i 
 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 ^tTS — 
 
 Chap.Lv^- Copyright No. 
 
 She!f..?M!^C. 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
SHADOWS 
 
SHADOWS 
 
 Mf Ac Be Wolfe Howe 
 
 BOSTON 
 COPELAND AND DAY 
 
 M DCCC XCVII 
 
 TWO COPIES RECEIVED 
 
4309 
 
 COPYRIGHT 1897 BY COPELAND AND DAY 
 
TO THE MEMORY 
 OF MY FATHER 
 
5^^^ 
 
 ^^5 ^^^ 
 
 -^ ^^^^«^'^ 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 The Orchestra 
 
 I 
 
 For the Night 
 Interpretation 
 "Where it listeth"* 
 
 3 
 5 
 7 
 
 The Lark Songs 
 Retrospect 
 The Death 
 
 8 
 9 
 
 ID 
 
 The Horizon at Sea 
 
 12 
 
 Patri et Amico 
 
 13 
 
 The Sunrise 
 
 13 
 
 The Travellers 
 
 14 
 
 Heirs of the Years 
 
 i6 
 
 A Winter Elegy 
 At the Heart 
 
 i8 
 ao 
 
The Field-day 21 
 
 The Helmsman 23 
 
 The Paths 24 
 
 Goldenrod 26 
 
 A Tree 26 
 
 Symbols 28 
 
 The Sea Voice 29 
 
 The Poet's Door 30 
 
 By the Shore 31 
 
 Before the Snow 33 
 
 Song 34 
 
 Proportion 3 5 
 
 ^Vith a Hand-glass to a Lady 36 
 
 *' When my Ship comes in" 37 
 
 The Long Shadows 38 
 
 Unconquered 39 
 
 A Treasure House 40 
 
 In an Old Book of Plays 41 
 
 To William Morris 42 
 
Quatrains 
 
 Distinction 1 1 
 
 The Baconian Age la 
 
 The First of Spring 25 
 
 "Whom the Gods love" 34 
 
 Of Elizabethan Poets 43 
 
 Weeping Willows 43 
 
 A Gala Day 44 
 
 Revelation 44 
 
 ** Hoar-frost like Ashes'' 44 
 
 Winter Beauty 45 
 
 Lesbla's Sparrow : from Catullus 45 
 
 The Song to the Singer 47 
 
'^OY and love and sorrow fare 
 •^ By the roadway all men share ; 
 Fleet of foot they pass us by^ 
 Yet their hnage lingers nigh. 
 
 How may shadow truly stay 
 When the substance goes its way ? 
 Bind it captive unto speech. 
 Words and shadow, each with each / 
 Bid them blend into a song. 
 So these shadows rest — how long ? 
 
 THE ORCHESTRA 
 ?PON the mountain's morning side 
 [The players, all in feathered coats, 
 (On tree-tops swing, in thickets hide. 
 And sound preliminary notes. 
 
 The violinists here and there 
 
 Tune all their many strings unseen 5 
 
 Long sloping tones are in the air, 
 With pizzicato bits between. 
 
Hark ! 'tis a flute's roulade so near 
 That revels gay and unafraid ! 
 
 And there ! the clarinet rings clear 
 Its mellow trill from yonder glade. 
 
 The gentle tappings of a drum 
 
 Sound where the beeches thinner grow ; 
 Nearer a humorist is come 
 
 Upon his droll bassoon to blow. 
 
 And now a 'cello from afar 
 
 Breathes out its human, dim appeal — 
 A voice as from a distant star 
 
 Where mortals work their woe and weal. 
 
 Then down a sylvan aisle I gaze, 
 And to my musing sense it seems 
 
 A leader mounts a log, and sways 
 His baton like a man of dreams. 
 
 And here behold a marvel wrought ! 
 
 For marshalled in a concord sweet 
 The blending fragments all are brought 
 
 To tune and harmony complete. 
 
 2 
 
Is it a masterpiece that men 
 
 Have heard before — and found it good ? 
 Is this the Rheinland o' er again ? 
 
 Am I with Siegfried in the wood ? 
 
 Nay — for this priceless hour 'tis mine 
 To share with Nature's audience 
 
 A symphony too rare and fine 
 For skill of human instruments. 
 
 Leader, what music hast thou stirred ! 
 
 Players, still heed him every one ! 
 And God be thanked for every bird 
 
 That sings beneath the May-day sun 
 
 FOR THE NIGHT 
 jIVE me of all thy weariness, O day ! 
 fLet body, mind, and spirit so be spent 
 I That when death's herald-brother, 
 sleep, is sent. 
 Resistless, I may yield me to his sway 
 Till the black silence lulls me to content. 
 
 3 
 
Then let the dark fall like a total shroud, 
 And fold me in till day again is bright, 
 Not lifting with the gray retreat of night. 
 To leave me lying mute before the crowd 
 Of gliding shapes that steal upon my 
 sight. 
 
 Dread ghosts are they of all my deeds mis- 
 done 
 
 And words unspoken j shield my wakeful 
 bed 
 
 From hours of dawn when most they rear 
 their head. 
 
 To whisper me of ungrasped moments 
 gone, 
 
 To mock my impotence now all Is sped. 
 
 Nor give me dreams, for they will lead my 
 
 feet 
 To walk in paths wherefrom I needs must 
 
 turn 
 For streets of day 5 and though in sleep I 
 
 spurn 
 
 4 
 
Their semblances, and vaguely scoffthe cheat, 
 Yet when the parting comes, the heart will 
 burn. 
 
 Nay, as if under Death's dark still caress. 
 
 New courage silently would I attain 
 
 To fight the new day's fight — and not in 
 
 vain, 
 If from its hours I win fresh weariness, 
 To make me ready for the night again. 
 
 INTERPRETATION 
 iHESE gentle lines of Nature's face 
 I Are like a living face I love, 
 And keen mine eyes have grown 
 to trace 
 What signs soe'er across it move. 
 
 To stranger eyes a peace serene 
 
 Broods over all, from east to west ; 
 
 For them 'tis as a painted scene j 
 For me it quivers with unrest. 
 5 
 
Now on the waters something stirs — 
 A sail, a breeze, a flotsam thing ; 
 
 Now from the point of junipers 
 
 The birds fly out on seaward wing. 
 
 Across the fields slow creatures stray, 
 The shadows up the hillside run 5 
 
 And lo ! through all the changeful day 
 The miracles of wind and sun. 
 
 The signal colors of the year 
 
 Are mine to watch with heedful eye j 
 The gradual seasons drawing near 
 
 Claim vigilance and constancy. 
 
 Unseen or clear the changes fall, 
 
 And Nature's face that seems so still 
 
 Is full of motion mystical 
 
 And boding signs for good or ill. 
 
 But ah ! the spirit hid within — 
 
 When shall I learn its ways to trace ? 
 
 The subtler skill when shall I win. 
 And learn to read that living face > 
 6 
 
''WHERE IT LISTETH" 
 
 [HE wind is like a ravening beast 
 ko-night. 
 
 Mad for its prey and howling down 
 the trail ; 
 I hear without its baffled snarl and bite, 
 And feel the shouldering of its fierce assail. 
 Shaking the rooted wails with hideous din. 
 And hoarse, as one with shouting, " Let 
 me in ! " 
 
 Ah, ye who watch this night where sick 
 
 men lie. 
 Shelter their sleep as shrewdly as ye may ! 
 So easily this blast that rushes by 
 Might snatch a fitful breath and whirl away 
 Into the blackness with it — on and on : 
 "Whither," we cry, "oh, whither hath it 
 
 gone ? ' ' 
 
THE LARK SONGS 
 |T was not thou alone I heard, 
 First lark that sang from English 
 I skies, 
 
 And to mine ears seemed less a bird 
 Than chorister of Paradise. 
 
 Full sweet from heaven thy music fell. 
 Yet with it came two voices more, 
 
 Two songs that blent with thine to tell 
 The praise I knew of thee before. 
 
 Thy truth to home and heaven sang one — 
 And Wordsworth "'s note serene and strong. 
 
 With earth and sky in unison. 
 Made of thy flight itself a song. 
 
 The other blither strain I caught 
 
 Bore never a message but <' Rejoice "" — 
 Song of thy very song, methought. 
 
 Exultant with thine own glad voice. 
 
 8 
 
And unto this, I knew not how, 
 
 Rose answer from the sons of men : 
 " The world is listening, Shelley, now. 
 As thou didst listen then/' 
 
 RETROSPECT 
 ^^HE stately pile I passed to-day was 
 
 I marred 
 ^ With dust and shattered glass and 
 school-boy scrawls 
 Of chalk defacing all the lower walls ; 
 But from beyond I looked and saw them 
 
 not — 
 Only the pinnacles gleamed heavenward. 
 To-night I think on one beloved, and dead. 
 And marvel at the nothings once so grave. 
 Now banners of his strength above them 
 
 wave, 
 Now are the lower earth-stained walls for- 
 got ; 
 The glorious towers are shining overhead. 
 
THE DEATH 
 SHUDDER not when back I bend 
 My thought on life's first painful 
 breath ; 
 
 Nor will I tremble for the end — 
 The last is only death. 
 
 To fear this death would shame my birth, 
 
 Yet lowers a death I fear to die — 
 Even before our inn, the earth. 
 Has place for me to lie. 
 
 It shall o'ertake me when the face 
 
 Of spring or winter speaks no word. 
 When winds and waters stir apace 
 
 And naught but sound is heard. 
 
 When walking in the silent wood 
 I find no spirit breathing there. 
 No presence in the solitude 
 
 Else spreading everywhere. 
 
 lO 
 
It shall befall when, deaf to hear 
 
 And dumb to speak what heart tells heart, 
 Through one long winter of the year 
 I fare from friends apart. 
 
 When noble music, tale, or deed 
 
 Warms not the blood to swifter flow. 
 When numb alike to art and need 
 In dull content I grow : — 
 
 This were the dread and inmost fate, 
 
 And burial were the end thereof, 
 Should dearth of loving, known too late. 
 Lose me the way to love. 
 
 DISTINCTION 
 
 ^^HE village sleeps, a name unknown, 
 I till men 
 
 With life-blood stain its soil, and 
 pay the due 
 That lifts it to eternal fame, — for then 
 'Tis grown a Gettysburg or Waterloo. 
 II 
 
THE HORIZON AT SEA 
 LINE inexorably straight, 
 In larger truth, a girdling ring. 
 Fixed either way as firm as fate. 
 And always onward beckoning. 
 
 Clear-cut and far, or near and blurred. 
 As powers of sun and cloud decree. 
 
 By these thy provocations stirred, 
 We seek the farthest mystery. 
 
 Emblem of boundaries strictly set, 
 
 Emblem of venturous search and hope, 
 
 Circled by thee can man forget 
 His limitation and his scope ? 
 
 THE BACONIAN AGE 
 
 )OW is the sum of Shakespeare 
 
 Inaught ! 
 
 f Lights out — farewell to clown and 
 hero ! 
 Since ciphers were by all men sought. 
 
 What has been found at last but — zero > 
 
PATRI ET AMICO 
 I 
 
 THE SUNRISE 
 
 . LOW out the candle, day is come j 
 The watchers need no other light 
 fThan that which floods the solemn 
 room 
 Where life is passing with the night. 
 
 Across the smiling acres green, 
 
 Across the point, the bay, the hills. 
 
 Strong, like the soul that loved the scene. 
 The tide of dawn the chamber fills. 
 
 Blow out the candle — small his care 
 Whose mortal light burns, ah ! so dim j 
 
 Haply his vision opens where 
 
 The eternal sunrise shines for him. 
 
 Yes, day is bright about his bed. 
 
 And night has vanished with his breath. 
 
 Lo ! on his face, all shadows fled, 
 The morning majesty of death. 
 
 13 
 
II 
 
 THE TRAVELLERS 
 
 /•(T^HEY made them ready and we saw 
 
 I them go 
 
 , Out of our very lives j 
 Yet this world holds them all, 
 And soon it must befall 
 That we shall know 
 
 How this one fares, how that one thrives j 
 And one day — who knows when ? 
 They shall be with us here again. 
 
 Another traveller left us late 
 
 Whose life was as the soul of ours ; 
 
 A stranger guest went with him to the gate. 
 
 And closed it breathing back a breath of 
 
 flowers. 
 And what the eyes we loved now look upon. 
 What industries the hands employ. 
 In what new speech the tongue hath joy. 
 We may not know — until one day. 
 And then another, as our toil is done, 
 14 
 
The same still guest shall visit us, 
 
 And one by one 
 
 Shall take us by the hand and say, 
 
 «' Come with me to the country marvellous, 
 
 Where he has dwelt so long beyond your 
 
 sight. 
 'Twere Idle waiting for his own return 
 That ne' er shall be j face the perpetual light. 
 And with him learn 
 Whatever the heavens unfold of knowledge 
 
 infinite." 
 Each after each then shall we rise. 
 And follow through the stranger's secret 
 
 gate. 
 And we shall ask and hear, beyond surmise. 
 What glorious life is his, since desolate 
 We stood about the bed 
 Where our blind eyes looked down on him 
 
 as dead. 
 
 15 
 
Ill 
 
 HEIRS OF THE YEARS 
 
 [EIRS of the years, 
 How shall we bind our heritage 
 .About our souls so fast 
 That thieving time, well skilled to dry our 
 
 tears, 
 Must leave untouched our riches of the past, 
 Nor send us doweriess down the road to age > 
 
 What dearer wealth had we 
 
 Than that our walk fell sometime by the 
 
 side 
 Of those rare spirits who no more abide 
 Where our poor weeks and hours are told ? 
 Forth from the bolder day. 
 When the gray century was young and free,. 
 One brought a heart that ne^r grew old, 
 That loved, and knew not fear, 
 And sped us strengthened on our parted way. 
 One from the decades near 
 Garnered all manfulness and cheer, 
 i6 
 
Plucked from the age that waits unknown 
 Great hopes and pledges of the things to be. 
 His should have been the captaincy, 
 And he the mark 
 
 Shining to lead us through the dark 
 That fronts us now alone. 
 
 Nay, must they perish utterly from earth 
 
 Because their faces fade from view ? 
 
 Death — they had told us — is another birth ; 
 
 If but their death 
 
 Might breathe Into our lives a fuller breath 
 
 Of life, and quicken us anew 
 
 With their blent might of age and youth. 
 
 Their quiet valor for the truth ! 
 
 Then, wheresoe'er they are. 
 
 They would look down, it may be, on our 
 
 star. 
 And feel some fragment of their life lived on, 
 And know they are not truly gone 
 From out this world of men. 
 17 
 
And, haply, then, 
 
 Heirs of the years, we shall have won 
 
 Our heritage from loss, 
 
 Our gold from all the dimness of the dross. 
 
 A WINTER ELEGY 
 
 J. F. H. 
 ?^0 walk beside this winter shore 
 fWas not for his young feet j 
 Of summer learned he all his lore. 
 Smiling from life's wide-opened door, 
 A summer world to greet. 
 
 This icy channel's narrowed span 
 
 ' Twas not for him to know } 
 His current, widening as it ran. 
 Still smoothly spreads as it began. 
 Free from our frost and snow. 
 
 Like sails of shallops overset. 
 The floes of ice are borne 
 18 
 
Along a tide he knew not yet 
 Whose boat no chilling blasts had met. 
 Where Hope's brave flag is torn. 
 
 Now he is gone, I would not find 
 
 These waters summer-fair, 
 Girt round with meadows bland and kind j 
 The rigors of the winter wind 
 
 Better befit our care. 
 
 Yet sometimes on the snow-wrapped hill 
 
 A light at evening lies, 
 Tender beyond the summer's skill : — 
 What light, I wonder, fairer still, 
 
 Gladdens his absent eyes .? 
 
 And sometimes, touched by winter's 
 breath, 
 I thrill with wakened powers. 
 ** Youth still is his," a whisper saith j 
 *' That searching spirit found not death. 
 But life — more life than ours." 
 19 
 
AT THE HEART 
 
 a"g^ HE heart is but a narrow space 
 I For paltriness to find a place ; 
 But in its precincts there is room 
 Sufficient unto bliss or doom. 
 The certainties, so few, are there, 
 The doubts that feed the soul with care ; 
 The passions battling with the will 
 To guide their liege to good or ill 5 
 The saving grace of reverence. 
 The saving hatred of pretence ; 
 The sympathy of common birth 
 With all the native things of earth : 
 The love begun with life, the love 
 That years diminish not, nor move ; 
 And — more in such a narrow space ? — 
 The image of a woman' s face. 
 
 ao 
 
THE FIELD-DAY 
 YELLOW banner first was seen 
 Where every willow stood, 
 Long, long before a hint of green 
 Had touched the hillside wood. 
 
 Then, as If autumn had come back, 
 
 A glow of red returned 
 To all the maple branches black. 
 
 Whereon a dark fire burned. 
 
 ** Form, companies and regiments j " 
 
 'Twas this the signals said ; 
 Full well the trees knew why and whence 
 
 The royal mandate sped. 
 
 The marching orders of the year 
 
 Had come to them at last ; 
 The field-day of the spring was near. 
 
 The winter bivouac past. 
 
 In suits of green they decked them out, 
 Like Robin Hood's brave band ; 
 
 21 
 
The May winds rallied with a shout. 
 The warm sun lit the land. 
 
 The orchard trees must lead the van 
 With banners pink and white 5 
 
 And so they gathered clan by clan, 
 And formed their lines aright. 
 
 Then was the great commander heard. 
 And the order came to march ; 
 
 And music fell from every bird 
 Beneath the heavens' high arch. 
 
 From street and lane and park and field, 
 From road and hill and shore. 
 
 The great green army wound and wheeled 
 Across the world once more. 
 
 22 
 
THE HELMSMAN 
 
 ^HAT shall I ask for the voyage I 
 I must sail to the end alone? 
 iSummer and calms and rest from 
 
 never a labor done ? 
 Nay, blow, ye life-winds all j curb not for 
 
 me your blast, 
 Strain ye my quivering ropes, bend ye my 
 
 trembling mast. 
 Then there can be no drifting, thank God ! 
 
 for boat or me, — 
 Strenuous, swift, our course over a living sea. 
 Mine is a man's right arm to steer through 
 
 fog and foam ; 
 Beacons are shining still to guide each farer 
 
 home. 
 Give me your worst, O winds ! others have 
 
 met the stress 5 
 E'en if it be to sink, give me no less, no less. 
 
 23 
 
THE PATHS 
 jHERE end the journeys all must 
 jmake 
 
 iThey met who once together walked, 
 And in the stillness few may break 
 Thus each to each they talked : 
 
 ** Alas the weary way I took ! 
 Because no turning hid the end 
 I thought it near, and so forsook 
 Thee and thy wisdom, friend. 
 
 ** I thought it near — but oh, the length 
 Of that unbroken, burning road. 
 The thirst, the pain, my failing strength 
 As 'neath a giant's load ! 
 
 <* Had I but known — yet heed me not ! 
 God grant thou wast not so forgot ! " 
 
 "My path — I saw not clearly where 
 It led, nor knew the end of it j 
 
 24 
 
 f 
 
But cool it strayed by pastures fair 
 And meads where peace had lit. 
 
 " Now through a pleasant wood it bent, 
 And now a laughing stream led on, 
 And birds were singing as we went, — 
 For I was not alone. 
 
 <* Ah, would the ending still were far ! 
 Too soon it came — too soon the day 
 Of joy was done ; yet shines a star ! — 
 I journeyed by Love's Way ! " 
 
 And mark ye, men, in field and town, — 
 From all the world two paths lead down. 
 
 THE FIRST OF SPRING 
 ^HAT jingling tumult spans the air 
 I From where the brook runs swift 
 iand bright ? — 
 The host of hylas piping there, 
 
 Or winter's sleigh-bells faint with flight .^ 
 25 
 
GOLDENROD 
 EFORE the day light yields to con- 
 quering night, 
 
 I Death-faint, yet with a dying war- 
 rior's might, 
 It struggles god-like 'gainst the sullen foe, 
 And all the west with conflict fierce aglow 
 Is edged with quivering rays of brighter hue 
 Than morning's opening rose or midday's 
 blue. 
 
 And dying summer, loath to lay aside 
 Its customed many-colored robe of pride, 
 With the last effort of a vanquished god, 
 Skirts all its fields and roads with goldenrod. 
 
 A TREE 
 LOWN all one way I saw it stand 
 Forth from its fellows of the wood 
 That faced the sea-winds on the 
 strand, 
 
 A tall, unflinching brotherhood. 
 26 
 
Compassed by them, It m.ight have grown 
 In strength and symmetry like theirs, 
 
 Not leaning landward now alone, 
 
 Like one unfriended, bent with cares. 
 
 The winds had shaped it, — so I mused. 
 And gathered round I seemed to see 
 
 The forms of creatures, storm-blown, bruised, 
 Resting beneath their kinsman tree. 
 
 Some were the men bent all one way 
 By blasts of bitterness and wrong. 
 
 Doomed to a single-handed fray. 
 Too weak to meet a foe so strong. 
 
 The winds of poverty and loss 
 
 Of all that man counts dear on earth — 
 AVhether the gold be gold or dross — 
 
 Had shapen some to forms of dearth. 
 
 And those there were whose backs were 
 bowed 
 By breezes they had thought all fair j 
 27 
 
 1 
 
Prospered and loved too much, they showed 
 Distorted as the ugliest there. 
 
 Alien to joy, to sorrow near. 
 
 The subtler pains most subtly felt. 
 
 All the sad company was here, 
 
 Wherein misforming grief had dwelt. 
 
 And now the wind -bent tree is more 
 Than tree unto mine inmost ken. 
 
 For in its image by the shore 
 
 I see the world-bent forms of men. 
 
 SYMBOLS 
 ^VER against the resting place 
 , Where lie a mighty city's countless 
 [dead. 
 
 Who will may buy two wares : 
 Flowers, to deck a deep and narrow bed j 
 Marble, to stand for aye at feet and head j 
 Flowers — for every fairest thing must die j 
 Marble — to be outlived 
 By life enduring through eternity. 
 28 
 
THE SEA VOICE 
 
 |P from the harbor side, 
 
 [Over the city's midmost hush of 
 
 (night. 
 
 Swells, like a flooding tide, 
 The insistent voice of some great ship. 
 Deep-throated, as a man of might. 
 Calling, perchance, new greeting to the land 
 Now safe at hand j 
 Or it may be with bugle at her lip, 
 Seaward she flings the first far-reaching cry 
 Of that vast speech of hers, whereby 
 She sounds her way from strand to strand. 
 Through ocean's fog and storm and mystery. 
 
 Housed safe ashore, deep down 
 Beneath the mountain clamor of the town. 
 Never by day comes clear to me 
 That rough old voice of the sea. 
 Only in chance-caught silences men hear. 
 As if by night, the ages' tale, — 
 All are but dwellers by a shore, 
 29 
 
Mariners waiting their command to sail 
 Forth on the uncharted sea each must 
 
 explore, 
 So strange a sea, so near. 
 
 THE POET'S DOOR 
 jITHIN the circle of the light 
 (We sat alone, and all the room 
 > Beyond the lamp was full of night 
 And hung about with shadowed gloom. 
 
 With love and music in his voice 
 He read me from his lyric page 
 
 The sweetest numbers of his choice, 
 Songs of a blended youth and age. 
 
 Then telling forth another's song, 
 Music and love rang doubly clear j 
 
 The same soft cadence on his tongue 
 Brought distant minstrelsy so near. 
 
 And to the doorway, strange and dim, 
 I thought a mystic presence came 
 30 
 
With glowing mien, and gazed at him 
 That read, and gently spoke his name. 
 
 And said, " Hail, fellow soul of man. 
 For here thy kindred voice at last 
 
 Fulfils the song I once began j ' ' 
 
 Then back into the darkness passed. 
 
 BY THE SHORE 
 ;^ OWN-BELLS over the land, 
 I Fog-bells over the sea ; 
 On the beach between in the mist I 
 stand. 
 And each bell calls to me. 
 
 Out of the fog I hear : 
 
 *' Come, I am cool and sweet ; 
 
 My veil shall wrap thee away from fear. 
 
 My paths shall rest thy feet. 
 
 ** Come as the ship that came 
 Into me on a morn of gray ; 
 31 
 
Follow it, naming Love's dear name, 
 And find what it bore away. 
 
 ** Find ? Yes, so it may chance j 
 
 Yet come for the respite's sake j 
 
 Enough that I pledge you my ocean's trance 
 
 And oblivion — come, and take ! " 
 
 And the land bells ring me : " Here, 
 Here are the fixed and true ; 
 We ring for the lifted mists, the clear 
 Sure noons of gleaming blue. 
 
 *' Out into the day we call 
 You and your peers, like men, 
 Girt as ye are, to win and fall. 
 And falling to win again. 
 
 ** Strength is yours for a shield ; 
 Take heart, and grasp it fast ! 
 Come, and bear from the hard-fought field 
 The guerdon of love at last ! " 
 32 
 
On the beach In the mist I stand, 
 And voices are calling me, — 
 Town-bells over the land. 
 Fog-bells over the sea, 
 
 BEFORE THE SNOW 
 
 f; ^"p^ HE yellow flame of goldenrod 
 ^^^^Is spent, and by the road instead, 
 cs)E^ikThe flowers, like smoke-wreaths o'er 
 the sod. 
 
 Hang burned and dead. 
 
 The sumac cones of crimson show 
 
 Beyond the roadside, black and charred ; 
 The trees, a bloodless, ashen row. 
 Stand autumn-scarred. 
 
 Dark are the field-fires of the year ; 
 
 Let all the flickering embers die ! 
 Without, the cold white days are near ; 
 
 Within are warmth — and you, and I. 
 
 33 
 
SONG 
 S It that I am poor in love ? 
 Nay, dear, unless it be 
 My poverty, forsooth, I prove 
 By love for none but thee. 
 
 Is it through wealth of love that men 
 
 Can see the first fires die. 
 And give their hearts again, again ? 
 
 Then thrice a pauper I ! 
 
 But since to thee I've given all 
 That, rich or poor, was mine, 
 
 I can abide whatever befall 
 
 The gift, dear, now 'tis thine. 
 
 ''WHOM THE GODS LOVE" 
 
 jHOM the gods love die young " j 
 
 - if gods ye be. 
 Then generously might ye have 
 spared to us 
 One from your vast unnumbered overplus. 
 One youth we loved as tenderly as ye. 
 34 
 
PROPORTION 
 I HERE rose a star above the hill 
 ^Across the bay ; 
 
 Through the night-spaces vast and 
 still 
 Shone the great ray j 
 Beneath it glowed a lesser light 
 
 By mortal lit, 
 Yet through the dark a path as bright 
 Led back to it. 
 
 Here in the day a bird flies by. 
 
 Above the trees ; 
 On other vision bent, mine eye 
 
 Unheeding sees. 
 Was it a distant eagle's wing 
 
 That clove the blue. 
 Or some near insect harvesting 
 
 The honey's dew? 
 
 If eyes deceive, then let my soul 
 See clear and straight j 
 35 
 
Through all appearance, part and whole. 
 
 Stand separate ! 
 Know, soul, what things are near, what far. 
 
 Sift great from small j 
 Seize, soul, — whatever the visions are, — 
 
 The truth in all. 
 
 WITH A HAND-GLASS TO A 
 LADY 
 lET not my looking on thee once, 
 lO glass ! 
 
 ; Cloud the bright visions thou art yet 
 to see. 
 My image wholly from thy face shall pass. 
 And her fair beauty daily shine on thee. 
 Tell her my darkened days wouki show as 
 
 bright 
 Were they illumined by her constant light. 
 
 36 
 
"WHEN MY SHIP COMES IN " 
 
 a P^?^S:j^HEN my ship comes in," runs 
 )the young man's song, 
 I" What brave things shall I do — 
 With the strength of my wealth and the 
 joyous throng 
 Of friends stout-hearted and true ! " 
 
 He watches and waits 'neath storm and sun 
 By the shore of his life's broad sea. 
 
 And the days of his youth are quickly run, 
 Yet never a sail spies he. 
 
 " My ship has gone down ! " in soberer 
 strain 
 
 Sings the man, and to duty turns. 
 He forgets the ship in his toil and pain j 
 
 No longer the young hope burns. 
 
 Yet again he stands by the shore, grown old 
 With the course of his years well spent. 
 
 And far, far out on the deep — behold ! 
 A dim ship landward bent. 
 37 
 
No banner she flies, no songs are borne 
 From her decks as she nears the land j 
 
 Silent, with sail all sombre and torn, 
 She is safe at last by the strand. 
 
 And lo ! to the man's old age she has brought 
 Not the treasures he thought to win, 
 
 But honor, content, and love — life-wrought. 
 And he cries, "Has my ship come in i " 
 
 THE LONG SHADOWS 
 ND and beginning are one, 
 I Westward and eastward at rising 
 I and setting of sun. 
 The same long shadows are laid 
 Prone on the earth. 
 Forth from the graves and the dwellings of 
 
 men ; 
 Brightest and darkest and vividest then. 
 The low, level glories of sunlight and shade 
 Cry, ** Look, how the hand of a master has 
 painted the scene! " 
 38 
 
We, at the death and the birth, 
 
 Stand in a moment of light. 
 
 Clearest because of the dark that shall be and 
 
 has been. 
 Rearward and forward the long shadow falls. 
 Whether the mystery hidden be night 
 Or day, there is something all silent that 
 
 calls : 
 ** Here in your east is the earth-light begun j 
 Here in your west He the things that are done j 
 End and beginning are one." 
 
 UNCONQUERED 
 
 [IGH o'er the city's roofs a storm- 
 
 ^blown gull, 
 
 .Driven landward from the sea. 
 Battles against the winds without a lull. 
 Yet inland farther, ever back. 
 Helpless is tossed with flying rack 5 
 But, messenger of constancy to me, 
 I joy to see him facing ocean still, — 
 
 39 
 
As beaten souls through storm and night 
 May changeless face the hidden light 
 By Heaven-sent power and strength of stead- 
 fast will. 
 
 A TREASURE HOUSE 
 HE poet's song, the painter's art. 
 Are richest when they tell but 
 part; 
 
 We hear the sweetest player, and thrill 
 With dreams of music sweeter still j 
 
 The spring's first brightness is so dear 
 Because we feel the summer near ; — 
 
 Shall I not love my love the more 
 For keeping wealths of love in store ? 
 
 40 
 
IN AN OLD BOOK OF PLAYS 
 )N the far-off time of Anne, 
 
 In the play-book's golden age, 
 J Did some modish Betty scan 
 What was then your spotless page ? 
 Did you drive away her spleen. 
 
 As at chocolate she sat ? 
 Did she weep at this sad scene. 
 Did she laugh and blush at that ? 
 
 College dons, perhaps by Cam, 
 
 Or on Isis"" classic shore. 
 Read but with the hope to damn 
 
 What your flowing numbers bore. 
 Rustic critic, Grub-street wit. 
 
 May have praised you long ago j 
 In " the public "" or the pit 
 
 Did your fame the faster grow ? 
 
 Have you known the green-room band — 
 
 " Comic Coll " and all the rest ? 
 Held within << the Bracey's " hand, 
 41 
 
Have you heard her scold and jest ? 
 Old-World player, wit and belle — 
 
 Sure they are not all forgot ? 
 Naught of them, alas ! you tell, 
 
 They are gone — you perish not. 
 
 TO WILLIAM MORRIS. 
 ^"-^ H Y luckless wanderers, Poet, sought 
 ^u^^paSs. land 
 G^r^^ Of timeless ease, where aye the fields 
 
 are green, 
 Where flowers know not the touch of winter's 
 
 hand, 
 And hills and valleys glow in changeless 
 
 sheen. 
 Where age can never come, and love is queen. 
 World-worn we too seek peace and sun-lit 
 
 skies. 
 And find — thy book an Earthly Paradise 
 
 42 
 
OF ELIZABETHAN POETS 
 iUR later singers vaunt their ncw- 
 ^^^j^tiirned lays, 
 
 [Doubling, they say, the world's 
 poetic store j 
 We turn to pages writ in Shakespeare's 
 days, 
 And lo ! the songs have all been sung 
 before. 
 
 WEEPING WILLOWS 
 ^HE first to don the green at winter's 
 ) death, 
 
 Last, ere he lives again, to lay It 
 by,- 
 Like tears are ye, that spring with man's 
 first breath. 
 And loyally attend him till he die. 
 
 43 
 
A GALA DAY 
 EN make them ready for the pageant 
 
 bright 
 
 With banners, robes, and panoply of 
 
 cost, 
 
 Yet cannot hold the rain-cloud of a night 
 From that whereby the brilliance all is 
 lost. 
 
 REVELATION 
 
 [UR air hangs full of dust-specks seen 
 ,by none, 
 
 I Until a shaft of light, as from a bow. 
 Pierces its arrowy way from God's clear sun. 
 And shows what stuff we're breathing 
 here below. 
 
 "HOAR-FROST LIKE ASHES" 
 )N autumn field gave back the moon' s 
 )wan smile ; 
 
 )Each gazed at each, like lovers pale 
 and fair ; 
 
 44 
 
When morning came and wondering laughed 
 awhile, 
 An ashen glory lingered everywhere. 
 
 WINTER BEAUTY 
 
 J^^^ERE stands a parable in all men's 
 sight : 
 
 /Mid the green grass yon bowlder 
 showed but gray. 
 Now snows have clasped it in their frame of 
 white, — 
 'Tis green with lichens, as the early May. 
 
 LESBIANS SPARROW 
 
 FROM CATULLUS 
 
 OURN, Goddesses of Love, and 
 
 jCupids, mourn, 
 
 ,And men of gentler mould wher- 
 e'er ye be j 
 My sweetheart' s sparrow hath been seized by 
 Death — 
 
 45 
 
The sparrow, darling of my loved one's 
 
 heart, 
 Which she was wont to love more than her 
 
 eyes ; 
 For he was sweet as honey unto her, 
 And knew her as a maid her mother knows ; 
 Nor from her bosom was he fain to move, 
 But hopping round about, now here, now 
 
 there. 
 He piped unto his mistress, her alone. 
 And now along the darksome road he goes 
 Where never step, men say, has yet turned 
 
 back. 
 Then ill betide you, wicked shades of hell. 
 Which swallow up all lovely things ! So fair 
 A sparrow have ye borne away from her. 
 The evil deed is done, alas ! Poor bird, 
 It is thy fault that swollen eyes are red 
 Through weeping, — that my loved one' s 
 
 eyes are red. 
 
 46 
 
THE SONG TO THE SINGER 
 :.",^^^ HEY will not know who read and 
 sing 
 
 What you and I know who have 
 known 
 How fair I was that day of spring 
 I bade you mould me for your own. 
 
 These words which half reveal my soul 
 Are how much more to you and me I 
 
 Pellucid beauties, clear and whole. 
 Behind, around them all we see. 
 
 Above this faltering tune that tells 
 The measure I must walk within, 
 
 For us a sweeter music wells — 
 
 The magic lilt that should have been. 
 
 Yet this Is better than to die. 
 
 And you had joy of me one day j 
 
 Then you are mine, and yours am I — 
 Who likes us not may go his way. 
 
 47 
 
THIS BOOK IS PRINTED BY THE ROCKWELL 
 AND CHURCHILL PRESS OF BOSTON DURING 
 OCTOBER 1897 
 
Ml, 
 
 'I 
 
 nii» PHil' mwm 
 
 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 015 908 430 9 »