S 3545 E455 17 ,/— . .919 Jopy 1 Hanj Hrfk ADVENTURE A Book of Verse By MARY WEIK BOSTON THE POET LORE COMPANY THE GORHAM PRESS Copyright, 1919, by Mary Weik All Rights Reserved A' VL \A A number of poems appearing in this volume are reprinted through the courtesy of Harper s Maga- zine, Contemporary Verse, The Lyric, The Mad- rigal and The Oasis. MADE IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. ©CU525491 TO MY MOTHER CONTENTS Page Adventure 7 "I Made My Sorrow Into a Song" 8 Regret 8 To Rachel 9 Harmonics 9 Whitsun-song io Content io Memory 1 1 My Ultimate Lady 1 1 To Sibyl 12 White Lilacs 13 Sleep-song 13 Quatrains to a Woman 14 Serenade 15 To an Old Tintype 15 To a New-bought Book 16 Little Blind Sisters with Seeing Hands 16 Prayer in Flanders — 191 7 17 Anticlimax 18 Pierrette Waits for Pierrot 19 The Silly Old Woman 20 As the Gods Give 20 Requiem 21 Oenone 22 5 Contents Rain 23 Dialogue 24 Rondeau 25 Dirge 25 Paid 26 Loot 26 Dream 28 TRANSLATIONS Chinoiserie: Theophile Gautier 29 Serenade : Paul Verlaine 30 Barberine's Song: Alfred de M us set 31 Sentimental Colloquy : Paul Verlaine 32 ADVENTURE You can roll along the highway in a York coach, Or travel on your own long roan, Or dash along the highway with a filly and a fly; But what if you walk alone? i I stopped at the crossroads but a while back, Waiting for the tardy sun to rise; And there at the post stood a grey-eyed lass. And O for the tears in her eyes! Too long I tarried at the crossroads, Too long I loitered on the way; And O for the laughter in her small red mouth! She danced with me for a day. And O for two brown gipsy hands! And O for a gipsy's smile! And O for a gipsy's little brittle heart! She left me after a mile. And now I ride the highway in a York coach Filled full with the things I own: Silver and slaves and a silk-gowned wife; But once I walked alone! Adventure "I MADE MY SORROW INTO A SONG" I made my sorrow into a song, And sang of a pain that was bitter and lonely and long- Long as today, lonely and long as tomorrow — But while I made of my sorrow a song, I had forgotten my sorrow. REGRET If you had come to me, lad, That little silver night — Under a tilted moon, lad, Silver with moonlight — I was ready to go, lad, Over the world with you: Over the world, moon-mad, Down to Hell with a tune, lad, Down to Hell and back again, Home, lad, with you! If you had come to me, lad, I could have gone with you; And if you had never come at all — I could have died for you. I could have wept for you, lad, And jeered at Death and Fate — Called them a pair o' highwaymen For stealing of my mate: / could have loved you so, lad, If you had not come . . but O, lad, You came a little late! 8 Adventure TO RACHEL Your eyes are dark with centuries of grief, Your pale cheeks glimmer with the ghosts of tears; Your hair, sombre as tired twilight hours, Clings to your shoulders like a child that fears Shadows of men at night. Your slender hands Restless, seek for rest . . . And all the while, The red gash of your mouth parts in an ancient smile. HARMONICS When you sang, the world was young again for me, The morning stars had sung again for me, And ere the song had throbbed and sighed and died, The little silver bells of love had rung again for me. And then, an aching old voice cried in me, An old wound opened in my side, in me An old song throbbed; and so again, the pain Returned — the memory of the day when my youth died in me. Adventure WHITSUN-SONG I met a lady by the sea, Sing, bells, sing a Mary! I met a lady by the sea: She was fain and sweet to me. Sing, bells, eery! I loved a lady by the sea, Sing, bells, carol holy! I loved a lady by the sea — But she only smiled at me. Sing, bells, lowly! I kissed a lady by the sea, Sing, bells, lilt a leven! I kissed a lady by the sea: As she died, she smiled at me. Sing, bells seven! CONTENT I shall go back some day to loving you, And you, dear lady, will return to me; Two travelers make charming company After the journey's thru: A bench beside a friendly open hearth ; A fat old woman and a lean old man, Smiling together at a broken fan, Sophisticate with mirth. IO Adventure What if you have your dreams of "long ago" — When we were young enough for tears, and when Your voice had not yet grown so sharp? — By then I shall be deaf, you know. MEMORY There was a picture Set in a frame of gilded filigree; I put it into a secret place — To cherish it. Then one day I took it out: Someone had cut away the picture — The frame, a little tarnished, Was still there. MY ULTIMATE LADY I said, My lady shall be fine, Fair in the face; She shall have grace, And beauty of slender line — My Ultimate Lady. I dreamed, My lady came to me. She was so fair, So bright of hair, "Surely" I said "You must be My Ultimate Lady." II Adventure She spoke, My lady's voice was song, Laugh-lilting breath, "I am Death." And I said "I have waited so long, My Ultimate Lady!" TO SIBYL I love thee for the sake of three friends, nine Times faithless — For thine eye's pale disc of gold I love thee . . . Yellow were their eyes, and cold, As two dull metal jewels dully shine. I love that wide wet scarlet mouth of thine: Thin scarlet gates where hooded lights go thro . . One friend I knew had two red lips like two Lost petals of a rose whose days decline. I love thee . . When I sleep, the hot black wine Of thy dense hair stings me to dreams of thee — One friend had hair as sinisterly black As the vast shrouds of Death. Far and fine There comes the answering laughter of the sea — The memory of three false friends comes back. 12 Adventure WHITE LILACS I said "She is gone, I know, But Spring will come back again: She will not come, but larks will come, And lilacs, and April rain." I said "She is gone, I know, Gone like an April rain — " Oh, I could have laughed and forgotten it all If Spring had not come again! SLEEP-SONG Swift tears of Youth, Swift flowing, swifter flying — Slow tears of Age, Slow drying — Call me no more, Soft sighing, Call no more. Lest I, the Dead, Lying beyond the years, Look back to Earth, Heeding your cry Swift tears — And sleep no more, Slow tears, Sleep no more. 13 Adventure QUATRAINS TO A WOMAN I I dream of a little day, my dear, When I shall see your face, When you shall stoop and come to me, Luminous with grace. I dream of the little day of days, And yet I loathe it, too; For if you came to me, my dear, I could not dream of you. II I have never seen you once, my dear, And yet I have seen you thrice: Once in a dancer's smile; and once, Under a nun's grey eyes. And once I found you meshed in a dream, Hidden so cunningly Deep in the eyes of a man, my dear, That laughed from my mirror at me. Ill Perhaps I shall never find you, my dear, Perhaps you were never born; Perhaps you died a lonely queen When rapiers and ruffs were worn. 14 Adventure But that does not really matter at all — The lapse of an age or two The only thing that counts, my dear, Is — I have been true to you. SERENADE A little yellow window in the dark, Gold in the gloom — A little pilgrim message thru the dark From her own room. O gentle little window of her heart Who shone upon So many ere I came; who'll break her heart When I am gone? TO AN OLD TINTYPE "And the Whip poor will's song is a Hand that plays on the withered hearts of the Dead." How sturdily you stand there all alone, Trying to wish no parent-hand were by To closely hold your small perspiring hand And comrade you . . . How scornfully you stand, Child that was I! If you would only step down from your frame, You would forget your tears, and I my sigh For things that are not; we would be so near, Knowing each other's loneliness, my dear, Just you and I! 15 Adventure We would play little laughing guessing games, You that are dead and I that soon shall die; But one day — you would hear a whippoorwill, And, O my dear! — we should be strangers still, Child, you and I ! TO A NEW-BOUGHT BOOK I take you into my hand Red Shining Fresh from the shop Bursting with new-born importance Mystic With the mystery of the Unread. Of course I know that you will be tomorrow: A bit of clutter on the table . . . But tomorrow! LITTLE BLIND SISTERS WITH SEEING HANDS Little blind sisters with seeing hands Why do you beckon so often to me To come from my sorrowful City of Doubt — Into your City that knows no doubt — To dwell in your shadowy lands? 16 Adventure Can it be, then you are lonely, too? You whose white fingers mingle with God's You whose vague eyes have never known Sin — Who, like the angels, were made without sin — Does Loneliness dwell with you? Little blind sisters with seeing hands Why do you beckon so often to me To come from my sorrowful City of Doubt — Into your City that knows no doubt — ■ To dwell in your shadowy lands? PRAYER IN FLANDERS— 1917 Pretty little Mary with the yellow hair, Pretty little Mother Mary, listen to my prayer. I had a little son, and he was sweet to see; I had a little lovely son to sit upon my knee. I had a little son, and he was fine to see: One day you took my pretty little son away from me. Mary Little Mother, send him back again, Send him back to sit upon my knees and hear the rain Crying in the chimney — and we upon the floor Roasting apples in the ashes, eating apples four. Mary, pretty Mary, send him back to me! You have the little Christus-boy to sit upon your knee. 17 Adventure You have no work to do — only to sing the Name, Only to sit and smile all day within your golden frame ; And I must work all day, scrub and bake and scour, Spin and weave and sweep and sew — and lonely every hour. You have so many, Mother, and I had only one, You have so many little boys — I had one little son. And sometimes in the night, I hear him cry and call, Begging me to come to him — He is so very small That he grows lonely there, playing with the stars, He is so small (the stars are big!) Some day he'll slip the bars And he'll be lost in Heaven! Once he sat on my knee . . . Little Mary Mother, send him back again to me! ANTICLIMAX I made nwself a nun for you, And you became a priest. Because you said my eyes were blue I made myself a nun for you; I did not care if you were true — Loving I counted least: I made myself a nun for you — And you became a priest! 18 Adventure PIERRETTE WAITS FOR PIERROT He has never been late before . . . And why is it now That I wait and listen and long for his step Below? That I sit and hearken and hear not his step Below ? Spark o' the moon! Lumine the way of wandering feetj Fade not so soon. Perhaps he has wearied of me. Perhaps he is singing In Doree's garden — old songs on his mandolin Ringing—- In Doree's garden — my songs on his mandolin Ringing. Spark o' the mere! Flicker and flout at the changing moon — Her death is near. I will let in the millions that wait — Pierrot was but one — Millions my arms and lips and sighs Shall own — Millions shall buy — nor know my heart Is gone. Spark o' the hearth! Bring no old dreams of two and a fire Into my mirth, 19 Adventure THE SILLY OLD WOMAN Tiny scraps of cloth she sews Endlessly, And all the time she hums a little song, tenderly — Her old voice cracking shrilly on the high notes, Beneath her breath she hums a little song, tire- lessly : Bye, Baby Bunting, Daddy's gone a-hunting — Suddenly The thread breaks — the song stops — After a while She smiles a silly eyeless smile . . . Then Starts to sew and sing again: Bye, Baby Bunting, Bye— AS THE GODS GIVE I was a tall young lad When I knocked at your chamber door; (Ye were three sodden old women, weary ribald old women) "Out of your ancient store I will have three gifts" I said. "Love I will have" said I "Love — and the Courage to Dream — " (Ye were three foolish old women, silly cruel old women ) "And heart to follow the gleam Of Adventure — the heart that is high." 20 Adventure I thought I was victor then When ye granted the gifts to me — (Ye were three stingy old women, greedy faithless old women) . . . How should I know that ye Would steal them back again? REQUIEM She was born in a yellow September moon When the tense wind sighed And the eyes of the Autumn-god burned bright blue, And the wailing of women's tears seeped thru The wail of the tide. She loved me as she loved all men, Who loved no man; For when she knew the eyes of Death And the mastersong of his amorous breath Her love began, And she left me here alone with the moon When leaves burned red: She loosed the locks of the Door of Doubt, And the wailing of women's tears wept out The Wail of the Dead. 21 Adventure OENONE We were but happy children — caught and held Within a circle twined of Love and Youth That kept the world outside. And then the night When Sorrow cast her shadow on the moon, Bidding me weep! Paris was wreathing flowers for my hair — Purple flowers dappled with pale gold — And laughing, turned to crown me where I stood, Laughing — but as he turned, I saw him stare As if he saw the Session of the Stars, Stare — and straightway fall down upon his knees. I looked . . but to my eyes the woods were blank Of anything to fall in worship of . . . Laughing, I tried to pull him from his knees; But something very stern grew in his eyes And "Hush!" he said "Know ye not Deity?" And thru his lips strange murmurings came and went And ever dwelt the wonder in his eyes. Wounded, I strained my eyes into the dark, Straining to catch a glimpse of what he saw; But all that my two aching eyes could see Was but the woods, wrapped in their white moon- lace — Lonely I stood . . . 32 Adventure But Paris did not move To comfort me as he had always done, But only muttered something about "Beauty — Ideal — " or I know not what. Slowly He struggled to his feet and started on Meshed in the Dream. And I — I seized his arm, Pleading — weeping — crying the old days, Crying old youth, old happiness, old love, Old yesterdays . . but slowly, after a while, I saw he did not hear me, did not care, Saw that he had forgotten me, his wife, Needed me no more . . . And he went on, Alone, pulled on by the cruel hand of the Dream. "Paris!" I wept "Come back or I shall die!" "Die . . . !" answered Echo, laughing from the dark, As on the air there drifted back "Farewell!" RAIN All yesterday it rained, and all today, And all tomorrow little drops of rain Will fall upon his sodden face again; And I shall sleep ... So often he would say, Laughing at me in his soft cruel way, "Dear, you will weep when I am dead — " So vain He was — so vain (ah God, so dear!) The stain Of his own death lay where his laughter lay. 23 Adventure The night he died I bound my rain-wet hair Over my face, lest I should see him dead: I was afraid that he was lying there, Shaking with soft dead laughter in the gloom . . Why did I weep then when I raised my head And heard a wet wind whine in an empty roomf DIALOGUE Tomorrow and tomorrow! — what are we That we should waste our tears on faithless things? Yesterday's false — but on tomorrow's wings We shall rise deathless? — Yesterday was vile — Tomorrow, virgin. . . . Yes, but after a while, Tomorrow will be yesterday. I have loved others in my yesterdays; But in my great tomorrow only thou Shall wear my adoration's crown: I vow I shall be true — divinely true, I say, In that tomorrow! . . . Yes, but after a while, Tomorrow will be yesterday. 24 Adventure RONDEAU Before I die, I'll crowd my mind With pleasant things of human kind: Lure of a lake on an August night, Silversmooth bodies, a slim moon's light; Rain on the roof and a sighing wind In the chimney — a fire and a book combined Into comfort; peace in life I'd find Before I play the anchorite, Before I die And in my heart I'll wear enshrined The woman with the arms that bind Men to the earth — whose mouth's red might Draws a man back for another sight. And then — I'll strike my two eyes blind, Before I die. DIRGE Why are the candles at my head, Mother, my mother? Why are the lilies over the bed, Mother? Hush and hush, for you are dead, Daughter, my daughter. We were one and we are two, Lord Death has shut me out of you, Daughter. 25 Adventure Why is your voice so thin with pain, Mother, my mother? After a while you will find me again, Mother. Hush and hush, for dreams are vain, Daughter, my daughter. You will know the Blessed Three: And you will have no need of me, Daughter. PAID My heart was but a silent violin Until he came and played upon its strings; My heart was but a muted violin Until he came and plucked the chord that sings Of Life and that old sistersong of Life — Of Love. What matter if he flung the thing away When he had wrung from it the one sweet song? What matter if he broke the stringed thing When his immortal playing grew too strong? Trifles! ... All that matters is — My heart Has sung! LOOT I was a dreamer of dead men's dreams ; I strove with their striving, I shared their pain, I loved with their love, I was stained with their stain, I dreamed their dreams. 26 Adventure When Tristram made of his silver shield A glass for Iseult of the Scarlet Mouth; When the long-lorn lilies of Jacqueline Were torn by the Burgund lords of the South; When Aucassin quested for Nicolette; When Han Hsiang Tsu, the Flute-player, Followed the trail of a jade-wing moth Into a mandarin s garden — and there Found his own Paradise — / was with him. I was a dreamer of dead men's dreams; I rose with their fame, I fell with their fall, I was their master and I was their thrall, I dreamed their dreams. When Villon swung for a single name, And sang to Jehanneton, Blanche and Guillemette! When for love of Doirenn the Small Pale Rose The dagger of Ruadan redly was wet; When Kerdual strangled his faithless love With the gorget he gave as a gift for her throat; When Liadan, weary for Kurithns sake, Took up her singing harp and smote, Tearing the strings—- I was with her. I was a dreamer of dead men's dreams; For Death stole a woman away from me — And my dreams died . . . So it came to be That I stole the jewels from dead men's mouths And dreamed their dreams. 27 Adventure DREAM All the rain doves cried at the moon last night, The tree frogs whimpered in the trees: The fireflies hid their lanterns, The crickets lost their tune, There was menace in the night, There was madness in the moon, Mist on the seas. And I dreamed that I lay in a high round tower Waiting for a Thing that never came — And the long hours passed And the little hours died ; And I woke in the dark, And an old voice cried "Tell me his name!" 2* Adventure TRANSLATIONS THEOPHILE GAUTIER CHINOISERIE No, it is not you, madame, I adore, Nor you, my Juliette, nor even you Ophelia, no, nor Beatrix — no more Laura the fair with great sweet eyes of blue. My love lives in old China — the domain Of her king-father — spinning out her days Within a tower of finest porcelain, Beside the Yellow River, at her ease. Her little slanting eyes are full of light; A man could hold her foot within his hand, Her skin is like a copper lamp at night, Luminous; her nails are long and stained. And every night her lighted lattice brings A swallow to the tower, wet from the sea; And every night with poet-lips she sings Songs of the flower of the peach and the willow- tree. 29 Adventure PAUL VERLAINE SERENADE Like the voice of a dead man that sings to the moon From the night of the vaults, Beloved, hear climbing up into your room My voice, ardent and false. Open your ears and the door of your heart To the mandolin's sound. I have made it for you — this small singing dart Fashioned to wound. I will sing of your onyx-and-golden eyes, Shadowless, clear; Of your Lethean breast, of the Styx that lies In your sinister hair. Like the voice of a dead man that sings to the moon From the night of the vaults, Beloved, hear climbing up into your room My voice, ardent and false. And then I shall praise, as is only fair, That flesh, whose divine Rich perfume drives Sleep away — drugging the air With the odor of wine. And, for adieu, I shall sing of the might Of your mouth's caress, Of the grace of your cruelty — Angel of Light And Faithlessness. 30 Adventure Open your ears and the door of your heart To the mandolin's sound: I have made it for you — this small singing dart Fashioned to wound. ALFRED DE MUSSET barberine's song Merry young gentleman bound for the Wars, Why follow Mars So far from here? Have you not learned that the world is unkind, That all you find Is only care? Ye who believe that a love that was part Of a man's heart May pass away, \ \ Ye will find also — ye hunters of fame — ! ! Your gaudy name Lasts but a day. Merry young gentleman bound for the Wars, Why follow Mars So far from me? You bring me tears — you told me erewhile That my young smile Was so merry. 31 Adventure PAUL VERLAINE SENTIMENTAL COLLOQUY In the old lonely and ice-silvered park Lately, two shapes have passed into the dark. Their lips were lax and their dull eyes were dead, And one could hardly hear the words they said. In the old lonely and ice-silvered park Two ghosts have called the past out of the dark. "Do you remember our old passion's pain?" "Why should you wish me to suffer again?" "Does your heart beat still at my name, sung low? Do you still see me in all your dreams?" — "No." "Ah! those were fair days when our love was free, When young mouth clung to young mouth!" — "That may be." "Heaven was so blue and hope was so high!" "Hope has fled, vanquished, into the black sky." So they passed on where the wild grass was red, And only the night heard the words they said. 32