^on^s oi t(|e (§xxt oi ^nor by Katherine Elsepth Oliver t^ V^'v COPYRIGHT 1922 By KATHERINE ELSPETH OLIVER PUBLISHED DECEMBER, 1922 THE PRINTERY FULLERTON, CALIFORNIA JAN -2 '23 4 ©C1A694464 AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED TO MY SISTERS ORDER OF POEMS NATURE VERSE Pa^e Living • 11 Southland Spring 12 Homesick 13 The Evangel 14-15 The Norther 16-17 The Plaza of a Little Town .... 18-19 To a "Horny" Toad 20-21 The Return 22 The Boulevards . . . 23-24-25-26-27-28 MISCELLANEOUS You 29 Two Days 30 Their Springs 31-32 In the Park 22 The Conqueror 33-34-35 The Men Come Back From Hell . , . 36-37 We Have Kept Faith 38-39 LIVING Here's what I love! The clean sky above And the clean wide air, The mounting plain, The sweeping rain — The wind in my hair! To ride and ride. Where the land spreads wide To the darkening hills; In a splendid race To the open place And the life that fills. To ride and rest On the hill's high crest Under open sky; And to sleep without fear Where the stars are near. And God close by. 11 SOUTHLAND SPRING Sun and a bit o' rain — And a wooing breeze from out The yellow west. Mornings of golden mist And a meadow-lark singing, a-wing, Above his nest. Sun and a bit o* rain — One starry night, and warm, The earth thrills — pregnant — labors An hour and Spring Is born. 12 HOMESICK I know out there the day is breaking on the hills, And all the wide and waiting distance thrills One hushed moment at the coming of the dawn. I know the wine of morning that you quaff — Prick of wind, the sheen of sun on rock. The laugh of radiant day begun. I know how there the warm and flushing noons Soothe the great land to languor till she swoons To deep and sudden slumber in the sun. I know how the shy stars will light your way To that high crest you seek at close of day; I know how calm your slumber as you lie Under the vast white silence of the sky. I know — and here, where the great city wakes From fretted sleep, and hideous clamor takes. Where harsh walls herd the crowds that harried go, I'm longing for the wide land that I know — The land that holds just you and God. 13 THE EVANGEL I hear him singing now On his bright bough, Always the highest — ever the nighest To the wide sky. Herald of joyl No mocking minstrel he, To the high founts his spirit mounts And takes its glee. Hear, from his rapturous Throat, a thousand crystal notes To word his ecstacy. See how his fancy dreams, A thousand varied themes To voice his rhapsody. And lo! As though Too frail the instrument His praises to indite His passion flings him Skyward, like some Ecstatic neophyte. 14 The Evangel Hark I how he croons, Through dreaming noons. His soul's content — He wakes the night With his delight — His zest unspent. I hear him singing Now on his high bough — Evangel Bird I I hear him singing now His rapturous Word: ** *Tis folly to be sad — *Tis wisdom to be glad — Be glad I Be glad I 'Tis wisdom to Be glad!" 15 THE NORTHER The southwest norther is not a blizzard but a sand- storm. Just before and after, the air is inordinately clear and the sky brilliant with leaf and rock and sand a-gleam. These storms are colloquially called "electric" storms for during them the atmosphere seems charged — the hair of men and beasts crackles when brushed and — ^bor- rowing again the colloquial — the inhabitants complain of feeling "jumpy." Hark! the norther's on hand — She's leaped on the land from out of the pass; From the desert, stark, where the coyotes bark, She sprang from the sand — with a whistle she sprang — And a grewsome dance she began. In her skirts she picked up the pebbles, and clicked In her fingers the bones of beast and man That bleach on the sand; and she whirled and whirled And laughed and twirled, till the coyote skulked Red-eyed to his hole, and she cried: "Ah, my Soul Farewell!" And she flew, with her skirts full of sand. The green land she hates — Through the canyon gates, with a shriek, she leaps; And the land she shakes, and the trees she breaks, A.nd the man she smites, and the beast she bites — And the night, it stares, wide-awake, in fright. 16 The Norther Where the scared flowers hide, soft, softly she'll glide; "Sweets, a kiss," she mocks low — then a dry, dry breath She w^ill blow. She's mad for a drink She stoops at the brink of each spring she goes by — She sucks the fields dry. I met her last night — She'd come through the Pass, to smite the green grass; And her teeth with grit were sharp — and she bit; 1 saw her red eye, and she whispered, "Good-bye," And was gone, riding high, through the sky. 17 THE PLAZA OF A LITTLE TOWN A circle of green — A tinkling fountain dropping music From basin to basin — Little grass plots Circled with pansies, standing wide-eyed — Primly, hand in hand. Nasturtiums in Riot; slim, tall ranks of swaying Cosmos — crimson-robed dahlias — The ground between clean of weeds, showing The gardener's pains; and a regal show Of roses; seats under flowering Bushes — petal showered. The blackbirds swagger Along the walks — smart and sleek After their morning bath. The bees thrive Here, and the old men. The old men and the babies — This is their pleasant harbor while About them moves the tide of action swift And quickening: Young men and maidens To their work; the shop-keeper to His store — fruit pickers on their wheels; An early load of men and women for The packing houses, riding by On groaning trucks. 18 The Plaza of a Little Town A little place to pause — to lift The eye to color and the Nostrils to fragrance: A circle of green — A pleasant place to take The hand of a friend. Laughter is here — And the whistle of a merry boy. And the flag Grows here — the flag rising to splendid Bloom above the Plaza trees. The flag, in the heart Of the town! 19 TO A "HORNY'^ TOAD Little horny toad Blinking in the sun — your day Begun with cheer (a fine, fat bug — May-hap, a gnat), and comfort of Warm sand 'gainst wee soft Belly pressed — how Strangely you Are dressed! How strangely you Are dressed — in coat of mail From crown to tail — and proudly Crested head! Odd little Horny toad — why thus Accoutred? Why thus accoutred. Wee little knight? What dread Lives in this wide place of friendly Folk — what terror rides in the high Cloud aisles — what terror Strides 'cross the desert waste Peopled with a gentle Of pleasant folk? 20 To a "Horny" Toad Only the gray hawk Sailing high — only the sad coyote — Stark and fearful and looking back, Back — ever; only the Jack — The lean, gray Jack — Noiseless and light — only the Lark with her instant song — A moment begun, a moment Done; the Swift w^ith His w^eird curiosity — Only a shadow — Only a tree. And you, in your Brave little armor arrayed — I feel your tiny heart beating — afraid — 'Gainst my palm — and your little hand like A baby's, grip my fingers — No — I won't let you slip! And all your puny wrath can do is To open your toothless mouth and "Who-o-o" A gusty breath— There, see! I've put You back in your "comfy" sand — Little scared knight of a Dragonless land. 21 THE RETURN Spring! Time of the New! Day of the fragrant things that bud and bloom, Day of the tender things that bloom and die; Time of the hope of little nestling things, The hope and fear for little nestling things beneath warm breasts. Time of the songs that thread the waking night — That thread the night with heartache and delight; Hour of strong wings that mount up to the sun; Of fragile wings that fail beneath the sun — Spring! Time of the New! Spring! Time of the New, the old, old New! Whether the blossoms of this hour's birth. Or those young wings that glance above the grass. Or the sweet fulsome breath of sunnied earth, or rap- turous lark! All, all — the Presence and the Promise — all are those Sw^eet former things w^e knew whose latter pain The kind year eased awhile till thou didst wake the hurt. Spring! Time of the New! 22 THE BOULEVARDS I love the boulevards The ink-purple boulevards sounding All day with sibilant wheels. I have no rich coach Accoutred to taste and purring Proudly. I ride with the Plain folks, in the stages. 1 like it. COLOR I like the color And stir at the stage stations — I like to watch the crowds, Waiting sitting and Waiting: Shoppers for the city. High school girls and boys. Workmen with their kits — a clerk — An office girl — a student with nose in book; Two or three squat sefioras; and travelling Men and tourists; a little family With rollicking kiddies, and Baskets of lunch, bound For the beach. 23 The Boulevards HEROES I love to see the stages Swagger in, like doughty champions Puffing and blowing — like thoroughbreds After the race — sides heaving. There is the thrill and prick Of former days . . . the curling whip Above the foaming four-in-hand — flourish of horn The salvos as the coach comes in. . . . The drivers — heroes of wheel and clutch — Young swash-bucklers in puttees! They swing With swagger to the wheel the prettiest girl Beside. Soft this to push a "Hack" Along the boulevards at "thirty-five," Who late were dodging shell-holes In a motor lorrie, with "Dumdums" going over. THE START We sit tight packed — The doors are slammed — the crash Of clutch, the stutter and the lunge And we are off, adventuring upon The humming highway! THE ROAD The wind drives wet Through flapping curtains — We swath our coats about us — turn collars up And profiles to our mates. Eyes on the running road — We are as close as man and man, yet are alone — The motor taking up his song — each one alone. Alone, and riding free and furious Into the blur. 24 The Boulevards FOG Wiped out is the day Of sound and color — only the Burnished band of the road, running ever To meet us — running ever under the wheels, like A polished belt — like a gray satin ribbon Winding and winding on a spool. Gray ghosts are at hand, shrouded And motionless, gray ghost shapes. We fly Past them like a scared thing, and the gray is torn Now and again by thundering shapes — bearing upon Us with swirl and shriek — shapes, fleeing, Like ourselves, from the roadside ghosts. Then again — silence and the throb of The motor, like a faithful heart The sibilant wheels and the Flap of the curtains In the wind. Our cheeks are cold And wet, but our hearts are warm And glad — glad for the loneliness — for The sunless distance, the silence And the race. 25 The Boulevards THE SUN Then the fog is torn, Torn by the slender spires Of the wayside eucalypti — caught like A silken petticoat, on a snag — and here Is a rift of blue — yonder, a green field showing. And, like a lovely woman masquerading, the Day Drops her nun's garb and runs Laughing, to meet us. And now we sing along Roads purple — avocado purple — Along roads blue — the deep blue of indigo; We flash past rows of orange trees — The singing tires scatter the scarlet Pepper berries. The air flashed Back by the speeding w^heels is A bouquet of sweets; A thousand sweets! Honey of orange Blossoms, nectar of wild bloom. Of rose hedges a-gleam with Mist beads; fragrance of Emerald alfalfa and The new earth behind The morning plow. 26 The Boulevards THE DAY The day is long With thoughts — dual thoughts; The speed — the wrind — our aerated bodies- Something has accomplished separation. We are removed — transplanted to The realm of spirit — the Fourth Dimension — Maybe The day is long With thoughts: Thoughts of That we see with our eyes and That our hearts see. Thoughts about that home Yonder on that green slope, and another We know; thoughts about that Man plowing his field and Another familiar And dear, pottering about His garden. Thoughts of the little Girl lifting smiling face to us From the roadside and Another who w^ill Smile no more For us — here. 27 The Boulevards THE NIGHT So we ride the boulevards — The purple boulevards — from dripping Morning to burnished sunset. And we crash Through the dark like a racing chariot — Our headlight cuts the night like A sword through a velvet curtain — Like a brandished sword Through a curtain of Scented velvet. We reel dow^n the slope And roar up the hill toward A flare in the sky, and behold! The City, like a golden Idol — jew^el-girt and Dripping light. 28 YOU Saw a bit of sky, bright blue, Through the clouds yesterday — thought of You. Just a glint of clean, clear sky, Shining up there, sweet and high, Pure and true, like the eyes Of You. Saw a little, tender dove Yesterday, in the sky — thought of You, dear Love. With its tiny might, alone. Beating 'gainst the storm — wind-blown. Brave, unspent, unspoiled — Little wilful, val'rous dove. Like you. Love. Saw a little saucy new Red rose, yesterday — thought of You. Tip-toe, tempting: "Pluck me. Sir, if you dare!" So 1 reached and plucked her, though I swear Well she pricked. But I have her here On my breast today — tender, fragrant, rare — Like you. Dear. 29 TWO DAYS The day broke bellowing On the land, and from the dawn To candle-light, each hour Piled up disaster. * * * At night the red aun Skulked a-down the sky as one Who looks not back upon His work. * * * * * The ghastly twilight Fell on homes w^here women hugged their babes And moaned, and staring men who fought And failed, lifted on high their Empty hands. * * * * * * From out the ruin's Midst: "There is no God I" They cry. A morning broke In fairest calm, and beauty Walked abroad — the land all glad With bounty and the songs Of men. * * * * * * At eve the great sun Moved unto his rest as one who leaves Behind benign remembrances And generovis deeds. » * • * * * The twilight fell On peaceful homes v/here rested men From toil; where children played And women softly sang. * * * * ^' * So kind a day!" The crooning mother sighs — "God must be nigh!" 30 THEIR SPRINGS By [Catherine Elspeth Oliver Every Spring We are quickened — we who Have the smallest gift of song. It isn't just the jibe of the jokesmiths Quickened, like the teeming earth — Like the eager seed, hastening To put forth after Its kind. * * ♦ * * * Spring is a great Locksmith. He has the key that fits The rusty lock of the imagination: Thoughts flow like new-loosed Brooks; fancy takes w^ing Like the lark — it gushes Like new sap. For each of us Has known his Spring! Faber, the poet — Emery — The essayist with a "rep** and everything Coming his w^ay; West, the class "vale** Making his pile at stocks, who even Yet turns out a surreptitious line On his secretary's typew^riter With that Personage gone; Brown, the T. B. In his garret, tapping Out an accompaniment to his Cough on his second-hand Corona — The only sign of the season, the crimson Token that spells the M. D.'s Prophesy: * * * * * * "by Spring." 31 Their Springs All of us have Known Spring — and the gush Of the heart meeting the surge of Growing things; the ravishment of Spring Incense; the something — like tears — when the Eyes meet the vision of a field, Full-panoplied with Spring bloom. * * *' * * * We have all known Spring; its majesty and madness — Its worship and its loves. And that ineffable urge of the Quickened spirit toward Its Heaven. IN THE PARK Above, the great trees stand in mighty calm And o'er the grass the sunshine spreads its balm; Beneath droop burdened souls that know no rest, And by despairing feet the grass is pressed. But though in vain their calm is spread for these — Still watch they on. How patient are the trees! And though o'er it unheeding feet may pass — Still smiles it on. How patient is the grass! « 4^ 4^ « « ^ Methinks God's patience waiteth in the trees; Methinks God's mercy bides in sunny leas. 32 THE CONQUEROR Ho, thou! Who Cometh there, across the snow? Stay — halt, and give the word! Knowest not That none may pass this way — with millions spilling blood- Who hath no sign, nor token of command? Who art thou- What thy name — who servest? Speak! Look you, comrade — and he is gone! He moves in majesty across the bloodied snow. Unstayed by sword — nay — what is this? The blade Falls broken to the ground — and oh, his eyes! Sawest thou, that instant, as they turned With look that pierced the heart — August and terrible! And in his breast he bears A sleeping child, and that which slipped Past, as we stood, amazed, and clingeth to The hem of him — it is a woman! Look ye — what sight is this? The dying raise Them as he goes and lift their wounds To him and cry — Hark! What cry they? "Hail, Prince of Peace — Hail Thou and hear!" 33 The Conqueror "Thou! Prince of Peace — Come to thy festival of love and cheer — What welcome Thine? Razed temples — smoldering hearths And harried droves of homeless and behind — The cannon's night, and fields of staring dead. Come to thy festival, oh Prince, across The plains of blood — and art forgot — rejected? Nay! By these wounds that cry to Thee I By dead men's Eyes that stare at thee — Nay! By these barren wombs that wail to Thee — And that despair that looks From old men's eyesl" Ha — look I With tenderness he lays The child within his mother's arms and turns To speak: "Aye, 'Prince of Peace' am I, though scarce My mother's arms received me ere the threat Of jealous 1 hrone had snatched me from My gentle bed to hurried flight. My kinsman — John — And messenger, was slain, by boast Of bestial Prince — 'Thou art not Caesar's Friend,' the taunt, that Pilate's manhood slew^ And sent me to the cross. "Aye, 'Prince of Peace' — I sealed my lips and, wordless, bore The insults of the Roman guard. The thorny crown I wore — disdained to yield the homage of a moan. One of the royal band it w^as w^ho lent The final thrust of earthly insolence with sword Within my tortured side. And in my name Millions have died — by wounds — by cross — and fire — At hand of throned tyrants. 34 The Conqueror Have forgot? Ah no! Yet once again — Today — I come: The Prince of Peace 1" See — he hath flung aside his humble robes — He stands against the blood red arch of rising day — A warrior, accoutered for the fight — more terrible Than battery of guns, his eyes more piercing Than the eyes of flying men — his arm invincible! "On — Carry on!" Today the Prince of Peace commands — On the proud, self-reared chiefs of men, He maketh war for ever more On — carry on! The sainted dead a cloud of w^itnesses — The loosed souls of thy brothers — slain — encompass ye! The pain of all who wander, weep and die, today, At cursed hand of Kings, cry unto thee The wrongs of all the weary years call to ye — I — the long suffering one — the Prince of Peace, In name of God and Peace, command ye — Carry on! 35 THE MEN COME BACK FROM HELL These are the men Come back from hell. Once they were Like ourselves — everyday folk at their Tasks: one was a clerk, another an engineer; One made shoes for a living. They were all Busy men, in a land of peace. Then the Call came: a job overseas ridding The world of bandits — And they went. They went where the Good world — the kind, familiar world. Yielding harvests and happiness — security And pleasant homes, had turned daft, and gaped With fearful wounds; where the smitten ground leaped Skyward, and the earth — blood sickened — belched The dead from out their hasty graves. Where quiet meadows shrieked with Winged death — ^where forests Smoked and the sowed field Brought forth corpses. 36 The Men Come Bach From Hell Where the dwellers Of the land were driven forth Like cattle by murderous and lustful hands — The old — bew^ildered, fainting — children smitten — Women mad, and cursing the gift of birth. The world The safe, glad world writhing in horror — Rolled in blood: These are the men Come back from hell. These are the men Come back from Hell their banners With them; they whose deeds the world will Speak unto all ages: war scarred — battle bitten — Wound smitten — Greet them with salvos and tears. Tears — thanksgiving and awe — they are the Miracle of God and the invincible Arm: The men come back From Hell! 37 WE HAVE KEPT FAITH We have kept faith — Oh, ye who lie in Flanders field today — We have kept faith with thee. That sacred trust Pledged by the w^arm, young blood of you w^ho loved Life, as do we the sweet, w^ide air, sun and the crimson Poppies — all things fair — we have kept pledge With you who fell *mong Flanders flowers. We have kept faith with you — Dost hear, today, dear dead — dear dead? Above thy head the sky is fair again, and clean. From the sweet noon the peace thou broughtest so soon Hath sv/ept the cannon's night away — the larks have sought Again their nests in the low grass — 'long the old track The herds graze slowly back — and see! On rebuilt Hearths the fires kindled are, and there is Home once more, dear dead — sweet dead — Because you lie where Flanders' poppies blow. We have kept faith with you — ye whom We shall not greet tomorrow when the ships Come home. The proud, unsullied flags — your flags — Will know the untrammeled air, and fair with banners Will be the streets your eager feet have pressed The while ago — and we shall miss you there. Ah! Yes — When we make glad because of the great gift You bought with price of your low bed 'Mong Flanders poppies spread 38 We Have Kept Faith. Gift of free life, free air — bread Earned by free men and for their souls Lease from the curse of kings, we have kept faith — That boon, your unselfed passion sought for men and bought At price so dear — we have held fast and sealed to us By iron terms of conquerors. For fruitful fields Laid waste, and peaceful homes that held The lives of peaceful men — for churches Razed, and all the ways of industry And honest life ravished by bandits price In full, or face again the flaring guns! Vengeance for those — the slain By murderers' hands — those lain along The bone-strewn track of desert — for the Unnamed crimes against the white, protesting souls Of maidens deaths of the old, and fiendish crimes 'Gainst babes forgot no debt your outraged eyes Beheld, that steeled your soul and arm made life A guilty thing while such outrages lived, And death, a friend, so thou couldst bring To end such villainies. Fear not! The victors' terms have read To the whipped hordes the terror writ by thundering Guns of the avenging nations. No plea for lenience. No weak forgetting shall pardon their offense. Toward God and man treachery and death Have kissed each other the world is safe, oh, brothers Of the white soul and mighty arm! Thou canst rest Now — a little while where poppies blov/. Till God shall wake thee in thy slumbers Thou shalt know we have kept faith with thee. 39