tt^: V£ "W»J*;- \ i i. t 1 r CDEffilGHT DEPOSm GRENSTONE POEMS BY WITTER BYNNER Young Harvard and other poems Tiger The Little King The New World Iphigenia in Tauris Grenstone Poems Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2011 with funding from The Library of Congress http://www.archive.org/details/grenstonepoemsseOObynn "It was true that he had lived In the silent places, beside the Grand Canyon" — Page g. GRENSTONE POEMS A SEQUENCE BY WITTER BYNNER Author of "The New World," Etc. WITH COVER AND FRONTISPIECE BY SPENCER BAIRD NICHOLS NEW YORK FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY PUBLISHERS S«*^' H^^,A\1 Copyright, igi7, by Frederick A. Stokes Company All rights reserved SEP 24 1917 !- ©CLA473640 TO HANIEL LONG HER FRIEND AND MINE IN GRENSTONE CONTENTS A GRACE BEFORE THE POEMS I. GRENSTONE /. ON THE WAY TO GRENSTONE How could I guess what difference was in store — / who had never really loved before? Birthright 5 Foreign Hills 6 Hills of Home 7 The Road 8 The Telegraph Poles 9 On THE Train ii Early April IN Grenstone .... 13 //. NEIGHBORS AND THE COUNTRY- SIDE People and places are alive with light — Before the sun itself moves into sight. Luke 17 Neighbors 18 The Beau 19 A Farmer Remembers Lincoln . . 20 The Fields . 22 [vii] Contents GRY.n'^TO'^E— Continued Mercy 23 Pan 24 The Circus 25 Astronomy 34 Vantage 35 Summer in Grenstone 36 Grenstone Falls 37 To A Phoebe-Bird ....... 38 Ghosts of Indians 40 Poplars 41 A Thrush in the Moonlight ... 42 ///. CHILDREN AND DEATH Children and meadows darken with the rain- — Before the sun comes by them up the lane. Lullaby 45 As A Child 46 Kids 47 Winner of Second 50 The Snowball . 52 The Birthday 53 A Playmate 54 Darkness 55 Grasses 56 An Old Elegy 57 Poor Richard ........ 58 Change ' . 59 Hostelry 60 [ viii ] Contents GRENSTONE-— Co«//V;wf^ Good Lads 62 Luck 63 JUDD 64 Singing Past the Cemetery ... 65 The Farmer 66 The Miner 67 Heigho 68 Enough 69 Nocturne 70 IV. DALLIANCE Then sometimes, as we skip along for fun. Our shoe-laces and duties come undone. To-morrow 73 The Naughty Angel 74 The Ten Commandments .... 75 A Wanderer 76 O, I Have Seen in Grenstone ... 77 Marriage 78 One Day When I Rode Pegasus . . 79 The Mirror 80 The Secret 81 The Coquette 82 The Skeptic 83 A Ballad of Undaunted Youth . . 84 World's End 87 The Old Mill 89 A Moment 91 [ix] Contents GRENSTONE—CoTz/mw^'i Sun and Moon 92 In Love 93 Young Eden 94 Blow Hot, Blow Cold ..... 99 Battles Long Ago 100 The Seeker loi God's Fool 102 Treasure . 103 The Rider 104 The Heart of Gold 105 Once of All My Friends .... 106 The Dead Loon 107 Oblivion 108 F. WISDOM AND UNWISDOM How we resolve and reason and explain The various ways we take the sun and rain! Beauty iii To Yourself 112 To Myself 113 The New Life . 114 Wisdom 115 Folly 116 A Sail 117 A Grenstone Glade 119 To No One in Particular . . . . 121 Be Not Too Frank 122 The New Love 123 The Balance 124 [x] Contents GRENSTONE— Co7z//V7WP^ VL THE OLD CRY And in the very midst of explanation. We cry the single cry of all creation. Capture 127 Youth 129 A Prayer for Beauty 130 A Lane in Grenstone 131 VII. CELIA And O how suddenly the cry rings true. Changing, no longer saying I — but Yott! Celia 135 The Early Gods 136 Interpreter 137 Seas and Leaves 138 In Many Streets 140 Yes 141 The Touch of You 142 On Earth 143 Rose-Time 144 Chariots 145 When the First Bird Sang .... 146 Sapphics for Celia 147 Encounter 152 A Tent-Song 153 Under the Mountain 154 A Shepherd of Stars 155 [xi] Contents II. AWAY FROM GRENSTONE /. AN INLAND CITY After the voice I had always waited for, O how can there be distance any more? My Citizen i6i No Man's Clerk 162 One of the Crowd 163 With a Copy of "The Shropshire Lad" 165 A Justice Remembers Lincoln . . 166 Hobbledehoy 169 The Poet 170 The Death-Bed of a Certain Rich Man 172 //. WEST Can prairies, towns and mountains separate Whisper from whisper, answering mate from, matef I Turn and Find You 175 Kansas 176 The Hills of San Jose 178 A Bazaar by the Sea 179 The Golden Gate 181 My Country . 182 Train-Mates 183 Shasta 186 Acknowledgment 188 [xii] Contents AWAY FROM GRENSTONE— Co/z//«we^ ///. SOUTH Some of love's words I missed when I was near — / must be far from thcrUj to hear them clear. A Torch 193 Honeycomb 194 A MocKiNG-BiRD 196 Good Morning, Mr. Mocking-Bird . 197 A Grenstone Elm 199 O Take Me Up To Grenstone . , 200 IV. A CITY BY THE SEA Above the noise of countless busy men The Voice I love whispers again — again. Presence 203 To a Painter 204 Apollo Troubadour 205 To A Field-Sparrow 210 What Man Can Call Me Captive? 211 A Spring Song in a Cafe . . . . 213 The Highest Bidder 214 Israel 215 Across the Counter . . . . , . 217 Home . 218 Union Square - , . 219 Diana Captive . 220 A Night Thought .,,.,. 222 The Path , . . 223 Journey .......... 224 [ xiii ] Contents III. GRENSTONE AGAIN /. CELIA Each of love's lovely words but makes the rest The lovelier — //// all are loveliest. Journey's, End 231 Grenstone 232 Lest I Learn . 233 Beyond a Mountain ...... 234 The Mystic . 236 Breath 237 11, NEWS If a word of doom arrives — love, hearing it. Can make the deathful tidings exquisite. Passing Near 241 "They Brought Me Bitter News" 244 The Fling 245 Tidings 246 An Angel 247 Grieve Not for Beauty . . . . . 248 Three Poplars 249 ///. HAND IN HAND A lover, with new eyes, can turn and see All men companions in his destiny. The Calendar 253 Little Pan 254 [xiv] Contents GRENSTONE AGAIN— Continued God's Acre 256 To Any One 257 War 258 The Faith 259 IV. WOMEN And women are his awe: so that he pays New homage and new service all his days. In the Cool of the Evening . . . 263 Responses 266 Annunciation 267 V. LOSING CELIA How could I dream that darkness would close in On everything that shall be or has been! The Night 273 I Heard Her Sing 274 Surety 276 Farewell 277 At the Last 278 Hic Jacet . 279 Distance 280 There is Not Anything 281 It is Not She! 282 Aloof 283 Tryst in Grenstone 284 Sentence 285 [xv] Contents GRENSTONE AGAm~Continued VL FINDING CELIA There is no death for lovers — // there shine Such light through other s darkness as through mine. The Wind at the Door 289 The Way of Beauty , 290 A Masque of Life and Death . . . 291 During a Chorale by Cesar Franck 292 Songs Ascending 294 A Prayer 295 VIL AN END AND A BEGINNING Creator and created, God shall be Born for evermore — of her and me. How Can I Know You All? . . . 299 For I Am Nothing If I Am Not All 301 Open House 303 Consummation 305 Behold the Man 307 Acknowledgment is due to the editors of The Century, Harper^s, The Yale Review, The Little Review, The Masses, The American, McClure's, The New Republic, Reedy's Mirror, The Bellman, The Delineator, Poetry, The Poetry Journal, The Poetry Review, The Midland, The Metropolitan, The Bookman, Lippincott's, The Smart Set, The Harvard Advocate, Sunset: The Pacific Monthly, Everybody's, The Pictorial Review, The Forum and The Nation, for their permission to reprint certain of these poems, and to Mitchell Kennerley for permission to reprint as a lyric a brief passage from "The New World." [xvi] A Grace Before the Poems A GRACE BEFORE THE POEMS ^'Is there such a place as Grenstonef^ Celia, hear them ask! Tell me, shall we share it with them? — Shall we let them breathe and bask On the windy, sunny pasture, Where the hill-top turns its face Toward the valley of the mountain, Our beloved place? Shall we show them through our churchyard, With its crumbling wall Set between the dead and living? Shall our willow ed waterfall. Huckleberries, pines and bluebirds Be a secret we shall share? . . . // they make but little of it, Celia, shall we care? I. GRENSTONE /. ON THE WAY TO GREN STONE How could I guess what difference was in store- I who had never really loved before? On the Way to Grenstone BIRTHRIGHT I TOO was born in Arcady; My mother, who should know, Whispered it through death to me. But it was long ago; And there are fathers in my blood Who never would have understood A son of Arcady, Nor think it augurs any good And cannot let it be. So what these sponsors do, forsooth, That I may understand, Is in my blood to tell me truth That never any land Was such a place as Arcady . . . And yet my mother says to me, Who left me long ago, "You too were born in Arcady — Should not your mother know?'* [5] Grenstone FOREIGN HILLS YOU would not think that, lost so young Here in this outer land, I still should feel my spirit wrung And still not understand . . . Though Grenstone is the name they said, And though I pack my load And though my cap is on my head — What do I care which road? What does it matter where I go, When all I do is roam Far from a place I used to know. From hills and streams of home? And foreign waters only smart The lips that they caress And foreign hills but bruise the heart With vanished happiness. [6] On the Way to Grensto?je HILLS OF HOME NAME me no names for my disease, With unlnformlng breath; I tell you I am none of these, But homesick unto death — Homesick for hills that I had known, For brooks that I had crossed, Before I met this flesh and bone And followed and was lost . . . And though they break my heart at last, Yet name no name of ills. Say only, "Here is where he passed, Seeking again those hills." [7] Grenstone THE ROAD IT was gay, starting— When love was goal and goad, With a feathered hope for darting And an open foe for fighting ... I knew no parting, While love was still a torch on the road Of reuniting. But when love's fire Had nothing more to show But a windy spark, Then came the dire Adventure — and the foe I could not touch nor ever tire Laughed in the driving dark. [8] On the Way to Grenstone THE TELEGRAPH-POLES CHAINED a miraculous way, Rounding the world in their flight- Prophets of death in the day, Warning of life in the night — Naked, fettered trees, Miles over field, over fen. Swift beside rails to the seas. They motionless move among men. Sometimes the file on its march Waits with a beggared look For the touch of a leafy arch. For the breath of the turn of a brook. The rain with a freshening sound Falls on the marshes — but now Moistens no root underground. Misses the glistening bough. [9] Gr ens tone And birds, to renew their wings, Come as of old — ^but the wires Have none of the joy of the strings Trembling in leafy-hung lyres. Stripped of their verdure by men, As men have been stripped of their souls, Prophets are wandering again — See them?— the telegraph-poles I [lO] On the Way to Grenstone ON THE TRAIN WHY write about It? How do I know? But what I see I now set down, For In my pulse the touch and flow Of spring has entered from the urgent show Of river, hill and town . . . The bends of the Connecticut Reflecting rows of pine and birch; The banks of brush that climb and jut; A castle full of corn; a workman's hut; A pig, a barn, a church; A boy blue-shlrted at his ease Fishing; a hawk, the peak of a cloud; A man's head on a woman's knees; Italians singing on the railroad; — these Enter with spring and crowd [II] Grenstone My heart and are my company And lead me low and lead me high As a swallow flying, trying to be Water and earth and air. And what I see I write, not knowing why . . . Nor why I flow and pour and burn Bright as the rim of yonder dam, Nor why with the swallow I dart and turn, Trying to be 4:hese things that I discern — Until I am, I ami [12] On the Way to Grenstone EARLY APRIL IN GRENSTONE THE freshets are free and the Ice Is afloat And the stems of the willows are red in the air, The crows in long companies echo their note And the little birds dare With their breasts of dawn and their wings of noon To tell that the bluets are following soon. Then a sudden cold night over hollows and hills Lays a thickness of snow, for the inclines of day And the meadows and bright multitudinous rills To gather away . . . As yesterday's beauty, returning, shall blend With the morrow's new beauty — as I with a friend I [13] //. NEIGHBORS AND THE COUNTRY- SIDE People and places are alive with light — Before the sun itself moves into sight. Neighbors and the Countryside LUKE BAREHEADED, with his bearded throat Open and brown, Luke was a friend Who never greeted you by rote: His good-day seemed itself to lend A means of making the day good; He had an ear for any true Request or need; he understood The many and the few. I asked him in Grenstone, near a bed Of those big strawberries he grew, "Tell me your secret, Luke," I said, "Why everybody's fond of you?" "My learning quit with the little red school, And secrets mostly bother me — But there's darn good sense in the golden rule . . . I'm fond o' them," said he. [17] Grenstone NEIGHBORS LET me have faith, is what I pray, And let my faith be strong! — But who am I, is what I say. To think my neighbor wrong? And though my neighbor may deny True faith could be so slight. May call me wrong, yet who am I To think my neighbor right? We may discover by and by Making our wisdom double, That he is right and so am I — ' And save a lot of trouble. [i8] Neighbors and the Countryside THE BEAU HERE goes the dandy down the street, As fine a fellow as you'll meet, And cocks his hat. But whither leads a dapper tread? — My poor old father long since dead Was good at that. My mother heard my father's plea And soon presented him with me; So that he died: And here am I, waistcoat and all, The image of my father's fall, As of his pride. Grandames, who watched through darken- ing blind The neatest fellow they could find With stick and spat, Now see a newer dandy stare With the same unconquerable air And cock his hat. [19] Grenstone A FARMER REMEMBERS LINCOLN LINCOLN?— Well, I was in the old Second Maine, The first regiment in Washington from the Pine Tree State. Of course I didn't get the butt of the clip; We was there for guardin' Washington — We was all green. "I ain't never ben to but one theater in my life — I didn't know how to behave. I ain't never ben since. I can see as plain as my hat the box where he sat in When he was shot. I can tell you, sir, there was a panic When we found our President was in the shape he was in! Never saw a soldier in the world but what liked him. [20] Neighbors and the Countryside "Yes, sir. His looks was kind o' hard to forget. He was a spare man, An old farmer. Everything was all right, you know. But he wan't a smooth-appearin' man at all — Not In no ways; Thin-faced, long-necked. And a swellln' kind of a thick Up like. "And he was a jolly old fellow — always cheerful; He wan't so high but the boys could talk to him their own ways. While I was servin' at the Hospital He'd come in and say, "You look nice in here," Praise us up, you know. And he'd bend over and talk to the boys — And he'd talk so good to 'em — so close — That's why I call him a farmer. I don't mean that everything about him wan't all right, you understand, It's just — well, I was a farmer — And he was my neighbor, anybody's neighbor. "I guess even you young folks would 'a' liked him." [21] Grenstone THE FIELDS THOUGH wisdom underfoot Dies in the bloody fields, Slowly the endless root Gathers again and yields. In fields where hate has hurled Its force, where folly rots, Wisdom shall be uncurled Small as forget-m.e-nots. [22] Neighbors and the Countryside MERCY a HE took your coat away? Then go and fold Your cloak around him too — Lest he be cold. "And if he took from you Your daily bread, Offer your heart to him — That he be fed. "And if you gave him all Your life could give, Give him your death as well- That he may live." [23] Grenstone PAN TT 7HILE chopping trees down on a summer's A broad young farmer asked me what I read. I showed the title to him, Pan Is Dead. *Gosh! What a name I" he laughed — and hacked away. [24] Neighbors and the Countryside THE CIRCUS I WENT to-night to a country circus. There had been a parade at noon, Strewn out along the village street under the elms and maples: A bugler, and gilt wagons, and a young Indian with eyes calm as the desert; and men In western costumes, with dark and weathered faces; And a lioness looking from a corner of a cage out over the grass of a field toward tree-trunks ; And a clown riding trickily backward on a bicycle, all the small bicycles in the village trailing him; And a band of musicians In buckskins and tan shirts, with red handkerchiefs round their necks, sedately but youthfully blowing dis- cords — All but the drummer with his drum, which can- not be discordant; [25] Grenstone And at the beginning of the procession, and re- membered also at the end, A gray-haired man with a responsible shrewd face. And in the evening, outside the smaller tent in the flare of a jetting movable light, The gray-haired man, between two Indians, did an old-fashioned trick, interlinking solid rings, And talked shrewdly and responsibly for a long time. And under his breath he remarked afterwards, not so much criticism as pride, that he had seen more drunkenness that morning in the village than among his whole troupe on their whole trip. Having already said aloud like a preacher that his wife traveled with him, that there was no immorality in the troupe and that two carpenters had been discharged that morn- ing for profanity. And in the rush for tickets there was bumping and wedging; [26] Neighbors and the Countryside And there stood stalwart, guarding the ticket- booth and advising the line, a youth whose voice had the drawl of the south and whose eyes were gray and sentimental and whose mouth was sullen and tobacco-stained; And the sentiment faded out of his eyes when he told three countrymen, who tried to force their way into the line by means of banter, That he had money enough in his pocket to pay a fine; And they went back and quietly took their places at the end, but not until he had sent their damn souls to hell. And then In the smaller tent a silent young squaw, like an Egyptian child, held the head of a python while her husband, the Indian of the procession, standing behind her, moved and guided the silver coils and mottles of the python round her body and watched her with eyes that had seen the west. And a pony counted numbers and told time with his paw. [27] Grenstone And Punch had his unflagging game with Judy. And a pale Swede, with a paunch, alarmed the lioness by rattling the door of her cage, then opened it and stood inside for a quick mo- ment — And always the gray-haired man shrewdly and responsibly announcing. And the Indian and his squaw sang in sweet, strange voices a modern tune to their own words, and his gestures were the world-old gestures of beauty; And he played the harmonica deftly on one side and then on the other, alternating, no pause, and cupped it with a strong dark hand. Then suddenly, outside toward the larger tent, the youngsters blared discords; And presently he stopped. They said that he was a chief and he may well have been. For not even appearing six or seven times each afternoon and six or seven times each eve- ning and selling beads betweenwhiles to make New England holidays and his own spending- [28] Neighbors and the Countryside money, not even that had undone the dignity of his brow and straight nose, or the aloof- ness of his courtesy, or the silence behind his speech when I questioned him, like the stars over city roofs. He was a Sioux, but had come from Arizona, And when I questioned further, it was true that he had lived in the silent places Beside the Grand Canyon. And he let me see for a moment that he knew by what I said about the Canyon, and by what I could not say, that I, too, felt his silence and the river that pours through it unheard. Then we all went into the larger tent, which was open to the night. And there was first the small pomp of the pro- cession, more fitting for some reason under the night sky than under the elms at noon. And there was swift riding and shrill calling. And there was a woman on a glossy horse that drew gently backward in a circle like memory, or stepped forward In diiEcult slow time like anticipation — [29] Grenstone And the woman's face was like petrified wood at dusk; And there was a quadrille of horses carrying the young men with dark faces, some of which, when they came by the light, were lean and wan. And there was incessantly the accompaniment by the young musicians; among whom was a woman who played the cornet when neces- sary and the rest of the time coughed. And there was a young man with his shirt cut diagonally across his back and chest and deep under his arms, to show the muscles moving like little waves when he lifted and lowered himself and twined around the hang- ing rings, or balanced horizontal and, by a strap from his neck, held a workman off the ground. And there was a thin Mexican boy whose nerves tingled with the nerves of the horses as he ran alongside them and leapt into the saddle and out again and leaned and curved with the lean and curve of the horses and ejacu- lated little phrases in a small harsh voice. [30] Neighbors and the Countryside And there was an experienced thick-set man whose eye could calculate distance and motion and whose hand could throw a noose round a swift-moving horseman's neck or waist, or round the horse's head or haunches or legs, or round the bodies of four horses urged in a group by four riders with spurs. And there was a broncho that made a noise with the nostrils neither whinny nor neigh and a man in a yellow shirt who stayed astride him, while five men on foot shouted and yelled and the people on the lower benches drew back from the sharp bucking. And the Mexican boy, seizing his turn with avid- ity, swung a circle of rope round his curls and stepped through it and back again and let it widen and widen until he swayed within It even smaller than he had been and thinner and swifter. And there were clowns, and many little boys In the audience equally open-mouthed for laughing or for watching. And there were peanuts, and tickets for the con- [31] Grenstone cert, and cold lemonade, and the chill of night, and the smell of the lights, and dust from the rush of the horses. And there were the shadowy crowds. And there was again the young Indian, with beads over his arm, offering them not in- sistently nor anxiously, but with silence and certainty and an arm out now and then as if he were showing me the Grand Canyon of the Colorado . . . Whose vast and rusted deeps were unmoving but for the slow, blue, diagonal line of twi- light, as clear as the blue, diagonal shirt across the flesh of the fellow in the hanging rings . . . And from the edge of the canyon a blue-jay darted and poised and chirped, as undaunted as the Mexican boy darting and uttering his small, hoarse phrases over the edge of death . . . That rim Where the sky at night is tipped upside down and silence is brought whole to your feet. The silence containing China and Syria and Egypt [323 Neighbors and the Countryside and all their architecture and swift motions and their pyramids and unremembered speech — And a river that pours unheard. [33] Grenstone ASTRONOMY WHETHER there are peopled stars Other than our own and Mars, We shall either know or not When we're done with what we've got. But there's something stranger far Than wee folk on a great star, When there dwell such mighty skies In such little people's eyes. [34] Neighbors and the Countryside VANTAGE ALL is not well — so you go on With what a wilful way, And you are bound where others have gone, You are as sure as they. All must be well or you're off in a trice — Therefore you never stay; For you crave in summer streams of ice, In winter growing hay. You cannot bear it cut and dried And pitched and put away, And you cannot bear it green and wide Over the mounds of May. You cry for all good things, you dunce, Together in one day. You are as young as I was once — With what a wilful way! [35] Grenstone SUMMER IN GRENSTONE UMMER, I bring my knees again To your shrine of lighted sky: With silent wonder worshiping, Deep in the grass I lie In wonderful fright of a bumblebee, Or a rapid speck of red, Or an ant with little bandy legs And a little tugging head; In wondering league with his busy speed, (What is it makes him spry? — The many little sandy domes Of the kingdom in his eye?) In tune with the gleeful wit of a bird; And, at far-off puffs of a train, Content with the wonders made by men, Though made they be with pain. For by these wonders yours I see; Summer, holy, sweet; — And here in selfish faith again I kneel before your feet. [36] Neighbors and the Countryside GRENSTONE FALLS THERE'S a hollow under the falls Where happy fellows play — You can hear their laughter and their calls A mile away, Greeting the spray . . . You brace on the slant of the rock, You slide along — till it comes From face to feet with a shivering shock. An avalanche of drums ! And when you shout and dive, With water and air above, O, It's like finding yourself alive With the only one you love ! And then, where a nested haystack waits — Two happy mates, You and the sun, When the courting's done. Lie like one. [37] Grenstone TO A PHOEBE-BIRD UNDER the eaves, out of the wet, You nest within my reach; You never sing for me and yet You have a golden speech. You sit and quirk a rapid tail, Wrinkle a ragged crest, Then pirouette from tree to rail And vault from rail to nest. And when in frequent, dainty fright You grayly slip and fade, And when at hand you re-alight Demure and unafraid, And when you bring your brood its fill Of iridescent wings And green legs dewy in your bill. Your silence is what sings. [38] Neighbors and the Countryside Not of a feather that enjoys To prate or praise or preach, O phoebe, with so little noise, What eloquence you teach ! [39] Gr ens tone GHOSTS OF INDIANS INDIAN-FOOTED move the mists From the corner ot the lake, Silent, sinuous and bent; And their trailing feathers shake. Tremble to forgotten leapings, ^Yhile with lingerings and creepings Down they lean again to slake The dead thirst of parching mouths, Lean their pale mouths in the lake. Indian-footed move the mists That were hiding in the pine, Out upon the oval lake In a bent and ghostly line Lean and drink for better sleeping . , Then they turn again and — creeping, Gliding as with fur and hns — Disappear through woods and water On a thousand moccasins. [40] Neighbors and the Countryside POPLARS POPLARS against a mountain Seem frequently to me To be little-windowed cities And sun-waves on the sea. Perhaps dead men remember Those beckonings of fire, Waves that have often crumbled And windows of desire . . . Another year and some one, Standing where I now stand, Shall watch my tree rekindle, From ancient sea and land — The beckoning of an ocean. The beckoning of a town, Till the sun's behind the mountain And the wind dies down. [41] Grenstone I A THRUSH IN THE MOONLIGHT N came the moon and covered me with wonder, Touched me and was near me and made me very still. In came a rush of song, like rain after thunder, Pouring Importunate on my window-sill. I lowered my head, I hid it, I would not see nor hear. The birdsong had stricken me, had brought the moon too near. But when I dared to lift my head, night began to fill With singing In the darkness. And then the thrush grew still. And the moon came in, and silence, on my window- sill. [42] in, —CHILDREN AND DEATH Children and meadows darken with the rain- Before the sun comes by them up the lane. Children and Death LULLABY (( I'LL send you now sailing across the sea, I'll send you now sailing away — Out where the fishes love to be, Out where the gulls Are at play. *'But soon you'll come sailing from far away, Come sailing from over the sea — Back where my baby loves to stay, Back again home To me." [45] Grenstone AS A CHILD LET me in death but slip away From people and the light of day As when a child I found my rest On my mother's soothing breast. Let them not come and sit around With solemn face and whispered sound Such comfort I have never known As with my mother all alone. [46] Children and Death KIDS a HEY, I've found some money-wort, Some day I'll be rich !— Or I wonder If it's checkerberry? — I don't know which is which. "Look, don't touch that blade of grass, Just keep away from it ! For see that frothy bubbly ball? — That's snake-spit! "Cover your lips, the darning-needle Loves to sew 'em up 1 — Who likes butter? Lift your chin — Here's a buttercup. "She loves me — she loves me not — I wish that I knew why It always comes a different way Every time I try. [47] Grenstone "How many children? — Here you are- You can have three blows — And you don't want many children, For you have to buy 'em clo'es. "Now we can take the stems, see, And wet 'em into curls And stick 'em in our hair and run And make believe we're girls. Or quicken the pain In him, quicken the joy. The pang of the birth of the man from the boy! — Shall we give him the devil? — Hobbledehoy? [169] Away from Grenstone THE POET A POET lived in Galilee, Whose mother dearly knew him — And his beauty like a cooling tree Drew many people to him. He loved the speech of simple men And little children's laughter, He came — they always came again. He went — they followed after. He had sweet-hearted things to say, And he was solemn only When people were unkind . . . that day He'd stand there straight and lonely, And tell them what they ought to do : "Love other folk," he pleaded, "As you love me and I love you!" But almost no one heeded. [170] An Inland City A poet died In Galilee, They stared at him and slew him . . . What would they do to you and me If we could say we knew him? [171] Away from Grenstone THE DEATH-BED OF A CERTAIN RICH MAN WHERE they have left me, cold upon the bed, I am not breathing, but I am not dead — Blind, I see the thorns upon a head. Motionless, I travel, inward bound, Deaf, I hear a penetrating sound Of voices risen from the silent ground. His voice, the Nazarene's, in theirs renewed, Speaks and encircles me, a multitude, 'We are the Christ you never understood. We gave you all the love there is, to do Our work with; but you hoarded it and knew Only yourself, not us, and lived untrue To your great privilege. Now, when you lie So still that you can hear us — tell us why!'— O Christ, I thought you were only one. I die." [ 172] //. WEST Can prairies, towns and mountains separate fVisdom from wisdom^ answering mate from mate? West I TURN AND FIND YOU MILES from you I turn and find you, My beloved. And your gaze And the ripple of your garment And your unexpected ways Of approaching and of speaking And the breath of your hair Are as real to me as rain is Through hot summer air. In far companies I meet you Moving natural and clear, Coming toward me in your beauty . . . O, be careful, they will hear, They will look at us, these others, They will listen when your hand Touches tumult on my shoulder — Like the surf on the sand! [175] Away from Grenstone KANSAS WHEN you had come through Kansas To your New Hampshire hills, Their roundnesses, their cloistered roads, Their sharpnesses, their rills, An empty area, nothing else. These reaches seemed to you; But here in Kansas where you were I am in Grenstone too, And yet not out of Kansas No matter where I go — For I will add to my own land now This easy ample flow, Will add to my New England This openness as clear On earth as it is in heaven, No hills to interfere. [176] West Wave after wave In Kansas A wisdom comes to me From the levels of the world, Consoling as the sea. [ 177] Away from Grenstone THE HILLS OF SAN JOSE LOOK at the long low hills of golden brown With their little wooded canyons And at the haze hanging Its beauty in the air — And I am caught and held, as a ball Is caught and held by a player Who leaps for it in the field. And as the heart in the breast of the player beats toward the ball, And as the heart beats In the breast of him who shouts toward the player, So my heart beats toward the hills that are play- ing ball with the sun, That leap to catch the sun from your hills Or from you And to throw it to other hills — Or to me ! [178] West A BAZAAR BY THE SEA SCENT of sunken wood and wind wet with weeds and lifting spray, Bitter with a wandered tear from some deep for- gotten face That has lain and weary turned, whiter, cleaner, day by day With the quiet nether waves In a wilderness of space: How you haunt my mouth and hold my heart and mortify my soul With a sense of women lying faint and lonely in the sea, While the waters that have wasted them, arising from them, roll Shadows of them on the shore and their loveliness to me. I have bought their broken beauty and have won- dered all the time Whether you I love shall ever lie releasing, with a moan, [ 179 ] Away from Grenstone For strange hands to purchase and for strange lips to rhyme, Pearls and corals, corals, pearls, changing from your blood and bone ! [i8o] West THE GOLDEN GATE THERE comes a breath of Cella through the sky . . . The sun Is setting pallid as a moon Behind the airy mountains of the fog. Clouds march In wonder through the Golden Gate. The base of Tamalpals, reaching down, Alters Its outline to a cloud. Bright rocks, With eddies gathered round them and with gulls Huddled along their tops, vary and jut; The crowds of water toppling high with foam Crumble and fall and mingle and are gone. And bubbly spindrift pulses on the sand. A small wild-aster glimmers from the cliff. Two shadowy sea-birds hasten to the sea. And in the hush a song-sparrow begins To sing of Cella by her inland rill. And through the mingled blue of bay and sky The moon Is risen golden as a sun . . . Earth and the sun and moon and you and I. [i8i] Away from Grenstone MY COUNTRY A FLAG above me and an evening gun Are not my country's colors and salute This is my country's reach, the sea and sky, These are her cannon booming on the shore. [182] PFest TRAIN-MATES OUTSIDE hove Shasta, snowy height on height, A glory; but a neghglble sight. For you had often seen a mountain-peak But not my paper. So we came to speak . « . A smoke, a smile, — a good way to commence The comfortable exchange of difference ! — You a young engineer, five feet eleven, Forty-five chest, with football In your heaven. Liking a road-bed newly built and clean. Your fingers hot to cut away the green Of brush and flowers that bring beside a track The kind of beauty steel lines ought to lack, — And I a poet, wistful of my betters, Reading George Meredith's high-hearted letters, Joining betweenwhile In the mingled speech Of a drummer, circus-man, and parson, each Absorbing to himself — as I to me And you to you — a glad Identity! [183] Away from Grenstone After a time, when the others went away, A curious kinship made us choose to stay, Which I could tell you now ; but at the time You thought of baseball teams and I of rhyme, Until we found that we were college men And smoked more easily and smiled again; And I from Cambridge cried, the poet still: "I know your fine Greek theatre on the hill At Berkeley!" With your happy Grecian head Upraised, "I never saw the place," you said — - "Once I was free of class, I always went Out to the field." Young engineer, you meant As fair a tribute to the better part As ever I did. Beauty of the heart Is evident in temples. But it breathes Alive where athletes quicken curly wreaths, Which are the lovelier because they die. You are a poet quite as much as I, Though differences appear in what we do. And I an athlete quite as much as you. Because you half-surmised my quarter-mile And I your quatrain, we could greet and smile. [184] West Who knows but we shall look again and find The circus-man and drummer, not behind But leading in our visible estate — As discus-thrower and as laureate? [185] Away from Grenstone SHASTA THE canyon Is deep shade beneath And the tall pines rise out of It. In the sun beyond, brilliant as death, Is a mountain big with burled breath- Hark, I can hear the shout of It! The engine, on the curve ahead. Turns Into sight and busily Sends up a spurt out of a bed Of coal that lay for centuries dead But now recovers dizzily. What shall I be, what shall I do In what divine experiment, When, ready to be used anew, I snap my nursmg-bonds in two And fling away my cerement? [i86] West Shall my good hopes continue still And, gathering Infinity, Inhabit many a human will? — An Indian In me, toward that hill, Conceives himself divinity. [187] Away from Grenstone ACKNOWLEDGMENT iOOR as I am in what men count As fortune, lacking In the goods And gains that make men paramount- — When I inquire of fields and woods For happiness, they tell me true How rich I am In only you. Far as I am from you this day, Impatient of the distance, fain To lessen It and ease the way With lesser loves — I learn through pain The comprehension, old and new, Of being near to only you. Dumb as I was when I would tell My gratitude and voice my love — Your voice was in me like a bell At mass when congregations prove Their souls in silence. I could do No better than be dumb to you. [i88] West Brief as I am In my essay Of life and love — I Importune No more and I have put away Impatience. I have touched my boon, My proof, my vision through the blue — Eternity is only you. [189] ///. SOUTH Some of love's words I missed when I was near- I must be far from them, to hear them clear. South A TORCH THE sun at last Gilds me again, And my face is no more a white stalk of celery But a golden mango, And the foot-tracked mud of my heart Is sunk deep down In the blue waters and purified With coral . . . Cranes carry peace to the east and the west — Celia, Celia, The thought of you stands clear by the mangroves, A torch, A flamingo ! [ 193] Away from Grenstone HONEYCOMB I'M goin' back a-lookin' for the honeycomb, Back to the jungle, 'way back home — "The honeycomb that's growin' In the holes o' trees An' you reach it by a-scrabblin' up wi' both your knees While you whistle 'bout yo' baby to keep away the bees. "I'm goln' where the honey crackles in the mouth, Back to the jungle, 'way back south — "For southern comb Is sweeter'n northern chew- In'-gum An' when you call the yaller-blrds, they always come. An' If they see the honey, they ask you for some. "Back there In the jungle, 'way back home, I'm goin' to spend my old age eatin' honey- comb — [ 194] South "Bananas an' watermelons, pineapples an' fruit An' all the birds o' paradise a livln' man can shoot, An' I'll eat 'em while a-leanin' on a mangrove- root. "An' when I've had a plenty, 'way back south, There's goln' to come a angel an' kiss me on the mouth — "A angel with a big wing both sides her head, The front feathers white an' the hind feathers red. It'll be the kiss o' heaven that'll make me glad I'm dead. "An' I won't have to hunt no mo' back home, With a angel every side o' me — bringin' hon- eycomb." [19s] Away from Grenstone A MOCKING-BIRD AN arrow, feathery, alive, He darts and sings — Then with a sudden skimming dive Of striped wings He finds a pine and, debonair, Makes with his mate All birds that ever rested there Articulate. The whisper of a multitude Of happy wings Is round him, a returning brood, Each time he sings. Though heaven be not for them or him Yet he Is wise And tiptoes daily on the rim Of paradise. [196] South GOOD-MORNING, MR. MOCKING-BIRD GOOD-MORNING, Mr. Mocklng-BIrd. "Your own good-morning, sir, to you!" There never was, upon my word, A single song so true — Yet I am told you pilfer songs. Yes, any song you chance to hear, And never doubt if it belongs To you, you buccaneer. ''But tell me, sir, if I am deft At adding songs to my own store And yet if all the songs are left Just as they were before, "And if I fly about and love Beauty as any bird has lief, The song of whip-poor-will and dove And thrush, — am I a thief? [ 197] Away from Grenstone ''Of course, dear sir, you never heard A song, a single song, so true!" Good-morning, Mr. Mocking-Bird. "Good-morning, sir, to you I" [198] South A GRENSTONE ELM WHEN I watched an elm, a Grenstone tree, Curtain a star to bed, I thought of the swinging stars at sea, — Wished I were there instead. But now when I watch the open dome Of the big and lonely sea, And think of the Grenstone elm at home, Home's the place for me! [ 199] Away from Gr ens tone O TAKE ME UP TO GRENSTONE OTAKE me up to Grenstone ! — Monadnock leads the way Where the stars are in the evening And the birds are in the day, Where friends are in their gardens And little children play— G take me up to Grenstone And I'll never come away, Never, never! O take me up to Grenstone Where the sun is in the sky And where Celia loves to wander Just as worshipful as I, Where the mountain leans and comforts When little children die — O take me up to Grenstone ! Could I ever tell you why? — Ever, ever? [ 200 ] IV, A CITY BY THE SEA Above the noise of countless busy men. The voice I love whispers again — again! A City by the Sea PRESENCE WHATEVER I may see, Of old or new Or good or evil or unknown, Partakes of you To be made whole — Can only be Your flesh, your bone, Celia, your soul. [203] Away from Grenstone TO A PAINTER WHERE that corner-house then stood, Where your room was, and our talks, Laths and doors and tumbled bricks Pile their dust upon the walks — Thrown by no slow touch of time, No quick blast of magic fire. But by sure, destroying hands, Hands of builders, building higher. But the builders, with their derricks, They shall never reach so high As the blue-ascending tower We were building in the sky. Never seeing what we built there Higher than in all the lands. Yet they cannot change our corner Where a topless tower stands. [ 204 ] A City by the Sea APOLLO TROUBADOUR WHEN a wandering Italian Yesterday at noon Played upon his hurdy-gurdy Suddenly a tune, There was magic in my ear-drums: Like a baby's cup and spoon Tinkling time for many sleigh-bells, Many no-school, rainy-day-bells, Cow-bells, frog-bells, run-away-bells. Mingling with an ocean medley As of elemental people More emotional than wordy — Mermaids laughing off their tantrums, Mermen singing loud and sturdy, — Silver scales and fluting shells. Popping weeds and gurgles deadly, Coral chime from coral steeple, Intermittent deep-sea bells Ringing over floating knuckles, [205] Away from Grenstone Burled gold and swords and buckles, And a thousand bubbling chuckles, Yesterday at noon, — Such a melody as star-fish. And all fish that really are fish. In a gay, remote battalion Play at midnight to the moon! Could any playmate on our planet, Hid in a house of earth's own granite. Be so devoid of primal fire That a wind from this wild crated lyre Should find no spark and fan it? Would any lady half In tears. Whose fashion, on a recent day Over the sea, had been to pay Vociferous gondoliers. Beg that the din be sent away And ask a gentleman, gravely treading As down the aisle at his own wedding. To toss the foreigner a quarter Bribing him to leave the street; That motor-horns and servants' feet Familiar might resume, and sweet [206] A City by the Sea To her offended ears, The money-music of her peers I Apollo listened, took the quarter With his hat off to the buyer, Shrugged his shoulder small and sturdy, Led away his hurdy-gurdy Street by street, then turned at last Toward a likelier piece of earth Where a stream of chatter passed, Yesterday at noon; By a school he stopped and played Suddenly a tune . . . What a melody he made ! Made in all those eager faces. Feet and hands and fingers! How they gathered, how they stayed With smiles and quick grimaces, Little man and little maid! — How they took their places. Hopping, skipping, unafraid. Darting, rioting about. Squealing, laughing, shouting out I How, beyond a single doubt, [ 207 ] Away from Grenstone In my own feet sprang the ardor (Even now the motion lingers) To be joining In their paces ! Round and round the handle went, — Round their hearts went harder; — Apollo urged the happy rout And beamed, ten times as well content With every son and daughter As though their little hands had lent The gentleman his quarter. (You would not guess — nor I deny — That that same gentleman was II) No gentleman may watch a god With proper happiness therefrom; So street by street again I trod The way that we had come. He had not seen me following And yet I think he knew; For still, the less I heard of It, The more his music grew: As if he made a bird of it To sing the distance through ... And, O Apollo, how I thrilled, [ 208 ] A City by the Sea You liquid-eyed rapscallion, With every twig and twist of spring, Because your music rose and filled Each leafy vein with dew — With melody of olden sleigh-bells, Over-the-sea-and-far-away-bells, And the heart of an Italian, And the tinkling cup and spoon, — Such a melody as star-fish. And all fish that really are fish, In a gay remote battalion Play at midnight to the moon! [209] Away from Grenstone TO A FIELD-SPARROW CHIRPING frequenter of meadow and tree, Merry confrere of the mowing, Here in New York, where awhile I must be, I remember your coming and going. Clearer I hear you than clocks in their towers As, singing the city to scorn In a flourishing business of grasses and flowers, You scatter the minting of morn. And so in my bath-tub I sing with a will And I hum in the heart of the town And try to be happy as though I could trill With a whistle of feathery brown, As though I could nest in a nook of the sky Or swing there and dive in the blowing — Accepting and singing without caring why And letting who will do the knowing. [210] A City by the Sea WHAT MAN CAN CALL ME CAPTIVE? WHAT man can call me captive ? — who am free To cross the bridge afoot at six o'clock, To loose myself along that human sea ; Or else, at midnight, high above a dock Of darkness — small, remote, unreal, beneath — Upon my brow to bear the stars, a fresh and liv- ing wreath. "Is this a captive? — who at slightest cost Sailing the harbor in the twillt air. Sees the young Venice, whom the world had lost. Breathlessly lift her might again, and wear Her flowing jewels with a wiser grace Than If she had not changed her century and dwelling-place. "Is this a captive? — whom the seventh day Can lead upon the headlands and the crags, [211] Away from Grenstone Show him the river, open him the way To all the wide-flung gates and high-blown flags Of liberty- — and, as the sunset falls, Stretch for his worship, overstream, beauty of roofs and walls. "A thousand streets are mine. Or, If I choose, They all shall lead me to an outer place ; Where I shall cover miles of beach and muse Upon the windy world that woos my face With buffets — crying back: 'Am I not he Who, having served the city, by the city Is set free!'" [212] A City by the Sea A SPRING-SONG IN A CAFE A S gray, on the table, lay his hand As the root of a tree in a barren land. Or a rope that lowers the dead. As gray as a gravestone was his head, And as gray his beard as dusty grain; But his eyes were as gray as the rain — As gray as the rain that warms the snow, The bridegroom who brings, to the grass below, A breath of the wedding-day. O, his eyes were the gray of a rain in May That shall quicken and mate a dead May- queen, Shall waken and marry a queen of the May When all the graves are green I [213] Away from Grenstone THE HIGHEST BIDDER TO the highest bidder, Your birthplace, Walt Whitman, Under the hammer ... The old farm on Paumanok, north of Huntington, Its trees, Its leaves of grass! Voices bid and counterbid over those ninety acres ... And your own voice among them, like an element, Roaring and outbidding. [214] A City by the Sea ISRAEL THE shaken beauty of a race Was centered in that single face, And the ancestral woes were there Deep in a weeping shroud of hair; The captive glory of her head Was Israel live, and Israel dead. No title once the earth could tell So proud as born in Israel. Tonight I saw that pride of old, In the contempt with which she sold Cheap in a modern market-place The attar of a bruised race. I saw a king who kissed in awe Those eyes, and on her cheek I saw The singing lips of a shepherd-boy Give kisses twelve for very joy; But red as a sun in time of drouth, Was Judas burning on her mouth. [215] Away from Grenstone Lost was her visage, like a moon, And through her shame in misty swoon, Moved with a less illustrious light, But with the same immortal might. Now drawing men to appraise a face, That once drew God to choose a race. [216] A City by the Sea ACROSS THE COUNTER YOU call me stingy, do you, Sam? Well, that's the kind of girl I am. "Look, there's the man who owns the store, A moral man, they say; Packs of money — spot his pearl — But It kind of makes me sore What he gives us for our pay, Working all these hours a day. "About that supper? I don't know. O, well — don't get so fierce ! I'll go. "Ain't there nothing more In life But drudgery and food? Wish to God he'd ask me out — I'd tell him things to think about I But no, he's faithful to his wife. I guess he's never understood That that ain't all of being good. I'm sorry, ma'am. What kind of fur? I had another customer." [217] Away from Grenstone HOME a YOU ask me why I give him all My earnings and luck-money too, And sin and suffer for his gain? I'll answer you. *'A lilac grew not far from home, The way we children always went — He beats me if I buy or borrow Lilac scent." [218] A City by the Sea UNION SQUARE TWO hags were huddled side by side At dawn in Union Square, Corrupt and silent. One had died. The other waited there. One of them now lay at rest From her nocturnal beat, Newspapers round her face and breast, Her bonnet at her feet. The other — sunken was her head. Her smile was drunk and dreary — Not even knowing what she said. Called to me, "Hullo, dearie!" [219] Away from Grenstone DIANA CAPTIVE {The Samt-Gaudens Figure) CAPTIVE, she hunts on her tower, Caught in her turning flight From the covert of her bower To the covert of the night. Again the rising day Renews her in the sky, Her hand still poised the way Her arrow used to fly. Still the winds about her Are winding sun and rain ; Still they will not doubt her The mistress of the vane. They bring to eyes of gold The flashing of a fawn, They sing the call of old To feet as white as dawn. [ 220 ] A City by the Sea But toward a final goal, With blindly turning face, Diana, like the soul. Goes captive on her chase. [221 ] Away from Grenstone A NIGHT-THOUGHT IT'S night, and I turn to the park to rest From the motor-cars of day, And the moon is here and manifest, Which I thought was far away. And how I wish this quivering bough Were over Celia too! But the miles are as many to Grenstone now As moons like this are few. O time of youth, and O, the keen Word we never have said! — The distance that can come between The living and the dead! [222 ] A City by the Sea THE PATH I SHALL see the path to enter From the window of the train- Near the station, Grenstone Center, And I'll enter it again. Never was another village Just that far and just that size, In the midst of happy tillage, In the hilly land of skies, With each vigilant white steeple Like a shepherd in the sun Shepherding especial people, Calling to them one by one — Calling vainly to the dearest Of the villagers, to you, For the hymns are always clearest, You have told me, with a view — [223] Away from Grenstone And on Sundays you have hid you Where the columbine and fern Wave you on and on, to bid you Face the mountahi at the turn . . . Flow Fll hurry to be out there When my troubles loose their holdl- Knowing nestling all about there Nooks of green and nooks of gold. O, if ever was a yellow Nest of summer in the sun Dearly loved of any fellow^ — Grenstone, Grenstone is the one I [224] A City by the Sea u JOURNEY NTIL I reach her window-sill The whole wide world is standing still. Some sun more lovely overhead Is shining on my lover — So what to me this pebbly bed That waters wander over. And what to me this rippling spread Of timothy and clover? What music has the hermit-thrush, He might as well be still, What color in the evening hush, What calm upon the hill. Until I see the climbing bush Beside her window-sill? O, is there any means of grace Except in seeing Celia's face? [225] III. GRENSTONE AGAIN /. CELIA Each of love's lovely words but makes the rest The lovelier — //// all are loveliest. Celia o JOURNEY'S END HEDGE so thick, how can I walt!- Open, open, little gate ! And let me gain you, my delight, White rose with thorny dart, And hold you all the summer night Close to my beating heart — For there has been too much of light Keeping us apart ... Hark, In the dawn, the thrush begins. After the whip-poor-will! — And day, awaking lovers, wins Its way upon the hill; And the cunning spider lurks and spins; But we dream still . . . That death Is only a pilgrim star — Whose journey's end is where we are. [231 ] Grenstone Again GRENSTONE I FACE the ancient mountain And the little modern town, Monadnock over Grenstone, And my head bows down. It's like old-fashioned praying: To let the forehead bend In suddenness and silence, And to find the town a friend And to be upheld by a mountain, Till troubles end. [232] Celia LEST I LEARN THE tick of time is less acute Than the most trivial word you say- More wonderful than Eden's fruit Your lips each moment of the day! Lest I learn, with clearer will, Such wonder cannot be, Kiss me, Celia, nearer still, And make a fool of me ! Rarer than comets waited for Or rays of dawn in all the lands, Move your two feet upon the floor, Gleam the ten fingers of your hands. Lest I learn, with clearer sight, Such wonder cannot be, Pull a bandage, bind it tight, Blind me — I would not see! [233] Grenstone Again BEYOND A MOUNTAIN SOMEWHERE beyond a mountain lies A lake the color of your eyes — And I am mirrored like a flight Of swallows in that evening-light. Lovers eternal, side by side, Closed in the elemental tide, Nurture the root of every land — > So is my hand within your hand. Somewhere beyond an island ships Bear on their sails, as on your lips You bear and tend it from the sun, The blossom of oblivion. Eternal lovers, in whom death And reaching rains have mingled breath. Are drawn by the same draught apart- — So is my heart upon your heart. [ 234 ] Celia Somewhere beyond a desert rolls An ocean that is both our souls — Where we shall come, whatever be, I unto you, you unto me. [ 235 ] Grenstone Again THE MYSTIC Y seven vineyards on one hill We walked. The native wine In clusters grew beside us two, For your lips and for mine, When, "Hark!" you said — "Was that a bell Or a bubbling spring we heard?" But I was wise and closed my eyes And listened to a bird. For as summer-leaves are bent and shake With singers passing through. So moves in me continually The winged breath of you. You tasted from a single vine And took from that your fill — But I inclined to every kind, All seven on one hill. Celia BREATH WHEN so I lean my hand upon your shoul- der, When so I let my fingers fall forward To the delicate arch of the breath, To this most palpable cover and mold Of the waves of life, It is not you nor love I love — but life Itself. I look at you with a stranger, older Intimacy, I forget who you are whom I love, With your temporal face, I forget this or any of the generations And Its temporal face And the lovely curious fallacy of choice . . . Beyond the Incomprehensible madness Of the shoulder and the breast. Above the tumult of obliteration, I sow and reap upon the clouded tops of moun- tains [237 ] Grenstone Again And am myself both sown and harvested, And, from afar off, I behold, forget, achieve, You and myself and all things. When so I let my hand fall forward To the remote circumference of breath. [238] //. NEWS If a tale of doom arrive — love, hearing itj Can make the deathful tidings exquisite. News PASSING NEAR I HAD not till to-day been sure, But now I know: Dead men and women come and go Under the pure Sequestering snow. And under the autumnal fern And carmine bush, Under the shadow of a thrush. They move and learn; And in the rush Of all the mountain-brooks that wake With upward fling, To brush and break the loosening cling Of ice, they shake The air with spring! I had not till to-day been sure, But now I know : Dead youths and maidens come and go Beneath the lure And undertow [241] Grenstone Again Of cities, under every street Of empty stress, Or heart of an adulteress — - Each loud retreat Of lovelessness. For only by the stir we make In passing near Are we confused and cannot hear The ways they take Certain and clear. To-day I happened in a place Where all around Was silence; until, underground, I heard a pace, A happy sound And people there, whom I could see, Tenderly smiled, While under a wood of silent wild Antiquity Wandered a child, [242] News Leading his mother by the hand, Happy and slow, Teaching his mother where to go Under the snow . . . Not even now I understand. I only know. [243] Gr ens tone Again "THEY BROUGHT ME BITTER NEWS" THEY told me, Jack, that you were dead . . . How could I answer what they said Or stay indoors that night to look In any face or any book!— I fumbled at the pasture-bars, I climbed the hill and faced the stars. Then from the Grenstone lights that lay As if they touched the Milky Way, You followed me when I looked back . . . And I laughed out loud because you, Jack, Were death forever and for aye And left me nothing sad to say. [244] News w THE FLING E pondered much, old friend, on what was known To us of truth; And then we let It well alone And went along with youth! "Life and death shall be one to us, We still would say, ''Though death seem different" ... as It does To-day. And yet I fling reminders to the grave Of how we laughed, we two, As hand in hand we met the mortal wave — That first has covered you. [245] Grenstone Again TIDINGS GONE, but beside me in the upper air; Silent, but singing; vivid, though unseen; You have not left me here but found me there: That, O my friend. Is what your whisperings mean. Whisper them often, lest by learning well The simple satisfaction of our end. You find through this brief time, no need to tell Eternity's good-tidings to a friend. [246] News AN ANGEL "^ ^OTHING so falls from us as idleness N' When we are dead." Who he was I can only giiess, But that is what he said. [247] Grenstone Again GRIEVE NOT FOR BEAUTY GRIEVE not for the Invisible, transported brow On which like leaves the dark hair grew, Nor for the lips of laughter that are now Laughing Inaudibly in sun and dew, Nor for those limbs, that, fallen low And seeming faint and slow, Shall soon Discover and renew Their shape and hue — Like birches varying white before the moon Or a wild cherry-bough In spring or the round sea — And shall pursue More ways of swiftness than the swallow dips Among, and find more winds than ever blew To haven the straining sails of unimpeded ships. [248] News THREE POPLARS THREE poplars paused beside a brook Before the autumnal mountain, Then bowed to me, and undertook The dance of death and shone and shook Like waters in a fountain. O, high the happy bosom heaves When love is in the dancer! But life falls quiet as the leaves, And soon the dance of death bereaves A lover of his answer. Lightly a girl had danced away Her breath and all her laughter; A boy went joining her one day; And a little fellow, at his play, Saw them and followed after . . . And now three poplars poised and shook Like waters in a fountain And, iridescent, undertook The dance of death beside a brook Between me and the mountain. [ 249] ///. HAND IN HAND A lover, with new eyes, can turn and see All men companions in his destiny. Hand in Hand THE CALENDAR CELIA, my calendar, declaring clear That gladness is in season all the year, You tell for me the springtime; When through sweetened air We follow over Grenstone hills^ — And find youth everywhere. You tell for me the summer, The blueness of sky, The refuge, the open bower Above adversity. And when you count the autumn, Soft in your lips I hear, And in the whisper of the hills, A little unborn year . . . And when you count the winter. The drift, the fold, We find old age a hidden hearth — Though the winds blow cold. So you recount our footsteps on a star Outshining death, Celia, my calendar ! [253 ] Grenstone Again LITTLE PAN UT on the hill — -by an autumn-tree As red as his cheek in the weather- — He waved a sumac-torch of glee And preened, like a scarlet feather, A branch of maple bright on his breast And shook an oak in his cap; And the dance of his heels on the rocky crest Was a woodpecker's tap-tap-tap. The eyes of a squirrel were quick in his head And the grace of a deer in his shoulder, And never a cardinal beckoned so red As his torch when he leapt on a boulder; A robin exclaiming he mocked in a voice Which hurried the heavens around him. What could we do but attend and rejoice, Celia and I who had found him I He spied us at last, though we hid by a pine; And before he might vanish In smoke I tried to induce him to give us a sign, But he stopped in his dance when I spoke — [254] Hand in Hand "O tell me your name and the hill you inhabit!" He curled round his tree like a cat; '*They call me," he cried, as he fled like a rabbit, "Donovan's damned little brat I" [255] Gr ens tone Again GOD'S ACRE ECAUSE we felt there could not be A mowing in reality So white and feathery-blown and gay With blossoms of wild caraway, I said to Celia, "Let us trace The secret of this pleasant place!'* We knew some deeper beauty lay Below the bloom of caraway, And when we bent the white aside We came to paupers who had died: Rough wooden shingles row on row, And God's name written there — John Doe. [256] Hand in Hand TO ANYONE WHETHER the time be slow or fast, Enemies, hand in hand, Must come together at the last And understand. No matter how the die is cast Nor who may seem to win, You know that you must love at last — Why not begin? [257] Grenstone Again WAR FOOLS, fools, fools, Your blood is hot to-day. It cools When you are clay, It joins the very clod Wherein at last you see The living God, The loving God, Which was your enemy. [258] Hand in Hand THE FAITH WHETHER she guide me through my days, Or lead me to the night, My step shall be a song of praise, An echo of her own delight; For now assuredly I know, (Her mere existence proves it so) Though less than ever understood, Because of Celia, God is good. There is more learning in her lips Than in great companies, — No tower between the stars' eclipse Gathers remoter rarities Than those that on her brow are rare As blossoms in a moonlit air. Than those that sparkle on her brow Like moonlight on an apple-bough. If wise men speak a final word Her silence is a better. Yet many a little chirping bird Is much my Celia's debtor; [259] Grenstone Again Whether she speak or hold her tongue, It seems alike a hymn is sung — As though her pause and her remark Circled In worship, like a lark. If truth be not the truth she knows. Let me not find it out — She is my faith and my repose, My spirit's forward battle-shout. It matters not what things may be. All things are authorized for me : The simple motion of her nod Cannot be anything but God. [260] IV. WOMEN And women are his awe: so that he pays New homage and new service all his days. Women IN THE COOL OF THE EVENING B She UT tell me, Adam — while I watch your face Turn to the moon and me — when have we seen The God who made us and who made this place ? — We say we love Him . . . Tell me what we mean! He I have not seen Him. But the thunder-clap Is His right hand, I think, holding the sword Of lightning — and when trees are running sap, My veins are running fire before the Lord, She Can that be love? — which never sees nor knows, But thinks it counts the deadly thunder dear. Which feels vague passion when the spring-sap flows — But cannot tell its rapture from its fear? [263] Grenstone Again He I fear Him less than If He answered you With lightning ... If He gave to me great store Of fruits, for loving Him, and you but few, For doubting Him, then I should love Him more. She The fruits are for us both. And as they spring From one another, so creation grows And teaches us that every living thing Adam may know as the creator knows. He Sharp in the tree the lightning stood, to shame And punish us I . . . This is His garden. Eve, Which He prepared for us before we came, And we are nourished only by His leave ! She Then let us go outside ! — let us rejoice To find with our own hands new bread and wine And certain love each in the other's voice ! . . . . . . How I have quieted your mouth with mine ! [264] Women He But how shall we succeed, beginning late? Water and meat are here and grapes and corn And there Is nothing further to create. The world is made and you and I are bom. She He IS but one — and, Adam, we are two ! Let us remake the world and take the rod ! So let our fire, filling my life with you And yours with me, create a greater God! [265] Grenstone Again RESPONSES a WHAT can a woman find in us, What has her wit divined in us? The utmost and the least in us — The angel and the beast in us.'* "What can a man descry in us And so allow the lie in us? . . The serpent and the dove in us- And O, the mother-love in us." 1 266 ] Women ANNUNCIATION {Sung by the Voices of the Unborn) O WOMEN, wonder-brlngers, wakeners of earth, We who are about to live salute you ! Angelic presences foretell our birth To you, shaking your hearts with awe. Transfiguring your faces with the pity Which is God, thrilling your hands to write the law On many a mountain and to bring it thence To many a waiting city. Till there shall be no other punishments But love, no lovelier potencies than human birth. The old who are about to die dispute you. But we who are about to live salute you, O women, wonder-bringers, wakers of earth! [267] Grenstone Again Think not of pain in store for us nor of our death, But only of our life. Give us your breath With all its hope unbroken. Believe in us, that in our later time We may believe in you. Plant — in the mud about you and the grime — Seeds of the sublime, And if your faith is more than dreamed and spoken, As you have done so shall we dare to do. Out of your faith make deeds, O, make the world with It, and thus, An image and a token Of your faith — make us! 3 To our own mothers are we born, xA.lso to many mothers : yea, To you who build beyond your walls and doors A cradle of the world, A home, a park, a confidence, a joy; You who have patiently unfurled The gleaming flags of peace; [ 268 ] Women And you, beloved, with no girl or boy Singled from all of us; and you whose loves wan- dered away, Whom you shall rather glorify than mourn . . . Now generations shall be born of us and none dispute you, O women, wonder-bringers, w^akeners of earth ! Destiny pours Its fullness through you in our blr* And shall not cease. For we who are about to live salute you — - We are yours ! [269] V. LOSING CELIA How could I know that darkness would close in On everything that shall be or has been! Losing Celia THE NIGHT I HAVE so loved life that when night is deep I shall but fall asleep As a lover's eyes grow dim With his beloved lying close to him. [273] Grenstone Again I HEARD HER SING SHE sang of life, mating an ancient word With modern music in her own wise way. Her voice was like a little breeze that stirred The snows of yesterday. Ladies and lovers, each forgotten ghost . . . Her voice, with names remembered from the dead, Singing their epitaph, and Helen's most, Was like a heart that bled. In her the poet sang again his dream Of what had been and nevermore should be . . . And out of far away her voice would seem Like sails upon the sea. And while she finished with their dreams and loves. And the wind disposed of fortune and of fame. Her voice was Venus, led by little doves, Breathing a holy name. [ 274 ] Losing Celia Helen and Phryne and Semlramis, Renewed and glorious In her, were here . . . And yet her voice, when she had proven this, Was like a fallen tear. [275] Grenstone Again SURETY CELIA, we have each other's love, A love that flies on wings of light From star to star and sings above The night: We bid each other's eyes reveal The God whose images we are; We find each other's hand upon the wheel Piloting every star . . . Should I then face with a less lonely breath Your gradual, sudden, everlasting death? . . . O, lest a separating wind assail The jocund stars and all their ways be dearth, And love, undone of its Immense avail, Go homeless even on earth, Let us be constant, though we travel far. With the little earthly tokens of our trust. And not forget, piloting any star, How dear a thing is dust! [276] Losing Celia FAREWELL ^AREWELL should be an easy word to say . . . It seemed to be for Cella yesterday. F -■- say Although we guessed how soon she was to die, Celia was laughing when we said good-by. [277] Grenstone Again AT THE LAST THERE Is no denying That it matters little, When through a narrow door We enter a room together, Which goes after, which before. Perhaps you are not dying: Perhaps — there is no knowing — I shall slip by and turn and laugh with you Because it mattered so little, The order of our going. [278] Losing Cell a HIC JACET SHE who could not bear dispute Nor unquiet, now Is mute; She who could not leave unsaid Perfect silence, now is dead. [279] Grenstone Again DISTANCE ONE day I walked alone from our dear place For miles. And by the corner of a hill I saw the chimney and your window-sill And all the steps that it would take to fill The wide and wooded intervening space. But I consoled my spirit: Peace, be still I — And soon went home again — and saw your face. One night we walked those miles, before you died . . . How it comes back . . . and how I touch your hair — Yet you seem farther away, In the night air, Than home, our happy place . . . aware Of you, I am without you, you abide In mystic distance that I cannot fare — For all we cling so closely side by side. [280] Losing Celia THERE IS NOT ANYTHING THERE Is not anything I would not do, Just to be journeying Again with you. There Is not anything I would not be, To have you journeying Again with me. But nothing I can do Or be will bring A word or sign from you, Not anything. [281] Grenstone Again IT IS NOT SHE ! I THINK she enters at the door, I hold my breath to hear . . Learn, foolish ears, that nevermore Can Celia come so near. And now she passes In the street- — I start around to see . . . But O, you quick impulsive feet. Turn back! — it is not she. [282] Losing Celia ALOOF BROOK, how aloof your heart has grown That closely beat with her and me! — Am I the only one Remembering, of us three? Stars now cold as stone. Once warm as she, What have you done To me? [283] Grenstone Again TRYST IN GRENSTONE ERE, where many a time we met With many a mortal vow Never either to forget, Celia, though the leaves are wet, Is waiting for me now. None for company has she But Grenstone trees around, Where she waits and waits for me, While I come and cannot be The few feet underground. [2843 Losing Celia SENTENCE SHALL I say that what heaven gave Earth has taken? — Or that sleepers In the grave Reawaken? One sole sentence can I know, Can I say: You, my comrade, had to go, I to stay. [285] VI. FINDING CELIA There is no death for lovers — // there shine Such light through others' darkness as through mine. Finding Celia THE WIND AT THE DOOR THE wind is rattling at the door With all his vim. "Dance with me down the shore," he says. But I will not dance with him. I will wait with you in your place of death. Although I know How alive the wind would greet my face If I should go. I will stay with you where the light is half, As by a pool at evening in a wood . . . Or, Celia, shall we laugh again? Can tears do good? Shall you not come and share wdth me anew All that we had and more — And let the wind touch my face too? — See ... I open the door. . . . Dancing again with the wind, with you. Dancing down the shore ! [289] Gr ens tone Again THE WAY OF BEAUTY BEAUTY came Celia's way to be More beautiful by far, As night advancing on the sea, Is lighted by a star. Then Celia followed beauty's way More beautiful to be, As when the star, before the day, Is taken by the sea. [290] Finding Celia A MASQUE OF LIFE AND DEATH A HOODED figure followed me, Striking a terror in my breast; Headlong I fled from him — No good was in his quest. A golden figure ran from me On naked feet that left no trace; Headlong I followed her But could not see her face — Until she turned and, while I stared As at the coming of great ships, The hooded figure seized his time And kissed me with her lips. [291 ] Grenstone Again DURING A CHORALE BY CESAR FRANCK N an old chamber softly lit We heard the Chorale played. And where you sat, an exquisite Image of life and lover of it, Death came to serenade. I know now, Celia, what you heard And why you turned and smiled. It was the white wings of a bird Offering flight — and you were stirred Like an adventurous child. Death sang: "There is no cause for fear, Uplift your countenance !'* And bade me be your cavalier, Called me to march and shed no tear, Said, ^'Sing to her and dance!" And so you followed, lured and led By those mysterious wings. And when I knew that you were dead, I wept . . . But now I sing instead. As a true lover sings. [292] Finding Celia I sing of you — "O, take her deep, And cherish and proclaim A more restoring calm than sleep, And bring the charge to all who weep To glorify her name !" And when I sing of you, you hear My heart, my praise, my prayer. Which formerly were never clear As now they are, for you are near Forever everywhere. [293] Grenstone Again SONGS ASCENDING LOVE has been sung a thousand ways- So let It be . . . The songs, ascending in your praise Through all my days, Are three. Your cloud-white body first I sing: Your love was heaven's blue And I, a bird, flew caroling In ring on ring Of you. Your nearness Is the second song: When God began to be And bound you strongly, right or wrong, With his own thong, To me. But O, the song, eternal, high, That tops these two! — You live forever, you who die, I am not I But you. [ 294] Finding Celia A PRAYER I SAID a prayer to God When I had need, And I saw His great head nod, Hearing me plead. I thought He answered me, I knelt and wept . . . God did not even see. He only slept. But I no longer care Whether He saw — I have answered my own prayer With God's own awe. Finding that I may be Mighty and nod At my own destiny, I sleep like God. [295 ] VIL AN END AND A BEGINNING Creator and created, God shall be Born forevermore — of her and me. An End and a Beginning HOW CAN I KNOW YOU ALL? H OW can I know you all, you who are pass- ing? You in the crowds, moving so many ways. You hundreds and you tens, even you twos and threes. How can I hope to know you? On your faces I have looked and I have seen each time Tokens of kinship, Patents like mine of joy And signs like mine of proud and piteous need, Of pain, of knowledge and of reparation. I have heard hidden In your voices every synonym of love. But O you many faces known to me far-off And strange to me when you are near. How shall I know you whom I need to know, Discovering your splendid lonely souls And mating them with mine? — [ 299 ] Grenstone Again Out from among you comes a voice in answer "How can you know Him whom you will not know? We are yourself." [300] An End and a Beg'nmmg FOR I AM NOTHING IF I AM NOT ALL 1G0 elate along the street and care For you, for you, for every one I meet, Not only for the favored and the fair Along the street But every soul . . . you for your lips, and you For the serene compassion of your brow Curved like a hillside looking on a view, You for a glow Within your eyes of sunset after rain, You for inheritance withheld, foregone, For passion, melancholy, vigil, pain: O everyone ! For I am nothing if I am not all, For I am he who loves and cannot cease Till every separating barrier fall And there is peace. [301 ] Grenstone Again Spring urges me to comprehend the crowd. And I would take them in my arms and hold Their sweetness close to me. My head is bowed, Lest I be bold And claim the nearest-comer, and my sight Is blinded with the touch of destiny. For, Celia, people, people, by your light Are parts of me — And that is why I quiver now to greet Them passing, though they know not we are one, And that Is why this bright confusing street Shines In the sun. [302] An End and a Beginning a OPEN HOUSE THAD built my being stone by stone, J- With windows and with doors And there came a jealous company By twos and tens and scores, Seeming to claim my house from me, And traversed all the floors, As a house they had a right to own, Its true proprietors. And so I heard an angry tone. Another answering hoarse: It is not yours," said one to me And one to him, "Nor yours I" Then each to each (to me now none) Cried out, in scattered scores, That ill-acquainted company, "Nor yours!" "Nor yours!" ''Nor yours!" [303] Grenstone Again I took my being stone by stone, Its windows and its doors, Took it apart impartially, Roofs and walls and floors, And then when every claim was gone Of the jealous visitors, I joined my being wide and free: Their house and mine — and yours ! [304] A71 End and a Beginning CONSUMMATION 'T^HERE was a strangeness on her lips, X Lips that had been so sure; She still was mine but in eclipse, Beside me but obscure. There was a cloud upon her heart; For, where my Celia lay. Death, come to break her life apart, Had led her love away. Through the cold distance of her eyes She could no longer see. But when she died, she heard me rise And followed quietly — And close beside me, looking down As I did on the dead. She made of time a wedding-gown, Of space a marriage-bed. [305] Grenstone Again I took, in her, death for a wife, She married death in me . . . And now there is no other life, No other God than we I [ 306 ] An End and a Becfinning BEHOLD THE MAN BEHOLD the man alive in me, Behold the man In you ! If there Is God — am I not he? — Shall I myself undo? I have been vi^altlng long enough . . . Impossible gods, good-by! I wait no more . . . The way Is rough- But the god who climbs Is I. [307]