paled like a mist. 
 
 Driven out of the flesh. 
 
 It flew through the night 
 
 To my mother's warm hand. 
 
 But I — I was abroad 
 
 With the wind and the sand. 
 
 Unhuman and strange, 
 
 'Twixt the rain and the stone, 
 I must flutter and range 
 
 Through the dark all alone ! 
 
 The darkness. 
 
 The wetness, 
 
 The sleekness. 
 
 The fatness 
 Of shapes in the tempest 
 Submerged, with no name. 
 As with laughter and shout 
 
 LofO. 
 
loo THE STORM 
 
 And a clapping of hands 
 I danced in and out 
 Or clove in the sands. 
 As straight as the lightning 
 I struck and I came — 
 The storm was the thunder, 
 And I was the flame. 
 
 It was thus that I ran 
 
 To the House on the Hill, 
 
 When the voice of love 
 Bade the tempest be still. 
 
 Then I gathered me back 
 From the rain and the sand 
 
 To the soul held so close 
 In my mother's warm hand. 
 
TO DUST RETURNING 
 
 Scene : The palace garden^ in the centre of which 
 stands a sun-dial. The King, absorbed in medi- 
 tation^ watches the shadow move across the dial's 
 face. The Court Fool, a fantastic figure^ 
 enters^ with a superb air^ holding in his hand 
 something which cannot be seen. He is pursued 
 by pages ^ youths^ and maidens of the court. 
 
 CROWD 
 
 Fool ! Fool ! 
 
 A YOUTH 
 
 He swears that in his hand he holds 
 The bulwarks of the earth ! 
 
 A GIRL {to King) 
 
 Sire, is it true ? 
 
 A YOUTH 
 
 His hand contains great empires ! 
 
 A page 
 
 Kingdoms ! 
 
I02 TO DUST RETURNING 
 
 GIRL 
 
 Crowns ! 
 A YOUTH {to Jester) 
 Prove it ! give me a star ! 
 
 A GIRL {to King) 
 
 Oh Sire, he says 
 That in his hand he holds a power and glory 
 More great than yours ! 
 
 A YOUTH {to Jester) 
 
 Then grant to us our wishes ! 
 
 FOOL 
 
 Wish ! And I '11 grant it ! 
 
 1ST girl 
 Please, some satin sHppers ! 
 
 FOOL 
 
 I have them here ! 
 
 1ST GIRL 
 
 Painted with flying cherubs ? 
 
 FOOL 
 
 With flying cherubs ! Lined with sky blue satin ! 
 
TO DUST RETURNING 103 
 
 YOUTH 
 
 I want a kingdom ! 
 
 FOOL 
 
 Kingdoms ? I have plenty. 
 
 2D GIRL 
 
 A scarlet bonnet ! 
 
 3D GIRL 
 
 I would like a lover. 
 In splendid rich apparel ! Have you got him ? 
 
 FOOL 
 
 Bonnets and lovers jostle one another. 
 
 BOY 
 
 I want a war-horse white as milk, and stamping ! 
 
 1ST CHILD 
 
 Some wooden soldiers ! 
 
 2D CHILD 
 
 And a little trumpet ! 
 
 A PAGE 
 
 Glory I want ! 
 
I04 TO DUST RETURNING 
 
 FOOL 
 
 My hand is full of glory. 
 
 OLD MAN 
 
 I 'm blind ! I want to die ! 
 
 FOOL 
 
 I 've death abundant. 
 
 CROWD 
 
 A dancing monkey ! Jewels ! Stars ! 
 
 FOOL {addressing the King) 
 
 And you ? 
 
 KING {pointing to the shadow on the dial^ 
 
 I want an answer to the creeping shadow 
 That marks off time. 
 
 FOOL {holding his hand high above his head^ 
 
 Look, then ! I have the answer 
 To everything that is. This small right hand 
 Contains the sum of all desires — the bourne 
 For which life strives — the solace unto death ! 
 I have more power in this fragile hand 
 Than kings may covet ; all the heritage 
 Of them that reign — kingdoms and battles, 
 powers. 
 
TO DUST RETURNING 105 
 
 Banners and hosts of war, and crowns and thorns, 
 Aye, and the kings that wear them — 
 
 KING 
 
 Fool, explain this, 
 
 FOOL 
 
 Wonderful hand ! It is so full of stars 
 
 I hardly hold them ! It is splashed with scarlet ! 
 
 Thunders and tumult — these go streaming 
 
 through it ! 
 A thousand battles rock and riot in it ! 
 Cities are in it — I can hear them breathing — 
 Kingdoms and crowns, yes, nations have I here ! 
 And hearts ! My child, those cherub painted 
 
 slippers 
 Are mad in it for dancing ! A scarlet bonnet 
 Flames among fallen cities ! I hold the sum 
 And substance of this world. Oh look ! The 
 
 glory ! 
 I see it trickling out between my fingers ! 
 Easy to capture it ! I reached my hand 
 And scooped up splendor ! 
 
 CROWD 
 
 Give ! Oh, show it ! Give us ! 
 
io6 TO DUST RETURNING 
 
 FOOL 
 
 Then take — 
 
 (Lets fall handful of dust) 
 
 KING 
 
 It 's dust ! 
 
 FOOL 
 
 What would you have ? This world 
 From dust created, unto dust returns. 
 
A GIRL'S SONG IN THE WILDERNESS 
 
 I WOULD not lose one joy nor grief. 
 No boon that is the world's to give. 
 The flower and the fading leaf, 
 Love, let us take them while we live. 
 Love, let us take them while we live, — 
 The laughter and the hurrying kiss. 
 Ah, sweet, 't is all so fugitive. 
 Never again shall we have this. 
 
 They say there is a land, my dear. 
 Where there is honey, milk, and wine. 
 But there 's no road could lead me there 
 Unless thy lips had matched with mine. 
 Unless thy lips had matched with mine, 
 If we had lost a single kiss. 
 In Paradise we should repine. 
 Never again shall we have this. 
 
 In that fair land that smiles afar. 
 Grow laughing trees of merrier breed, 
 But where 's a glory, in what star, 
 Shaped like a coriander seed ! 
 Shaped like a coriander seed ! 
 
io8 A GIRL'S SONG 
 
 Gather the manna, take the kiss. 
 To-morrow brings us more indeed, 
 Never again shall we have this ! 
 
 So let us love and touch and kiss 
 And weep and part and dance and play, 
 Never again shall we have this 
 That is a rosy cloud by day ! 
 That is a rosy cloud by day ! 
 A fire at night along the sky ! 
 Love, let us love while yet we may, 
 Let us be kind before we die ! 
 
THE MADONNA OF THE EARTH 
 
 I HAVE grown wise with littleness. 
 The Lord of Might is full of prettiness. 
 
 I see the skies 
 
 And they are old no more, 
 
 But in its infancy all lies 
 
 Upon its mother's knee. 
 
 Her face I cannot see, 
 But I can see thy laughter and thy smiles. 
 Oh innocent heaven, when she sings to thee. 
 
 Fluttering faces shine. 
 
 All laughter, out of rock and pine. 
 
 Prettiness is abroad. 
 Thou lovest prettiness ; dost Thou not, oh Lord ? 
 
 Since Thou didst make it ! 
 And small round things Thou hast shaped to cun- 
 
 ningness. 
 Of old I thought Thee terrible and far — 
 
 Lodged in a star. 
 But now I know that Thou art near to bless 
 And that Thy Hand can comfort and caress. 
 
 Come, little Lord, 
 And stroke the pretty water with thy hand. 
 
no THE MADONNA OF THE EARTH 
 
 So small, so fine, 
 
 So dainty sweet it is ! 
 Soft stepping, gray, and full of mysteries. 
 
 In thy hand hold it — 
 
 Love it, enfold it. 
 
 Then let it go again ! 
 Why now its voice is multiple as the rain. 
 A silly water — yet mighty to withstand 
 Because my child has held it in his Hand. 
 
 Oh this new world I never saw before ! 
 
 Thy world, my baby ! Looking through thine eyes 
 
 I see such things to pleasure and surprise ! 
 
 Of yore 
 'T was but an apple hanging on a tree, 
 But now I clap my hands with thee ! 
 Wonderful ! 
 
 Ah how well I see it now ! 
 Beautiful ! 
 
 Crimson on a gay green bough ! 
 Astonishing ! 
 
 What art thou ? 
 
 Whence camest thou ? 
 
 Thou never wert before ! 
 Canst thou sing ? 
 
 Is it a bird that flies on a red wing ? 
 My darling, we have seen a marvelous thing. 
 
THE MADONNA OF THE EARTH iii 
 
 Oh thou new man ! 
 I look around with thy delighted eyes 
 And old things have new graces. 
 And when thou smilest into haggard faces 
 Old, desolate, overwise, crafty, or full of scorn, 
 Thou seest another face beneath that one for- 
 lorn — 
 
 The look of a child ; 
 
 And no one knew save thou 
 How it was lurking in the mouth and brow. 
 
 Oh I have cried 
 When in the weary folk that come to thee 
 I see the small child that they used to be 
 Take courage, and thinking it time to play. 
 
 Steal wistfully out. 
 
 And so forget 
 The unkind tale of death and sin and doubt 
 That sent them crying — 
 
 While thou wilt laugh aloud 
 To see so many children in a crowd — 
 Such sweets, such darlings ! 
 
 Looking with these eyes 
 
 I find in all men dearnesses, 
 
 Sweet sounds, clearnesses. 
 That show their souls perfect as water or air. 
 The smiling earth reveals its secret to me — 
 
 I have grown wise. 
 
112 THE MADONNA OF THE EARTH 
 
 And knowledge ever making all things fair 
 Shows me this common earth is Paradise. 
 
 Now I will sing thee a song 
 
 Of thy little brothers — 
 All things that haunt the field and wood, 
 Four-footed, furry, wild, and good ! 
 And there are other loves beside. 
 Come hither, all ye loves that glide 
 Among the grasses ; shadows of things, 
 And wonderful thin murmurings. 
 Memories of clouds lodged in the wings 
 
 Of birds at rest from the sky, 
 Light on the under side of flowers. 
 The subtly shining air begetting showers. 
 
 Gray weeds. 
 
 Flying seeds. 
 And here 's a pebble shaped round and small. 
 
 Pink as a rose. 
 With its own shadow on the sand. 
 Which somehow seems as marvelous and grand 
 As a great mountain's. Ay — no less 
 It seems to cool us, comfort us, and bless 
 
 For this enchanting spell of littleness 
 
 Around and over all. 
 
 These are thy playmates now — 
 Flower-fine pebble and the small brown seed. 
 Say, " I am little with thee ! " to the weed, 
 
THE MADONNA OF THE EARTH 113 
 
 And to the pebble, " Small and still as thou." 
 
 Strange peoples that live in the dust, 
 
 Call them up and share thy crust. 
 
 Wild folk with fretful eyes, 
 
 Ah, how tame that savage lies. 
 
 Plaintive folk, no more perplexed. 
 
 Play around my child unvexed. 
 
 And all the wandering clans of air and light, 
 
 And sullen tribes that take by stealth the night. 
 There 's none so small, bewildered, far. 
 But that these thy brothers are. 
 
 Mother Beast, Mother Beast, with the wild, woe- 
 ful eyes ! 
 By that same milk by which we feed our young. 
 And the great peace that we alike have shared 
 
 After the bearing — 
 
 I bore him not alone. 
 Not only of the Spirit I got my Son, 
 But of the remembering flesh whose good, great 
 
 pains 
 Did so pierce down into the roots of things 
 
 That when I gave him birth 
 
 I felt the dark and lamentable earth 
 Sluggishly bearing stones. I was dissolved 
 
 Into a pained element, and so 
 
 I felt stars in me grow. 
 
114 THE MADONNA OF THE EARTH 
 
 I rocked with the sea, 
 Begetting mammoths ; old and savage moods, 
 Birth pangs of animals in secret woods 
 
 I felt in me. 
 
 Am I not simple and great even as these ? 
 Betwixt the breasts of the brown nourishing 
 
 earth, 
 In the hallowed lap betwixt her bosom and 
 knees, 
 
 I lie with a great mirth ! 
 
 Not like a maid, ashamed. 
 
 But full of pride 
 Laughing I spread my breasts for every one 
 To see them ample, boisterous, and wide. 
 With the strong earth milk that has nourished 
 
 my Son. 
 For I was not one woman, I was many. 
 When Heaven descended to me from above 
 And like a cloud dropped softly on my breast, 
 
 Filled me with rest. 
 I had no fear before the Holy Ghost, 
 Freely my soul partook of Paradise. 
 
 Tolerable was the glory of thy wing. 
 Oh thou great Angel — and thy breaking kiss 
 Was not so perilous to my flesh as this. 
 The terror of animals and our mortal need 
 
THE MADONNA OF THE EARTH 115 
 
 That so possessed me, when, 
 
 Living in my body, the thousand hands 
 
 of men 
 Received the stinging seed. 
 
 From the remembering flesh that in it bore 
 The thoughts of old dead peoples and their 
 dreams 
 
 I made thee, O Lord. 
 From the remembering flesh that cried aloud 
 With the strong voice of Rahab the harlot's 
 blood 
 
 I created Thee, God. 
 From the astonished flesh, pitifully wrought 
 With dreams and angers of despairing Cain, 
 
 I made Thee, O Lord. 
 Out of the sorrowing of wistful Eve 
 And from the tissue of her smiles and tears 
 
 I created Thee — God. 
 From Adam's tumultuous body, whose lust and 
 
 mirth 
 Danced heavily in him and from the great de- 
 spair — 
 
 I made Thee, O Lord. 
 Out of the eagerness of boys and girls 
 That long for kisses in the flower of spring 
 
 I created Thee, God. 
 
ii6 THE MADONNA OF THE EARTH 
 
 {Thou shalt go to the dance in a scarlet robe^ my 
 
 Son.) 
 From the flesh of the fool that laughing in his 
 
 heart 
 Cried with an empty voice, " There is no God," 
 
 I made Thee, O Lord. 
 From the wistfulness of animals that die. 
 From our desire and from our mortal need, 
 From the prayer we raise and our delight in Thee, 
 
 I created Thee, God. 
 And perished races, rising up in me. 
 Fashioned thee wildly of my little dust 
 And breathed upon thy face the image of man, 
 
 And created Thee, God. 
 
 Thou hast forgotten how thou didst make the 
 world 
 
 And how these hands 
 Did shape the planets. Burning they all have run 
 Between thy fingers. 
 
 Five fingers hast thou^ sweety 
 
 The first one says^ I want some food. 
 
 The second says^ A plum is good. 
 Ah — hadst thou lived remote among the stars. 
 The Master of us, we had come to hate ! 
 But now thou hast the need of us, and who 
 Can hurt a thing so helpless and so small ! 
 
THE MADONNA OF THE EARTH 117 
 
 The third one says^ that won't do ! 
 The fourth one hurries on its shoe. 
 How safe we are, tenderly wrought together ! 
 How still we lie amid the strange sweet weather 
 That is the hollow of God's hand. 
 
 Yet now 
 My garments change to mine own eyes. 
 Mellow are they as with the bloom of years. 
 
 How long 
 Have I sat with Thee thus ? Is it all time ? 
 
 Lie still. 
 Thou hast no grief thy Mother cannot heal. 
 
 Yet lo— 
 Within my garments I hear a sound of woe, 
 Of sorrow and of everlasting tears. 
 
 Sleep Thou ! 
 The fifth one whispers^ I HI go see 
 If an apple 's dropped from the apple tree. 
 
LADIES FAIR 
 
 Ladies Fair, oh, what are we ? 
 
 Fond or foolish or unwise ? 
 That it is our lot to be 
 
 Made more lovely by men's eyes. 
 
 If our looks can shine more bright 
 It shall be at our own whim. 
 
 Let us dwell in native light 
 Without any thought of Him. 
 
 O my dears, we may not so ! 
 
 Beauty comes not by desire ! 
 But how soon we feel it grow 
 
 If they see us and admire. 
 
 When our souls in time of flower 
 Needs must blossom or repine, 
 
 They can wake us in an hour ! 
 If they love us, how we shine ! 
 
 Suddenly we hold our breath 
 
 While the trembling beauty grows. 
 
 We can feel it underneath, 
 
 And the sunshine lifts the rose ! 
 
LADIES FAIR 119 
 
 Though we love you not, forbear ! 
 
 Be not vexed that heard but nay ! 
 Since your love has kept us fair 
 
 As the earth is v^^ith the day. 
 
 And our souls are robed with dew 
 
 In the old and vernal dress, 
 And we shine and are made new 
 
 With your love of loveliness. 
 
 Ladies Fair, oh, what are we ? 
 
 Fond or foolish or unwise ? 
 Still it is our lot to be 
 
 Made more lovely by men's eyes ! 
 
GRIEVE NOT, LADIES 
 
 Oh, grieve not, ladies, if at night 
 Ye wake to feel your beauty going. 
 
 It was a web of frail delight. 
 Inconstant as an April snowing. 
 
 In other eyes, in other lands, 
 
 In deep fair pools, new beauty lingers, 
 But like spent water in your hands 
 
 It runs from your reluctant fingers. 
 
 Ye shall not keep the singing lark 
 That owes to earlier skies its duty. 
 
 Weep not to hear along the dark 
 
 The sound of your departing beauty. 
 
 The fine and anguished ear of night 
 Is tuned to hear the smallest sorrow. 
 
 Oh, wait until the morning light ! 
 
 It may not seem so gone to-morrow ! 
 
 But honey-pale and rosy-red ! 
 
 Brief lights that made a little shining ! 
 Beautiful looks about us shed — 
 
 They leave us to the old repining. 
 
GRIEVE NOT, LADIES 121 
 
 Think not the watchful dim despair 
 
 Has come to you the first, sweet-hearted ! 
 
 For oh, the gold in Helen's hair ! 
 
 And how she cried when that departed ! 
 
 Perhaps that one that took the most, 
 The swiftest borrower, wildest spender. 
 
 May count, as we would not, the cost — 
 And grow more true to us and tender. 
 
 Happy are we if in his eyes 
 
 We see no shadow of forgetting. 
 
 Nay — if our star sinks in those skies 
 We shall not wholly see its setting. 
 
 Then let us laugh as do the brooks 
 That such immortal youth is ours, 
 
 If memory keeps for them our looks 
 As fresh as are the spring-time flowers. 
 
 Oh, grieve not. Ladies, if at night 
 Ye wake, to feel the cold December ! 
 
 Rather recall the early light 
 
 And in your loved one's arms, remember. 
 
THE DESCENDANT AND THE ID 
 
 (a monologue in regard to heredity) 
 
 Once, when the Scholar — in his book, you know, 
 
 That talks of Ids and Biophors and so 
 
 Makes much rebellious dreaming come and go — 
 
 With that great nonchalance of his, my ease 
 Had interrupted ; (Ids ! Such things as these ! ) 
 I sought myself through earth and fire and 
 seas; 
 
 And found it not — but many things beside ; 
 Behemoth old. Leviathans that ride, 
 And protoplasm, and jellies of the tide. 
 
 Then wandering upward through the solid earth 
 With its dim sounds, potential rage and mirth, 
 I faced a dim Forefather of my birth, 
 
 And thus addressed Him : " All of you that lie 
 Safe in the dust or ride along the sky — 
 Lo, these and these and these ! But where 
 am I ? 
 
THE DESCENDANT AND THE ID 123 
 
 " Before the day that brought me forth had found 
 
 me, 
 Your subtle raiment wrapped itself around me, 
 Even when I was not your faint hands had bound 
 
 me. 
 
 " Thou silent minister of joy and pain, 
 Weaving a shroud more subtle than the rain 
 That lingers white along the fallen grain ; 
 
 " Since thy hands made me — but not fair, not 
 
 fine ! — 
 Then at the end some piteous look of thine 
 Must plead forgiveness for these sins of mine." 
 
 Thus did I speak, while that poor face arraigned 
 me — 
 
 " 'T was thy frail spirit in my heart detained me. 
 
 Thy thought, wrought strangely in my own, con- 
 strained me." 
 
 For when She leaned to Him in the great bliss 
 (Oh I were wrong to tell their spirits this — ) 
 All my life's sweetness went to make that kiss ! 
 
 Now, when I beg them, as my hunger must, 
 Laughing they lay into my hands of trust 
 The Dead Sea apple that is full of dust. 
 
124 THE DESCENDANT AND THE ID 
 
 How they have bruised me ! From this soul of 
 
 mine 
 Danced out the vintage and drank up the wine. 
 
 For when the master bade them in to sup, 
 Between hot hands they snatched the golden cup, 
 Lo — I was in it — and they drank me up. 
 
 So I was spent, as wind is among sand. 
 In solemn splendors of the saraband. 
 
 Yet I, condemned by them to such vast leisure. 
 Can laugh to think of that great storm of pleas- 
 ure, — 
 Those mad dead feet that danced so wild a meas- 
 ure. 
 
 Those pitying eyes ! I will not let them see 
 How I go frail for want of strength in Thee. 
 I will not make them shed new tears for me. 
 
 Poor eyes that looked on love so many years. 
 Filled with desire thereof — knowing no fears — 
 Looking through mine are blinded now with tears. 
 
 Poor feet, that once tumultuous would go. 
 Now wistfully in mine must creep so slow^ 
 I could have run too, but ye said me no. 
 
THE DESCENDANT AND THE ID 125 
 
 Poor lips that kissed so much, in such hat haste, 
 And left me nothing out of so much waste^ 
 How have ye come now to the great distaste ! 
 
 Rocked in the whirlwind of their son's desires. 
 Their bosoms blow upon a blast of fires. 
 Oh, wind of flame that through my melting bone 
 Blows the white faces of my burning sires. 
 
 For they that leave no sons are comforted, 
 So placidly their downward steps are led 
 To those vague nations moving in the dust, 
 Serene, secure, and being dead, are dead ! 
 
 But these that bore a child shall never be 
 
 Delighted with the elements and free. 
 
 They make of body and soul their Heaven and 
 
 Hell, 
 And they, being dead, shall live again in me. 
 
 Last night those melancholy pilgrims came. 
 
 Her tender feet were sandaled in a flame 
 
 And His soul's raiment was the cloth of shame. 
 
 " Feast thou, my son " — but ye have eaten the 
 
 bread ! 
 " Dance thou, my son " — Ye have broken the 
 
 pipes, I said. 
 
126 THE DESCENDANT AND THE ID 
 
 So through my heart in desolate array — 
 They pass and pass and are uncomforted. 
 
 How strangely woven of their pain and bliss 
 Is my soul's fabric. I was wrought of this — 
 Their exquisite and unforgivable kiss. 
 
 So of this dual breathing was I made, 
 Fragile, eternal, wonderful, afraid. 
 Rapturous, guilty, flaunting and dismayed. 
 
 While their thin laughter echoing in my bone 
 Reminds me that my flesh is not my own. 
 Hands off, hands off^, and let my soul alone | 
 
 I cannot blame them for the deed they did, 
 Bearing in me the small satiric Id — 
 The reproachful secret in the pyramid. 
 
 But I am weary of the hoarded gold, 
 
 The woven garments, stained and manifold. 
 
 The shames, still scarlet, splendid yet and old. 
 
 In all the woven tissue of my doom 
 
 What thread is mine ? What thread ? Wrapped 
 
 in a gloom 
 Strange hands have whirled the pattern from the 
 
 loom. 
 
THE DESCENDANT AND THE ID 127 
 
 And my young dreams of cloud and fire and star. 
 Of powers and splendors, shining from afar. 
 Fade from that web where those dim workers 
 are. 
 
 A metal meant for God — I know not when 
 My Lord refused me — but the hands of men 
 Have marked me Caesar's. Let Caesar have me, 
 then. 
 
 Scribe, (that, writing with such bitter tears 
 Colors the page with his own atmospheres !) 
 Think not to hide that legend from the years. 
 
 The antique tale, erased yet faintly guessed. 
 Blurs the new writing on the palimpsest. 
 
 Heredity, that drives the weak and great. 
 With hostile lips I kiss thy robes of state. 
 Such homage wilt thou ask of me, O Fate ! 
 
 Once when I spread the altar clean and white 
 
 And lit thereon a solitary light. 
 
 She brushed it out, and left me in the night. 
 
 When I would ease me with the wine and bread, 
 Her hands bestow it, and uncomforted 
 
 1 ask for God, receiving her instead. 
 
128 THE DESCENDANT AND THE ID 
 
 When did that silent priestess enter in, 
 
 Her secret ceremonials begin ? 
 
 She officiates strangely, even unto sin. 
 
 Sometimes she turns on me a smiling face 
 
 And to my asking heart confers a grace. 
 
 How old it is and brought from what old place ! 
 
 Touched by how many hands ! With moods 
 
 divine 
 Burnished how long, so wonderful to shine ! 
 Now given to me — but oh, not mine, not mine ! 
 
 Strange savor of all virtue ! Ancient worth ! 
 How have we pilgrims brought out of the earth 
 Heirlooms of laughter and an antique mirth. 
 
 My heart cries out, amid their fashioning, 
 
 " Lord, I am weary ! Give me some fresh thing," 
 
 As the earth cries for newness in the spring. 
 
 Oh for some thunder that should rush through me 1 
 
 Some rain to purge me utterly of Thee, 
 
 And leave me naked and small, barren and free. 
 
 Then I would drift and drive, splendidly bare. 
 Earnest and simple, choosing all things fair. 
 Plain as the sunshine, supple as the air. 
 
THE DESCENDANT AND THE ID 129 
 
 For what are we but such as they who go 
 With anxious footsteps hunting to and fro 
 For a dear comrade, lost amid the show ? 
 
 I elbowed one that was an empty fool, 
 Touched a girl's hand, oh, beautiful and cool ! 
 And talked with sage professors from a school. 
 
 There was a tent. I heard His voice inside. 
 
 So in I went — but at the door espied 
 
 The pale snake-charmer, vague and heavy-eyed. 
 
 I saw His face afar — oh, brow of flame ! 
 
 Plain element of Heaven ! but when I came 
 
 It was the flaunting clown with mouth of shame, 
 
 I saw His eyes — but turning, in a cage 
 
 Beheld the boar amid the persiflage 
 
 Of the light crowd preserve his ancient rage. 
 
 I felt His breath — but sullen from his lair 
 I saw the great vindictive lion stare 
 In all the solemn grandeurs of despair. 
 
 I saw a guise familiar by the gate. 
 
 " He brings me some fair news," I cried. Too 
 
 late! 
 There stood a sandwich vendor and I ate. 
 
130 THE DESCENDANT AND THE ID 
 
 Into that tent, omnivorous and brown, 
 
 I saw the hurrying hordes of them drive down, 
 
 Until the huge thing murmured like a town. 
 
 Then I, who missed the One I sought for, went. 
 
 But as I wandered in bewilderment 
 
 My body hummed like that articulate tent» 
 
 While traveling with me, many a weary mile. 
 Amused, satiric, watchful all the while. 
 Moved the perpetual Scholar, with a smile. 
 
 For as I watched the caravan go by. 
 Strange, yet familiar, came the wonted cry, 
 '' Yes ! these and these and these ! But where 
 am I ! " 
 
 Then spoke that rapt Philosopher, that bore 
 The little, restless, splendid Biophor. 
 " Thou art not, truly. Nay, what wouldst thou 
 more ? 
 
 " O fretful ! foolish ! thin and vague and high ! 
 O Egotist ! O Modern ! With that cry. 
 Think you to startle time ? I — I — I — I ! 
 
 *' What dream hast thou of what thyself might be ? 
 What star, what cloud, what flame is lit in thee ? 
 Bright terrible delusion, fair to see ! 
 
THE DESCENDANT AND THE ID 131 
 
 '* For you that say, with vanity half hid, 
 
 'I willed and said and made and had and did' — 
 
 Look you, with curious eyes, upon the Id. 
 
 " That little Ark, that peopled with a brood 
 Of dreams, desires, portents, rides the flood, 
 Rocks on forever through thy wistful blood. 
 
 " Behold in it how many lives arrayed ! 
 Wild, hostile, loving, exquisite, afraid, 
 All living things that God has ever made. 
 
 " Here is thy will, thy war, thy heavenly fire, 
 Thy dust, thy want, thy labor, and thy hire. 
 The dream, the anger, and the old desire. 
 
 " Through this small Id the old barbarians rove, 
 And ancient hierarchies slowly move — 
 And kings and clowns and slaves — and hate and 
 love. 
 
 " For what art Thou ? Why nothing, friend, at 
 
 all — 
 Except the echo of a reckless call 
 Or as a simple shadow on a wall. 
 
 " For as the fragile cloud accepts the air 
 Thy thoughts receive their thoughts, and every- 
 where 
 They blow thy dreams about. Thou art not there. 
 
132 THE DESCENDANT AND THE ID 
 
 " fVhat Dream hast thou ? " Then through my 
 
 soul there came 
 A light that burned through weariness and shame, 
 The virginal presence of the clean, first flame. 
 
 " What Dream hast thou f " Then with a heart of 
 
 trust 
 I felt the sharp and exquisite swift thrust 
 Of swords of angels, flashing through the dust. 
 
 O fluttering fire ! O little pale blue wreath ! 
 
 radiant substance, hovering over death ! 
 This, then, is I, made of God's living breath. 
 
 And I am new and wonderful and fair ! 
 
 '' What star^ what cloudy what flame ? " The 
 
 angels share 
 Even with my heart their breathing of first air ! 
 
 Apart, above, beneath, beyond, within, 
 
 1 laugh at this vast heritage of sin. 
 
 That God that made me armed my soul to win. 
 
 Slowly I feel the ancient custom fall 
 Like shattered rain from off a steady wall. 
 And great " / will " is stronger than them all. 
 
THE DESCENDANT AND THE ID 133 
 
 For if those hordes that terribly must ride 
 Drive through my heart and leave their grief in- 
 side, 
 God also wanders there at eventide. 
 
 Man from the dust and woman from the bone, — 
 But oh, we were not wrought of these alone ! 
 God, with His Heavenly spirit, breathed thereon. 
 
 Last night the old ancestral pageant came, 
 Bearing the ancient virtue and the shame. 
 God, in my hand, had written a New Name. 
 
GLADNESS 
 
 The world has brought not anything 
 To make me glad to-day ! 
 
 The swallow had a broken wing, 
 
 And after all my journeying 
 
 There was no water in the spring, — 
 My friend has said me nay. 
 
 But yet somehow I needs must sing 
 As on a luckier day. 
 
 Dusk falls as gray as any tear. 
 
 There is no hope in sight ! 
 But something in me seems so fair. 
 That like a star I needs must wear 
 A safety made of shining air 
 Between me and the night. 
 Such inner weavings do I wear 
 All fashioned of delight ! 
 
 I need not for these robes of mine 
 
 The loveliness of earth, 
 But happenings remote and fine 
 Like threads of dreams will blow and 
 shine 
 
GLADNESS 135 
 
 In gossamer and crystalline. 
 
 And I was glad from birth. 
 So even while my eyes repine. 
 
 My heart is clothed in mirth. 
 
TO NATURE 
 
 I LOVE thee, sweet, because thou art so sure, 
 Beautiful always. Never a mood of ours 
 
 Has touched thine eyes with sorrow. Thou dost 
 endure 
 Tranquil amid thy sunshine and thy showers. 
 
 And thou art rich and delicate and pure, 
 Serene as Heaven dallying among flowers. 
 
 A solace amid woe is this to me. 
 
 That though we perish, still the world is fair. 
 We cannot, by lamenting, darken thee, 
 
 Nor with our tears wash out thy beauty rare. 
 Still shall a violet evening please the sea. 
 
 And a pale splendor satisfy the air. 
 
SERVICE 
 
 If I could only serve him, 
 
 How sweet this life would be. 
 
 Last night I dreamed my darling, 
 Alive, returned to me. 
 
 I brought him from the cupboard 
 The things he liked to eat, — 
 
 The little piece of honey, 
 The rye bread and the meat. 
 
 I sang the song he asked for 
 The night he went away. 
 
 How was it, when I loved him, 
 I could have said him nay ! 
 
 I took the time to please him. 
 With a hand upon his brow. 
 
 Amid the awful leisure 
 There was no hurry now. 
 
 How strange I once denied him 
 What took so little while. 
 
 A kiss would seem so simple. 
 So slight a thing a smile. 
 
138 SERVICE 
 
 With pleased sweet looks of wonder 
 He took what I could give, — 
 
 Such words as we deny them 
 Only because they live. 
 
 The pale light of the morning 
 Shone in upon the wall. 
 
 Come back to me, my darling, 
 And I will give you all. 
 
OH, TELL ME THAT THE BIRD HAS 
 WINGS 
 
 Oh, tell me that the bird has wings ! 
 
 Oh, say the sky is blue ! 
 I think I never knew these things 
 
 Till they were said by you. 
 
 And yet — I feel as wise, as wise 
 
 As a great star may do. 
 That leans its cheek into the skies ! 
 
 So must I lean to you. 
 
 And yet — as fresh as trees in spring. 
 
 As simple as the dew — 
 I seem to know not anything. 
 
 Made innocent with you. 
 
FIRST SIGHT 
 
 I WAS born again to-day ! 
 
 I was fashioned new ! 
 Now my heart is fresh with May 
 
 Virginal as dew ! 
 
 What it was I cannot tell. 
 
 Something on my eyes 
 Exquisitely breathed and fell 
 
 And I grew more wise. 
 
 Goldenly it breathed and kissed. 
 
 Now the world is plain — 
 All the glories I had missed 
 
 In shine and air and rain. 
 
 Just a little while before 
 
 It was all disguised. 
 Now the earth seems so much more 
 
 That I am surprised. 
 
 I could touch and hold and kiss 
 
 Everything I see ! 
 Say then, was it always this, 
 
 Waiting just for me ? 
 
FIRST SIGHT 
 
 Oh, to think that yesterday 
 
 It was shining so ! 
 Yet my poor heart could delay 
 
 And my eyes said no ! 
 
 141 
 
TO BEAUTY 
 
 I WOULD not have thee far away 
 
 By whom I must be led. 
 I needs must have thee every day 
 
 To be my meat and bread. 
 
 For if there be unlovely things 
 
 Wherein no radiance glows, 
 I '11 kiss them till their folded wings 
 
 Shall blossom like the rose ! 
 
 Oh, be thou beautiful, I '11 say, — 
 
 And save me with delight ! 
 Then each dark thing will smile like day 
 
 Between me and the night. 
 
 I '11 listen till I make them speak, 
 By need will make them wise ! 
 
 As love calls blushes to the cheek 
 Or laughter to the eyes. 
 
 For where love lays its trusting kiss 
 There Beauty needs must be 
 
 And so I '11 turn the world to bliss 
 Until it shines like thee. 
 
THE BLESSfiD HANDS OF SLEEP 
 
 I LAY me down with sighs and tears 
 
 After a barren day, 
 Yet every morning I awake 
 
 Innocent and gay. 
 
 The sunbeams sparkle in my soul 
 As if 't were bathed in dew ! 
 
 I feel so simple and surprised, 
 Exquisite and new ! 
 
 Little I feel and like a child 
 
 With laughter I arise. 
 This common earth revealed and bright 
 
 Shines like Paradise. 
 
 Betwixt the blessed hands of sleep 
 
 I lay my heart, and lo ! 
 She heals me of my grief, and now 
 
 Merrily I go. 
 
 Oh, strange and lovely sleep, that Thou 
 
 After a sorrowing day 
 •Canst send me forth like any child. 
 
 Innocent and gay ! 
 
WHO WON THE DAY 
 
 RoNSARD, the gay devil, ran under the guns ! 
 He 'd be off if you bade him to pluck at the suns. 
 Quoth the little Pierrot, " Will you see how he 
 
 runs ! " 
 He jumped up and down in delight at the show — 
 " I could do it myself," cried the little Pierrot. 
 
 Who won the day ? 
 Phillippe and Landre ! 
 These laughed at the fray ! 
 Bonaparte ? No ! 
 Who won the day ? 
 Jacques and Stoiflet ! 
 Ronsard and Rene 
 And the little Pierrot. 
 
 Jacques waved a girl's kerchief high over his head. 
 " They can see me the better," he merrily said. 
 Quoth the little Pierrot, " Will he laugh when 
 
 he 's dead ? " 
 He had only been kissed by his mother, but — 
 
 « Oh ! 
 I could do it myself! " cried the little Pierrot. 
 
WHO WON THE DAY 145 
 
 Who won the day ? 
 Phillippe and Landre ! 
 These laughed at the fray ! 
 Bonaparte ? No ! 
 Who won the day ? 
 Jacques and Stoiflet ! 
 Ronsard and Rene 
 And the little Pierrot ! 
 
 Pierrot laughed aloud. " So little ? " says he ! 
 " If the chance is so small the Lord sized it for 
 
 me ! " 
 They had held the lad back, but he begged to be 
 
 free. 
 He cried like a child for his toy, and so 
 They must needs give his death to the little 
 
 Pierrot. 
 
 Who won the day ? 
 Phillippe and Landre ! 
 These laughed at the fray ! 
 Bonaparte ? No ! 
 Who won the day ? 
 Jacques and Stofflet ! 
 Ronsard and Rene 
 And the little Pierrot. 
 
THE SLEEP IN GETHSEMANE 
 
 Into the dark Christ turned away. 
 He spoke to the Three and bade them stay. 
 " Sit ye and watch while I go pray." 
 O Lord^ pity us ! 
 
 Peter dreamed of a barley cake. 
 It up and talked when he fain would break. 
 He laughed in his sleep till his sides 'gan ache ! 
 O Lord^ pity us ! 
 
 James had a dream that his brothers' ass 
 Fell down dead where the pilgrims pass. 
 He heaved in his sleep and cried " alas." 
 O Lord^ pity us ! 
 
 " Nay," quoth John, " but I '11 take no rest ! " 
 He thought that he lay on the Lord Christ's 
 
 breast. 
 But it turned to a maid's, that he loved the best ! 
 O Lord^ pity us ! 
 
 Jesus looked upon their shame 
 When bleeding out of the dusk he came. 
 Three times over they did the same. 
 O Lord^ pity us ! 
 
MAXIMS FOR AN OLD HOUSE 
 
 THE HEARTH 
 
 God rest you all that linger here, 
 Though you be strange you still are dear. 
 Peace to your hearts, if you abide. 
 Reflect, and give your souls to cheer. 
 
 THE HALL 
 
 Oh thou, the youngest of this race 
 Sojourning now in their old place. 
 Think thou kind thoughts and dream fair 
 
 dreams. 
 For such as this thy line beseems. 
 
 THE EAVES 
 
 If underneath the quiet eaves 
 You hear the pushing of vague leaves — 
 'T is these old beams, remembering 
 How sweet the forests were in spring. 
 
 THE PORCH 
 
 I reach abroad my wistful palms. 
 As beggars cry, " An alms, an alms." 
 Leave thou some kindliness in me 
 That these old rooms may better be. 
 
148 MAXIMS FOR AN OLD HOUSE 
 
 THE BEST ROOM 
 
 All they that spent their days in grace 
 Have left a blessing on this place. 
 Then gentle be that speech that falls, 
 Lest ye offend these placid walls. 
 
 THE STAIR 
 
 She was so young, so light, so fair ! 
 
 I loved her footfall on the stair. 
 
 Her voice fell bright through this dim air. 
 
 I would have kept my dear, but she 
 
 Like thou — like thou — must pass from me. 
 
 THE CHAMBER 
 I 
 
 How intimate and yet how strange ! 
 How calm I am that never change. 
 All day I think, as I abide. 
 How many folk have in me died. 
 
 II 
 
 To sleep, to dream, to smile, to lie 
 And still dream on as night goes by. 
 It may be when thy time shall come 
 It shall not seem more sad to die. 
 
MAXIMS FOR AN OLD HOUSE 149 
 
 THE DUST 
 
 Amid the clinging world I guess 
 Their subtle hands contrive to bless. 
 And from this ancient dust I see 
 Ancestral eyes peer forth at me, 
 
 THE KEEPING-ROOM 
 I 
 
 The thorn that by the wayside grows 
 Comforts the pilgrim with a rose. 
 Do thou, like him, to charm thy gloom 
 Perceive the sweetness of this room. 
 
 II 
 
 If thou perchance shouldst see a face 
 Smile at thee from an empty space. 
 Or feel some presence, do not fear, 
 Those ghosts are kind that loiter here. 
 
 Ill 
 
 I met a stranger in this room. 
 
 He moved about and seemed at home. 
 
 " Good sir," said I, " what dost thou here ? " 
 He turned a pleasant face and said, 
 
 " A hundred years have I been dead." 
 
I50 MAXIMS FOR AN OLD HOUSE 
 
 THE THRESHOLD 
 
 Ye who have come to such an age 
 Ye dream of that Great Pilgrimage, 
 Think not to bid this roof farewell. 
 Lo ! our old smiles shall give you rest 
 In those new mansions of the blest. 
 
 THE PLASTER ON THE CHIMNEY 
 
 These words in time shall pass away 
 And moulder with the mouldering clay. 
 Learn thou that only passing things 
 May know the blessedness of wings. 
 
THE COMMON LOT 
 
 The sheets on which I rest at night 
 Are sleepy fine and drowsy white. 
 Among them are such soft caresses, 
 And all enchanting sleepinesses. 
 
 Arid when I go to wash my hands 
 I touch the sweetness of the lands. 
 What pretty water, swift and shy ! 
 God love my little friend, say I ! 
 
 The wonderful feeling in my feet 
 That makes them glad to touch the street. 
 While through the lanes and market-places 
 Small happenings assume such graces 
 The air seems full of smiling faces. 
 And all the dull, least, common things 
 Have singing breasts and beating wings, 
 
 I let their speech sound in my ear — 
 The wonderfully small and dear ! 
 
 They all go singing day and night, 
 The little children of delight. 
 
152 THE COMMON LOT 
 
 The kind and simple shall not say 
 " We piped to you the livelong day, 
 But could not get you out to play." 
 
 Nay, let me take their shy, small hands 
 And dance among their innocent bands. 
 
 A gray rain lives beneath the eaves, 
 Green apples grow among green leaves. 
 
 Some children in the street let fall 
 Over our hedge a leather ball. 
 
 My feet are glad to touch the ground. 
 My clean skirt makes a pleasant sound. 
 
 If I should go to wash my hands 
 
 I should touch the innocence of the lands. 
 
 The sheets on which I rest at night 
 Are sleepy fine and drowsy white. 
 
SONGS FOR MY MOTHER 
 I 
 
 MY mother's clothes 
 
 When I was small, my mother's clothes 
 
 All seemed so kind to me ! 
 I hid my face amid the folds 
 
 As safe as safe could be. 
 
 The gown that she had on 
 
 To me seemed shining bright, 
 
 For woven in that simple stuff 
 Were comfort and delight. 
 
 Yes, everything she wore 
 
 Received my hopes and fears, 
 
 And even the garments of her soul 
 Contained my smiles and tears. 
 
 Then softly will I touch 
 
 This dress she used to wear. 
 
 The old-time comfort lingers yet, 
 My smiles and tears are there. 
 
154 SONGS FOR MY MOTHER 
 
 A tenderness abides 
 
 Though laid so long away, 
 
 And I must kiss their empty folds, 
 So comfortable are they. 
 
 II 
 
 HER HANDS 
 
 My mother's hands are cool and fair. 
 
 They can do anything. 
 Delicate mercies hide them there 
 
 Like flowers in the spring. 
 
 When I was small and could not sleep. 
 
 She used to come to me, 
 And with my cheek upon her hand 
 
 How sure my rest would be. 
 
 For everything she ever touched 
 
 Of beautiful or fine. 
 Their memories living in her hands 
 
 Would warm that sleep of mine. 
 
 Her hands remember how they played 
 One time in meadow streams, — 
 
 And all the flickering song and shade 
 Of water took my dreams. 
 
SONGS FOR MY MOTHER 155 
 
 Swift through her haunted fingers pass 
 Memories of garden things ; — 
 
 I dipped my face in flowers and grass 
 And sounds of hidden wings. 
 
 One time she touched the cloud that kissed 
 Brown pastures bleak and far ; — 
 
 I leaned my cheek into a mist 
 And thought I was a star. 
 
 All this was very long ago 
 
 And I am grown ; but yet 
 The hand that lured my slumber so 
 
 I never can forget. 
 
 For still when drowsiness comes on 
 
 It seems so soft and cool, 
 Shaped happily beneath my cheek, 
 
 Hollow and beautiful. 
 
 Ill 
 
 HER WORDS 
 
 My mother has the prettiest tricks 
 Of words and words and words. 
 
 Her talk comes out as smooth and sleek 
 As breasts of singing birds. 
 
156 SONGS FOR MY MOTHER 
 
 She shapes her speech all silver fine 
 
 Because she loves it so. 
 And her own eyes begin to shine 
 
 To hear her stories grow. 
 
 And if she goes to make a call 
 
 Or out to take a walk, 
 We leave our work when she returns 
 
 And run to hear her talk. 
 
 We had not dreamed these things were so 
 
 Of sorrow and of mirth. 
 Her speech is as a thousand eyes 
 
 Through which we see the earth. 
 
 God wove a web of loveliness, 
 Of clouds and stars and birds. 
 
 But made not anything at all 
 So beautiful as words. 
 
 They shine around our simple earth 
 
 With golden shadowings, 
 And every common thing they touch 
 
 Is exquisite with wings. 
 
 There 's nothing poor and nothing small 
 But is made fair with them. 
 
SONGS FOR MY MOTHER 157 
 
 They are the hands of Hving faith 
 That touch the garment's hem. 
 
 They are as fair as bloom or air, 
 
 They shine Hke any star, 
 And I am rich who learned from her 
 
 How beautiful they are. 
 
 IV 
 
 HER STORIES 
 
 I always liked to go to bed — 
 
 It looked so dear and white. 
 Besides, my mother used to tell 
 
 A story every night. 
 
 When other children cried to go 
 
 I did not mind at all. 
 She made such faery pageants grow 
 
 Upon the bedroom wall. 
 
 The room was full of slumber lights, 
 
 Of seas and ships and wings. 
 Of Holy Grails and swords and knights 
 
 And beautiful, kind kings. 
 
 And so she wove and wove and wove 
 Her singing thoughts through mine. 
 
158 SONGS FOR MY MOTHER 
 
 I heard them murmuring through my sleep, 
 Sweet, audible, and fine. 
 
 Beneath my pillow all night long 
 
 I heard her stories sing, 
 So spun through the enchanted sheet 
 
 Was their soft shadowing. 
 
 Dear custom, stronger than the years — 
 
 Then let me not grow dull ! 
 Still every night my bed appears 
 
 Friendly and beautiful ! 
 
 Even now, when I lie down to sleep. 
 
 It comes like a caress. 
 And still somehow my childish heart 
 
 Expects a pleasantness. 
 
 I find in the remembering sheets 
 
 Old stories, told by her, 
 And they are sweet as rosemary 
 
 And dim as lavender. 
 
EVFS SONG 
 
 They may not ever know 
 By what dark thoughts I go, 
 What roads lead to and fro 
 
 To that dear place. 
 But since the day our eyes 
 Turned from its blessed skies, 
 I have thrice seen Paradise, 
 
 By God's good grace. 
 
 Ay, thrice the angel's sword 
 
 Has touched my heart, good Lord. 
 
 According to thy word, 
 
 I came by fire. 
 And thrice those roads of pain 
 Have broken my soul in twain, 
 Yet it was not in vain, 
 
 O Heart's Desire. 
 
 When Adam on his side 
 Turned heavily and cried. 
 With laughter had I died 
 To make him whole. 
 
i6o EVE'S SONG 
 
 My heart was like to break 
 For that sweet Eden's sake, 
 Comfort thereof to take 
 For his poor soul. 
 
 Strong rain and bitter wind ! 
 And we were lost and blind. 
 All this of my frail mind 
 
 Was come of me. 
 But Adam spoke and said, 
 " Love, I were comforted, 
 Yes, raised although long dead, 
 
 Being near to thee." 
 
 {That place wherein I wait 
 
 Is closed inviolate^ 
 
 Shut in with the warm state 
 
 Of angels^ wings. 
 The trees that Jlame around 
 Bear plumes of golden sounds 
 And like the heart of the ground^ 
 
 The ground bird sings^ 
 
 II 
 
 When, as we went forlorn, 
 My ailing feet were torn 
 With wound of many a thorn 
 And grief of the stone. 
 
EVE'S SONG i6i 
 
 I knew not any harm 
 That had his looks for balm, 
 He healed me with a calm 
 Shed from his own. 
 
 (^Softly the angels there 
 
 Color the atmosphere 
 
 As sweet rain takes the air 
 In time of drouth. 
 ^-^ Her heart is broken" they said^ 
 " Tet sings she like the Dead^ 
 
 For she has Adam^s kiss 
 
 Upon her mouth,"') 
 
 III 
 
 When, born to earth and stone. 
 My Cain fared forth alone. 
 With no heed to my moan, 
 
 In angry-wise. 
 Like a tree the storm has bent 
 I rocked, being wholly spent, 
 Yet by that road I went 
 
 To Paradise. 
 
 (No hope^ nor joy ^ nor fears ^ 
 Laughter^ nor any tears^ 
 Disturb those silent spheres 
 Where I abide. 
 
i62 EVE'S SONG 
 
 The waning and increase^ 
 God maketh all this cease ; 
 Only a great ^ good peace — r 
 j^nd naught beside.) 
 
 Yes, thrice the angel's sword 
 Has touched my heart, good Lord. 
 According to thy word, 
 
 I came by fire. 
 And thrice those roads of pain 
 Have broken my soul in twain. 
 Yet it was not in vain, 
 
 O Heart's Desire ! 
 
THE THEATRE-CURTAIN 
 
 What a happy folk are these — 
 That the artist's hand has wrought 
 On the curtain, gay as thought — 
 Light as folly, how they please ! 
 
 And the play that lived behind 
 
 Passes, faint as any wind ! 
 
 And we have not any mind 
 Save for these ! 
 
 Ah — this theatre-curtain ! Think awhile 
 How the faces on it smile ! 
 How they dance, 
 
 Glance, 
 
 Shine ! 
 
 Columbine 
 Leads her sportive pageant in 
 
 With Harlequin ! 
 Gay Pierrot! 
 
 Sweet Pierrette ! 
 We forget 
 
 What 's the show 
 Till the lights go out, and lo ! 
 
 Romeo ! 
 
 And Juliet ! 
 
1 64 THE THEATRE-CURTAIN 
 
 And the motley — gone at last ! 
 All the gay, 
 
 Jesting throng 
 Fled away ! 
 
 Following after 
 
 Went the laughter 
 
 And the past 
 
 Has their song ! 
 
 Yet we know they '11 come again — 
 
 That is sure ! 
 Strange it is that in this world of men 
 'T is our laughters that endure ! 
 Only tears shall pass away. 
 Sorrow vanish, like the play ! 
 When all 's said and done there '11 fall 
 A healing joy over all ! 
 
 Even so 
 Juliet weeps and Romeo 
 
 Faints and dies — 
 While following the voice of woe 
 Comes the singing of Pierrot, 
 And the laughter of Pierrette stops the sighs. 
 
 Oh, the merriments of earth ! 
 
 We do well — 
 When we dance, sing, and smile ! 
 Truly we were made for mirth ! 
 
THE THEATRE-CURTAIN 165 
 
 And I love this painted throng ! 
 
 Glad am I to know that after 
 
 This sad play will come the laughter 
 
 And the song. 
 And I thank the hand that wrought 
 Such delight with such a thought 
 That the theatre-curtain falls 
 Bringing joy by the hand, 
 Singing dancers in a band — 
 And a voice none can withstand 
 
 Calls and calls — 
 Like a day 
 
 In sweet o' June I 
 I forget the inner breath, 
 Parting, fear, despair, and death, 
 And my own feet dance away 
 
 To the tune I 
 
 Dears, who painted here do dwell — 
 Flushed and gay, I love you well ! 
 Oh, to bide as one of these I 
 I could dance as well as they. 
 Have my laughter and be gay ! 
 And forget the strange old way 
 So beset with mysteries. 
 
 Columbine, 
 
 The fine, 
 
1 66 THE THEATRE-CURTAIN 
 
 And mocking — 
 Lifts her skirt and shows her stocking ! 
 Sweetheart, fie ! And foldero ! 
 Maids and gallants in a row 
 
 To the fair ! 
 Oh, what are these whisperings. 
 Like a sigh that breathes and clings ! 
 If the saddened heart of things 
 Breaks behind us, who 's to care ? 
 
 I forswear 
 Romeo and Juliet ! 
 Rest ye, sweets ! I must forget 
 How ye sorrowed, when Pierrette 
 Whirls her timbrel in the air. 
 Dancing down to seek the fair. 
 How the motley crew comes prancing ! 
 How they whirl and pirouette ! 
 Gay Pierrot, 
 
 Sweet Pierrette ! 
 Swiftly glancing ! 
 
 I forget 
 Some one sorrowed ! Is it so ? 
 Peace, it was so long ago. 
 Prithee, pipe ! And let 's be dancing ! 
 Faith ! This world 's a pleasant show ! 
 Dears, I love it ! Here we go ! 
 (^But the heart break ? Be it so^ 
 
THE THEATRE-CURTAIN 167 
 
 Hi di di and tripping toe 
 
 All the way ! 
 I will kiss thee, one, two, three — 
 An thou 'It give but one to me, 
 
 And be gay ! 
 
 Is it thine — this haunting fear ? 
 This despair that breathes so near ? 
 World-old sorrow 
 
 What dost thou here r') 
 'T is to-morrow ! 
 
 Sweet my dear — 
 Kiss! 
 
 (O^, hush thee^ Juliet!^ 
 This — 
 
 Pierrette — 
 
 Is all I ask ! 
 Motley and a singing mask, 
 
 And to forget ! 
 
THE PILGRIM 
 
 Touch me not, mother, who art thou, 
 
 To lay a hand on me ? 
 My soul was driven through sun and moon 
 
 Ere I was come to thee ! 
 
 My soul was blown through the solid earth, 
 
 It rode upon the sea. 
 And the whirling planet brought me forth 
 
 Ere I was come to thee. 
 
 My feet have traveled by blood, by blood. 
 That guts a road through the hearts of men. 
 
 I lodged me safe beneath their mood 
 And then drove on again. 
 
 Touch me not, mother, for I must burn. 
 
 Such ancient fires flame in me ! 
 Frail web that caught a scattered pollen, 
 
 I was not born of thee ! 
 
 I must be strange, for I am far ! 
 
 Oh, near and far as is the air ! 
 I drank a strong milk out of a star — 
 
 For lo ! thou wast not there. 
 
THE PILGRIM 169 
 
 Touch me not, mother ! I was not held 
 By pleading, stone, or solid seas. 
 
 What is there in Thy wistful flesh 
 More strong than these ? 
 
 If Thou came out of the moon and star 
 
 I plucked thee forth by my desire, 
 I can hold thee burning in my hand ! 
 
 It was my hand that shaped the fire ! 
 
 If thou didst house thee in the mood 
 
 Of folk that perished long ago^ 
 It was the whisper in my blood 
 
 That brought thee^ whether thou wouldst 
 or no» 
 
 I am more frail than water or stone ^ 
 
 But yet I shall not let thee go ! 
 Thou art my son^ and mine alone^ 
 
 Because I love thee so ! 
 
A MOTHER'S SONG 
 
 I HAVE not yet known Mother's grief 
 For I can comfort thee. 
 Child, I can smile above the tears 
 So swiftly eased by me. 
 
 I know in time my son shall grow 
 Beyond his Mother's ken. 
 And half a stranger he will go 
 Among the world of men. 
 
 Then shall I know a Mother's grief — 
 His separate bitterness. 
 My heart will break if his must ache 
 With wounds I cannot guess. 
 
 'T is little pain to bear a child 
 Beside this other woe. 
 To feel the helplessness to soothe 
 The want that grieves him so. 
 
 (/ hear a man cry in the dark^ 
 He journeys on alone.) 
 Lie close, lie close, my little son, 
 While yet thou art my own. 
 
A MOTHER'S SONG i 
 
 (^His heart is broken by stranger handsy 
 I may not give him rest,) 
 My darling one, my child, my Son ! 
 I hold thee on my breast. 
 
 {The heart in him is sick with need^ 
 For help I may not give.) 
 Perchance the smiles I spend on thee 
 May help that stranger live. 
 
 {Unhoused J along a barren road^ 
 I hear a pilgrim weep.) 
 But in his heart is the little song 
 That sings thee now to sleep. 
 
 {The bitter brand of this worWs shame 
 Is sealed upon his brow.) 
 But in his hand is a New Name — 
 The kiss I give thee now ! 
 
 For when my child is grown — is grown 
 He '11 get this help from me, 
 That now, while he is all my own, 
 I rock him on my knee. 
 
CLOD OF THE EARTH 
 
 Clod of the earth, that hardly knows 
 How the warm sun comes or the cold rain 
 
 goes, 
 That lieth dumb and bleak and bare. 
 It was thy thought begat the rose. 
 
THE DREAMING MAN 
 
 " O Dreaming Man^ why dost thou go 
 Serene as stars through clouds at nighty 
 As safe as cold is among snow ^ 
 Constant as laughter to delight ? 
 What comforts thee and what high charm 
 Has robed thee in Imperial calm ? " 
 
 " O Dreaming Man^ across the west 
 The darkening shades of night draw nigh." 
 Brother, who seeks the eternal guest 
 His sun sinks not in any sky, 
 Time is ashamed and stars unsure 
 And seasons pass, but I endure. 
 
 " O Dreaming Man^ where are thy tears ? " 
 Brother, they have no need to fall. 
 
 " Tou drink not of the bitter years ? " 
 Brother, I am more strong than all. 
 I dreamed beyond the moon and sun 
 I was a great and god-like one. 
 
 He sat beneath the radiant trees 
 That sing like birds, in Paradise. 
 
174 THE DREAMING MAN 
 
 Since space and time were not of these, 
 Eternal peace had made him wise. 
 Upon God's breast, a darling child. 
 He leaned his happy cheek and smiled. 
 
 As the sea spheres its golden hands 
 About the beauty of the moon. 
 He held the round earth, the old lands, 
 The night, the sunrise, and the noon. 
 The wind, the tide, the shine, the sound. 
 And time that circled round and round. 
 
 And it was built out of his thought. 
 And it was globed to his desire ; 
 Out of his heart of love he brought 
 The little lovely ball of fire, 
 A sphered flame, a shape of bliss. 
 Assured and safe he fashioned this. 
 
 In that bright place, remote, afar. 
 He flamed with God upon his throne, 
 There was not any time nor star 
 But he could have it for his own. 
 Seasons and dooms about him crept, 
 Superb he held the earth and slept. 
 
 He dreamed that in a garden place 
 He knew not anything at all. 
 
THE DREAMING MAN 175 
 
 Only at dusk he saw God's face, 
 And Eve shined through the interval. 
 A little apple pleased his eye — 
 " The forbidden fruit I eat — and die.' ' 
 
 Exquisite with the day and night, 
 
 And globular as music is. 
 
 And roseate with his delight — 
 
 The child of love, it all was his. 
 
 The sunset through his fingers streamed 
 
 Near to God's heart he slept and dreamed. 
 
 He dreamed he was the angry Cain, 
 Confused and sullen from his birth. 
 He hid the white face of his slain. 
 And cursed with it the barren earth. 
 With solemn rituals of the dead — 
 " I hate — and serve thee, Lord," he said. 
 
 He was as beautiful as Love, 
 
 God's hand had fashioned him so fair. 
 
 As innocent as is the Dove 
 
 He poised and shone in that great air I 
 
 Like a white cloud that takes its rest 
 
 He slept and dreamed upon God's breast. 
 
 He thought that with a mouth of shame 
 He broke his Master with a kiss. 
 
176 THE DREAMING MAN 
 
 And oh — the everlasting flame 
 That shall consume his soul for this. 
 He swerved like fire from side to side. — 
 " God — I have slain my God ! " he cried. 
 
 He was as clean as oceans are, 
 And like the day-spring he was fair, 
 And he could dance like any star 
 Over the highways of broad air. 
 A splendor from his body streamed, 
 He held the little earth and dreamed. 
 
 He dreamed that as pale foliage dead 
 His ashen body glimmered white. 
 Among old bones he broke his bread 
 Lamenting in the tombs at night. 
 A piteous outcast barren and lean 
 He beat his breast and cried " unclean." 
 
 God's laws were as the trembling strings 
 Wherefrom he plucked sweet mellow tones. 
 And causes, strongest of all things, 
 Were for his golden paving-stones. 
 Wild forces, exquisite as birds. 
 Were tamed by him, and knew his words. 
 
 He dreamed he was so frail, so poor. 
 He could be held by stone and fire, 
 
THE DREAMING MAN 177 
 
 Yet melting rock could not endure 
 Before the rod of his desire. 
 He shut himself into a tomb; 
 " What hand can raise me from rtiy doom ? " 
 
 He thought he ran from pole to pole. 
 And that he delved into the sun, 
 Unraveled the bright web from a soul, 
 And found it was not any one. 
 He ate the grass and bit the sod. 
 " Ye beasts," he cried, " there is no God.'' 
 
 Yet sometimes, stirring in his sleep, 
 God's fertile breath upon his eyes. 
 The splendor makes his dream less deep. 
 And half he sees his Paradise. 
 
 then, stretched vast beyond the sky, 
 The sleeper dreams that he is I. 
 
 Bright as the silver waters are 
 That girdle this dark earth around, 
 As sure as light is to the star. 
 Or as the silence to the sound- — 
 Wrought fair within and breathed without, 
 
 1 feel the sleeper all about. 
 
 And well I know that I am he — 
 For I am mightier than I seem. 
 
178 THE DREAMING MAN 
 
 I am not the shape I look to be ; 
 But I am greater than my dream. 
 Amid the cloudy dust there shine 
 High citadels that all are mine. 
 
 The caravansary of the days 
 
 A moment pitch their tents of light ; 
 
 Then shadowed take their destined ways 
 
 Over the deserts of dark night, 
 
 And what black sand down which they went 
 
 Remembers how they stretched their tent ? 
 
 This solid earth is not so stout. 
 It has a vague and shifting look. 
 It runs like water all about. 
 And trembles like the singing brook. 
 Brightly it slips from out my hand, 
 The little hour's worth of sand. 
 
 When in a vault I once must lie 
 
 And rock put on the heavy look, 
 
 I saw sweet shapes through substance fly 
 
 As sound is woven in a brook. 
 
 Bright wandering faces breathed and shone. 
 
 And smiling eyes blew through the stone. 
 
 When terror takes me by the hair, 
 I say " 'T is but the drift of sleep." 
 
THE DREAMING MAN 
 
 And when distrust shall lay me bare, 
 I laugh outside, while my eyes weep. 
 For this which takes my heart to-day. 
 While happening seems so far away. 
 
 When from the dust I seek release, 
 And my heart cries " I must be free," 
 I plunge in that abyss of peace, 
 That is the greater self of me. 
 I swing submerged in that great tide. 
 Whose oceans in my soul abide. 
 
 *' O Dreaming Man^ how dost thou know ? " 
 The dawn has touched this sleep of mine. 
 The vapor wavers to and fro, 
 And in my plumed wits there shine 
 Strange eyes as out of peacock's wings 
 And they behold great gorgeous things. 
 
 Clothed in the scarlet of the skies 
 
 At the high feast I sit elate. 
 
 The flaming lights of Paradise 
 
 Are for my ministers of state. 
 
 White powers from my body stream — - 
 
 I hold the little earth — and dream. 
 
 179 
 
UNDER THE TREES 
 
 The wonderful, strong, angelic trees, 
 
 With their blowing locks and their bared great 
 
 knees 
 And nourishing bosoms, shout all together, 
 And rush and rock through the glad wild 
 
 weather. 
 
 They are so old they teach me. 
 With their strong hands they reach me, 
 Into their breast my soul they take, 
 And keep me there for wisdom's sake. 
 
 They teach me little prayers ; 
 To-day I am their child ; 
 The sweet breath of their innocent airs 
 Blows through me strange and wild. 
 
 So many things they know. 
 
 So learned with the ebb and flow 
 
 By which the seasons come and go. 
 
 Still the forefather stands 
 
 With unforgetting eyes, 
 
 Forever holding in his tranquil hands 
 
 The fruit that makes us wise. 
 
UNDER THE TREES i8i 
 
 So many things they hear, 
 Whisperings small and dear ! 
 The little lizard has a voice clear, 
 
 Squirrel and mole. 
 
 A wild and pleasant speech 
 
 Our Lord has given to each. 
 Dear masters, pray you teach 
 The language of the woodchuck in his hole. 
 So many things they praise 
 In earnest, worshipful ways. 
 The Little Moment and the Ancient of Days. 
 To one they yield a flower 
 That blossoms for an hour; 
 The other they praise with all their singing 
 
 blood 
 That they so long have stood. 
 
 So many things they love. 
 
 The frail ecstatic gnats that move 
 
 Like planets whirling in a sky, 
 
 These do they lean above 
 
 Even like Heaven, while they flame and die. 
 
 Here are our neighbors, the good weeds, 
 
 And, look you, all the brown industrious seeds 
 
 With busy workmanship achieve 
 
 Green citadels of grass. 
 
 And minarets and domes of shining flowers. 
 
1 82 UNDER THE TREES 
 
 Absorbed and radiant, perpetually they pass. 
 
 The little workers with their subtle powers 
 
 Lay their foundations in the sod, 
 
 While the tree, that knows all from so long ago, 
 
 Watches the busy weaving to and fro, 
 
 And smiles on them like God. 
 
 Now I am brave again. 
 
 Strong again and pure. 
 
 I have washed my spirit clean of men, 
 
 I am established, sure. 
 
 I have drunk the waters of delight 
 
 From fountains that endure ; 
 
 Yes, I have bathed my soul 
 
 Where the rushing leaves carouse. 
 
 I have drunk the air that freely flows 
 
 And washes their green boughs. 
 
 I never feel afraid 
 
 Among the trees ; 
 
 Of trees are houses made ; 
 
 And even with these. 
 
 Unhewn, untouched, unseen. 
 
 Is something homelike in the safe sweet green. 
 
 Intimate in the shade. 
 
 Something remembered haunts me, 
 
 A familiar aspect suddenly enchants me ; 
 
UNDER THE TREES 183 
 
 These things were so 
 When I was here^ hundreds of years ago. 
 
 Oh, not to-day have I the first time seen 
 This pool of sunshine, this bending green. 
 This knotted soil, and underneath the stone 
 The small gray water singing all alone. 
 But when my naked soul came wandering down 
 On the pilgrimage, kind hands did succor me 
 And clothed me in the guise of grass or soil, 
 Or a gnat maybe ! Making me a shelter 
 Of root or stone ! For surely in their eyes 
 I see a look of query and surmise, 
 
 A begging for love, 
 As humble parents look upon a child 
 
 Returned more wise than they 
 And strive with all they know to please him so 
 
 That he will stay. 
 Ah, he has traveled far, and many years been gone. 
 Yet still he is their son, their son, their son ! 
 
 My wistful kinsfolk, I will not forget 
 
 Your simple patois ! Oh, 't were shame on me 
 
 To grow oblivious to my father's speech ! 
 
 But I will go 
 With men, yes, with the angels, slipping so 
 Into the old vernacular ! They will smile 
 
1 84 UNDER THE TREES 
 
 To hear the sweet provincialisms come 
 With tender thoughts of home. 
 
 And God Himself 
 When I am praising Him, with the great mirth 
 And radiant ceremonials, will be kind. 
 That even His Heaven has not rid my mind 
 Of the quaint customs of my native earth. 
 
 We are all brothers ! Come, let 's rest awhile 
 In the great kinship. Underneath the trees 
 Let *s be at home once more, with birds and bees 
 And gnats and soil and stone. With these I must 
 Acknowledge family ties. Our mother, the dust. 
 With wistful and investigating eyes 
 Searches my soul for the old sturdiness. 
 Valor, simplicity ! Stout virtues these. 
 We learned at her dear knees. 
 
 Friend, you and I 
 Once played together in the good old days. 
 Do you remember ? Why, brother, down what 
 
 wild ways 
 We traveled, when — 
 
 That 's right ! Draw close to me ! 
 Come now, let 's tell the tale beneath the old 
 
 roof-tree. 
 
ORA PRO NOBIS 
 
 While I was still a child so young 
 I had no words upon my tongue 
 
 (Hail Mary.) 
 They led me to a convent gray 
 And here they told me I must stay 
 And learn to think high thoughts and pray. 
 
 (Hail Mary.) 
 
 They taught me I must keep my ways 
 Fresh for God's sight and fit for praise, 
 As clean as angels all my days. 
 
 (Hail Mary.) 
 They taught me that my words should fall 
 With silence sweet for interval, 
 And that God's praise should sphere them all 
 As the sky holds this earthen ball. 
 
 (Hail Mary.) 
 
 " And my looks too," said I, " shall they 
 Not praise Him, like a child at play ? " 
 
 " Hush^ little Daughter^'' answered they. 
 And made me stitch the livelong day. 
 (Hail Mary.) 
 
1 86 ORA PRO NOBIS 
 
 " Let all your thoughts be sweet and mild, 
 Like the wings of doves, or silver-wild 
 Sing round God's heart, for thou art a child/ 
 (Hail Mary.) 
 
 Long years I dwelt in that dark hall. 
 There was no mirror on the wall, 
 I never saw my face at all. 
 
 (Hail Mary.) 
 In a great peace they kept me there, 
 A straight white robe they had me wear. 
 And the white bands about my hair. 
 I did not know that I was fair. 
 
 (Hail Mary.) 
 
 I did not know how bright my looks 
 
 Shone in that place like rippling brooks. 
 
 But the gray nuns in shadowy bands 
 
 Closed thick around me as the sands 
 
 Lift water in their slow grave hands. 
 
 And so I glistened all alone 
 
 Like a water singing cheerly. 
 
 Knowing not it sings so clearly. 
 
 Oh, for a wild rush down the mountain ! 
 
 Hidden in a basin of stone 
 
 I sprang and sang like a golden fountain. 
 
ORA PRO NOBIS 187 
 
 Sometimes we sewed at magic gowns 
 For great gay ladies in the towns, 
 Color of flame and russet browns, 
 
 (Hail Mary.) 
 StufF of blue and cloth of red 
 And thin apparel for the dead, 
 Stitched in and out with a lily-white thread. 
 
 (Hail Mary.) 
 
 Sometimes we chanted a slow hymn, 
 And in the cloister, long and dim, 
 We stood in ranks like lilies slim. 
 
 (Hail Mary.) 
 The pale Priest swung a starry light. 
 And sometimes in my dreams at night 
 The great kind angels warm and bright 
 Wove me garments of delight. 
 
 (Hail Mary.) 
 
 Sometimes made strange with cloudlike needs 
 
 I used to tell the Lord my beads. 
 
 They were as beautiful as deeds 
 
 That won the blessed saints their meeds. 
 
 (Hail Mary.) 
 When to the Crucifix I came 
 I kissed it, out of love and shame, 
 And then great wings would round me flame. 
 
 (Hail Mary.) 
 
1 88 ORA PRO NOBIS 
 
 Sometimes alone and vision struck 
 
 I made black letters in a book, 
 
 Or such a glory round them shook 
 
 They blossomed with a flowering look. 
 
 I wrought them round with smooth green leaves. 
 
 Where scarlet fruitage interweaves, 
 
 And the pale light of water-lily sheaves 
 
 Spread a tranquil splendor under 
 
 A warm vintage of purple and green. 
 
 Angels' warm garments shone between, 
 
 And mellowed with a yellowed wonder 
 
 The rich page of the Breviary, 
 
 Whose words stepped in a solemn tune 
 
 Mindful of an inner rune 
 
 As black nuns in the afternoon 
 
 Pace a hot garden, flowered with June. 
 
 And those dark words upon the page. 
 
 Bound on their holy pilgrimage, 
 
 And the brighter words that blazoned them 
 
 round 
 Uttered a strange beamy sound 
 More musical than any sound — 
 For all the words in the Breviary 
 Were written in the praise of Mary. 
 Mary Mother^ he thou kind to us^ 
 In thy Heaven^ turn thy mind to us. 
 Among thy angels, he not hlind to us ! 
 
ORA PRO NOBIS 189 
 
 I give my perfectness to thee^ 
 My innocence and virginity. 
 
 Keep me in purity n^ 
 
 So shall I blessed be. 
 Ave Maria^ Ora Pro Nobis. 
 
 Once I that was not wise from age 
 Left a kiss upon the page. 
 
 (Hail Mary.) 
 I thought the words might bloom more rare 
 If innocent kisses warmed them there. 
 I did not know that I was fair. 
 
 (Hail Mary.) 
 
 II 
 
 The corridor was long and lone, 
 And it was flagged with shining stone, 
 Polished by feet long dead and gone. 
 
 (Holy Mother, pray for us.) 
 I used to travel every night 
 Those stones, and as a lily white 
 Sheds petals, so my taper bright 
 Reflected a slow swimming light. 
 
 (Mary, intercede for us.) 
 
 Upon one side a corridor 
 Into a garden opened sweet, 
 
IQO ORA PRO NOBIS 
 
 Heavy with summer, rich with heat, 
 And sometimes whitened thin with sleet. 
 
 (Holy Mother, pray for us.) 
 At midnight how it used to smell 
 Of rose and jasmine, and the bell 
 From the high tower dropped a sound 
 Sphering through the spicy dell 
 Orbed and golden to the ground. 
 I used to wonder, if I found it. 
 With all its music wrapped around it. 
 If I could keep it shaped just so, 
 A star of sound in a golden glow. 
 
 The whole year long and every night 
 My bare feet traveled, silver white. 
 Looking neither left nor right. 
 In my hand I held a light. 
 
 (Holy Mother, pray for us.) 
 I went with oil to Mary's shrine 
 To feed the blessed light divine 
 That perpetually must shine. 
 
 (Mary, intercede for us.) 
 
 Of all the nuns I was the least. 
 Each night I met the pale worn Priest, 
 Whose fasting was his only feast, 
 (Holy Mother, pray for us.) 
 
ORA PRO NOBIS 191 
 
 Pacing darkly by the wall 
 To the nuns' confessional, 
 I could hear his footsteps fall, 
 Stop at the cross, and that was all. 
 (Mary, intercede for us.) 
 
 I knew how once upon the stone 
 Kissing the cross he prayed alone 
 Until its pangs consumed his bone, 
 And in his flesh that grief was shown. 
 
 (Holy Mother, pray for us.) 
 And now upon his hands and breast 
 Christ's precious wounds were manifest. 
 Making him holier than the rest. 
 
 (Mary, intercede for us.) 
 
 Three long years I faced him there 
 Every night, and felt his prayer 
 Shine round him like a starry air. 
 
 (Holy Mother, pray for us.) 
 He turned from me his unseeing eye 
 Like one who was about to die. 
 And knelt at the cross as I passed by. 
 
 (Mary, intercede for us.) 
 
 It was upon a winter's night. 
 My bare feet traveled, silver white 
 
192 ORA PRO NOBIS 
 
 Through fine sheer sleet that glittered bright. 
 
 Looking neither left nor right, 
 
 In my hand I bore a light. 
 
 A garment spun of whirling sleet 
 
 Wove me round from head to feet, 
 
 I shone as in a winding sheet. 
 
 My clinging feet left blood upon 
 
 The sharp strange coldness of the stone. 
 
 I drifted on without a moan. 
 
 (Holy Mother, pray for us.) 
 Before the blast my head was bent, 
 I could not see which way I went. 
 When at the cross I fell, clean spent. 
 
 (Mary, intercede for us.) 
 
 The Priest came staggering through the blast. 
 
 For forty nights he kept his fast 
 
 Even like the Christ — this was the last. 
 
 (Holy Mother, pray for us.) 
 His cast-out dreams appeared to glow, 
 A pageant and a blazing show. 
 Round about I saw them go. 
 Fire woven in a snow. 
 
 (Mary, intercede for us.) 
 
 The visions that he drove from him 
 About my eyelids, beating dim. 
 
ORA PRO NOBIS 193 
 
 Like radiant vapors seemed to swim, 
 
 And suddenly unfurled, 
 The air showed in its cordial fold 
 High blazoned chambers floored with gold 
 
 Built in a magic world. 
 
 Strong blocks of air reared musical 
 Were quarried for a shining wall. 
 With thrill of lute and zithern call, 
 I seemed to know the names of all. 
 The wind was shaped in colonnades. 
 Turret and dome and long arcades. 
 While blossoming fruit trees cast their shades 
 Over the laughing cavalcades 
 Of knights and ladies, lads and maids. 
 High flowering vines reached up to clamber 
 
 In sunlit rings to icy airs. 
 Green boughs laughed out with plums and pears. 
 While silvery feet of dancing fairs 
 Wheeled, like white birds, down golden stairs 
 
 To a golden paven chamber 
 Whereon their footfalls shone like amber. 
 
 The Priest beat on his breast and cried, 
 " I will not see them." Barren eyed 
 He stared them from him and defied. 
 (Holy Mother, pray for us.) 
 
194 ORA PRO NOBIS 
 
 The towers built of thought and dream 
 A moment terribly did gleam, 
 Then ran like water in a stream. 
 (Mary, intercede for us.) 
 
 He beat from him the beauteous net. 
 About his brow the frozen sweat 
 Flashed like a visor sternly set. 
 (Holy Mother, pray for us.) 
 ^' If I can reach the cross," he cried, 
 '' Whereon my Lord was crucified. 
 Then the whole world has been denied. 
 
 Devil, beast, or human." 
 Bleeding before the cross he knelt. 
 Dimly through the snow he felt, 
 And his kiss fell on me — a woman. 
 
 The sweet chill fragrance of the snow 
 More fine than lilies all aglow 
 Breathed around — he saw me so. 
 In garments spun of fire and snow. 
 
 (Holy Mother, pray for us.) 
 His hands were on my face and hair. 
 His high, stern eyes that would forswear 
 All earthly beauty, saw me there. 
 Oh, then I knew that I was fair ! 
 
 (Mary, intercede for us.) 
 
ORA PRO NOBIS 195 
 
 He drove me from him through the night. 
 My bare feet traveled, silver v^^hite. 
 Looking neither left nor right, 
 In my hand I held a light, 
 
 (Holy Mother, pray for us.) 
 I went with oil to Mary's shrine 
 To feed the blessed light divine 
 That perpetually must shine. 
 
 (Mary, intercede for us.) 
 
 Ill 
 
 Great is the will and great the need 
 Of him who strives against a deed. 
 How often does he faint and bleed ; 
 But he can crouch behind a stone. 
 Or hide in barren fields alone, 
 Bondsman until the hour is done. 
 
 Sterner is the battle fought 
 By him who strives against a thought. 
 
 I knelt before the shrine that day 
 Where Mary smiles on them that pray. 
 Not once I let my thoughts astray. 
 
 I kept my dreams on angels' wings. 
 And oh, they were but empty things, 
 Frail lights and golden vanishings. 
 
196 ORA PRO NOBIS 
 
 'Twixt him and me the Holy Cup 
 Pale hands of thought had lifted up, 
 But lo, it broke ere I could sup. 
 
 (Sweet Mary, pray for us.) 
 'Twixt him and me I brought the face 
 Of my dead Christ and sued for grace. 
 But his looks blurred it from the place. 
 
 (Ave Maria, Ora Pro Nobis.) 
 
 The thoughts I sent 'twixt me and him 
 Like holy incense fluttered dim 
 
 (Sweet Mary, pray for us.) 
 A moment breathed, a fragile sheen, 
 A simple blueness blown between, 
 A little dimness briefly seen. 
 
 (Ave Maria, Ora Pro Nobis.) 
 
 Oh, then I ran with battling cries, 
 Beating the vision from my eyes. 
 Yes, round and round in frantic wise ! 
 But still that thought would seem to blow 
 And drift my body like helpless snow 
 In a strange shape I did not know, — 
 A foolish, white, and dropping thing. 
 That hurried where I would not go. 
 Distraught with wandering. 
 
ORA PRO NOBIS 197 
 
 Then I raised up to God my prayer, 
 I swept its strong and circling air 
 Betwixt me and the great despair. 
 
 (Sweet Mary, pray for us.) 
 But when before the sacred shrine 
 I knelt to kiss the cross benign, 
 Mary, I thought his lips touched mine. 
 
 (Ave Maria, Ora Pro Nobis.) 
 
 Stepping darkly by the wall 
 One and one, with slow footfall. 
 We entered the confessional. 
 
 (Sweet Mary, pray for us.) 
 I thought that Heaven would take me in 
 If so I did but speak my sin. 
 
 (Ave Maria, Ora Pro Nobis.) 
 
 Softly to the grate I trod; 
 He seemed to me more far than God ; 
 My great shame scourged me like a rod. 
 " Father^ I think of you all day^ 
 I cannot work. I cannot pray. 
 I love you. Purge my love away^ 
 
 Then he, with eyes that saw me not. 
 Spoke with pure lips that had forgot. 
 (Holy Mother, pray for us.) 
 
198 ORA PRO NOBIS 
 
 " Go thou to Mary's shrine to-night 
 And keep with oil the eternal light, 
 But ere thou goest from her sight 
 
 (Sweet Mary, pray for us.) 
 Take thou the fearful rods and thresh 
 The forbidden dreaming from thy flesh," 
 
 (Mary, intercede for us.) 
 
 IV 
 
 In the middle of the night 
 My bare feet traveled, sleety white. 
 Looking neither left nor right, 
 In my hand 1 held a light. 
 
 (Hail Mary.) 
 I went with oil to Mary's shrine 
 To feed the blessed light divine 
 That perpetually must shine. 
 (Mary, intercede for us.) 
 
 Before my trembling hand could lift 
 The sacred oil for her gift 
 
 (Hail Mary.) 
 I scourged my body till it leapt 
 And I could hear it — how it wept. 
 Then broken to her feet I crept 
 And worn with that great vigil, slept. 
 (Mary, intercede for us.) 
 
ORA PRO NOBIS 199 
 
 When I woke, I saw his face 
 Float towards me in that empty space. 
 Mary's white figure, bowered in grace. 
 Shone on us from her lighted place. 
 (Sweet Mary, pray for us.) 
 " Lord, keep me from this child," he cried, 
 " Or it were better I had died." 
 And straight, I found him at my side. 
 (Mary, intercede for us.) 
 
 My cheek upon his bosom laid, 
 I saw the eternal burning fade. 
 With sacred oil it was not stayed. 
 
 (Sweet Mary, pray for us.) 
 I would have lighted it, but oh, 
 His circling arm contained me so ! 
 Dark came. I had no will to go. 
 
 (Mary, intercede for us.) 
 
 They scourged us round the walls of gray. 
 They stoned us till the end of day. 
 They drove him, where I cannot say. 
 
 (Hail Mary.) 
 They shut me in a cell of stone. 
 Years and years are dead and gone 
 Since I have tarried here alone. 
 
 (Hail Mary.) 
 
200 ORA PRO NOBIS 
 
 They took my new-born child away, 
 
 I have not seen her since that day. 
 
 What sweet prayers has she learned to say ! 
 
 (Hail Mary.) 
 There used to be a convent bell 
 Dropped golden sound through a spicy dell ; 
 I can remember it so well. 
 
 (Hail Mary.) 
 
 One time I used to go at night 
 And feed with oil the virgin's light. 
 Sometimes the sleet would glitter bright. 
 
 (Hail Mary.) 
 Some was blue and some was red 
 And some was white to please the dead. 
 We sewed it with a lily-white thread. 
 
 (Hail Mary.) 
 
 A jasmine grew beside the wall ; 
 The moon hung like a yellow ball. 
 I have never seen my face at all. 
 
 They took him far and far away 
 To a dark cell, I heard them say, 
 That never sees the light of day. 
 Each night at twelve they have him pray. 
 (Hail Mary.) 
 
ORA PRO NOBIS 201 
 
 When at that hour before the shrine 
 I kiss, like him, the cross benign, 
 Father in Heaven — his lips touch mine. 
 (Hail Mary.) 
 
 I have grown old and spent with age 
 But still my hand is swift and sage 
 To make sweet letters on a page. 
 And all the words in the Breviary 
 Are written in the praise of Mary. 
 Mary Mother^ he thou kind to us ! 
 In thy Heaven have a mind to us ! 
 Among thy angels be not blind to us I 
 
 I give my perfectness to thee^ 
 
 My innocence and virginity^ 
 Keep me in purity. 
 So shall I blessed be. 
 
 Ave Maria^ Ora Pro Nobis, 
 
Electrotyped and Printed hy H. O. Houghton &* Co. 
 Cambridge, Mass., U.S. A. 
 
 H14 89 
 
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