PS 35-^5 Terice IviipalTick Mixtf Class _rES.ai25 COBOUGHT OEPOSIC OUT OF MIST OUT OF MIST By Florence Kilpatrick Mixter BONI AND LIVERIGHT PUBLISHERS NEW YORK COPYRIGHTED, 1921, 3T BONI & LIVERIGHT, INC. All rights reserved 0! ^ir ^ 1921 PBINTED m THE UNTTET 8TATE8 OF AMEBICA g)CU624602 CONTENTS PAGE OUT OF mist: a Sonnet Sequence 11 TRANSFIGURATION 40 ST. Patrick's cATHi^DRAL 41 THE SUMMONS 43 DECEMBER AUGURY 47 INVOCATION 50 THE DEAD 52 TO EDWARD LIVINGS' TRUDEAU 53 SANCTUARY 54 RITUAL 55 THE DEATH OF AN ARTIST 56 PROLOGUE 57 WINTER LANDSCAPE 58 THE WILD CAT 59 THE BRIDGE 60 CHINESE EF.IAPH 61 A PRINT BY HOKUSAI 62 THE CANDLE 63 ALL souls' EVE 64 THE MARRIAGE OF THE SPRUCE Q5 15] PAGB ESTRANGED 66 TO A YOUNG GIRL 67 THE OLDER WISDOM 68 SEPTEMBER 69 ELEGY 70 IN MEMORY OF 71 CRADLE SONG 72 TO A CHILD 73 CHANGELING 74 DRESSING UP 75 LULLABY • 76 [61 For permission to reprint a number of these poems thanks are due to the Editors of Poetry, Contemporary Verse, The Midland, The Poetry Journal, The Lyric, The Masses, The New York Times, and The Bookman. 17] OUT OF MIST A SONNET SEQUENCE Premonitory winds are at my door And restive buds tap on my window-pane; Through drifting clouds the hazy sunbeams pour Their grateful presage of oncoming rain. Within my room the April air is still; No tremor stirs the roses at my side. The shadows gather gently till they fill The walls about me with a dusk world-wide. And now grows faint the throbbing pulse of Spring. Drenched buds sink down in elemental rest. . . . Lo ! spectral, through the stillness dark, you fling The rainbow blossoms of the troubled west! Each flower among them soon must fade and die, Were they not all dream- wrought — thrown from the sky. [11] n These hours are legendary ; they shall pass Like shadows of the April afternoon That weave bright arabesques upon the grass To fade on the dark dial of the moon. . . . Long have I heard with mute, incredible wonder, Your voice above Spring's low accompaniment. Now, to the drum-beat of receding thunder, You come — as though with your heart's turmoil spent. Farewell to dreams ! bright shadows unreturning Across the lovely dial of the sun ! Over the day of their far-vistaed yearning The twilight falls upon the play begun ! . . . What winds of Heaven now whisper on our lips? . . . Pale in the sky the silent bow-moon dips. 121 Ill Why bid me say what you must know so well That faltering speech of mine must but confuse? What is there that my whispered words can tell So truly as my every futile ruse? Did not the smiling mask I wore so long Prove but a banner of the war within? Could studied silence smother all the song That deafened me with its tumultuous din? How did I seek to screen from out my sight Those blinding rays from your compelling eyes! And how I fought to quench the answering light That from the glad fires of my soul would rise ! Ah! must you still look down and bid me speak? What is it in my heart — or yours — you seek? [131 IV Beauty be praised for this white hour when I May tell my love! The storm has left no cloud To mar the glory of the twilit sky, And, radiant as the evening star, and proud, I take your hand that soon shall lead me out To undiscovered dawns! The road that lay Before us had no turning; past all doubt I follow now where you shall lead the way. All, let the long years bring us what they will Of paling stars or music that recedes ! Faith that is bom tonight shall ever fill The dusk — though unknown morrows teach new creeds. For we have been as children — gay or sad Together. But, together, somehow glad. [14] W^HAT strange sweet gesture of remembering earth Shall make this twilight spell forever ours When, on momentous tides, it has re-birth In fragrant miracle of wind-tossed flowers? Perhaps a sudden onslaught of bright rain, Like fury of the unleashed dreams of day, Will beat again upon the window-pane, In tune with flute notes calling us away. Then, hearing the far-echoing thunder's roll — Across whatever gulf of joy or tears — We shall recall such treasure as the soul May look upon once in a thousand years; Seeing the garden that, enchanted, slept Until Love came — dusk-shadowed and rain-swept. 15] VI When I had told my love, you slowly said, "Go, dear! while strength is yours to turn away/ And yet I could not think that hope was dead That had not lived for even one short day. At length you said, "Go now, before I mar This holy hour with omens that your heart Would vainly disavow — and from afar Remember one white moment here apart." But, unafraid, — almost impatiently, I heard you speak; nor even tried to guess The import of this sudden mystery That had no place amid such loveliness. And when at last you turned and kissed my hair Your sombre words melted like summer air. [16 VII How glad I was! How light and swift my wings That soared above the clouds, above the blue; Above the memory of all earthly things I seemed at last alone with God and you. Did you fly with me? I shall never know What mists obscured your vision; what faint cry Came up to you from regions far below. Ah! how I strove to make you see the sky That trembled limitless before my sight — Horizonless, unbounded, then at last Melting into a universe of light! Did you see aught of it before it passed .^^ . . • You do not answer, but, across your eyes. Trail the dim mists of a lost Paradise. [17] VIII 4 Then, as you turned and spoke a strange good-bye, I seenred to hear within your voice a note Of last decision, piercing the bright sky. . . . Alone, there came a fear that clutched my throat Until I could no longer see the light, But needs must blindly creep back to your side To find you safe. — Safe! and with eyes alight Because your fantasies could so misguide My trust that I should think the words you said Were true; forgetting all in that belief Save that I loved, and that you might be dead. And you! You only smiled at my poor grief ! . . . Ah, was it triumph of the actor's role.^ Or had I guessed aright your desperate souLf^ [18] IX How shall I learn to live with this strange love That has no place among the things I know? For it is like a dream wherein I move Upon a sea in whose strong undertow I must succumb, save for some power of will To battle with uncharted streams of death. Ofttimes I struggle to recall that still And brooding day when, with confiding breath, I reached across the drifting sands to you Whose strength was rock. But ah! how suddenly That whirling cloud from out the unbroken blue Swept us, unmindful, to the open sea. Where, on relentless tides, moon-piloted, We drift to shores of the forgotten dead. [191 X Were we so prodigal of joy that Fate Grew tired of counting off the lovely hours Whose sunlit vistas reached to Heaven? Too late We saw the storm descending on our flowers Long-gathered. I could only give one cry; And then my soul was dumb and very still. . . . But you, relentless of what now might die If you should speak, proclaimed your angry will With all the fierce magnificence of youth. And as I heard and tried to steel my heart We suddenly smiled ! Ah, then in very truth We saw a thousand sparkling blossoms start Where one had been! I know not what we said But only how the sunlight touched your head. [20] XI What place is there for me in your life's dream? Is there a moment in a single day When, at the far horizon's rim, I seem A flashing sail upon the ocean's grey? Comes there a time when dusk is hanging near, With all the sky aflame in dying light. That, of the racing cloud-shapes, I appear The one swift-changing cloud of your delight? And sometimes, when the dawn is shot with rose And shimmering veils of mist obscure the sea. Perhaps within your lonely heart there grows A moment's all-engulfing need of me? . . . Strange ! Once I had no troubling wish to know. But was that not a hundred years ago? [211 XII All through the night I lie and think of you Who leave me dumb with inarticulate pain Where nightmare shadows pass in dim review Down the dark corridors of my numb brain. Now I grope blindly for the lover, dead To my imagining; in wide-eyed fear Travel the paths that once unswerving led To him; but find him not; nor any tear To blur the slow grey dawn. In vain I toss From image upon image of this you I do not know; then wonder if your loss Of me could ever throb the whole night through.? No! Pitiless, you seem, still unaware Of ghostly shapes that rise up everywhere. [22] XIII What words of sleeping consciousness beguile Our hearts wherein was once no need for speech? Better to part with one remembering smile Than stare with empty eyes; while spirits reach, Like mist-swept mountain peaks, to part the clouds That hide them from the sky. ... I would forget The meaningless conflict; rend the smothering shrouds Of pride; kill base distrust or vain regret Rather than stifle thought of mine or yours; Tear down the veils of mystery, and dare To look for hate, or love that still endures Beyond the tomb. . . . Ah! I would most beware Of cruel artifice that now denies The love we knew when truth spoke from our eyes! [23] XIV How readily the dreaming mind forgives The scar that glows relentlessly by day And, in forge tfulness of pain, re-lives The undimmed beauty of a far-off May. Thus tenderly you came to me last night And for one sleeping heart-beat held me near. . . . One heart-beat whose far echo of delight It seemed must ring from sphere to answering sphere. Then suddenly I woke and you were gone And once again the scar burned livid red. How profitless my dream when with the dawn I waken with a heart uncomforted And, searching, know not if I grieve for hate Or for a love that Hell cannot abate. [24] XV oiLENCE is bitter; yet what word of mine Would reach you now? What miracle could break The heavy doors that bitterly confine Your spirit? What remembering smile could wake The beauty that is dead? . . . All, all must fail Only to bring us both to overthrow. . . . No need to tell me that my words are pale In your tense sight, and that my touch is slow To heal your heart that would forever kill The form it fashioned ! Even my eyes allow A quick defeat before your blinding will And I at last am weaponless. Ah, now Be swift in your unkindness. . . . Strike one blow That shall release me. . . . With that kindness, go ! [25] XVI In the pale languor of some sultry noon, A. brooding aeon since we said good-bye, Would you, I wonder, on this day of June, Unseal my letter with an ominous sigh? Fearing the words therein might break the spell Of moments we should never again know? Fearing that I who once had loved so well Might speak a language that you did not know? Or rather, from these casual words of mine. So unperturbed — save where the thought is broken- Would you not read into each barren line The love that, once at dusk, my lips had spoken; And, dreaming, hold that memory to your heart As you would me — were we not worlds apart? [26] XVII If you sat here beside me, dear, tonight We should not talk as we were wont to do; Your coming would put every thought to flight And it would be enough to smile at you! Ah! we should watch the April sun go down Beyond the long stretch of the river's flow. And, turning, see the small lights of the town, A-kindle with our dreams of long ago. And you perhaps would reach to take my hand- For it is long, so long, since we have met — And each has been in a grey, wintry land, And for one shining hour we should forget! . . , Alone, I watch the mimic lamps burn bright. For you are not beside me, dear, tonight. [27] XVIII Think not that I was slow to understand. I have not loved you merely for a day. . . . Your moods to me were countless grains of sand That I have held and then seen slip away. And I have loved you for so much that's wise; For laughter; tenderness like summer rain; For slowly wakened passion that defies The short-lived beauty of its cruel reign. And there are times I think I loved you best When you seemed but a tired child of mine Who came to me perplexed, or seeking rest When shadows lengthened at the sim's decline. But now that you are gone my eyes behold Your flaming soul — before imguessed, untold. 128] XIX Tonight no moon shines through the poplar trees; The stars are pale before the coming storm. And like a flash of sleeping memories Swift lightning floods each cloud's awakening form. The dark earth crouches underneath my feet, And breath of clover scents the parching air; Tonight, though you are far, our spirits meet Across a chaos reaching everywhere. . . . This is the hour when prophecies are rife And for our pain the ancient gods atone With respite of one winged hour of life When love, defiant, rushes to its own. This is the hour when lightning-riven skies Sear with white flame the cold earth that denies. 129] XX I DREAMED that, loving you again, I died. And now my heart, once desolate and cold As moonlit snow, in sudden wonder cried "This is the land of our desire! Behold The desert is aglow with jewelled light And I see Beauty's face mirrored afar Upon the drifting sands!" . . . But darkest night Was round about you and from your dim star You answered "No! for now your love is done And this is but mirage whose pale shapes drift Across an empty sky." . . . But as a nun Perceives her God I had seen Beauty lift Her lowered eyes that, from eternal May, Assigned to us one last and lovely day. [sol XXI Why should I wonder that my song grows dull And meaningless when to the minor key Of my dead dreams I sing? Now in the lull That ushers in this long feared day I see No light to guide me, and I stand alone With only silence, silence at my side. Where late was such a sun as never shone Dread darkness and the swift in-coming tide Have found me on the quicksands, where I seem To slip from you at every step. So long Have I been calling you, at last, I dream That you are come. . . . But it is my own song I hear — and now I know its joyful cry Is but the echo from a phantom sky. [311 XXII This is more beauty than the soul can bear. And I am faint with so much loveliness. Not Eden itself would seem one half so fair Were not my heart a thirsting wilderness. Through terraced lights that hide among the trees I wander to the moonlit lake below, And, dazed and wondering, my spirit flees Before a gladness I shall never know. . . , Dim, rippling laughter from a still canoe; Soft strains of music from the halls above; Gay lights upon the mirrored lake — and you — All mingled in a phantasy of love. . . . Hush! Can it be your flute-call that I hear? Now far away . . . Now ever drawing near . . . 32 XXIII Ah, once-beloved, is it you who come? And is it I who give a palHd hand? Beneath your silent gaze my eyes are dumb. . . . We are two strangers in an alien land ! And who more courteous than we who dine And, smiling, mingle with the other guests? . . . "Good-night," I hear you say. Your hand takes mine That in your tightening clasp all-yielding rests. Now, in a flash, I know that you are you, Though still a shadow-shape but dimly seen; Ghost of a flaming dream, come suddenly true; Lover of old — and yet with altered mien. . . . "Good-night," I whisper — but the glad stars burn With radiant promise of your swift return ! [33] XXIV At last we are alone and all is still Save for the crackle of the great birch log VvTiose silver strength is spent in flame to fill Our hearts with light and laughter. The white fog That hung so mournfully now slowly lifts Above the western hills; dark hills where gold Of dying sunset filters through the rifts, In jewelled shapes my dreaming had foretold. . . . And I, who ever wondered why the soul Knows beauty to be more than all it seems, Now find within your eyes its eager goal And know your arms the destiny of dreams, . , , And if life hold no other hour than this I am content — remembering your kiss. [341 XXV There is a calm that broods above the soul As broods grey mist above an unquiet sea. It is the calm that takes its ultimate toll Out of the heart's last bitter agony. Thus, high above the treachery of tears, Above the night of all -enveloping gloom, Above the desolation of long years, I heard the quiet presage of your doom. Then to my listening heart there suddenly came The far-off echo of undying hours; Down vistas of despair our love's white flame Revealed one kingdom that was wholly ours. . . . I seemed again in that enchanted land Where we had dreamed at twilight, hand in hand. IS5J XXVI No bitterness shall ever drown this night Wherein I came to know that we must part. Beloved, like a bird in soaring flight. You brought me all the passion of your heart. Ah ! it was Heaven just to feel you near. Like holy stillness at the birth of dawn; And it was your own soul you brought me, here Where I still count the hours since you are gone. Again I feel your lips upon my brow, And hands that reach to clasp about your head Fall heavy at my side; more heavy now At living dawn than when they shall lie dead. . . But I who found you in that last good-bye Shall hold one golden image till I die. [36] xxvn In memory I sit beside your bed And see again the smile that lit your face; Nor do the slow forgetful years erase A syllable of those last words we said. For, through my tears, seeing your brightness fled Because of them, I plead with Heaven for grace To make you smile once more, while with quick pace I heard night passing that would leave you dead. Swiftly I took your hand and held it tight, Then told in words that choked me ever after Some foolish trifling thing. And though the light That came with your brave laugh was gone thereafter. Yet, as a rocket fills the quiet night With falling stars, I hear again your laughter. [37] XXVIII i Where shall I find you, gone across the mist Of deep oblivion? Gestures that were you Fade from my sight, yet hauntingly persist In the slow-falling leaf. . . . The voice I knew Is silent till I hear its overtones In cadence of the wind. . . . Though Beauty cries From every scarlet hill that now enthrones Your spirit, no bewildering disguise That you may wear shall lure me from the thrill Of your swift smile. . . . Nor shall I ever tire Of seeking you — who once were and are still — The appalling vision of my soul's desire. For, out of mist, I shall at last discover The unchanging you — dear strange immortal lover! [881 XXIX Here in the sanctuary of my dreams. How many a bud shall flower when I am dead! Ah, my beloved, even now it seems As if they bent and swayed above my head. What though the sceptics proved that death were real And you were gone from me a million years Yet would some restless daffodil reveal The image God re-captured from my tears. And you, with silent lips forever cold. Might vainly seek my hand across the dark But some old dream would flash; that day would hold At dusk the promise of the rainbow's arc. . . . There is not any grave where love may rest Until illusion crumbles in earth's breast. THE END TRANSFIGURATION Silence is everywhere; the night is long With uncomplaining, and the far-off wrong Of earth's unkindness is forgotten now. Like glacier-carven rock the untroubled brow Looms eloquent of secret strength that folds The temple of the mind — a shrine that holds Some hidden meaning, come at last to birth Through tortuous pathways of relentless earth. Now, though the soul has fled, yet in its flight It has illumined in the cavemed night An image; burned the imprint of its wings * Into the clay, whence suddenly there springs New form. ... A form that neither life nor death Can wholly claim; but, for one haunting breath. Reflecting beauty, mute and lightning-shod, Poised hesitant between the dust and God. [40] ST. PATRICK'S CATHEDRAL Into the stillness of that vast retreat I turn from off the hot and noisy street. To rest a little from the deafening din, To drink in beauty — not repent of sin. Upon a shrunken crone who scrubs the floor Rose-filtered sunbeams from a window pour Transcendent splendor that might emanate From the high Gothic arch of Heaven's gate. Save for a kneeling silent form or two I am alone with what is false or true; Transfixed, I gaze upon the altar's gold And wait for miracles it may unfold. . . . The transept door swings wide and shows the sun Upon the steps. There children laugh and run, While two slip through the portals with glad rush. Not sobered, only awed by that deep hush Brooding within high dome and pillared walls Like captive echoes of the light foot-falls. [41] Swiftly they pass through long and vaulted aisle With eager eyes and faintly lingering smile, To kneel before the candle-lighted shrine Where Mother Mary lifts her face divine. . . . Then, gaily, they go forth into the sun. Lo! Mary smiles because they dance and run 1421 THE SUMMONS She met him in the Httle college town Where he had gone to take a one year's course In scientific farming. He was tall, Broad-shouldered, and of sturdier, plainer stock Than other men she knew; yet sensitive Withal to her own fineness as perhaps No other man had ever been. His eyes, Direct and kind, had from the very first Expressed his need of her; but when the year Was over, he returned to his old home Without a word of love, and she went west To take up nursing. Almost with relief She found herself now free from what had been A kind of bondage, and she wondered why This silent man, with his great dog-like eyes, Had so compelled her soul. Yet as the months [43] Grew into years, with only now and then A note or Christmas card from him, she came To miss him indefinably, and once, When Christmas passed without a line, she wept. Then, taking up his photograph, she tried To look more deeply in his eyes than she Had ever looked before; but no response To her new mood was there, and when at last His letter came, her heart was cold again. Three years had passed since they had met, and he Had lived meanwhile upon his father's farm In south Vermont. She often pictured it; A lonely spot, made lonelier still by fact That he was close related to one man Of every five in this wide valley, yet Was alien to them all. His father's wish — That this, his eldest son, should follow him — 1441 Was law to such a nature as his own And so he blindly toiled upon the farm Where generations of his forebears slept. His letter in her hand, she pictured now The long, low farm-house, white against the green Of undulating fields, whose shadowy gloom First drew, and then repelled her joyous soul. Just as his lonely strength had drawn, and then Almost repelled her. Now at last she read What he had written; read it stupidly As if deferring comprehension while Again she looked upon the summer noon-day Of far-off fields — now wholly beautiful — Where he, supreme in glory of his youth. Awaited her. . . . Too soon the vision passed And slowly, word by word, some meaning came From those few lines of his. . . He told it with His stem simplicity — how he had bought A thresher, hired it out, and then one day. 1451 While trying to adjust a nut, the knife Had caught his arm. . . . She went to him at once, Aware that no shght word of love had come From him, but still with certainty such as The gods might envy who, with laggard feet. Shall bring vain gifts to intercept her pain. 146] DECEMBER AUGURY OTRANGELY enougJi, ouF Conversation turned Most unexpectedly to death, and we Who but a moment since had laughed together Suddenly were still. Somehow that night The thought of death — which often, like a wedge Between two minds, cuts off communication — Brought us but closer. . . . Closer than the hour And some vague arrogance in each of us Had prophesied. We had not looked for this But thought our loneliness secure. And now, Too proud to show our souls, so lately clothed, Bereft of their poor rags, we talked of death As if it were a month's vacation. "Grief," You said, "a lasting grief, is quite beyond Imagination. We experience shock And feel within ourselves a deep revolt Against some monstrous force — but actual loss [471 We scarcely know. There is a subtle beauty Deep in the very awfulness of death That carries with it its own anodyne." I half agreed with you. At least my words Made but a faint protest; but far, far back WithiQ my brain I knew we lied ! And yet There, underneath the lamplight, the warm glow Of living joy upon us, spoken words Seemed to half lose their authenticity And it was what we felt, not what we said, That counted most. Then, through the open door, The sound of music came with muted voice Of faint denial, and as if our two Unbending souls were suddenly aware That death had come to one of us, we saw Just how the room would look with everything The same, except that one would not be there. But still we smiled and boasted of the way [48] We should forget; till all at once a gleam Of sharp uncertainty and stabbing doubt Flashed from your eyes to mine. And as we looked And felt each other near, I tried to cry "Impossible!" But no words came. The music Ceased abruptly, and I do not know What you were just about to say. Our eyes Unsaid all that had gone before, impelled By might of silence that shall some day speak. Interpreting the emptiness of words To one of us alone under the lamplight. [49] INVOCATION Tonight in sleep there came to me A dream where Christ walked on the sea And, shipwrecked, I called out, to hear His quiet answer *'I am near." But when the waves had risen high I doubted — till I heard him cry "Come take my hand, beloved one. The long and lonely night is done. Fear not! and you shall walk with me. As Peter walked, upon the sea." ***** Who was it called? The night is slow To answer, but, awake, I know The clutching terror of the heart That feels the weed-choked waters part And, drowning, rears a Christ who stands With dim-remembered outstretched hands. [50] Who knows if Peter's Christ is mine? Like Peter, now, I ask a sign. . . . If Christ still walks upon the sea — :¥ * * * ^ How calm is dawn on Galilee! 1511 THE DEAD How quietly they sleep; How tired they must have been Who even now, in this wild storm, Do not awaken. What are they dreaming of Who lie so still beneath the waving ivy? Do they in their dreams, I wonder, Hear the thunder's crash, Or see the willows bend above their heads. Or feel the passionate warm rain, Like pent-up tears. Upon their hearts? . . . * 4: * 4: 4: And you, dear timid one. Who once so feared the lightning's flash — Just now I hurried to pull down the shade To shield your startled eyes, And suddenly remembered You were sleeping there Among the dead. [Si] TO EDWARD LIVINGSTON TRUDEAU Your spirit passes, but a star is bom To bum steadfastly in the silent night Where single purpose kindled into light Your highest hopes, and living deeds adorn Your memory. Wliat though our hearts are torn With loss? You welcomed death with eyes alight W^o long had fought with all a soldier's might. And it were braver if we did not mourn. Now sleep is yours, beneath the balsam hills In whose strong healing breath, in whose repose, We who have loved you feel the health that fills Your soul. . . Great-hearted hills from which arose Your dream, and whence your deathless spirit wills That dream to rise eternal from the snows. [531 SANCTUARY How is it faith outstrips the doubting word, Leaving the skeptic brain in overthrow, And, swift as arrow from the archer's bow. Rises undimmed above the flight of bird? Today the heavy mists of doubt are stirred By distant currents — winds that softly blow As if a promise given long ago Were faintly whispered and as faintly heard. I sometimes think that high above Earth's dome Our hopes from turret to dream-turret soar And, like gray pigeons, build their nests and mate. There Beauty harbors them when they turn home From their wide circling, and forevermore Their sanctuary is inviolate. [64] RITUAL Kneeling, I worship at that holy shrine Where Love returns when the Beloved is gone, Where night, the sea, and one dark Gothic pine Breathe their old covenants of golden dawn. . . Again I hear the reverberant, plaintive tides Chanting their litanies upon the dune. And dream I await you where the sea divides, Cleft by the silver pathway of the moon. . . . Though, when the eastern rim of heaven pales, I shall arise alone, uncomforted. Now, like a jewelled censer, night exhales The incense of a dream forever dead. And your rapt spirit, like an organ, pours Its glad Hosannas on long-echoing shores. [55] THE DEATH OF AN ARTIST I TIRE of looking at the sea, " he said. "The composition's bad; it needs a tree Within the Hne of vision where the red Of sunset pales before immensity. There's too much water and there's too much sky Without a frame to hold them in their place, And not enough of shore to rest the eye Or any little thing to shatter space. If I were painting it " — He suddenly smiled — "You'd come upon it almost unaware. Down avenues of green your soul, beguiled, Would yield the sea a glance and find it fair. How swiftly then the spirit would go free! . . . I tire," he said, "of looking at the sea." C,56 PROLOGUE Paint the sky midnight black! Hang the moon In the highest tree! Scatter the flowers of June Irrecoverably! Drop three stars in a fathomless pool! Let a white cloud pass, Soft as a breeze and cool, Over the grass ! Leave open the rose-trellised gate For mad Harlequin ! Hush! Draw the swift curtain of Fate — Let the play begin! [57] WINTER LANDSCAPE The winter wind is whining Across the furrowed snow; A slender light is shining Out from a silver bow. Frozen beneath the moonlight, The long road suddenly bends. I'll follow it some June night And tell you where it ends! [581 THE WILD-CAT It was midnight on the mountain side When the wild-eat crossed the trail; And I heard his padded foot-falls And I saw his lashing tail. And the red light gleaming from his eyes Shadowed an unseen prey. . . . But the cold moon covered the silence Where a swift cry died away. [59] THE BRIDGE How beautiful the bridge tonight Across the wild ravine! How fierce the lions, tense, alight Beneath their marble sheen ! How golden under the lighted bridge The rising torrent gleams! How dark the purple iris ridge Cooled by the freshet streams! How like a wraith the cloud that flies! How cold the moon that wanes! Ah! when will the four lions rise And toss their chiselled manes? 160] CHINESE EPITAPH She was a Manchu lady. . . . Near the tomb where she Hes Broods an ancient Buddha, with robes of jade and of coral And curious lapis-blue eyes. She was a wistful lady. . . . When the west wind sighs Inscrutable even as the terrible calm of Buddha Her impassive disguise. She was a Manchu lady. . . . Azure the skies And golden the tracery sealing the proud lips of Buddha As the west wind dies. [61 A PRINT BY HOKUSAI Of what avail The tiny winds that call To the indifferent sea? To ships a-sail The twilight's silver pall Whispers of night Without one ripple stirred. But on the shoals three fishermen in white Are watching; they have heard. . . . How still the ships! So soon to feel the breath Of winds that rush to meet the sea's cold lips And fill the night with death! [62] THE CANDLE The coverlet lies like a shroud. All smooth and without fold. Oblivious of what it drapes — A spirit numb with cold. The arms are tense as if some weight. Long held from off the heart. Had slowly crushed the knotted hands And forced their strength apart. Disturb him not, who come to knock With pity or dismay. Nor ask who lit the candle And softly stole away. [63 ALL SOULS' EVE Hark! do you hear the choral dead ? Forgotten now their pride Who on this night would have us know They passed unsatisfied. They shiver like the thin brown leaves Upon a sapless tree, Clinging with palsied, withered might To their identity. Their voices are the unearthly winds That die before the dawn, And each one has some tale to tell And, having told, is gone. 4: * * * * Ah! you who come with sea-blue eyes — And dead these hundred years — Be satisfied! I hold the cup Still brimming with your tears! 64] THE MARRIAGE OF THE SPRUCE Said the spruce to the new-fallen snow "Be my wedding gown!" But the little winds whispered "Lo! We will shake the snow down!" Said the spruce to the dancing rain "Be my silver-shod feet!" But the little winds, coming again, Turned the rain to sleet. Said the spruce to the icicles "You Are my wedding veil." But the sun filtered, laughing, through And the bride turned pale. For the sun was the bridegroom who came With a ring of gold. And his love was a naked flame — As the winds had foretold. 65 ESTRANGED Is there some word That you or I might say To hght the silence With one golden ray? We speak with hps Cold or compassionate; Their deeper meaning Inarticulate. Sometimes a flower Or melody of flute Almost reveals Proud spirits that are mute. Last night in sleep The golden ray shone through; Last night I dreamed. . . . Ah, what are dreams to you! [66] TO A YOUNG GIRL I HAD forgotten there were hearts so young As yours, tonight, Whose voice, now echoing with songs unsung. Fills me with strange delight. I had forgotten there were eyes so swift Of April mirth. Flashing as though with some invisible gift From Heaven to Earth. I had forgotten there were lips that pray, Like a gray-winged dove. For one more hour of laughter and of play Before the holocaust of love. [67 1 THE OLDER WISDOM Fair head and dark, beside the deep cool brook, Dream-light in their young eyes; He reads to her from out an ancient book Old wisdom for the wise. And as she listens her rapt loveliness Casts on the dusty page A shadow, woven of a dream caress In some dim golden age. What if, between them, like a worshipped star, Millions of miles away. The older wisdom, flashing from afar Could bid the dream-light stay! [681 SEPTEMBER Who is it calls Through the sunlit wood today? Is it you come back from where never a dead leaf falls On the silent way? Where the long road bends Do you stand waiting for me? If I call will you come by the trail that, winding, ends Near this blood-red tree? Down the years that are flown, Beloved, I whisper your name! . . . Ah! the red leaves drip from the tree and I stand alone In a forest of flame. [69] ELEGY 1 HERE is one Spring, One April of delight, And all the rest is but remembering One moon-lit night. Weave round its spell An elegy of song, But never think the white hawthorn can dwell With you for long. It is so fair And delicate a thing, A sudden wind leaves blossoming twigs all bare Of covering. White petals fall, Bewildered, at your feet, And Spring makes of the whitest flower of all A winding sheet. [70] IN MEMORY OF— I THINK of you as one Who often came Close to the wooded shore to watch the sun Go down in flame. As one who dreamed Until the night grew cold. Heart of a child ! For you the dark hills gleamed With infinite gold. As one who turned Back to the shadowy room, Your spirit's afterglow sole light that burned Amid the gloom. [71] CRADLE SONG The window makes a frame for me And all the stars that I can see Are only three. A little square of autumn night. . . . Somewhere a moon, beyond my sight. Pours silver light Upon a hill where dark trees keep A watch above Earth's heart, now deep In lovely sleep. A star for you, a star for me, A star for love, and those bright three Are all I see. [721 TO A CHILD You are my silent laughter, You are my unshed tears. You are the elfin wonder Of my ecstasy and fears. You are my heart that dances, You are my soul that leaps. You have hidden the key of the lonely room Where my troubled spirit sleeps. [73] CHANGELING Dear changeling, how I love your smile, Fleet as a timid fawn. It breaks upon me suddenly And with a flash is gone. It's hardly like a smile at all, More like a blinding light That darts across the starless sky — A fire-fly of the night. [74] DRESSING UP 1 SEE her coming down the winding stair With traiHng petticoat and feathered fan. The ribbon binding up her golden hair Is blue. She wears a mauve shawl from Japan. No light of recognition in her eyes, She greets me with a curtsy. As she nears, Her every gesture, measured, slow, denies The unbroken tyranny of her six years. We play that she is hostess — I, her guest. And now she asks me how I take my tea. . . . O, tiny fledgeling, weary of the nest! . . . "Two lumps and cream" I say — as brave as she. [75 LULLABY C/OME sleep. Her heart's a wood-anemone. Her thoughts are swallows flown Across the dusk. Her hair's a willow tree By the west wind blown. Her eyes are pools where bubbles rise and break- Dream-bubbles from the deep — Her soul's a moth that flutters in their wake. Come sleep. . . . Come sleep. [76]