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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10457 ***
+
+THE LONELY DANCER AND OTHER POEMS
+
+BY
+
+RICHARD LE GALLIENNE
+
+1913
+
+
+
+
+
+
+WITH A FRONTISPIECE PORTRAIT BY
+
+IRMA LE GALLIENNE
+
+
+
+
+TO
+
+IRMA
+
+ALL THE WAY
+
+
+Not all my treasure hath the bandit Time
+  Locked in his glimmering caverns of the Past:
+Fair women dead and friendships of old rhyme,
+  And noble dreams that had to end at last:--
+Ah! these indeed; and from youth's sacristy
+  Full many a holy relic hath he torn,
+Vessels of mystic faith God filled for me,
+  Holding them up to Him in life's young morn.
+
+All these are mine no more--Time hath them all,
+  Time and his adamantine gaoler Death:
+Despoilure vast--yet seemeth it but small,
+  When unto thee I turn, thy bloom and breath
+Filling with light and incense the last shrine,
+  Innermost, inaccessible,--yea, thine.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+THE LONELY DANCER
+
+I
+
+FLOS AEVORUM
+"ALL THE WORDS IN ALL THE WORLD"
+"I SAID--I CARE NOT"
+"ALL THE WIDE WORLD IS BUT THE THOUGHT OF YOU"
+"LIGHTNINGS MAY FLICKER ROUND MY HEAD"
+"THE AFTERNOON IS LONELY FOR YOUR FACE"
+"SORE IN NEED WAS I OF A FAITHFUL FRIEND"
+"I THOUGHT, BEFORE MY SUNLIT TWENTIETH YEAR"
+
+II
+
+TO A BIRD AT DAWN
+ALMA VENUS
+"AH! DID YOU EVER HEAR THE SPRING"
+APRIL
+MAY IS BUILDING HER HOUSE
+SHADOW
+JUNE
+GREEN SILENCE
+SUMMER SONGS
+TO A WILD BIRD
+"I CROSSED THE ORCHARD WALKING HOME"
+"I MEANT TO DO MY WORK TO-DAY"
+"HOW FAST THE YEAR IS GOING BY"
+AUGUST MOONLIGHT
+TO A ROSE
+INVITATION
+SUMMER GOING
+AUTUMN TREASURE
+WINTER
+THE MYSTIC FRIENDS
+THE COUNTRY GODS
+
+III
+
+TO ONE ON A JOURNEY
+HER PORTRAIT IMMORTAL
+SPRING'S PROMISES
+"APRIL IS IN THE WORLD AGAIN"
+"SINGING GO I"
+"WHO WAS IT SWEPT AGAINST MY DOOR"
+"FACE IN THE TOMB THAT LIES SO STILL"
+"I KNOW NOT IN WHAT PLACE"
+RESURRECTION
+"WHEN THE LONG DAY HAS FADED"
+"HER EYES ARE BLUEBELLS NOW"
+"THE DEAD AROSE"
+"THE BLOOM UPON THE GRAPE"
+THE FRIEND
+ADORATION
+"AT LAST I GOT A LETTER FROM THE DEAD"
+
+IV
+
+SONGS FOR FRAGOLETTA
+
+V
+
+A BALLAD OF WOMAN
+AN EASTER HYMN
+BALLAD OF THE SEVEN O'CLOCK WHISTLE
+MORALITY
+
+VI
+
+FOR THE BIRTHDAY OF EDGAR ALLAN POE
+TO RALPH WALDO EMERSON
+RICHARD WATSON GILDER
+IN A COPY OF FITZGERALD'S "OMAR"
+
+VII
+
+A BALLAD OF TOO MUCH BEAUTY
+SPRING IN THE PARIS CATACOMBS
+A FACE IN A BOOK
+TIME, BEAUTY'S FRIEND
+YOUNG LOVE
+LOVERS
+FOR A PICTURE BY ROSE CECIL O'NEIL
+LOVE IN SPAIN
+THE EYES THAT COME FROM IRELAND
+A BALLAD OF THE KIND LITTLE CREATURES
+BLUE FLOWER
+THE HEART UNSEEN
+THE SHIMMER OF THE SOUND
+A SONG OF SINGERS
+THE END
+
+
+
+THE LONELY DANCER
+
+I had no heart to join the dance,
+  I danced it all so long ago--
+Ah! light-winged music out of France,
+  Let other feet glide to and fro,
+Weaving new patterns of romance
+  For bosoms of new-fallen snow.
+
+But leave me thus where I may hear
+  The leafy rustle of the waltz,
+The shell-like murmur in my ear,
+  The silken whisper fairy-false
+Of unseen rainbows circling near,
+  And the glad shuddering of the walls.
+
+Another dance the dancers spin,
+  A shadow-dance of mystic pain,
+And other partners enter in
+  And dance within my lonely brain--
+The swaying woodland shod in green,
+  The ghostly dancers of the rain;
+
+The lonely dancers of the sea,
+  Foam-footed on the sandy bar,
+The wizard dance of wind and tree,
+  The eddying dance of stream and star;
+Yea, all these dancers tread for me
+  A measure mournful and bizarre:
+
+An echo-dance where ear is eye,
+  And sound evokes the shapes of things,
+Where out of silence and a sigh
+  The sad world like a picture springs,
+As, when some secret bird sweeps by,
+  We see it in the sound of wings.
+
+Those human feet upon the floor,
+  That eager pulse of rhythmic breath,--
+How sadly to an unknown shore
+  Each silver footfall hurryeth;
+A dance of autumn leaves, no more,
+  On the fantastic wind of death.
+
+Fire clasped to elemental fire,
+  'Tis thus the solar atom whirls;
+The butterfly in aery gyre,
+  On autumn mornings, swarms and swirls,
+In dance of delicate desire,
+  No other than these boys and girls.
+
+The same strange music everywhere,
+  The woven paces just the same,
+Dancing from out the viewless air
+  Into the void from whence they came;
+Ah! but they make a gallant flare
+  Against the dark, each little flame!
+
+And what if all the meaning lies
+  Just in the music, not in those
+Who dance thus with transfigured eyes,
+  Holding in vain each other close;
+Only the music never dies,
+  The dance goes on,--the dancer goes.
+
+A woman dancing, or a world
+  Poised on one crystal foot afar,
+In shining gulfs of silence whirled,
+  Like notes of the strange music are;
+Small shape against another curled,
+  Or dancing dust that makes a star.
+
+To him who plays the violin
+  All one it is who joins the reel,
+Drops from the dance, or enters in;
+  So that the never-ending wheel
+Cease not its mystic course to spin,
+  For weal or woe, for woe or weal.
+
+
+I
+
+FLOS AEVORUM
+
+You must mean more than just this hour,
+  You perfect thing so subtly fair,
+Simple and complex as a flower,
+  Wrought with such planetary care;
+How patient the eternal power
+  That wove the marvel of your hair.
+
+How long the sunlight and the sea
+  Wove and re-wove this rippling gold
+To rhythms of eternity;
+  And many a flashing thing grew old,
+Waiting this miracle to be;
+  And painted marvels manifold,
+
+Still with his work unsatisfied,
+  Eager each new effect to try,
+The solemn artist cast aside,
+  Rainbow and shell and butterfly,
+As some stern blacksmith scatters wide
+  The sparks that from his anvil fly.
+
+How many shells, whorl within whorl,
+  Litter the marges of the sphere
+With wrack of unregarded pearl,
+  To shape that little thing your ear:
+Creation, just to make one girl,
+  Hath travailed with exceeding fear.
+
+The moonlight of forgotten seas
+  Dwells in your eyes, and on your tongue
+The honey of a million bees,
+  And all the sorrows of all song:
+You are the ending of all these,
+  The world grew old to make you young.
+
+All time hath traveled to this rose;
+  To the strange making of this face
+Came agonies of fires and snows;
+  And Death and April, nights and days
+Unnumbered, unimagined throes,
+  Find in this flower their meeting place.
+
+Strange artist, to my aching thought
+  Give answer: all the patient power
+That to this perfect ending wrought,
+  Shall it mean nothing but an hour?
+Say not that it is all for nought
+  Time brings Eternity a flower.
+
+All the words in all the world
+  Cannot tell you how I love you,
+All the little stars that shine
+  To make a silver crown above you;
+
+
+"ALL THE WORDS IN ALL THE WORLD"
+
+All the flowers cannot weave
+  A garland worthy of your hair,
+Not a bird in the four winds
+  Can sing of you that is so fair.
+
+Only the spheres can sing of you;
+  Some planet in celestial space,
+Hallowed and lonely in the dawn,
+  Shall sing the poem of your face.
+
+
+"I SAID--I CARE NOT"
+
+I said--I care not if I can
+  But look into her eyes again,
+But lay my hand within her hand
+  Just once again.
+
+Though all the world be filled with snow
+  And fire and cataclysmal storm,
+I'll cross it just to lay my head
+  Upon her bosom warm.
+
+Ah! bosom made of April flowers,
+  Might I but bring this aching brain,
+This foolish head, and lay it down
+  On April once again!
+
+
+"ALL THE WIDE WORLD IS BUT THE THOUGHT OF YOU"
+
+All the wide world is but the thought of you:
+Who made you out of wonder and of dew?
+Was it some god with tears in his deep eyes,
+Who loved a woman white and over-wise,
+That strangely put all violets in your hair--
+And put into your face all distance too?
+
+
+"LIGHTNINGS MAY FLICKER ROUND MY HEAD"
+
+Lightnings may flicker round my head,
+  And all the world seem doom,
+If you, like a wild rose, will walk
+  Strangely into the room.
+
+If only my sad heart may hear
+  Your voice of faery laughter--
+What matters though the heavens fall,
+  And hell come thundering after.
+
+
+"THE AFTERNOON IS LONELY FOR YOUR FACE"
+
+The afternoon is lonely for your face,
+  The pampered morning mocks the day's decline--
+  I was so rich at noon, the sun was mine,
+Mine the sad sea that in that rocky place
+  Girded us round with blue betrothal ring.
+  Because your heart was mine, your heart, that precious thing.
+
+The night will be a desert till the dawn,
+  Unless you take some ferry-boat of dreams,
+  And glide to me, a glory of silver beams,
+Under my eyelids, like sad curtains drawn;
+  So, by good hap, my heart can find its way
+  Where all your sweetness lies in fragrant disarray.
+
+Ah! but with morn the world begins anew,
+  Again the sea shall sing up to your feet,
+  And earth and all the heavens call you sweet,
+You all alone with me, I all alone with you,
+  And all the business of the laurelled hours
+  Shyly to gaze on that betrothal ring of ours.
+
+
+"SORE IN NEED WAS I OF A FAITHFUL FRIEND"
+
+Sore in need was I of a faithful friend,
+  And it seemed to me that life
+Had come to its much desired end--
+  Just then God gave me a wife.
+
+I had seen the beauty of fairy things,
+  And seen the women walk;
+I had heard the voice of the seven sins
+  And all the wonderful talk.
+
+Ah, the promising earth that seems so kind,
+  And the comrades with outstretched hand--
+But did you ever stand alone
+  In a black, forsaken land?
+Then the wonderful things that God can do
+  One comes to understand:
+
+How He turns the desert dust to a dream,
+  And the lonely wind to a friend,
+And makes a bright beginning
+  Of what had seemed the end:
+'Twas in such an hour God placed in mine
+  The moonbeam hand of a friend.
+
+
+"I THOUGHT, BEFORE MY SUNLIT TWENTIETH YEAR"
+
+I thought, before my sunlit twentieth year,
+That I knew Love, and Death that goes with it;
+And my young broken heart in little songs,
+Dew-like, I poured, and waited for my end
+Wildly--and waited--being then nineteen.
+I walked a little longer on my way,
+Alive, 'gainst expectation and desire,
+And, being then past twenty, I beheld
+The face of all the faces of the world
+Dewily opening on its stem for me.
+Ah! so it seemed, and, each succeeding year,
+Thus hath some woman blossom of the divine
+Flowered in my path, and made a frail delay
+In my true journey--to my home in thee.
+
+October 27, 1911.
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+TO A BIRD AT DAWN
+
+O bird that somewhere yonder sings,
+  In the dim hour 'twixt dreams and dawn,
+Lone in the hush of sleeping things,
+  In some sky sanctuary withdrawn;
+Your perfect song is too like pain,
+And will not let me sleep again.
+
+I think you must be more than bird,
+  A little creature of soft wings,
+Not yours this deep and thrilling word--
+  Some morning planet 'tis that sings;
+Surely from no small feathered throat
+  Wells that august, eternal note.
+
+As some old language of the dead,
+  In one resounding syllable,
+Says Rome and Greece and all is said--
+  A simple word a child may spell;
+So in your liquid note impearled
+Sings the long epic of the world.
+
+Unfathomed sweetness of your song,
+  With ancient anguish at its core,
+What womb of elemental wrong,
+  With shudder unimagined, bore
+Peace so divine--what hell hath trod
+This voice that softly talks with God!
+
+All silence in one silver flower
+  Of speech that speaks not, save as speaks
+The moon in heaven, yet hath power
+  To tell the soul the thing it seeks.
+And pack, as by some wizard's art,
+The whole within the finite part.
+
+To you, sweet bird, one well might feign--
+  With such authority you sing
+So clear, yet so profound, a strain
+  Into the simple ear of spring--
+Some secret understanding given
+Of the hid purposes of Heaven.
+
+And all my life until this day,
+  And all my life until I die,
+All joy and sorrow of the way,
+  Seem calling yonder in the sky;
+And there is something the song saith
+That makes me unafraid of death.
+
+Now the slow light fills all the trees,
+  The world, before so still and strange,
+With day's familiar presences,
+  Back to its common self must change,
+And little gossip shapes of song
+The porches of the morning throng.
+
+Not yours with such as these to vie
+  That of the day's small business sing,
+Voice of man's heart and of God's sky--
+  But O you make so deep a thing
+Of joy, I dare not think of pain
+Until I hear you sing again.
+
+
+ALMA VENUS
+
+Only a breath--hardly a breath! The shore
+Is still a huddled alabaster floor
+Of shelving ice and shattered slabs of cold,
+Stern wreckage of the fiercely frozen wave,
+Gleaming in mailed wastes of white and gold;
+As though the sea, in an enchanted grave,
+Of fearful crystal locked, no more shall stir
+Softly, all lover, to the April moon:
+Hardly a breath! yet was I now aware
+Of a most delicate balm upon the air,
+Almost a voice that almost whispered "soon"!
+
+Not of the earth it was--no living thing
+Moves in the iron landscape far or near,
+Saving, in raucous flight, the winter crow,
+Staining the whiteness with its ebon wing,
+Or silver-sailing gull, or 'mid the drear
+Rock cedars, like a summer soul astray,
+A lone red squirrel makes believe to play,
+Nibbling the frozen snow.
+
+Not of the earth, that hath not scent nor song,
+Nor hope of aught, nor memory, nor dream,
+Nor any speech upon its sullen tongue,
+Nor any liberty of running stream;
+Not of the earth, that hath forgot to smile;
+But, strangely wafted o'er the frozen sea,
+As from some hidden Cytherean isle,
+Veil within veil, the sweetness came to me.
+
+Beyond the heaving glitter of the floe,
+The free blue water sparkles to the sky,
+Losing itself in brightness; to and fro
+Long bands of mists trail luminously by,
+And, as behind a screen, on the sea's rim
+Hid softnesses of sunshine come and go,
+And shadowy coasts in sudden glory swim--
+O land made out of distance and desire!--
+With ports of mystic pearl and crests of fire.
+
+Thence, somewhere in the spaces of the sea,
+Travelled this halcyon breath presaging Spring;
+Over the water even now secretly
+She maketh ready in her hands to bring
+Blossom and blade and wing;
+And soon the wave shall ripple with her feet,
+And her wild hair be blown about the skies,
+
+And with her bosom all the world grow sweet,
+And blue with the sea-blue of her deep eyes
+The meadow, like another sea, shall flower,
+And all the earth be song and singing shower;
+While watching, in some hollow of the grass
+By the sea's edge, I may behold her stand,
+With rosy feet, upon the yellow sand,
+Pause in a dream, and to the woodland pass.
+
+
+"AH! DID YOU EVER HEAR THE SPRING"
+
+Ah! did you ever hear the Spring
+  Calling you through the snow,
+Or hear the little blackbird sing
+  Inside its egg--or go
+To that green land where grass begins,
+  Each tiny seed, to grow?
+
+O have you heard what none has heard,
+  Or seen what none has seen;
+O have you been to that strange land
+  Where no one else has been!
+
+
+APRIL
+
+April, half-clad in flowers and showers,
+  Walks, like a blossom, o'er the land;
+She smiles at May, and laughing takes
+  The rain and sunshine hand in hand.
+
+So gay the dancing of her feet,
+  So like a garden her soft breath,
+So sweet the smile upon her face,
+  She charms the very heart of death.
+
+The young moon in a trance she holds
+  Captive in clouds of orchard bloom,
+She snaps her fingers at the grave,
+  And laughs into the face of doom.
+
+Yet in her gladness lurks a fear,
+  In all her mirth there breathes a sigh,
+So soon her pretty flowers are gone--
+  And ah! she is too young to die!
+
+
+MAY IS BUILDING HER HOUSE
+
+May is building her house. With apple blooms
+She is roofing over the glimmering rooms;
+Of the oak and the beech hath she builded its beams,
+And, spinning all day at her secret looms,
+With arras of leaves each wind-swayed wall
+She pictureth over, and peopleth it all
+  With echoes and dreams,
+  And singing of streams.
+
+May is building her house of petal and blade;
+Of the roots of the oak is the flooring made,
+With a carpet of mosses and lichen and clover,
+  Each small miracle over and over,
+And tender, travelling green things strayed.
+
+Her windows the morning and evening star,
+And her rustling doorways, ever ajar
+  With the coming and going
+  Of fair things blowing,
+The thresholds of the four winds are.
+
+May is building her house. From the dust of things
+She is making the songs and the flowers and the wings;
+  From October's tossed and trodden gold
+  She is making the young year out of the old;
+Yea! out of winter's flying sleet
+  She is making all the summer sweet,
+  And the brown leaves spurned of November's feet
+She is changing back again to spring's.
+
+
+SHADOW
+
+When leaf and flower are newly made,
+And bird and butterfly and bee
+Are at their summer posts again;
+When all is ready, lo! 'tis she,
+Suddenly there after soft rain--
+The deep-lashed dryad of the shade.
+
+Shadow! the fairest gift of June,
+Gone like the rose the winter through,
+Save in the ribbed anatomy
+Of ebon line the moonlight drew,
+Stark on the snow, of tower or tree,
+Like letters of a dead man's rune.
+
+Dew-breathing shade! all summer lies
+In the cool hollow of thy breast,
+Thou moth-winged creature darkly fair;
+The very sun steals down to rest
+Within thy swaying tendrilled hair,
+And forest-flicker of thine eyes.
+
+Made of all shapes that flit and sway,
+And mass, and scatter in the breeze,
+And meet and part, open and close;
+Thou sister of the clouds and trees,
+Thou daintier phantom of the rose,
+Thou nun of the hot and honeyed day.
+
+Misdeemed art thou of those who hold
+Darkness thy soul, thy dwelling place
+Night and its stars; nay! all of light
+Wert though begot, all flowers thy face,
+And, hushed in thee, all colours bright
+Hide from the noon their blue and gold.
+
+Thy voice the song of hidden rills,
+The sigh deep-bosomed silence heaves
+From the full heart of happy things,--
+The lap of water-lily leaves,
+The noiseless language of the wings
+Of evening making strange the hills.
+
+
+JUNE
+
+We thought that winter, love, would never end,
+  That the dark year had slain the innocent May,
+  Nor hoped that your soft hand, this summer day,
+Would lie, as now, in mine, beloved friend;
+  And, like some magic spring, your dream-deep eyes
+  Hold all the summer skies.
+
+But lo! the world again is mad with flowers,
+  The long white silence spake, small bird by bird,
+Blade after blade, amid the song of showers,
+  The grass stole back once more, and there was heard
+The ancient music of the vernal spheres,
+Half laughter and half tears.
+
+Ah! love, and now too swiftly, like some groom,
+  Raining hot kisses on his bride's young mouth,
+  The mad young year, delirious with the South,
+Squanders his fairy treasure, bloom on bloom;
+  Too soon the wild rose hastens to be sweet,
+  Too swift, O June, thy feet.
+
+Tarry a little, summer, crowd not so
+  All glory and gladness in so brief a day,
+Teach all thy dancing flowers a step more slow,
+  And bid thy wild musicians softlier play,
+O hast thou thought, that like a madman spends,
+The longest summer ends.
+
+
+GREEN SILENCE
+
+Silence, whose drowsy eyelids are soft leaves,
+  And whose half-sleeping eyes are the blue flowers,
+On whose still breast the water-lily heaves,
+  For all her speech the whisper of the showers.
+
+Made of all things that in the water sway,
+  The quiet reed kissing the arrowhead,
+The willows murmuring, all a summer day,
+  "Silence"--sweet word, and ne'er so softly said
+
+As here along this path of brooding peace,
+  Where all things dream, and nothing else is done
+But all such gentle businesses as these
+  Of leaves and rippling wind, and setting sun
+
+Turning the stream to a long lane of gold,
+  Where the young moon shall walk with feet of pearl,
+And, framed in sleeping lilies, fold on fold,
+  Gaze at herself, like any mortal girl.
+
+
+SUMMER SONGS
+
+I
+
+How thick the grass,
+  How green the shade--
+All for love
+  And lovers made.
+
+Wood-lilies white
+  As hidden lace--
+Open your bodice,
+  That's their place.
+
+See how the sun-god
+  Overpowers
+The summer lying
+  Deep in flowers;
+
+With burning kisses
+  Of bright gold
+Fills her young womb
+  With joy untold;
+
+And all the world
+  Is lad and lass,
+A blue sky
+  And a couch of grass.
+
+Summer is here--
+  let us drain
+It all! it may
+  Not come again.
+
+
+II
+
+How the leaves thicken
+  On the boughs,
+And the birds make
+ Their lyric vows.
+
+O the beating, breaking
+  Heart of things,
+The pulse and passion--
+  How it sings.
+
+How it burns and flames
+  And showers,
+Lusts and laughs, flowers
+  And deflowers.
+
+
+III
+
+Summer came,
+Rose on rose;
+Leaf on leaf,
+Summer goes.
+
+Summer came,
+Song on song;
+O summer had
+A golden tongue.
+
+Summer goes,
+Sigh on sigh;
+Not a rose
+Sees him die.
+
+
+TO A WILD BIRD
+
+Wild bird, I stole you from your nest,
+  And cannot find your nest again;
+To hear you chirp a little while
+  I wrung your mother's heart with pain.
+
+And here you sit and droop and die,
+  Nor any love that I can bring
+Wins me forgiveness for the wrong,
+  Nor any kindness makes you sing.
+
+
+"I CROSSED THE ORCHARD WALKING HOME"
+
+I crossed the orchard, walking home,
+  The rising moon was at my back,
+The apples and the moonlight fell
+  Together on the railroad track.
+
+Then, speeding through the evening dews,
+  A dozen lighted windows glide--
+The East-bound flyer for New York,
+  Soft as a magic-lantern slide.
+
+New York! on through the sleeping flowers,
+  Through echoing midnight on to noon;
+How strange that yonder is New York,
+  And here such silence and the moon.
+
+
+"I MEANT TO DO MY WORK TO-DAY"
+
+I meant to do my work to-day--
+  But a brown bird sang in the apple-tree,
+And a butterfly flitted across the field,
+  And all the leaves were calling me.
+
+And the wind went sighing over the land,
+  Tossing the grasses to and fro,
+And a rainbow held out its shining hand--
+  So what could I do but laugh and go?
+
+
+"HOW FAST THE YEAR IS GOING BY"
+
+How fast the year is going by!
+  Love, it will be September soon;
+  O let us make the best of June.
+Already, love, it is July;
+  The rose and honeysuckle go,
+  And all too soon will come the snow.
+
+Dark berries take the place of flowers,
+  Of summer August still remains,
+  Then sad September with her rains.
+O love, how short a year is ours--
+  So swiftly does the summer fly,
+  Scarce time is left to say goodbye.
+
+
+
+AUGUST MOONLIGHT
+
+The solemn light behind the barns,
+  The rising moon, the cricket's call,
+The August night, and you and I--
+  What is the meaning of it all!
+
+Has it a meaning, after all?
+  Or is it one of Nature's lies,
+That net of beauty that she casts
+  Over Life's unsuspecting eyes?
+
+That web of beauty that she weaves
+  For one strange purpose of her own,--
+For this the painted butterfly,
+  For this the rose--for this alone!
+
+Strange repetition of the rose,
+  And strange reiterated call
+Of bird and insect, man and maid,--
+  Is that the meaning of it all?
+
+If it means nothing, after all!
+  And nothing lives, except to die--
+It is enough--that solemn light
+  Behind the barns, and you and I.
+
+
+TO A ROSE
+
+O rose! forbear to flaunt yourself,
+  All bloom and dew--
+I once, sad-hearted as I am,
+  Was young as you.
+
+But, one by one, the petals fell
+  Earthward to rot;
+Only a berry testifies
+  A rose forgot.
+
+
+INVITATION
+
+Unless you come while still the world is green,
+  A place of birds and the blue dreaming sea,
+In vain has all the singing summer been,
+  Unless you come, and share it all with me.
+
+Ah! come, ere August flames its heart away,
+  Ere, like a golden widow, autumn goes
+Across the woodlands, sad with thoughts of May,
+  An aster in her bosom for a rose.
+
+
+SUMMER GOING
+
+Crickets calling,
+Apples falling.
+
+Summer dying,
+Life is flying.
+
+So soon over--
+Love and lover.
+
+
+AUTUMN TREASURE
+
+Who will gather with me the fallen year,
+This drift of forgotten forsaken leaves,
+Ah! who give ear
+To the sigh October heaves
+At summer's passing by!
+Who will come walk with me
+On this Persian carpet of purple and gold
+The weary autumn weaves,
+And be as sad as I?
+Gather the wealth of the fallen rose,
+And watch how the memoried south wind blows
+Old dreams and old faces upon the air,
+And all things fair.
+
+
+WINTER
+
+Winter, some call thee fair,
+Yea! flatter thy cold face
+With vain compare
+Of all thy glittering ways
+And magic snows
+With summer and the rose;
+Thy phantom flowers
+And fretted traceries
+Of crystal breath,
+Thy frozen and fantastic art of death,
+With April as she showers
+The violet on the leas,
+And bares her bosom
+In the blossoming trees,
+And dances on her way
+To laugh with May--
+Winter that hath no bird
+To sing thee, and no bloom
+To deck thy brow:
+To me thou art an empty haunted room,
+Where once the music
+Of the summer stirred,
+And all the dancers
+Fallen on silence now.
+
+
+THE MYSTIC FRIENDS
+
+I nothing did all yesterday
+But listen to the singing rain
+On roof and weeping window-pane,
+And, 'whiles I'd watch the flying spray
+And smoking breakers in the bay:
+Nothing but this did I all day--
+
+Save turn anon to trim the fire
+With a new log, and mark it roar
+And flame with yellow tongues for more
+To feed its mystical desire.
+No other comrades save these three,
+The fire, the rain, and the wild sea,
+
+All day from morn till night had I--
+Yea! and the wind, with fitful cry,
+Like a hound whining at the door.
+
+Yet seemed it, as to sleep I turned,
+Pausing a little while to pray,
+That not mis-spent had been the day;
+That I had somehow wisdom learned
+From those wild waters in the bay,
+And from the fire as it burned;
+And that the rain, in some strange way,
+Had words of high import to say;
+And that the wind, with fitful cry,
+Did some immortal message try,
+Striving to make some meaning clear
+Important for my soul to hear.
+
+But what the meaning of the rain,
+And what the wisdom of the fire,
+And what the warning of the wind,
+And what the sea would tell, in vain
+My soul doth of itself enquire,--
+And yet a meaning too doth find:
+
+For what am I that hears and sees
+But a strange brother of all these
+That blindly move, and wordless cry,
+And I, mysteriously I,
+Answer in blood and bone and breath
+To what my gnomic kindred saith;
+And, as in me they all have part,
+Translate their message to my heart--
+
+And know, yet know not, what they say:
+Know not, yet know, the fire's tongue
+And the rain's elegiac song,
+And the white language of the spray,
+And all the wind meant yesterday--
+Yea! wiser he, when the day ends,
+Who shared it with those four strange friends.
+
+
+THE COUNTRY GODS
+
+I dwell, with all things great and fair:
+The green earth and the lustral air,
+The sacred spaces of the sea,
+Day in, day out, companion me.
+Pure-faced, pure-thoughted, folk are mine
+With whom to sit and laugh and dine;
+In every sunlit room is heard
+Love singing, like an April bird,
+And everywhere the moonlit eyes
+Of beauty guard our paradise;
+While, at the ending of the day,
+To the kind country gods we pray,
+And dues of our fair living pay.
+
+Thus, when, reluctant, to the town
+I go, with country sunshine brown,
+So small and strange all seems to me--
+the boonfellow of the sea--
+That these town-people say and be:
+Their insect lives, their insect talk,
+Their busy little insect walk,
+Their busy little insect stings--
+And all the while the sea-weed swings
+Against the rock, and the wide roar
+Rises foam-lipped along the shore.
+Ah! then how good my life I know,
+How good it is each day to go
+Where the great voices call, and where
+The eternal rhythms flow and flow.
+In that august companionship,
+The subtle poisoned words that drip,
+With guileless guile, from friendly lip,
+The lie that flits from ear to ear,
+Ye shall not speak, ye shall not hear;
+Nor shall you fear your heart to say,
+Lest he who listens shall betray.
+
+The man who hearkens all day long
+To the sea's cosmic-thoughted song
+Comes with purged ears to lesser speech,
+And something of the skyey reach
+Greatens the gaze that feeds on space;
+The starlight writes upon his face
+That bathes in starlight, and the morn
+Chrisms with dew, when day is born,
+The eyes that drink the holy light
+Welling from the deep springs of night.
+
+And so--how good to catch the train
+Back to the country gods again.
+
+
+III
+
+
+TO ONE ON A JOURNEY
+
+Why did you go away without one word,
+  Wave of the hand, or token of good-bye,
+Nor leave some message for me with flower or bird,
+  Some sign to find you by;
+
+Some stray of blossom on the winter road,
+  To know your feet had gone that very way,
+Told me the star that points to your abode,
+  And tossed me one faint ray
+
+To climb from out the night where now I
+    dwell--
+  Or, seemed it best for you to go alone
+To heaven, as alone I go to hell
+  Upon the four winds blown.
+
+
+HER PORTRAIT IMMORTAL
+
+Must I believe this beauty wholly gone
+  That in her picture here so deathless seems,
+And must I henceforth speak of her as one
+  Tells of some face of legend or of dreams,
+Still here and there remembered--scarce believed,
+Or held the fancy of a heart bereaved.
+
+So beautiful she--was; ah! "was," say I,
+  Yet doubt her dead--I did not see her die.
+Only by others borne across the sea
+ Came the incredible wild blasphemy
+They called her death--as though it could be true
+Of such an immortality as you!
+
+True of these eyes that from her picture gaze,
+  Serene, star-steadfast, as the heaven's own eyes;
+Of that deep bosom, white as hawthorn sprays,
+  Where my world-weary head forever lies;
+True of these quiet hands, so marble-cool,
+Still on her lap as lilies on a pool.
+
+Must I believe her dead--that this sweet clay,
+  That even from her picture breathes perfume,
+Was carried on a fiery wind away,
+  Or foully locked in the worm-whispering tomb;
+This casket rifled, ribald fingers thrust
+'Mid all her dainty treasure--is _this_ dust!
+
+Once such a dewy marvel of a girl,
+  Warm as the sun, and ivory as the moon;
+All gone of her, all lost--except this curl
+  Saved from her head one summer afternoon,
+Tied with a little ribbon from her breast--
+This only mine, and Death's now all the rest.
+
+Must I believe it true! Bid me not go
+Where on her grave the English violets blow;
+Nay, leave me--if a dream, indeed, it be--
+Still in my dream that she is somewhere she,
+Silent, as was her wont. It is a lie--
+She is not dead--I did not see her die.
+
+
+SPRING'S PROMISES
+
+When the spring comes again, will you be there?
+  Three springs I watched and waited for your face,
+And listened for your voice upon the air;
+  I sought for you in many a hidden place,
+Saying, "She must be there."
+
+"Surely some magic slumber holds her fast,
+  She whose blue eyes were morning's earliest flowers,"
+I sighed: and, one by one, before me passed
+  The rainbowed daughters of the vernal showers,
+Saying, "She comes at last."
+
+Ah! broken promise of the world! how fair
+  You speak young hearts! In many a wanton word
+Of lyric April, each succeeding year,
+  By risen flower, and the returning bird,
+You vowed to bring back her.
+
+And now the flutes are in the trees once more,
+  The violets breathe up through the melting snow,
+Old Earth throws open wide her grassy door--
+  As if there were no violets long ago,
+Or any birds before.
+
+
+"APRIL IS IN THE WORLD AGAIN"
+
+April is in the world again,
+And all the world is filled with flowers--
+Flowers for others, not for me!
+For my one flower I cannot see,
+Lost in the April showers.
+
+I cannot wake her, though I sing,
+And all the birds, for her dear sake,
+Fill with their songs the wintry brake;
+Ah! could they make her rise again,
+What resurrection would be mine!
+Is she too tired to help the sun
+And all the little stars to shine?
+
+
+"SINGING GO I"
+
+Singing go I, seeking for ever a song
+  Sung long ago; I ask no more to hear
+Her voice that sang--for I should do her wrong,
+  Had I the power, to bring her once more near--
+
+Near to the earth, its sorrow or its joy,
+  To drag her back into the arms of pain
+  And Love and all the April flowers again
+And all her little dreams of heaven destroy.
+
+Have I the heart? Ah! had I but the song,
+ The nightingale would listen and all things
+ That talk in waterfalls and trees and strings
+Would hush themselves to listen as I sang,
+  Had I the song.
+
+
+"WHO WAS IT SWEPT AGAINST MY DOOR"
+
+Who was it swept against my door just now,
+With rustling robes like Autumn's--was it thou?
+Ah! would it were thy gown against my door--
+Only thy gown once more.
+
+Sometimes the snow, sometimes the fluttering breath
+Of April, as toward May she wandereth,
+Make me a moment think that it is thou--
+But yet it is not thou!
+
+
+"FACE IN THE TOMB THAT LIES SO STILL"
+
+Face in the tomb, that lies so still,
+  May I draw near,
+And watch your sleep and love you,
+  Without word or tear.
+
+You smile, your eyelids flicker;
+  Shall I tell
+How the world goes that lost you?
+  Shall I tell?
+
+Ah! love, lift not your eyelids;
+  'Tis the same
+Old story that we laughed at,--
+  Still the same.
+
+We knew it, you and I,
+  We knew it all:
+Still is the small the great,
+  The great the small;
+
+Still the cold lie quenches
+  The flaming truth,
+And still embattled age
+  Wars against youth.
+
+Yet I believe still in the ever-living God
+  That fills your grave with perfume,
+Writing your name in violets across the sod,
+  Shielding your holy face from hail and snow;
+  And, though the withered stay, the lovely go,
+No transitory wrong or wrath of things
+Shatters the faith--that each slow minute brings
+
+That meadow nearer to us where your feet
+  Shall flicker near me like white butterflies--
+That meadow where immortal lovers meet,
+  Gazing for ever in immortal eyes.
+
+
+"I KNOW NOT IN WHAT PLACE"
+
+I know not in what place again I'll meet
+The face I love--but there is not a street
+In the wide world where you can wander, sweet,
+Without my finding you, with those great eyes;
+Nor is there any star in all the skies
+Can give you shelter from my pitiless love.
+
+
+RESURRECTION
+
+Is it your face I see, your voice I hear?
+  Your face, your voice, again after these years!
+O is your cheek once more against my cheek?
+  And is this blessed rain, angel, your tears?
+
+You have come back,--how strange--out of the grave;
+  Its dreams are in your eyes, and still there clings
+Dust of the grave on your vainglorious hair;
+  And a mysterious rust is on these rings--
+
+The ring we gave each other, that young night
+  When the moon rose on our betrothal kiss;
+When the sun rose upon our wedding day,
+  How wonderful it was to give you this!
+
+I dreamed you were a bird or a wild flower,
+  Some changed lovely thing that was not you;
+Maybe, I said, she is the morning star,
+  A radiance unfathomably far--
+
+And now again you are so strangely near!
+  Your face, your voice, again after these years!
+Is it your face I see, your voice I hear,
+  And is this blessed rain, angel, your tears?
+
+
+"WHEN THE LONG DAY HAS FADED"
+
+When the long day has faded to its end,
+The flowers gone, and all the singing done,
+And there is no companion left save Death--
+Ah! there is one,
+Though in her grave she lies this many a year,
+Will send a violet made of her blue eyes,
+A flowering whisper of her April breath,
+Up through the sleeping grass to comfort me,
+And in the April rain her tears shall fall.
+
+
+"HER EYES ARE BLUEBELLS NOW"
+
+Her eyes are bluebells now, her voice a bird,
+  And the long sighing grass her elegy;
+She who a woman was is now a star
+  In the high heaven shining down on me.
+
+
+"THE DEAD AROSE"
+
+The dead arose. Long had they dreamed,
+Deep in the grass of the still grave,
+Of meeting their beloved once more.
+They knocked at each familiar door.
+They waited eagerly to see
+The old loved faces at the door,
+They waited for a voice to say
+The same old words it said before--
+They knocked at each familiar door.
+But no one answered to the dead,
+No voice of welcome, no kind word!
+Only a little flower came out,
+And one small elegiac bird.
+
+
+"THE BLOOM UPON THE GRAPE"
+
+The bloom upon the grape I ask no more,
+Nor pampered fragrance of the soft-lipped rose,
+I only ask of Him who keeps the Door--
+To open it for one who fearless goes
+Into the dark, from which, reluctant, came
+His innocent heart, a little laughing flame;
+I only ask that he who gave me sight,
+Who gave me hearing and who gave me breath,
+Give me the last gift in His flaming hand--
+The holy gift of Death.
+
+
+THE FRIEND
+
+Through the dark wood
+  There came to me a friend,
+Bringing in his cold hands
+  Two words--'The End.'
+
+His face was fair
+  As fading autumn flowers,
+And the lost joy
+  Of unforgotten hours.
+
+His voice was sweet
+  As rain upon a grave;
+'Be brave,' he smiled.
+  And yet again--'be brave.'
+
+
+ADORATION
+
+Ah, if you worship anything,
+In deepest hush of silence bend
+The lone adoring knee,
+And only silence bring
+Into the sanctuary.
+Trust not the fairest word
+Your soul to wrong:
+Even the Rose's bird
+Hath not a song
+Sweet as the silence
+Round about the Rose.
+Ah, something goes,
+Fails, and is lost in speech
+That silence knows.
+How should I speak
+The hush about my heart
+That holds your name
+Shrined in a burning core
+Of central flame,
+Like names of seraphim
+Mystically writ on cloud?
+To speak your name aloud
+Were to unhallow
+Such a holy thing;
+Therefore I bring
+To your white feet
+And your immortal eyes
+Silence forever,
+But in such a wise
+Am silent as the quiet waters are,
+Hiding some holy star
+Amid hushed lilies
+In a secret lake.
+Ah, if a ripple break
+The stillness halcyon--
+The star is gone!
+
+"AT LAST I GOT A LETTER FROM THE DEAD"
+
+At last I got a letter from the dead,
+And out of it there fell a little flower,--
+The violet of an unforgotten hour.
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+SONGS FOR FRAGOLETTA
+
+
+I
+
+Fragoletta, blessed one,
+What think you of the light of the sun?
+Do you think the dark was best,
+Lying snug in mother's breast?
+Ah! I knew that sweetness, too,
+Fragoletta, before you!
+But, Fragoletta, now you're born,
+You must learn to love the morn,
+Love the lovely working light,
+Love the miracle of sight,
+Love the thousand things to do--
+Little girl, I envy you!--
+Love the thousand things to see,
+Love your mother, and--love me!
+And some night, Fragoletta, soon,
+I'll take you out to see the moon;
+And for the first time, child of ours,
+You shall--think of it!--look on flowers,
+And smell them, too, if you are good,
+And hear the green leaves in the wood
+Talking, talking, all together
+In the happy windy weather;
+And if the journey's not too far
+For little limbs so lately made,
+Limb upon limb like petals laid,
+We'll go and picnic in a star.
+
+
+II
+
+Blue eyes looking up at me,
+I wonder what you really see,
+Lying in your cradle there,
+Fragrant as a branch of myrrh.
+Helpless little hands and feet,
+O so helpless! O so sweet!
+Tiny tongue that cannot talk,
+Tiny feet that cannot walk,
+Nothing of you that can do
+Aught, except those eyes of blue.
+How they open, how they close!
+Eyelids of the baby-rose,
+Open and shut, so blue, so wise,
+Baby-eyelids, baby-eyes.
+
+
+III
+
+That, Fragoletta, is the rain
+Beating upon the window-pane;
+But lo! the golden sun appears,
+To kiss away the window's tears.
+That, Fragoletta, is the wind
+That rattles so the window-blind;
+And yonder shining thing's a star,
+Blue eyes,--you seem ten times as far.
+That, Fragoletta, is a bird
+That speaks, yet never says a word;
+Upon a cherry-tree it sings,
+Simple as all mysterious things;
+Its little life to peck and pipe
+As long as cherries ripe and ripe,
+And minister unto the need
+Of baby-birds that feed and feed.
+This, Fragoletta, is a flower,
+Open and fragrant for an hour,
+A flower, a transitory thing,
+Each petal fleeting as a wing,
+All a May morning blows and blows,
+And then for everlasting goes.
+
+
+IV
+
+Blue eyes, against the whiteness pressed
+Of little mother's hallowed breast,
+The while your trembling lips are fed,
+Look up at mother's bended head,
+All benediction over you--
+blue eyes looking into blue!
+Fragoletta is so small,
+We wonder that she lives at all--
+Tiny alabaster girl,
+Hardly bigger than a pearl;
+That is why we take such care,
+Lest someone runs away with her.
+
+
+V
+
+
+
+A BALLAD OF WOMAN
+_(Gratefully Dedicated to Mrs. Pankhurst_)
+
+
+She bore us in her dreaming womb,
+  And laughed into the face of Death;
+She laughed, in her strange agony,--
+  To give her little baby breath.
+
+Then, by some holy mystery,
+  She fed us from her sacred breast,
+Soothed us with little birdlike words--
+To rest--to rest--to rest--to rest;
+
+Yea, softly fed us with her life--
+  Her bosom like the world in May:
+Can it be true that men, thus fed,
+  Feed women--as I hear them say?
+
+Long ere we grew to girl and boy,
+  She sewed the little things we wore,
+And smiled unto herself for joy--
+  Mysterious Portress of the Door.
+
+Shall she who bore the son of God,
+  And made the rose of Sappho's song,
+She who saved France, and beat the drum
+  Of freedom, brook this vulgar wrong?
+
+I wonder if such men as these
+  Had once a sister with blue eyes,
+Kind as the soothing hand of God,
+  And as the quiet heaven wise.
+
+I wonder if they ever saw
+  A soldier lying on a bed
+On some lone battle-field, and watched
+  Some holy woman bind his head.
+
+I wonder if they ever walked,
+  Lost in a black and weary land,
+And suddenly a flower came
+  And took them softly by the hand.
+
+I wonder if they ever heard
+  The silver scream, in some grey morn,
+High in a lit and listening tower,
+  Because a man-child then was born.
+
+I wonder if they ever saw
+  A woman's hair, or in her eye
+Read the eternal mystery--
+  Or ever saw a woman die.
+
+I wonder, when all friends had gone,--
+  The gay companions, the brave men--
+If in some fragile girl they found
+  Their only stay and comrade then.
+
+She who thus went through flaming hell
+  To make us, put into our clay
+All that there is of heaven, shall she--
+  Mother and sister, wife and fay,--
+
+Have no part in the world she made--
+  Serf of the rainbow, vassal flower--
+Save knitting in the afternoon,
+  And rocking cradles, hour by hour!
+
+
+AN EASTER HYMN
+
+Spake the Lord Christ--"I will arise."
+  It seemed a saying void and vain--
+  How shall a dead man rise again!--
+Vain as our tears, vain as our cries.
+  Not one of all the little band
+  That loved Him this might understand.
+
+"I will arise"--Lord Jesus said.
+  Hearken, amid the morning dew,
+  Mary, a voice that calleth you,--
+Then Mary turned her golden head,
+  And lo! all shining at her side
+  Her Master they had crucified.
+
+At dawn to his dim sepulchre,
+  Mary, remembering that far day,
+  When at his feet the spikenard lay,
+Came, bringing balm and spice and myrrh;
+  To her the grave had made reply:
+  "He is not here--He cannot die."
+
+Praetor and priest in vain conspire,
+  Jerusalem and Rome in vain
+  Torture the god with mortal pain,
+To quench that seed of living fire;
+  But light that had in heaven its birth
+  Can never be put out oh earth.
+
+"I will arise"--across the years,
+  Even as to Mary that grey morn,
+  To us that gentle voice is borne--
+"I will arise." He that hath ears
+  O hearken well this mystic word,
+  Let not the Master speak unheard.
+
+No soul descended deep in hell,
+  The child of sorrow, sin and death,
+  The immortal spirit suffereth
+To see corruption; though it fell
+  From loftiest station in the skies,
+  It still to heaven again must rise.
+
+No dream of faith, no seed of love,
+  No lonely action nobly done,
+  But is as stable as the sun,
+And fed and watered from above;
+  From nether base to starry cope
+  Nature's two laws are Faith and Hope.
+
+Safe in the care of heavenly powers,
+  The good we dreamed but might not do,
+  Lost beauty magically new,
+Shall spring as surely as the flowers,
+  When, 'mid the sobbing of the rain,
+  The heart of April beats again.
+
+Celestial spirit that doth roll
+  The heart's sepulchral stone away,
+  Be this our resurrection day,
+The singing Easter of the soul:
+  O Gentle Master of the Wise
+  Teach us to say, "I will arise."
+
+
+BALLAD OF THE SEVEN O'CLOCK WHISTLE
+
+The daisied dawn is in the sky,
+And the young day still dew and dream,
+When on the innocent morning air
+There comes a terrifying scream;
+
+And the four ends of the sad earth
+Repeat the hellish dreadful call;
+Soft ladies murmur in soft beds--
+"The morning whistle--that is all!"
+
+And I too turn to sleep once more,
+A haunted sleep all filled with pain;
+For in my sleep I see the men,
+The victims of colossal Gain,
+
+Troop in the doors of servitude;
+I see the children weary-eyed,
+I see the time-clock, and I see
+The endless day that glooms inside.
+
+It is the Moloch of the dawn,
+Capital calling for its prey--
+Men, women and little boys and girls,
+It's human sacrifice each day.
+
+And, as I hear that dreadful scream,
+High in the dawn all filled with song,--
+I pray within my aching heart--"O Lord!
+O Lord! How long! How long!"
+
+
+MORALITY
+
+Give me the lifted skirt,
+  And the brave ways of wrong,
+The fist, the dagger and the sword,
+  And the out-spoken song.
+
+Ah! bring me not the love
+  That bargains, bids and buys:
+For so much loving I will give
+  So much in lips and eyes;
+
+But love with bosom bared,
+  Sweet as a bird and wild,
+That in her savage maidenhood
+  Cries for a little child.
+
+
+
+VI
+
+
+FOR THE BIRTHDAY OF EDGAR ALLAN POE
+
+(January 19, 1909)
+
+Poet of doom, dementia, and death,
+Of beauty singing in a charnel house,
+Like the lost soul of a poor moon-mad maid,
+With too much loving of some lord of hell;
+Doomed and disastrous spirit, to what shore
+Of what dark gulf infernal art thou strayed,
+Or to what spectral star of topless heaven
+Art lifted and enthroned?
+
+                       The winter dark,
+And the drear winter cold that welcomed thee
+To a world all winter, gird with ice and storm
+Thy January day--yea! the same world
+Of winter and the wintry hearts of men;
+And still, for all thy shining, the same swarm
+That mocked thy song gather about thy fame,
+With the small murmur of the undying worm,
+And whisper, blind and foul, amid thy dust.
+
+
+TO RALPH WALDO EMERSON
+
+Poet, whose words are like the tight-packed seed
+  Sealed in the capsule of a silver flower,
+Still at your art we wonder as we read,
+  The art dynamic charging each word with power.
+
+Seeds of the silver flower of Emerson:
+  One, on the winds to Scotland brought, did sink
+In Carlyle's heart; and one was lately blown
+  To Belgium, and flowered in--Maeterlinck.
+
+
+RICHARD WATSON GILDER
+(Obiit Nov. 18, 1909)
+
+America grows poorer day by day--
+Richer and richer, I have heard some say:
+They thought of a poor wealth I do not heed--
+For, one by one, the men who dreamed the dream
+That was America, and is now no more,
+Have gone in flame through that mysterious door,
+And scarcely one remains, in all our need.
+
+The dream goes with the dreamer--ah! beware,
+Country of facile silver and of gold,
+To slight the gentle strength of a pure prayer;
+America, all made out of a dream--
+A dream of good men in the days of old;
+What if the dream should fade and none remain
+To tell your children the old dream again!
+
+Therefore, with laurel and with tears and rue,
+Stand by his grave this sad November day,
+Sadder that he untimely goes away,
+Who sang and wrought so well for that high dream
+We call America--the world made new,
+New with clean hope and faith and purpose true.
+
+Gilder, your name, with each return of Spring,
+Shall write itself in the soft April flowers,
+And, when you hear the murmur of bright showers
+Over your sleep, and little lives that sing
+Come back once more, know that the rainbowed rain
+Is but our tears, saying: "Come back again."
+
+
+IN A COPY OF FITZGERALD'S "OMAR"
+
+A little book, this grim November day,
+Wherein, O tired heart, to creep away,--
+  Come drink this wine and wear this fadeless rose,
+  Nor heed the world, nor what the world shall say.
+
+A thousand gardens--yet to-day there blows
+In all their wintry walks no single rose,
+  But here with Omar you shall find the Spring
+  That fears no Autumn and eternal glows.
+
+So on the song-soft petals of his rhyme
+Pillow your head, as in some golden clime,
+  And let the beauty of eternity
+Smooth from your brow the little frets of time.
+
+
+
+VII
+
+
+A BALLAD OF TOO MUCH BEAUTY
+
+There is too much beauty upon this earth
+  For lonely men to bear,
+Too many eyes, too enchanted skies,
+  Too many things too fair;
+And the man who would live the life of a man
+Must turn his eyes away--if he can.
+
+He must not look at the dawning day,
+  Or watch the rising moon;
+From the little feet, so white, so fleet,
+  He must turn his eyes away;
+And the flowers and the faces he must pass by
+With stern self-sacrificing eye.
+
+For beauty and duty are strangers forever,
+  Work and wonder ever apart,
+And the laws of life eternally sever
+  The ways of the brain from the ways of the heart;
+Be it flower or pearl, or the face of a girl,
+Or the ways of the waters as they swirl.
+
+Lo! beauty is sorrow, and sorrowful men
+  Have no heart to look on the face of the sky,
+Or hear the remorseful voice of the sea,
+Or the song of the wandering wind in the tree,
+  Or even watch a butterfly.
+
+
+SPRING IN THE PARIS CATACOMBS
+
+I saw strange bones to-day in Paris town,
+Deep in the quarried dark, while over-head
+The roar of glad and busy things went by--
+Over our heads--
+So many heads--
+Deep down, deep down--
+Those strange old bones deep down in Paris town:
+Heads where no longer dwell--
+Yet who shall tell!--
+Such thoughts as those
+That make a rose
+Of a maid's cheek,
+
+Filling it with such bloom--
+All fearless of the unsuspected doom--
+As flood wild April with such hushing breath
+That Death himself believes no more in Death.
+
+Yea! I went down
+Out of the chestnuts and the girl-filled town,
+Only a yard or two beneath the street,
+Haunted a little while by little feet,
+Going, did they but know, the self-same way
+As all those bones as white as the white May
+That roofs the orchards overhead with bloom.
+
+Perhaps I only dreamed,
+And yet to me it seemed
+That those old bones talked strangely each to each,
+Chattering together in forgotten speech--
+
+Speaking of Her
+That was so very fair,
+Telling of Him
+So strong
+He is a song
+Up there in the far day, where even yet
+Fools sing of fates and faces
+Even fools cannot forget.
+
+Faces went by, as haughty as of old,
+Wearing upon their heads the unminted gold
+That flowers in blackness only,
+And sad lips smiled softly, softly,
+Knowing well it was too late
+Even for Fate.
+
+Yet one shape that I never can forget
+Waved a wild sceptre at me, ruling yet
+An empire gone where all empires must go,
+Melting away as simply as the snow;
+Yet no one heeded the flower of his menace,
+As little heeded him as that One Face
+That suddenly I saw go wandering by,
+And saying as she went--"I--still--am--I!"
+
+And the dry bones thereat
+Rattled together, laughing, gossipping
+Together in the gloom
+That dared not sing,
+The little trivial gossip of the tomb--
+Ah! just as long ago, in their dry way,
+They mocked at fairy faces and strong eyes
+That of their foolish loving make us wise.
+
+Paris: May, 1913.
+
+
+A FACE IN A BOOK
+
+In an old book I found her face
+  Writ by a dead man long ago--
+I found, and then I lost the place;
+  So nothing but her face I know,
+  And her soft name writ fair below.
+
+Even if she lived I cannot learn,
+  Or but a dead man's dream she were;
+Page after yellow page I turn,
+  But cannot come again to her,
+  Although I know she must be there.
+
+On other books of other men,
+  Far in the night, year-long, I pore,
+Hoping to find her face again,
+  Too fair a face to see no more--
+  And 'twas so soft a name she bore.
+
+Sometimes I think the book was Youth,
+  And the dead man that wrote it I,
+The face was Beauty, the name Truth--
+  And thus, with an unseeing eye,
+  I pass the long-sought image by.
+
+
+TIME, BEAUTY'S FRIEND
+
+"Is she still beautiful?" I asked of one
+  Who of the unforgotten faces told
+That for long years I had not looked upon--
+  "Beautiful still--but she is growing old";
+And for a space I sorrowed, thinking on
+  That face of April gold.
+
+Then up the summer night the moon arose,
+  Glassing her sacred beauty in the sea,
+That ever at her feet in silver flows;
+  And with her rising came a thought to me--
+How ever old and ever young she grows,
+  And still more lovely she.
+
+Thereat I smiled, thinking on lovely things
+  That dateless and immortal beauty wear,
+Whereof the song immortal tireless sings,
+  And Time but touches to make lovelier;
+On Beauty sempiternal as the Spring's--
+  So old are all things fair.
+
+Then for that face I cast aside my fears,
+  For changing Time is Beauty's changeless friend,
+That never reaches but for ever nears,
+  Tireless the old perfections to transcend,
+Fairness more fair to fashion with the years,
+  And loveliest to end.
+
+
+YOUNG LOVE
+
+Young love, all rainbows in the lane,
+  Brushed by the honeysuckle vines,
+Scattered the wild rose in a dream:
+  A sweeter thing his arm entwines.
+
+Ah, redder lips than any rose!
+  Ah, sweeter breath than any bee
+Sucks from the heart of any flower;
+  Ah, bosom like the Summer sea!
+
+A fairy creature made of dew
+  And moonrise and the songs of birds,
+And laughter like the running brook,
+  And little soft, heart-broken words.
+
+Haunted as marble in the moon,
+  Her whiteness lies on young love's breast.
+And living frankincense and myrrh
+  Her lips that on his lips are pressed.
+
+Her eyes are lost within his eyes,
+  His eyes in hers are fathoms deep;
+Death is not stiller than these twain
+  That smile as in a magic sleep.
+
+I heard him say as they went by,
+  Two human flowers in the dew:
+"Darling, ah, God, if you should die,
+  You know, that moment I die, too."
+
+I heard her say: "I could not live
+  An hour without you"; heard her say:
+"My life is in your hands to keep,
+  To keep, or just to throw away."
+
+I heard him say: "For just us two
+  The world was made, the stars above
+Move in their orbits, to this end:
+  That you and I should meet and love."
+
+I heard her say: "And God himself
+  Has us in keeping, heart to heart;
+In his great book our names are writ--
+The Book of Those that Never Part."
+
+"How strange it is!" I heard him say;
+  "How strange!" and yet again, "How strange!
+To meet at last, and know this love
+  Of ours can never fade or change."
+
+"How strange to think that you are mine,
+  Each little hair of your dear head,
+And no one else's in the world--
+  How strange it is!" the woman said.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I stand aside to let them pass,
+  My Autumn face they never see;
+Their eyes are on the rising sun,
+  But 'tis the setting sun for me.
+
+For me no wild rose in the lane,
+  But only sad autumnal flowers,
+And falling shadows and old sighs,
+  And melancholy drift of hours!
+
+
+
+
+LOVERS
+
+They sit within a woodland place,
+  Trellised with rustling light and shade;
+So like a spirit is her face
+  That he is half afraid
+  To speak--lest she should fade.
+
+Mysterious, beneath the boughs,
+  Like two enchanted shapes, they are,
+Whom Love hath builded them a house
+  Of little leaf and star,
+  And the brown evening jar.
+
+So lovely and so strange a thing
+  Each is to each to look upon,
+They dare not hearken a bird sing,
+  Or from the other one
+  Take eyes--lest they be gone.
+
+So still--the watching woodland peers
+  And pecks about them, butterflies
+Light on her hand--a flower; eve hears
+  Two questions, two replies--
+  O love that never dies!
+
+
+FOR A PICTURE BY ROSE CECIL O'NEIL
+
+Kisses are long forgotten of this twain,
+  Kisses and words--the sweet small prophecies
+That run before the Lord of Love: the fain
+  Touch of the hand, and feasting of the eyes,
+All tendrilled sweets that blossom at the door
+  Of the stern doom, whose ecstacy is this--
+  The end of all small speech of word or kiss,
+And whose strange name is Love--and one name more.
+
+One is this twain past power of speech to tell,
+  Each lost in each, and each for ever found;
+Drained is the cup that holds both heaven and hell;
+  Peace deep as peace of those divinely drowned
+  In leagues of moonlit water wraps them round,
+And it is well with them--yea! it is well.
+
+
+LOVE IN SPAIN
+
+You shall not dare to drink this cup,
+Yet fear this other I hold up--
+Sings Love in Spain:
+
+One brimming deep with woman's breath--
+This other moon-lit cup is Death;
+Drink one, drink twain.
+
+No sippers we of ladies' lips,
+Toyers of amorous finger tips,
+Are we in Spain.
+
+Terrible like a bright sweet sword,
+And little tender is the Lord
+Of Love in Spain.
+
+His song a tiger-throated thing,--
+A crouch, a cry, a frightened string;
+Death the refrain.
+
+Scarlet and lightning are its words,
+There is no room in it for birds
+And flowers in Spain.
+
+A flash, and mouth is lost on mouth,
+And life on life; so in the South
+The cup we drain.
+
+We do not dream and hesitate
+About its brim; we fear not Fate
+That love in Spain.
+
+And ah! come hear the reason why--
+There are no girls beneath the sky
+Like those of Spain.
+
+All other women scarcely seem
+More than pale women in a dream
+By ours of Spain.
+
+Ah! who aright shall tell their praise,--
+Their subtle, soft, imperious ways,
+Their high disdain.
+
+Golden as bars of Spanish gold,
+Hot as the sun, as the moon cold,
+The girls of Spain.
+
+Their faces as magnolias white,
+Their hair the soul of summer night,
+Soft as soft rain;
+
+And swift as the steel blade that flies
+Into a coward's heart their eyes,
+Then soft again.
+
+Under their little languid feet,
+That carry such a world of sweet,
+My heart lies slain.
+
+Girls North and South, and East and West,
+But fairer far than all the rest
+The girls of Spain.
+
+
+THE EYES THAT COME FROM IRELAND
+
+Don't you love the eyes that come from Ireland?
+  The grey-blue eyes so strangely grey and blue,
+    The fighting loving eyes,
+    The eyes that tell no lies--
+Don't you love the eyes that come from Ireland?
+
+Don't you love the eyes that come from Ireland?
+  The dreaming mocking eyes that see you through,
+The eyes that smile and smile,
+    With the heart-break all the while,--
+Don't you love the eyes that come from Ireland?
+
+Don't you love the eyes that come from Ireland?
+  The eyes that hate of England made so blue,
+    The mystic eyes that see
+    More than Saxon you and me--
+Don't you love the eyes that come from Ireland?
+
+
+A BALLAD OF THE KIND LITTLE CREATURES
+
+I had no where to go,
+  I had no money to spend:
+"O come with me," the Beaver said,
+  "I live at the world's end."
+
+"Does the world ever end!"
+  To the Beaver then said I:
+"O yes! the green world ends," he said,
+  "Up there in the blue sky."
+
+I walked along with him to home,
+  At the edge of a singing stream--
+The little faces in the town
+  Seemed made out of a dream.
+
+I sat down in the little house,
+  And ate with the kind things--
+Then suddenly a bird comes out
+  Of the bushes, and he sings:
+
+"Have you no home? O take my nest,
+  It almost is the sky;"
+And then there came along the creek
+  A purple dragon-fly.
+
+"Have you no home?" he said;
+  "O come along with me,
+Get on my wings--the moon's my home"--
+  The dragon-fly said he.
+
+The Bee was told by a young Bat
+  A man had need of home;
+He flew away at once, and said
+  "Come to my honeycomb!"
+
+Even the butterfly,
+  A painted hour;
+Said to the homeless one:
+  "I know a flower."
+
+The Ant came slowly,
+  Late, of course, but still
+Bringing the tiny welcome
+  Of his hill.
+
+The tired turtle,
+  Fumbling through the wood,
+Came, asking hospitably
+  "If I would?"
+
+Even a hornet came,
+  With sheathed sting,--
+He never yet had seen
+  So lost a thing!
+
+There was his nest
+  Up in the singing boughs,
+Among the pears,
+  A fragrant humming house.
+
+And even little
+  Stupid things that crawl
+Among the reeds, deeming
+  That that is all,
+Came a long weary way
+  To bid me home.
+
+A snake said:
+  "In the world there is a place
+Where you can lie
+  And dream of her white face."
+
+The moss said: "Your blue eyes
+  Need my green sleep";
+The willow said: "Ah! when
+  You weep I weep."
+
+Wonderful earth
+  Of little kindly things,
+That buzz and beam
+  And flitter little wings!
+
+Over the sexton's grave
+  The growing grass
+Cried out: "Come home!
+  I am alive, alas!"
+
+         ENVOI
+Ah! love, the world is fading,
+  Flower by flower,
+Each has his little house,
+  And each his hour.
+
+The ship rocked long
+  Across the weary sea,
+But at the last
+  There is a port for me.
+
+
+BLUE FLOWER
+
+Blue flower waving in the wind,
+  Say whose blue eyes
+Lift up your swaying fragile stem
+  To the blue skies.
+
+Is she a queen that lies asleep
+  In a green hill,
+With all her silver ornaments
+  Around her still?
+
+Or is she but a simple girl,
+  Whose boy was drowned,
+In some cold sea, some stormy morn,
+  On some blue sound?
+
+
+THE HEART UNSEEN
+
+So many times the heart can break,
+  So many ways,
+Yet beat along and beat along
+  So many days.
+
+A fluttering thing we never see,
+  And only hear
+When some stern doctor to our side
+  Presses his ear.
+
+Strange hidden thing, that beats and beats
+  We know not why,
+And makes us live, though we indeed
+  Would rather die.
+
+Mysterious, fighting, loving thing,
+  So sad, so true--
+I would my laughing eyes some day
+  Might look on you.
+
+
+THE SHIMMER OF THE SOUND
+
+In the long shimmer of the Sound
+May I some day be laughing found,
+Part of its restless to and fro,
+A humble worker of the tides
+That round the sleepless planet flow,
+And in the rock and drift of things--
+
+_(O how the sea-weed sways and swings!
+Is it her hair--has she been found
+In the long shimmer of the Sound!)_
+
+Do some small task I do not know--
+O maybe help the mussel grow,
+Or tint the shell-imprisoned pearl--
+
+A mute companion of the waves
+That toss within their moonlit graves--
+Is it a king, or but a girl?
+
+And, all the while, she sings and sings,
+And waves her wild white hands with glee,
+Mysterious sister of the world,
+That singing water called the sea.
+
+(_O tell me was this sea-weed found
+In the long shimmer of the Sound!_)
+
+
+A SONG OF SINGERS
+
+Singers all along the street,
+Singing every kind of song--
+One man's song is honey-sweet,
+One man's song is hammer-strong;
+Yet, however sweet the singing,
+However strong the hammer-swinging,--
+All the bees are round that honey
+Which the vulgar world calls money.
+
+Singers all along the street--
+One sings Love and one sings Death,
+Roses sings one and little feet,
+And one sings wine with fevered breath;
+Yet all the bees are round that honey
+Which the vulgar world calls money.
+
+Singers singing down the street,
+I believe there is a song,
+Could you sing it, that would beat
+All the sweet and all the strong;
+Just a simple song of pity,
+'Mid the iron of the city.
+
+Singers all the street along,
+There is still another song
+All the world is waiting, breathless,
+Just to hear some poet singing,
+Song of something gay and deathless
+'Mid the grinding dark endeavour
+That goes on and on for ever,
+Something more than mere words bringing,
+
+Something more than butterflies,
+Or the sugared ancient lies,
+Something with the ring of truth,
+And the majesty of youth,
+Something singing "all is well"
+In the blackest pit of hell!
+
+O we are so tired of birds,
+Of rainbows and the love-sick words!
+Sing us but some manly tune,
+(Leaving out the rising moon)
+Sing the song of Hope Eternal
+In the face of Facts Infernal,
+And make your singing somehow prove it--
+Faith so firm no doubt can move it--
+Then the bees will leave the honey
+Which the vulgar world calls money.
+
+
+THE END
+
+Tell me, strange heart, so mysteriously beating--
+  Unto what end?
+Body and soul so mysteriously meeting,
+  Strange friend and friend;
+Hand clasped in hand so mysteriously faring,
+Say what and why all this dreaming and daring,
+  This sowing and reaping and laughing and weeping,
+  That ends but in sleeping--
+  Only one meaning, only--the End.
+
+Ah! all the love, the gold glory, the singing,--
+  Unto what end?
+Flowers of April immortally springing,
+  Face of one's friend,
+Stars of the morning and moon in her quarters,
+Shining of suns and running of waters,
+  Growing and blowing and snowing and flowing,--
+  Ah! where are they going?
+  All on one journey, all to--the End.
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10457 ***
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+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #10457 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10457)
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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Lonely Dancer and Other Poems, by Richard
+Le Gallienne
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: The Lonely Dancer and Other Poems
+
+Author: Richard Le Gallienne
+
+Release Date: December 14, 2003  [eBook #10457]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: US-ASCII
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LONELY DANCER AND OTHER
+POEMS***
+
+
+E-text prepared by Brendan Lane, Carol David, and Project Gutenberg
+Distributed Proofreaders
+
+
+
+THE LONELY DANCER AND OTHER POEMS
+
+BY
+
+RICHARD LE GALLIENNE
+
+1913
+
+
+
+
+
+
+WITH A FRONTISPIECE PORTRAIT BY
+
+IRMA LE GALLIENNE
+
+
+
+
+TO
+
+IRMA
+
+ALL THE WAY
+
+
+Not all my treasure hath the bandit Time
+  Locked in his glimmering caverns of the Past:
+Fair women dead and friendships of old rhyme,
+  And noble dreams that had to end at last:--
+Ah! these indeed; and from youth's sacristy
+  Full many a holy relic hath he torn,
+Vessels of mystic faith God filled for me,
+  Holding them up to Him in life's young morn.
+
+All these are mine no more--Time hath them all,
+  Time and his adamantine gaoler Death:
+Despoilure vast--yet seemeth it but small,
+  When unto thee I turn, thy bloom and breath
+Filling with light and incense the last shrine,
+  Innermost, inaccessible,--yea, thine.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+THE LONELY DANCER
+
+I
+
+FLOS AEVORUM
+"ALL THE WORDS IN ALL THE WORLD"
+"I SAID--I CARE NOT"
+"ALL THE WIDE WORLD IS BUT THE THOUGHT OF YOU"
+"LIGHTNINGS MAY FLICKER ROUND MY HEAD"
+"THE AFTERNOON IS LONELY FOR YOUR FACE"
+"SORE IN NEED WAS I OF A FAITHFUL FRIEND"
+"I THOUGHT, BEFORE MY SUNLIT TWENTIETH YEAR"
+
+II
+
+TO A BIRD AT DAWN
+ALMA VENUS
+"AH! DID YOU EVER HEAR THE SPRING"
+APRIL
+MAY IS BUILDING HER HOUSE
+SHADOW
+JUNE
+GREEN SILENCE
+SUMMER SONGS
+TO A WILD BIRD
+"I CROSSED THE ORCHARD WALKING HOME"
+"I MEANT TO DO MY WORK TO-DAY"
+"HOW FAST THE YEAR IS GOING BY"
+AUGUST MOONLIGHT
+TO A ROSE
+INVITATION
+SUMMER GOING
+AUTUMN TREASURE
+WINTER
+THE MYSTIC FRIENDS
+THE COUNTRY GODS
+
+III
+
+TO ONE ON A JOURNEY
+HER PORTRAIT IMMORTAL
+SPRING'S PROMISES
+"APRIL IS IN THE WORLD AGAIN"
+"SINGING GO I"
+"WHO WAS IT SWEPT AGAINST MY DOOR"
+"FACE IN THE TOMB THAT LIES SO STILL"
+"I KNOW NOT IN WHAT PLACE"
+RESURRECTION
+"WHEN THE LONG DAY HAS FADED"
+"HER EYES ARE BLUEBELLS NOW"
+"THE DEAD AROSE"
+"THE BLOOM UPON THE GRAPE"
+THE FRIEND
+ADORATION
+"AT LAST I GOT A LETTER FROM THE DEAD"
+
+IV
+
+SONGS FOR FRAGOLETTA
+
+V
+
+A BALLAD OF WOMAN
+AN EASTER HYMN
+BALLAD OF THE SEVEN O'CLOCK WHISTLE
+MORALITY
+
+VI
+
+FOR THE BIRTHDAY OF EDGAR ALLAN POE
+TO RALPH WALDO EMERSON
+RICHARD WATSON GILDER
+IN A COPY OF FITZGERALD'S "OMAR"
+
+VII
+
+A BALLAD OF TOO MUCH BEAUTY
+SPRING IN THE PARIS CATACOMBS
+A FACE IN A BOOK
+TIME, BEAUTY'S FRIEND
+YOUNG LOVE
+LOVERS
+FOR A PICTURE BY ROSE CECIL O'NEIL
+LOVE IN SPAIN
+THE EYES THAT COME FROM IRELAND
+A BALLAD OF THE KIND LITTLE CREATURES
+BLUE FLOWER
+THE HEART UNSEEN
+THE SHIMMER OF THE SOUND
+A SONG OF SINGERS
+THE END
+
+
+
+THE LONELY DANCER
+
+I had no heart to join the dance,
+  I danced it all so long ago--
+Ah! light-winged music out of France,
+  Let other feet glide to and fro,
+Weaving new patterns of romance
+  For bosoms of new-fallen snow.
+
+But leave me thus where I may hear
+  The leafy rustle of the waltz,
+The shell-like murmur in my ear,
+  The silken whisper fairy-false
+Of unseen rainbows circling near,
+  And the glad shuddering of the walls.
+
+Another dance the dancers spin,
+  A shadow-dance of mystic pain,
+And other partners enter in
+  And dance within my lonely brain--
+The swaying woodland shod in green,
+  The ghostly dancers of the rain;
+
+The lonely dancers of the sea,
+  Foam-footed on the sandy bar,
+The wizard dance of wind and tree,
+  The eddying dance of stream and star;
+Yea, all these dancers tread for me
+  A measure mournful and bizarre:
+
+An echo-dance where ear is eye,
+  And sound evokes the shapes of things,
+Where out of silence and a sigh
+  The sad world like a picture springs,
+As, when some secret bird sweeps by,
+  We see it in the sound of wings.
+
+Those human feet upon the floor,
+  That eager pulse of rhythmic breath,--
+How sadly to an unknown shore
+  Each silver footfall hurryeth;
+A dance of autumn leaves, no more,
+  On the fantastic wind of death.
+
+Fire clasped to elemental fire,
+  'Tis thus the solar atom whirls;
+The butterfly in aery gyre,
+  On autumn mornings, swarms and swirls,
+In dance of delicate desire,
+  No other than these boys and girls.
+
+The same strange music everywhere,
+  The woven paces just the same,
+Dancing from out the viewless air
+  Into the void from whence they came;
+Ah! but they make a gallant flare
+  Against the dark, each little flame!
+
+And what if all the meaning lies
+  Just in the music, not in those
+Who dance thus with transfigured eyes,
+  Holding in vain each other close;
+Only the music never dies,
+  The dance goes on,--the dancer goes.
+
+A woman dancing, or a world
+  Poised on one crystal foot afar,
+In shining gulfs of silence whirled,
+  Like notes of the strange music are;
+Small shape against another curled,
+  Or dancing dust that makes a star.
+
+To him who plays the violin
+  All one it is who joins the reel,
+Drops from the dance, or enters in;
+  So that the never-ending wheel
+Cease not its mystic course to spin,
+  For weal or woe, for woe or weal.
+
+
+I
+
+FLOS AEVORUM
+
+You must mean more than just this hour,
+  You perfect thing so subtly fair,
+Simple and complex as a flower,
+  Wrought with such planetary care;
+How patient the eternal power
+  That wove the marvel of your hair.
+
+How long the sunlight and the sea
+  Wove and re-wove this rippling gold
+To rhythms of eternity;
+  And many a flashing thing grew old,
+Waiting this miracle to be;
+  And painted marvels manifold,
+
+Still with his work unsatisfied,
+  Eager each new effect to try,
+The solemn artist cast aside,
+  Rainbow and shell and butterfly,
+As some stern blacksmith scatters wide
+  The sparks that from his anvil fly.
+
+How many shells, whorl within whorl,
+  Litter the marges of the sphere
+With wrack of unregarded pearl,
+  To shape that little thing your ear:
+Creation, just to make one girl,
+  Hath travailed with exceeding fear.
+
+The moonlight of forgotten seas
+  Dwells in your eyes, and on your tongue
+The honey of a million bees,
+  And all the sorrows of all song:
+You are the ending of all these,
+  The world grew old to make you young.
+
+All time hath traveled to this rose;
+  To the strange making of this face
+Came agonies of fires and snows;
+  And Death and April, nights and days
+Unnumbered, unimagined throes,
+  Find in this flower their meeting place.
+
+Strange artist, to my aching thought
+  Give answer: all the patient power
+That to this perfect ending wrought,
+  Shall it mean nothing but an hour?
+Say not that it is all for nought
+  Time brings Eternity a flower.
+
+All the words in all the world
+  Cannot tell you how I love you,
+All the little stars that shine
+  To make a silver crown above you;
+
+
+"ALL THE WORDS IN ALL THE WORLD"
+
+All the flowers cannot weave
+  A garland worthy of your hair,
+Not a bird in the four winds
+  Can sing of you that is so fair.
+
+Only the spheres can sing of you;
+  Some planet in celestial space,
+Hallowed and lonely in the dawn,
+  Shall sing the poem of your face.
+
+
+"I SAID--I CARE NOT"
+
+I said--I care not if I can
+  But look into her eyes again,
+But lay my hand within her hand
+  Just once again.
+
+Though all the world be filled with snow
+  And fire and cataclysmal storm,
+I'll cross it just to lay my head
+  Upon her bosom warm.
+
+Ah! bosom made of April flowers,
+  Might I but bring this aching brain,
+This foolish head, and lay it down
+  On April once again!
+
+
+"ALL THE WIDE WORLD IS BUT THE THOUGHT OF YOU"
+
+All the wide world is but the thought of you:
+Who made you out of wonder and of dew?
+Was it some god with tears in his deep eyes,
+Who loved a woman white and over-wise,
+That strangely put all violets in your hair--
+And put into your face all distance too?
+
+
+"LIGHTNINGS MAY FLICKER ROUND MY HEAD"
+
+Lightnings may flicker round my head,
+  And all the world seem doom,
+If you, like a wild rose, will walk
+  Strangely into the room.
+
+If only my sad heart may hear
+  Your voice of faery laughter--
+What matters though the heavens fall,
+  And hell come thundering after.
+
+
+"THE AFTERNOON IS LONELY FOR YOUR FACE"
+
+The afternoon is lonely for your face,
+  The pampered morning mocks the day's decline--
+  I was so rich at noon, the sun was mine,
+Mine the sad sea that in that rocky place
+  Girded us round with blue betrothal ring.
+  Because your heart was mine, your heart, that precious thing.
+
+The night will be a desert till the dawn,
+  Unless you take some ferry-boat of dreams,
+  And glide to me, a glory of silver beams,
+Under my eyelids, like sad curtains drawn;
+  So, by good hap, my heart can find its way
+  Where all your sweetness lies in fragrant disarray.
+
+Ah! but with morn the world begins anew,
+  Again the sea shall sing up to your feet,
+  And earth and all the heavens call you sweet,
+You all alone with me, I all alone with you,
+  And all the business of the laurelled hours
+  Shyly to gaze on that betrothal ring of ours.
+
+
+"SORE IN NEED WAS I OF A FAITHFUL FRIEND"
+
+Sore in need was I of a faithful friend,
+  And it seemed to me that life
+Had come to its much desired end--
+  Just then God gave me a wife.
+
+I had seen the beauty of fairy things,
+  And seen the women walk;
+I had heard the voice of the seven sins
+  And all the wonderful talk.
+
+Ah, the promising earth that seems so kind,
+  And the comrades with outstretched hand--
+But did you ever stand alone
+  In a black, forsaken land?
+Then the wonderful things that God can do
+  One comes to understand:
+
+How He turns the desert dust to a dream,
+  And the lonely wind to a friend,
+And makes a bright beginning
+  Of what had seemed the end:
+'Twas in such an hour God placed in mine
+  The moonbeam hand of a friend.
+
+
+"I THOUGHT, BEFORE MY SUNLIT TWENTIETH YEAR"
+
+I thought, before my sunlit twentieth year,
+That I knew Love, and Death that goes with it;
+And my young broken heart in little songs,
+Dew-like, I poured, and waited for my end
+Wildly--and waited--being then nineteen.
+I walked a little longer on my way,
+Alive, 'gainst expectation and desire,
+And, being then past twenty, I beheld
+The face of all the faces of the world
+Dewily opening on its stem for me.
+Ah! so it seemed, and, each succeeding year,
+Thus hath some woman blossom of the divine
+Flowered in my path, and made a frail delay
+In my true journey--to my home in thee.
+
+October 27, 1911.
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+TO A BIRD AT DAWN
+
+O bird that somewhere yonder sings,
+  In the dim hour 'twixt dreams and dawn,
+Lone in the hush of sleeping things,
+  In some sky sanctuary withdrawn;
+Your perfect song is too like pain,
+And will not let me sleep again.
+
+I think you must be more than bird,
+  A little creature of soft wings,
+Not yours this deep and thrilling word--
+  Some morning planet 'tis that sings;
+Surely from no small feathered throat
+  Wells that august, eternal note.
+
+As some old language of the dead,
+  In one resounding syllable,
+Says Rome and Greece and all is said--
+  A simple word a child may spell;
+So in your liquid note impearled
+Sings the long epic of the world.
+
+Unfathomed sweetness of your song,
+  With ancient anguish at its core,
+What womb of elemental wrong,
+  With shudder unimagined, bore
+Peace so divine--what hell hath trod
+This voice that softly talks with God!
+
+All silence in one silver flower
+  Of speech that speaks not, save as speaks
+The moon in heaven, yet hath power
+  To tell the soul the thing it seeks.
+And pack, as by some wizard's art,
+The whole within the finite part.
+
+To you, sweet bird, one well might feign--
+  With such authority you sing
+So clear, yet so profound, a strain
+  Into the simple ear of spring--
+Some secret understanding given
+Of the hid purposes of Heaven.
+
+And all my life until this day,
+  And all my life until I die,
+All joy and sorrow of the way,
+  Seem calling yonder in the sky;
+And there is something the song saith
+That makes me unafraid of death.
+
+Now the slow light fills all the trees,
+  The world, before so still and strange,
+With day's familiar presences,
+  Back to its common self must change,
+And little gossip shapes of song
+The porches of the morning throng.
+
+Not yours with such as these to vie
+  That of the day's small business sing,
+Voice of man's heart and of God's sky--
+  But O you make so deep a thing
+Of joy, I dare not think of pain
+Until I hear you sing again.
+
+
+ALMA VENUS
+
+Only a breath--hardly a breath! The shore
+Is still a huddled alabaster floor
+Of shelving ice and shattered slabs of cold,
+Stern wreckage of the fiercely frozen wave,
+Gleaming in mailed wastes of white and gold;
+As though the sea, in an enchanted grave,
+Of fearful crystal locked, no more shall stir
+Softly, all lover, to the April moon:
+Hardly a breath! yet was I now aware
+Of a most delicate balm upon the air,
+Almost a voice that almost whispered "soon"!
+
+Not of the earth it was--no living thing
+Moves in the iron landscape far or near,
+Saving, in raucous flight, the winter crow,
+Staining the whiteness with its ebon wing,
+Or silver-sailing gull, or 'mid the drear
+Rock cedars, like a summer soul astray,
+A lone red squirrel makes believe to play,
+Nibbling the frozen snow.
+
+Not of the earth, that hath not scent nor song,
+Nor hope of aught, nor memory, nor dream,
+Nor any speech upon its sullen tongue,
+Nor any liberty of running stream;
+Not of the earth, that hath forgot to smile;
+But, strangely wafted o'er the frozen sea,
+As from some hidden Cytherean isle,
+Veil within veil, the sweetness came to me.
+
+Beyond the heaving glitter of the floe,
+The free blue water sparkles to the sky,
+Losing itself in brightness; to and fro
+Long bands of mists trail luminously by,
+And, as behind a screen, on the sea's rim
+Hid softnesses of sunshine come and go,
+And shadowy coasts in sudden glory swim--
+O land made out of distance and desire!--
+With ports of mystic pearl and crests of fire.
+
+Thence, somewhere in the spaces of the sea,
+Travelled this halcyon breath presaging Spring;
+Over the water even now secretly
+She maketh ready in her hands to bring
+Blossom and blade and wing;
+And soon the wave shall ripple with her feet,
+And her wild hair be blown about the skies,
+
+And with her bosom all the world grow sweet,
+And blue with the sea-blue of her deep eyes
+The meadow, like another sea, shall flower,
+And all the earth be song and singing shower;
+While watching, in some hollow of the grass
+By the sea's edge, I may behold her stand,
+With rosy feet, upon the yellow sand,
+Pause in a dream, and to the woodland pass.
+
+
+"AH! DID YOU EVER HEAR THE SPRING"
+
+Ah! did you ever hear the Spring
+  Calling you through the snow,
+Or hear the little blackbird sing
+  Inside its egg--or go
+To that green land where grass begins,
+  Each tiny seed, to grow?
+
+O have you heard what none has heard,
+  Or seen what none has seen;
+O have you been to that strange land
+  Where no one else has been!
+
+
+APRIL
+
+April, half-clad in flowers and showers,
+  Walks, like a blossom, o'er the land;
+She smiles at May, and laughing takes
+  The rain and sunshine hand in hand.
+
+So gay the dancing of her feet,
+  So like a garden her soft breath,
+So sweet the smile upon her face,
+  She charms the very heart of death.
+
+The young moon in a trance she holds
+  Captive in clouds of orchard bloom,
+She snaps her fingers at the grave,
+  And laughs into the face of doom.
+
+Yet in her gladness lurks a fear,
+  In all her mirth there breathes a sigh,
+So soon her pretty flowers are gone--
+  And ah! she is too young to die!
+
+
+MAY IS BUILDING HER HOUSE
+
+May is building her house. With apple blooms
+She is roofing over the glimmering rooms;
+Of the oak and the beech hath she builded its beams,
+And, spinning all day at her secret looms,
+With arras of leaves each wind-swayed wall
+She pictureth over, and peopleth it all
+  With echoes and dreams,
+  And singing of streams.
+
+May is building her house of petal and blade;
+Of the roots of the oak is the flooring made,
+With a carpet of mosses and lichen and clover,
+  Each small miracle over and over,
+And tender, travelling green things strayed.
+
+Her windows the morning and evening star,
+And her rustling doorways, ever ajar
+  With the coming and going
+  Of fair things blowing,
+The thresholds of the four winds are.
+
+May is building her house. From the dust of things
+She is making the songs and the flowers and the wings;
+  From October's tossed and trodden gold
+  She is making the young year out of the old;
+Yea! out of winter's flying sleet
+  She is making all the summer sweet,
+  And the brown leaves spurned of November's feet
+She is changing back again to spring's.
+
+
+SHADOW
+
+When leaf and flower are newly made,
+And bird and butterfly and bee
+Are at their summer posts again;
+When all is ready, lo! 'tis she,
+Suddenly there after soft rain--
+The deep-lashed dryad of the shade.
+
+Shadow! the fairest gift of June,
+Gone like the rose the winter through,
+Save in the ribbed anatomy
+Of ebon line the moonlight drew,
+Stark on the snow, of tower or tree,
+Like letters of a dead man's rune.
+
+Dew-breathing shade! all summer lies
+In the cool hollow of thy breast,
+Thou moth-winged creature darkly fair;
+The very sun steals down to rest
+Within thy swaying tendrilled hair,
+And forest-flicker of thine eyes.
+
+Made of all shapes that flit and sway,
+And mass, and scatter in the breeze,
+And meet and part, open and close;
+Thou sister of the clouds and trees,
+Thou daintier phantom of the rose,
+Thou nun of the hot and honeyed day.
+
+Misdeemed art thou of those who hold
+Darkness thy soul, thy dwelling place
+Night and its stars; nay! all of light
+Wert though begot, all flowers thy face,
+And, hushed in thee, all colours bright
+Hide from the noon their blue and gold.
+
+Thy voice the song of hidden rills,
+The sigh deep-bosomed silence heaves
+From the full heart of happy things,--
+The lap of water-lily leaves,
+The noiseless language of the wings
+Of evening making strange the hills.
+
+
+JUNE
+
+We thought that winter, love, would never end,
+  That the dark year had slain the innocent May,
+  Nor hoped that your soft hand, this summer day,
+Would lie, as now, in mine, beloved friend;
+  And, like some magic spring, your dream-deep eyes
+  Hold all the summer skies.
+
+But lo! the world again is mad with flowers,
+  The long white silence spake, small bird by bird,
+Blade after blade, amid the song of showers,
+  The grass stole back once more, and there was heard
+The ancient music of the vernal spheres,
+Half laughter and half tears.
+
+Ah! love, and now too swiftly, like some groom,
+  Raining hot kisses on his bride's young mouth,
+  The mad young year, delirious with the South,
+Squanders his fairy treasure, bloom on bloom;
+  Too soon the wild rose hastens to be sweet,
+  Too swift, O June, thy feet.
+
+Tarry a little, summer, crowd not so
+  All glory and gladness in so brief a day,
+Teach all thy dancing flowers a step more slow,
+  And bid thy wild musicians softlier play,
+O hast thou thought, that like a madman spends,
+The longest summer ends.
+
+
+GREEN SILENCE
+
+Silence, whose drowsy eyelids are soft leaves,
+  And whose half-sleeping eyes are the blue flowers,
+On whose still breast the water-lily heaves,
+  For all her speech the whisper of the showers.
+
+Made of all things that in the water sway,
+  The quiet reed kissing the arrowhead,
+The willows murmuring, all a summer day,
+  "Silence"--sweet word, and ne'er so softly said
+
+As here along this path of brooding peace,
+  Where all things dream, and nothing else is done
+But all such gentle businesses as these
+  Of leaves and rippling wind, and setting sun
+
+Turning the stream to a long lane of gold,
+  Where the young moon shall walk with feet of pearl,
+And, framed in sleeping lilies, fold on fold,
+  Gaze at herself, like any mortal girl.
+
+
+SUMMER SONGS
+
+I
+
+How thick the grass,
+  How green the shade--
+All for love
+  And lovers made.
+
+Wood-lilies white
+  As hidden lace--
+Open your bodice,
+  That's their place.
+
+See how the sun-god
+  Overpowers
+The summer lying
+  Deep in flowers;
+
+With burning kisses
+  Of bright gold
+Fills her young womb
+  With joy untold;
+
+And all the world
+  Is lad and lass,
+A blue sky
+  And a couch of grass.
+
+Summer is here--
+  let us drain
+It all! it may
+  Not come again.
+
+
+II
+
+How the leaves thicken
+  On the boughs,
+And the birds make
+ Their lyric vows.
+
+O the beating, breaking
+  Heart of things,
+The pulse and passion--
+  How it sings.
+
+How it burns and flames
+  And showers,
+Lusts and laughs, flowers
+  And deflowers.
+
+
+III
+
+Summer came,
+Rose on rose;
+Leaf on leaf,
+Summer goes.
+
+Summer came,
+Song on song;
+O summer had
+A golden tongue.
+
+Summer goes,
+Sigh on sigh;
+Not a rose
+Sees him die.
+
+
+TO A WILD BIRD
+
+Wild bird, I stole you from your nest,
+  And cannot find your nest again;
+To hear you chirp a little while
+  I wrung your mother's heart with pain.
+
+And here you sit and droop and die,
+  Nor any love that I can bring
+Wins me forgiveness for the wrong,
+  Nor any kindness makes you sing.
+
+
+"I CROSSED THE ORCHARD WALKING HOME"
+
+I crossed the orchard, walking home,
+  The rising moon was at my back,
+The apples and the moonlight fell
+  Together on the railroad track.
+
+Then, speeding through the evening dews,
+  A dozen lighted windows glide--
+The East-bound flyer for New York,
+  Soft as a magic-lantern slide.
+
+New York! on through the sleeping flowers,
+  Through echoing midnight on to noon;
+How strange that yonder is New York,
+  And here such silence and the moon.
+
+
+"I MEANT TO DO MY WORK TO-DAY"
+
+I meant to do my work to-day--
+  But a brown bird sang in the apple-tree,
+And a butterfly flitted across the field,
+  And all the leaves were calling me.
+
+And the wind went sighing over the land,
+  Tossing the grasses to and fro,
+And a rainbow held out its shining hand--
+  So what could I do but laugh and go?
+
+
+"HOW FAST THE YEAR IS GOING BY"
+
+How fast the year is going by!
+  Love, it will be September soon;
+  O let us make the best of June.
+Already, love, it is July;
+  The rose and honeysuckle go,
+  And all too soon will come the snow.
+
+Dark berries take the place of flowers,
+  Of summer August still remains,
+  Then sad September with her rains.
+O love, how short a year is ours--
+  So swiftly does the summer fly,
+  Scarce time is left to say goodbye.
+
+
+
+AUGUST MOONLIGHT
+
+The solemn light behind the barns,
+  The rising moon, the cricket's call,
+The August night, and you and I--
+  What is the meaning of it all!
+
+Has it a meaning, after all?
+  Or is it one of Nature's lies,
+That net of beauty that she casts
+  Over Life's unsuspecting eyes?
+
+That web of beauty that she weaves
+  For one strange purpose of her own,--
+For this the painted butterfly,
+  For this the rose--for this alone!
+
+Strange repetition of the rose,
+  And strange reiterated call
+Of bird and insect, man and maid,--
+  Is that the meaning of it all?
+
+If it means nothing, after all!
+  And nothing lives, except to die--
+It is enough--that solemn light
+  Behind the barns, and you and I.
+
+
+TO A ROSE
+
+O rose! forbear to flaunt yourself,
+  All bloom and dew--
+I once, sad-hearted as I am,
+  Was young as you.
+
+But, one by one, the petals fell
+  Earthward to rot;
+Only a berry testifies
+  A rose forgot.
+
+
+INVITATION
+
+Unless you come while still the world is green,
+  A place of birds and the blue dreaming sea,
+In vain has all the singing summer been,
+  Unless you come, and share it all with me.
+
+Ah! come, ere August flames its heart away,
+  Ere, like a golden widow, autumn goes
+Across the woodlands, sad with thoughts of May,
+  An aster in her bosom for a rose.
+
+
+SUMMER GOING
+
+Crickets calling,
+Apples falling.
+
+Summer dying,
+Life is flying.
+
+So soon over--
+Love and lover.
+
+
+AUTUMN TREASURE
+
+Who will gather with me the fallen year,
+This drift of forgotten forsaken leaves,
+Ah! who give ear
+To the sigh October heaves
+At summer's passing by!
+Who will come walk with me
+On this Persian carpet of purple and gold
+The weary autumn weaves,
+And be as sad as I?
+Gather the wealth of the fallen rose,
+And watch how the memoried south wind blows
+Old dreams and old faces upon the air,
+And all things fair.
+
+
+WINTER
+
+Winter, some call thee fair,
+Yea! flatter thy cold face
+With vain compare
+Of all thy glittering ways
+And magic snows
+With summer and the rose;
+Thy phantom flowers
+And fretted traceries
+Of crystal breath,
+Thy frozen and fantastic art of death,
+With April as she showers
+The violet on the leas,
+And bares her bosom
+In the blossoming trees,
+And dances on her way
+To laugh with May--
+Winter that hath no bird
+To sing thee, and no bloom
+To deck thy brow:
+To me thou art an empty haunted room,
+Where once the music
+Of the summer stirred,
+And all the dancers
+Fallen on silence now.
+
+
+THE MYSTIC FRIENDS
+
+I nothing did all yesterday
+But listen to the singing rain
+On roof and weeping window-pane,
+And, 'whiles I'd watch the flying spray
+And smoking breakers in the bay:
+Nothing but this did I all day--
+
+Save turn anon to trim the fire
+With a new log, and mark it roar
+And flame with yellow tongues for more
+To feed its mystical desire.
+No other comrades save these three,
+The fire, the rain, and the wild sea,
+
+All day from morn till night had I--
+Yea! and the wind, with fitful cry,
+Like a hound whining at the door.
+
+Yet seemed it, as to sleep I turned,
+Pausing a little while to pray,
+That not mis-spent had been the day;
+That I had somehow wisdom learned
+From those wild waters in the bay,
+And from the fire as it burned;
+And that the rain, in some strange way,
+Had words of high import to say;
+And that the wind, with fitful cry,
+Did some immortal message try,
+Striving to make some meaning clear
+Important for my soul to hear.
+
+But what the meaning of the rain,
+And what the wisdom of the fire,
+And what the warning of the wind,
+And what the sea would tell, in vain
+My soul doth of itself enquire,--
+And yet a meaning too doth find:
+
+For what am I that hears and sees
+But a strange brother of all these
+That blindly move, and wordless cry,
+And I, mysteriously I,
+Answer in blood and bone and breath
+To what my gnomic kindred saith;
+And, as in me they all have part,
+Translate their message to my heart--
+
+And know, yet know not, what they say:
+Know not, yet know, the fire's tongue
+And the rain's elegiac song,
+And the white language of the spray,
+And all the wind meant yesterday--
+Yea! wiser he, when the day ends,
+Who shared it with those four strange friends.
+
+
+THE COUNTRY GODS
+
+I dwell, with all things great and fair:
+The green earth and the lustral air,
+The sacred spaces of the sea,
+Day in, day out, companion me.
+Pure-faced, pure-thoughted, folk are mine
+With whom to sit and laugh and dine;
+In every sunlit room is heard
+Love singing, like an April bird,
+And everywhere the moonlit eyes
+Of beauty guard our paradise;
+While, at the ending of the day,
+To the kind country gods we pray,
+And dues of our fair living pay.
+
+Thus, when, reluctant, to the town
+I go, with country sunshine brown,
+So small and strange all seems to me--
+the boonfellow of the sea--
+That these town-people say and be:
+Their insect lives, their insect talk,
+Their busy little insect walk,
+Their busy little insect stings--
+And all the while the sea-weed swings
+Against the rock, and the wide roar
+Rises foam-lipped along the shore.
+Ah! then how good my life I know,
+How good it is each day to go
+Where the great voices call, and where
+The eternal rhythms flow and flow.
+In that august companionship,
+The subtle poisoned words that drip,
+With guileless guile, from friendly lip,
+The lie that flits from ear to ear,
+Ye shall not speak, ye shall not hear;
+Nor shall you fear your heart to say,
+Lest he who listens shall betray.
+
+The man who hearkens all day long
+To the sea's cosmic-thoughted song
+Comes with purged ears to lesser speech,
+And something of the skyey reach
+Greatens the gaze that feeds on space;
+The starlight writes upon his face
+That bathes in starlight, and the morn
+Chrisms with dew, when day is born,
+The eyes that drink the holy light
+Welling from the deep springs of night.
+
+And so--how good to catch the train
+Back to the country gods again.
+
+
+III
+
+
+TO ONE ON A JOURNEY
+
+Why did you go away without one word,
+  Wave of the hand, or token of good-bye,
+Nor leave some message for me with flower or bird,
+  Some sign to find you by;
+
+Some stray of blossom on the winter road,
+  To know your feet had gone that very way,
+Told me the star that points to your abode,
+  And tossed me one faint ray
+
+To climb from out the night where now I
+    dwell--
+  Or, seemed it best for you to go alone
+To heaven, as alone I go to hell
+  Upon the four winds blown.
+
+
+HER PORTRAIT IMMORTAL
+
+Must I believe this beauty wholly gone
+  That in her picture here so deathless seems,
+And must I henceforth speak of her as one
+  Tells of some face of legend or of dreams,
+Still here and there remembered--scarce believed,
+Or held the fancy of a heart bereaved.
+
+So beautiful she--was; ah! "was," say I,
+  Yet doubt her dead--I did not see her die.
+Only by others borne across the sea
+ Came the incredible wild blasphemy
+They called her death--as though it could be true
+Of such an immortality as you!
+
+True of these eyes that from her picture gaze,
+  Serene, star-steadfast, as the heaven's own eyes;
+Of that deep bosom, white as hawthorn sprays,
+  Where my world-weary head forever lies;
+True of these quiet hands, so marble-cool,
+Still on her lap as lilies on a pool.
+
+Must I believe her dead--that this sweet clay,
+  That even from her picture breathes perfume,
+Was carried on a fiery wind away,
+  Or foully locked in the worm-whispering tomb;
+This casket rifled, ribald fingers thrust
+'Mid all her dainty treasure--is _this_ dust!
+
+Once such a dewy marvel of a girl,
+  Warm as the sun, and ivory as the moon;
+All gone of her, all lost--except this curl
+  Saved from her head one summer afternoon,
+Tied with a little ribbon from her breast--
+This only mine, and Death's now all the rest.
+
+Must I believe it true! Bid me not go
+Where on her grave the English violets blow;
+Nay, leave me--if a dream, indeed, it be--
+Still in my dream that she is somewhere she,
+Silent, as was her wont. It is a lie--
+She is not dead--I did not see her die.
+
+
+SPRING'S PROMISES
+
+When the spring comes again, will you be there?
+  Three springs I watched and waited for your face,
+And listened for your voice upon the air;
+  I sought for you in many a hidden place,
+Saying, "She must be there."
+
+"Surely some magic slumber holds her fast,
+  She whose blue eyes were morning's earliest flowers,"
+I sighed: and, one by one, before me passed
+  The rainbowed daughters of the vernal showers,
+Saying, "She comes at last."
+
+Ah! broken promise of the world! how fair
+  You speak young hearts! In many a wanton word
+Of lyric April, each succeeding year,
+  By risen flower, and the returning bird,
+You vowed to bring back her.
+
+And now the flutes are in the trees once more,
+  The violets breathe up through the melting snow,
+Old Earth throws open wide her grassy door--
+  As if there were no violets long ago,
+Or any birds before.
+
+
+"APRIL IS IN THE WORLD AGAIN"
+
+April is in the world again,
+And all the world is filled with flowers--
+Flowers for others, not for me!
+For my one flower I cannot see,
+Lost in the April showers.
+
+I cannot wake her, though I sing,
+And all the birds, for her dear sake,
+Fill with their songs the wintry brake;
+Ah! could they make her rise again,
+What resurrection would be mine!
+Is she too tired to help the sun
+And all the little stars to shine?
+
+
+"SINGING GO I"
+
+Singing go I, seeking for ever a song
+  Sung long ago; I ask no more to hear
+Her voice that sang--for I should do her wrong,
+  Had I the power, to bring her once more near--
+
+Near to the earth, its sorrow or its joy,
+  To drag her back into the arms of pain
+  And Love and all the April flowers again
+And all her little dreams of heaven destroy.
+
+Have I the heart? Ah! had I but the song,
+ The nightingale would listen and all things
+ That talk in waterfalls and trees and strings
+Would hush themselves to listen as I sang,
+  Had I the song.
+
+
+"WHO WAS IT SWEPT AGAINST MY DOOR"
+
+Who was it swept against my door just now,
+With rustling robes like Autumn's--was it thou?
+Ah! would it were thy gown against my door--
+Only thy gown once more.
+
+Sometimes the snow, sometimes the fluttering breath
+Of April, as toward May she wandereth,
+Make me a moment think that it is thou--
+But yet it is not thou!
+
+
+"FACE IN THE TOMB THAT LIES SO STILL"
+
+Face in the tomb, that lies so still,
+  May I draw near,
+And watch your sleep and love you,
+  Without word or tear.
+
+You smile, your eyelids flicker;
+  Shall I tell
+How the world goes that lost you?
+  Shall I tell?
+
+Ah! love, lift not your eyelids;
+  'Tis the same
+Old story that we laughed at,--
+  Still the same.
+
+We knew it, you and I,
+  We knew it all:
+Still is the small the great,
+  The great the small;
+
+Still the cold lie quenches
+  The flaming truth,
+And still embattled age
+  Wars against youth.
+
+Yet I believe still in the ever-living God
+  That fills your grave with perfume,
+Writing your name in violets across the sod,
+  Shielding your holy face from hail and snow;
+  And, though the withered stay, the lovely go,
+No transitory wrong or wrath of things
+Shatters the faith--that each slow minute brings
+
+That meadow nearer to us where your feet
+  Shall flicker near me like white butterflies--
+That meadow where immortal lovers meet,
+  Gazing for ever in immortal eyes.
+
+
+"I KNOW NOT IN WHAT PLACE"
+
+I know not in what place again I'll meet
+The face I love--but there is not a street
+In the wide world where you can wander, sweet,
+Without my finding you, with those great eyes;
+Nor is there any star in all the skies
+Can give you shelter from my pitiless love.
+
+
+RESURRECTION
+
+Is it your face I see, your voice I hear?
+  Your face, your voice, again after these years!
+O is your cheek once more against my cheek?
+  And is this blessed rain, angel, your tears?
+
+You have come back,--how strange--out of the grave;
+  Its dreams are in your eyes, and still there clings
+Dust of the grave on your vainglorious hair;
+  And a mysterious rust is on these rings--
+
+The ring we gave each other, that young night
+  When the moon rose on our betrothal kiss;
+When the sun rose upon our wedding day,
+  How wonderful it was to give you this!
+
+I dreamed you were a bird or a wild flower,
+  Some changed lovely thing that was not you;
+Maybe, I said, she is the morning star,
+  A radiance unfathomably far--
+
+And now again you are so strangely near!
+  Your face, your voice, again after these years!
+Is it your face I see, your voice I hear,
+  And is this blessed rain, angel, your tears?
+
+
+"WHEN THE LONG DAY HAS FADED"
+
+When the long day has faded to its end,
+The flowers gone, and all the singing done,
+And there is no companion left save Death--
+Ah! there is one,
+Though in her grave she lies this many a year,
+Will send a violet made of her blue eyes,
+A flowering whisper of her April breath,
+Up through the sleeping grass to comfort me,
+And in the April rain her tears shall fall.
+
+
+"HER EYES ARE BLUEBELLS NOW"
+
+Her eyes are bluebells now, her voice a bird,
+  And the long sighing grass her elegy;
+She who a woman was is now a star
+  In the high heaven shining down on me.
+
+
+"THE DEAD AROSE"
+
+The dead arose. Long had they dreamed,
+Deep in the grass of the still grave,
+Of meeting their beloved once more.
+They knocked at each familiar door.
+They waited eagerly to see
+The old loved faces at the door,
+They waited for a voice to say
+The same old words it said before--
+They knocked at each familiar door.
+But no one answered to the dead,
+No voice of welcome, no kind word!
+Only a little flower came out,
+And one small elegiac bird.
+
+
+"THE BLOOM UPON THE GRAPE"
+
+The bloom upon the grape I ask no more,
+Nor pampered fragrance of the soft-lipped rose,
+I only ask of Him who keeps the Door--
+To open it for one who fearless goes
+Into the dark, from which, reluctant, came
+His innocent heart, a little laughing flame;
+I only ask that he who gave me sight,
+Who gave me hearing and who gave me breath,
+Give me the last gift in His flaming hand--
+The holy gift of Death.
+
+
+THE FRIEND
+
+Through the dark wood
+  There came to me a friend,
+Bringing in his cold hands
+  Two words--'The End.'
+
+His face was fair
+  As fading autumn flowers,
+And the lost joy
+  Of unforgotten hours.
+
+His voice was sweet
+  As rain upon a grave;
+'Be brave,' he smiled.
+  And yet again--'be brave.'
+
+
+ADORATION
+
+Ah, if you worship anything,
+In deepest hush of silence bend
+The lone adoring knee,
+And only silence bring
+Into the sanctuary.
+Trust not the fairest word
+Your soul to wrong:
+Even the Rose's bird
+Hath not a song
+Sweet as the silence
+Round about the Rose.
+Ah, something goes,
+Fails, and is lost in speech
+That silence knows.
+How should I speak
+The hush about my heart
+That holds your name
+Shrined in a burning core
+Of central flame,
+Like names of seraphim
+Mystically writ on cloud?
+To speak your name aloud
+Were to unhallow
+Such a holy thing;
+Therefore I bring
+To your white feet
+And your immortal eyes
+Silence forever,
+But in such a wise
+Am silent as the quiet waters are,
+Hiding some holy star
+Amid hushed lilies
+In a secret lake.
+Ah, if a ripple break
+The stillness halcyon--
+The star is gone!
+
+"AT LAST I GOT A LETTER FROM THE DEAD"
+
+At last I got a letter from the dead,
+And out of it there fell a little flower,--
+The violet of an unforgotten hour.
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+SONGS FOR FRAGOLETTA
+
+
+I
+
+Fragoletta, blessed one,
+What think you of the light of the sun?
+Do you think the dark was best,
+Lying snug in mother's breast?
+Ah! I knew that sweetness, too,
+Fragoletta, before you!
+But, Fragoletta, now you're born,
+You must learn to love the morn,
+Love the lovely working light,
+Love the miracle of sight,
+Love the thousand things to do--
+Little girl, I envy you!--
+Love the thousand things to see,
+Love your mother, and--love me!
+And some night, Fragoletta, soon,
+I'll take you out to see the moon;
+And for the first time, child of ours,
+You shall--think of it!--look on flowers,
+And smell them, too, if you are good,
+And hear the green leaves in the wood
+Talking, talking, all together
+In the happy windy weather;
+And if the journey's not too far
+For little limbs so lately made,
+Limb upon limb like petals laid,
+We'll go and picnic in a star.
+
+
+II
+
+Blue eyes looking up at me,
+I wonder what you really see,
+Lying in your cradle there,
+Fragrant as a branch of myrrh.
+Helpless little hands and feet,
+O so helpless! O so sweet!
+Tiny tongue that cannot talk,
+Tiny feet that cannot walk,
+Nothing of you that can do
+Aught, except those eyes of blue.
+How they open, how they close!
+Eyelids of the baby-rose,
+Open and shut, so blue, so wise,
+Baby-eyelids, baby-eyes.
+
+
+III
+
+That, Fragoletta, is the rain
+Beating upon the window-pane;
+But lo! the golden sun appears,
+To kiss away the window's tears.
+That, Fragoletta, is the wind
+That rattles so the window-blind;
+And yonder shining thing's a star,
+Blue eyes,--you seem ten times as far.
+That, Fragoletta, is a bird
+That speaks, yet never says a word;
+Upon a cherry-tree it sings,
+Simple as all mysterious things;
+Its little life to peck and pipe
+As long as cherries ripe and ripe,
+And minister unto the need
+Of baby-birds that feed and feed.
+This, Fragoletta, is a flower,
+Open and fragrant for an hour,
+A flower, a transitory thing,
+Each petal fleeting as a wing,
+All a May morning blows and blows,
+And then for everlasting goes.
+
+
+IV
+
+Blue eyes, against the whiteness pressed
+Of little mother's hallowed breast,
+The while your trembling lips are fed,
+Look up at mother's bended head,
+All benediction over you--
+blue eyes looking into blue!
+Fragoletta is so small,
+We wonder that she lives at all--
+Tiny alabaster girl,
+Hardly bigger than a pearl;
+That is why we take such care,
+Lest someone runs away with her.
+
+
+V
+
+
+
+A BALLAD OF WOMAN
+_(Gratefully Dedicated to Mrs. Pankhurst_)
+
+
+She bore us in her dreaming womb,
+  And laughed into the face of Death;
+She laughed, in her strange agony,--
+  To give her little baby breath.
+
+Then, by some holy mystery,
+  She fed us from her sacred breast,
+Soothed us with little birdlike words--
+To rest--to rest--to rest--to rest;
+
+Yea, softly fed us with her life--
+  Her bosom like the world in May:
+Can it be true that men, thus fed,
+  Feed women--as I hear them say?
+
+Long ere we grew to girl and boy,
+  She sewed the little things we wore,
+And smiled unto herself for joy--
+  Mysterious Portress of the Door.
+
+Shall she who bore the son of God,
+  And made the rose of Sappho's song,
+She who saved France, and beat the drum
+  Of freedom, brook this vulgar wrong?
+
+I wonder if such men as these
+  Had once a sister with blue eyes,
+Kind as the soothing hand of God,
+  And as the quiet heaven wise.
+
+I wonder if they ever saw
+  A soldier lying on a bed
+On some lone battle-field, and watched
+  Some holy woman bind his head.
+
+I wonder if they ever walked,
+  Lost in a black and weary land,
+And suddenly a flower came
+  And took them softly by the hand.
+
+I wonder if they ever heard
+  The silver scream, in some grey morn,
+High in a lit and listening tower,
+  Because a man-child then was born.
+
+I wonder if they ever saw
+  A woman's hair, or in her eye
+Read the eternal mystery--
+  Or ever saw a woman die.
+
+I wonder, when all friends had gone,--
+  The gay companions, the brave men--
+If in some fragile girl they found
+  Their only stay and comrade then.
+
+She who thus went through flaming hell
+  To make us, put into our clay
+All that there is of heaven, shall she--
+  Mother and sister, wife and fay,--
+
+Have no part in the world she made--
+  Serf of the rainbow, vassal flower--
+Save knitting in the afternoon,
+  And rocking cradles, hour by hour!
+
+
+AN EASTER HYMN
+
+Spake the Lord Christ--"I will arise."
+  It seemed a saying void and vain--
+  How shall a dead man rise again!--
+Vain as our tears, vain as our cries.
+  Not one of all the little band
+  That loved Him this might understand.
+
+"I will arise"--Lord Jesus said.
+  Hearken, amid the morning dew,
+  Mary, a voice that calleth you,--
+Then Mary turned her golden head,
+  And lo! all shining at her side
+  Her Master they had crucified.
+
+At dawn to his dim sepulchre,
+  Mary, remembering that far day,
+  When at his feet the spikenard lay,
+Came, bringing balm and spice and myrrh;
+  To her the grave had made reply:
+  "He is not here--He cannot die."
+
+Praetor and priest in vain conspire,
+  Jerusalem and Rome in vain
+  Torture the god with mortal pain,
+To quench that seed of living fire;
+  But light that had in heaven its birth
+  Can never be put out oh earth.
+
+"I will arise"--across the years,
+  Even as to Mary that grey morn,
+  To us that gentle voice is borne--
+"I will arise." He that hath ears
+  O hearken well this mystic word,
+  Let not the Master speak unheard.
+
+No soul descended deep in hell,
+  The child of sorrow, sin and death,
+  The immortal spirit suffereth
+To see corruption; though it fell
+  From loftiest station in the skies,
+  It still to heaven again must rise.
+
+No dream of faith, no seed of love,
+  No lonely action nobly done,
+  But is as stable as the sun,
+And fed and watered from above;
+  From nether base to starry cope
+  Nature's two laws are Faith and Hope.
+
+Safe in the care of heavenly powers,
+  The good we dreamed but might not do,
+  Lost beauty magically new,
+Shall spring as surely as the flowers,
+  When, 'mid the sobbing of the rain,
+  The heart of April beats again.
+
+Celestial spirit that doth roll
+  The heart's sepulchral stone away,
+  Be this our resurrection day,
+The singing Easter of the soul:
+  O Gentle Master of the Wise
+  Teach us to say, "I will arise."
+
+
+BALLAD OF THE SEVEN O'CLOCK WHISTLE
+
+The daisied dawn is in the sky,
+And the young day still dew and dream,
+When on the innocent morning air
+There comes a terrifying scream;
+
+And the four ends of the sad earth
+Repeat the hellish dreadful call;
+Soft ladies murmur in soft beds--
+"The morning whistle--that is all!"
+
+And I too turn to sleep once more,
+A haunted sleep all filled with pain;
+For in my sleep I see the men,
+The victims of colossal Gain,
+
+Troop in the doors of servitude;
+I see the children weary-eyed,
+I see the time-clock, and I see
+The endless day that glooms inside.
+
+It is the Moloch of the dawn,
+Capital calling for its prey--
+Men, women and little boys and girls,
+It's human sacrifice each day.
+
+And, as I hear that dreadful scream,
+High in the dawn all filled with song,--
+I pray within my aching heart--"O Lord!
+O Lord! How long! How long!"
+
+
+MORALITY
+
+Give me the lifted skirt,
+  And the brave ways of wrong,
+The fist, the dagger and the sword,
+  And the out-spoken song.
+
+Ah! bring me not the love
+  That bargains, bids and buys:
+For so much loving I will give
+  So much in lips and eyes;
+
+But love with bosom bared,
+  Sweet as a bird and wild,
+That in her savage maidenhood
+  Cries for a little child.
+
+
+
+VI
+
+
+FOR THE BIRTHDAY OF EDGAR ALLAN POE
+
+(January 19, 1909)
+
+Poet of doom, dementia, and death,
+Of beauty singing in a charnel house,
+Like the lost soul of a poor moon-mad maid,
+With too much loving of some lord of hell;
+Doomed and disastrous spirit, to what shore
+Of what dark gulf infernal art thou strayed,
+Or to what spectral star of topless heaven
+Art lifted and enthroned?
+
+                       The winter dark,
+And the drear winter cold that welcomed thee
+To a world all winter, gird with ice and storm
+Thy January day--yea! the same world
+Of winter and the wintry hearts of men;
+And still, for all thy shining, the same swarm
+That mocked thy song gather about thy fame,
+With the small murmur of the undying worm,
+And whisper, blind and foul, amid thy dust.
+
+
+TO RALPH WALDO EMERSON
+
+Poet, whose words are like the tight-packed seed
+  Sealed in the capsule of a silver flower,
+Still at your art we wonder as we read,
+  The art dynamic charging each word with power.
+
+Seeds of the silver flower of Emerson:
+  One, on the winds to Scotland brought, did sink
+In Carlyle's heart; and one was lately blown
+  To Belgium, and flowered in--Maeterlinck.
+
+
+RICHARD WATSON GILDER
+(Obiit Nov. 18, 1909)
+
+America grows poorer day by day--
+Richer and richer, I have heard some say:
+They thought of a poor wealth I do not heed--
+For, one by one, the men who dreamed the dream
+That was America, and is now no more,
+Have gone in flame through that mysterious door,
+And scarcely one remains, in all our need.
+
+The dream goes with the dreamer--ah! beware,
+Country of facile silver and of gold,
+To slight the gentle strength of a pure prayer;
+America, all made out of a dream--
+A dream of good men in the days of old;
+What if the dream should fade and none remain
+To tell your children the old dream again!
+
+Therefore, with laurel and with tears and rue,
+Stand by his grave this sad November day,
+Sadder that he untimely goes away,
+Who sang and wrought so well for that high dream
+We call America--the world made new,
+New with clean hope and faith and purpose true.
+
+Gilder, your name, with each return of Spring,
+Shall write itself in the soft April flowers,
+And, when you hear the murmur of bright showers
+Over your sleep, and little lives that sing
+Come back once more, know that the rainbowed rain
+Is but our tears, saying: "Come back again."
+
+
+IN A COPY OF FITZGERALD'S "OMAR"
+
+A little book, this grim November day,
+Wherein, O tired heart, to creep away,--
+  Come drink this wine and wear this fadeless rose,
+  Nor heed the world, nor what the world shall say.
+
+A thousand gardens--yet to-day there blows
+In all their wintry walks no single rose,
+  But here with Omar you shall find the Spring
+  That fears no Autumn and eternal glows.
+
+So on the song-soft petals of his rhyme
+Pillow your head, as in some golden clime,
+  And let the beauty of eternity
+Smooth from your brow the little frets of time.
+
+
+
+VII
+
+
+A BALLAD OF TOO MUCH BEAUTY
+
+There is too much beauty upon this earth
+  For lonely men to bear,
+Too many eyes, too enchanted skies,
+  Too many things too fair;
+And the man who would live the life of a man
+Must turn his eyes away--if he can.
+
+He must not look at the dawning day,
+  Or watch the rising moon;
+From the little feet, so white, so fleet,
+  He must turn his eyes away;
+And the flowers and the faces he must pass by
+With stern self-sacrificing eye.
+
+For beauty and duty are strangers forever,
+  Work and wonder ever apart,
+And the laws of life eternally sever
+  The ways of the brain from the ways of the heart;
+Be it flower or pearl, or the face of a girl,
+Or the ways of the waters as they swirl.
+
+Lo! beauty is sorrow, and sorrowful men
+  Have no heart to look on the face of the sky,
+Or hear the remorseful voice of the sea,
+Or the song of the wandering wind in the tree,
+  Or even watch a butterfly.
+
+
+SPRING IN THE PARIS CATACOMBS
+
+I saw strange bones to-day in Paris town,
+Deep in the quarried dark, while over-head
+The roar of glad and busy things went by--
+Over our heads--
+So many heads--
+Deep down, deep down--
+Those strange old bones deep down in Paris town:
+Heads where no longer dwell--
+Yet who shall tell!--
+Such thoughts as those
+That make a rose
+Of a maid's cheek,
+
+Filling it with such bloom--
+All fearless of the unsuspected doom--
+As flood wild April with such hushing breath
+That Death himself believes no more in Death.
+
+Yea! I went down
+Out of the chestnuts and the girl-filled town,
+Only a yard or two beneath the street,
+Haunted a little while by little feet,
+Going, did they but know, the self-same way
+As all those bones as white as the white May
+That roofs the orchards overhead with bloom.
+
+Perhaps I only dreamed,
+And yet to me it seemed
+That those old bones talked strangely each to each,
+Chattering together in forgotten speech--
+
+Speaking of Her
+That was so very fair,
+Telling of Him
+So strong
+He is a song
+Up there in the far day, where even yet
+Fools sing of fates and faces
+Even fools cannot forget.
+
+Faces went by, as haughty as of old,
+Wearing upon their heads the unminted gold
+That flowers in blackness only,
+And sad lips smiled softly, softly,
+Knowing well it was too late
+Even for Fate.
+
+Yet one shape that I never can forget
+Waved a wild sceptre at me, ruling yet
+An empire gone where all empires must go,
+Melting away as simply as the snow;
+Yet no one heeded the flower of his menace,
+As little heeded him as that One Face
+That suddenly I saw go wandering by,
+And saying as she went--"I--still--am--I!"
+
+And the dry bones thereat
+Rattled together, laughing, gossipping
+Together in the gloom
+That dared not sing,
+The little trivial gossip of the tomb--
+Ah! just as long ago, in their dry way,
+They mocked at fairy faces and strong eyes
+That of their foolish loving make us wise.
+
+Paris: May, 1913.
+
+
+A FACE IN A BOOK
+
+In an old book I found her face
+  Writ by a dead man long ago--
+I found, and then I lost the place;
+  So nothing but her face I know,
+  And her soft name writ fair below.
+
+Even if she lived I cannot learn,
+  Or but a dead man's dream she were;
+Page after yellow page I turn,
+  But cannot come again to her,
+  Although I know she must be there.
+
+On other books of other men,
+  Far in the night, year-long, I pore,
+Hoping to find her face again,
+  Too fair a face to see no more--
+  And 'twas so soft a name she bore.
+
+Sometimes I think the book was Youth,
+  And the dead man that wrote it I,
+The face was Beauty, the name Truth--
+  And thus, with an unseeing eye,
+  I pass the long-sought image by.
+
+
+TIME, BEAUTY'S FRIEND
+
+"Is she still beautiful?" I asked of one
+  Who of the unforgotten faces told
+That for long years I had not looked upon--
+  "Beautiful still--but she is growing old";
+And for a space I sorrowed, thinking on
+  That face of April gold.
+
+Then up the summer night the moon arose,
+  Glassing her sacred beauty in the sea,
+That ever at her feet in silver flows;
+  And with her rising came a thought to me--
+How ever old and ever young she grows,
+  And still more lovely she.
+
+Thereat I smiled, thinking on lovely things
+  That dateless and immortal beauty wear,
+Whereof the song immortal tireless sings,
+  And Time but touches to make lovelier;
+On Beauty sempiternal as the Spring's--
+  So old are all things fair.
+
+Then for that face I cast aside my fears,
+  For changing Time is Beauty's changeless friend,
+That never reaches but for ever nears,
+  Tireless the old perfections to transcend,
+Fairness more fair to fashion with the years,
+  And loveliest to end.
+
+
+YOUNG LOVE
+
+Young love, all rainbows in the lane,
+  Brushed by the honeysuckle vines,
+Scattered the wild rose in a dream:
+  A sweeter thing his arm entwines.
+
+Ah, redder lips than any rose!
+  Ah, sweeter breath than any bee
+Sucks from the heart of any flower;
+  Ah, bosom like the Summer sea!
+
+A fairy creature made of dew
+  And moonrise and the songs of birds,
+And laughter like the running brook,
+  And little soft, heart-broken words.
+
+Haunted as marble in the moon,
+  Her whiteness lies on young love's breast.
+And living frankincense and myrrh
+  Her lips that on his lips are pressed.
+
+Her eyes are lost within his eyes,
+  His eyes in hers are fathoms deep;
+Death is not stiller than these twain
+  That smile as in a magic sleep.
+
+I heard him say as they went by,
+  Two human flowers in the dew:
+"Darling, ah, God, if you should die,
+  You know, that moment I die, too."
+
+I heard her say: "I could not live
+  An hour without you"; heard her say:
+"My life is in your hands to keep,
+  To keep, or just to throw away."
+
+I heard him say: "For just us two
+  The world was made, the stars above
+Move in their orbits, to this end:
+  That you and I should meet and love."
+
+I heard her say: "And God himself
+  Has us in keeping, heart to heart;
+In his great book our names are writ--
+The Book of Those that Never Part."
+
+"How strange it is!" I heard him say;
+  "How strange!" and yet again, "How strange!
+To meet at last, and know this love
+  Of ours can never fade or change."
+
+"How strange to think that you are mine,
+  Each little hair of your dear head,
+And no one else's in the world--
+  How strange it is!" the woman said.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+I stand aside to let them pass,
+  My Autumn face they never see;
+Their eyes are on the rising sun,
+  But 'tis the setting sun for me.
+
+For me no wild rose in the lane,
+  But only sad autumnal flowers,
+And falling shadows and old sighs,
+  And melancholy drift of hours!
+
+
+
+
+LOVERS
+
+They sit within a woodland place,
+  Trellised with rustling light and shade;
+So like a spirit is her face
+  That he is half afraid
+  To speak--lest she should fade.
+
+Mysterious, beneath the boughs,
+  Like two enchanted shapes, they are,
+Whom Love hath builded them a house
+  Of little leaf and star,
+  And the brown evening jar.
+
+So lovely and so strange a thing
+  Each is to each to look upon,
+They dare not hearken a bird sing,
+  Or from the other one
+  Take eyes--lest they be gone.
+
+So still--the watching woodland peers
+  And pecks about them, butterflies
+Light on her hand--a flower; eve hears
+  Two questions, two replies--
+  O love that never dies!
+
+
+FOR A PICTURE BY ROSE CECIL O'NEIL
+
+Kisses are long forgotten of this twain,
+  Kisses and words--the sweet small prophecies
+That run before the Lord of Love: the fain
+  Touch of the hand, and feasting of the eyes,
+All tendrilled sweets that blossom at the door
+  Of the stern doom, whose ecstacy is this--
+  The end of all small speech of word or kiss,
+And whose strange name is Love--and one name more.
+
+One is this twain past power of speech to tell,
+  Each lost in each, and each for ever found;
+Drained is the cup that holds both heaven and hell;
+  Peace deep as peace of those divinely drowned
+  In leagues of moonlit water wraps them round,
+And it is well with them--yea! it is well.
+
+
+LOVE IN SPAIN
+
+You shall not dare to drink this cup,
+Yet fear this other I hold up--
+Sings Love in Spain:
+
+One brimming deep with woman's breath--
+This other moon-lit cup is Death;
+Drink one, drink twain.
+
+No sippers we of ladies' lips,
+Toyers of amorous finger tips,
+Are we in Spain.
+
+Terrible like a bright sweet sword,
+And little tender is the Lord
+Of Love in Spain.
+
+His song a tiger-throated thing,--
+A crouch, a cry, a frightened string;
+Death the refrain.
+
+Scarlet and lightning are its words,
+There is no room in it for birds
+And flowers in Spain.
+
+A flash, and mouth is lost on mouth,
+And life on life; so in the South
+The cup we drain.
+
+We do not dream and hesitate
+About its brim; we fear not Fate
+That love in Spain.
+
+And ah! come hear the reason why--
+There are no girls beneath the sky
+Like those of Spain.
+
+All other women scarcely seem
+More than pale women in a dream
+By ours of Spain.
+
+Ah! who aright shall tell their praise,--
+Their subtle, soft, imperious ways,
+Their high disdain.
+
+Golden as bars of Spanish gold,
+Hot as the sun, as the moon cold,
+The girls of Spain.
+
+Their faces as magnolias white,
+Their hair the soul of summer night,
+Soft as soft rain;
+
+And swift as the steel blade that flies
+Into a coward's heart their eyes,
+Then soft again.
+
+Under their little languid feet,
+That carry such a world of sweet,
+My heart lies slain.
+
+Girls North and South, and East and West,
+But fairer far than all the rest
+The girls of Spain.
+
+
+THE EYES THAT COME FROM IRELAND
+
+Don't you love the eyes that come from Ireland?
+  The grey-blue eyes so strangely grey and blue,
+    The fighting loving eyes,
+    The eyes that tell no lies--
+Don't you love the eyes that come from Ireland?
+
+Don't you love the eyes that come from Ireland?
+  The dreaming mocking eyes that see you through,
+The eyes that smile and smile,
+    With the heart-break all the while,--
+Don't you love the eyes that come from Ireland?
+
+Don't you love the eyes that come from Ireland?
+  The eyes that hate of England made so blue,
+    The mystic eyes that see
+    More than Saxon you and me--
+Don't you love the eyes that come from Ireland?
+
+
+A BALLAD OF THE KIND LITTLE CREATURES
+
+I had no where to go,
+  I had no money to spend:
+"O come with me," the Beaver said,
+  "I live at the world's end."
+
+"Does the world ever end!"
+  To the Beaver then said I:
+"O yes! the green world ends," he said,
+  "Up there in the blue sky."
+
+I walked along with him to home,
+  At the edge of a singing stream--
+The little faces in the town
+  Seemed made out of a dream.
+
+I sat down in the little house,
+  And ate with the kind things--
+Then suddenly a bird comes out
+  Of the bushes, and he sings:
+
+"Have you no home? O take my nest,
+  It almost is the sky;"
+And then there came along the creek
+  A purple dragon-fly.
+
+"Have you no home?" he said;
+  "O come along with me,
+Get on my wings--the moon's my home"--
+  The dragon-fly said he.
+
+The Bee was told by a young Bat
+  A man had need of home;
+He flew away at once, and said
+  "Come to my honeycomb!"
+
+Even the butterfly,
+  A painted hour;
+Said to the homeless one:
+  "I know a flower."
+
+The Ant came slowly,
+  Late, of course, but still
+Bringing the tiny welcome
+  Of his hill.
+
+The tired turtle,
+  Fumbling through the wood,
+Came, asking hospitably
+  "If I would?"
+
+Even a hornet came,
+  With sheathed sting,--
+He never yet had seen
+  So lost a thing!
+
+There was his nest
+  Up in the singing boughs,
+Among the pears,
+  A fragrant humming house.
+
+And even little
+  Stupid things that crawl
+Among the reeds, deeming
+  That that is all,
+Came a long weary way
+  To bid me home.
+
+A snake said:
+  "In the world there is a place
+Where you can lie
+  And dream of her white face."
+
+The moss said: "Your blue eyes
+  Need my green sleep";
+The willow said: "Ah! when
+  You weep I weep."
+
+Wonderful earth
+  Of little kindly things,
+That buzz and beam
+  And flitter little wings!
+
+Over the sexton's grave
+  The growing grass
+Cried out: "Come home!
+  I am alive, alas!"
+
+         ENVOI
+Ah! love, the world is fading,
+  Flower by flower,
+Each has his little house,
+  And each his hour.
+
+The ship rocked long
+  Across the weary sea,
+But at the last
+  There is a port for me.
+
+
+BLUE FLOWER
+
+Blue flower waving in the wind,
+  Say whose blue eyes
+Lift up your swaying fragile stem
+  To the blue skies.
+
+Is she a queen that lies asleep
+  In a green hill,
+With all her silver ornaments
+  Around her still?
+
+Or is she but a simple girl,
+  Whose boy was drowned,
+In some cold sea, some stormy morn,
+  On some blue sound?
+
+
+THE HEART UNSEEN
+
+So many times the heart can break,
+  So many ways,
+Yet beat along and beat along
+  So many days.
+
+A fluttering thing we never see,
+  And only hear
+When some stern doctor to our side
+  Presses his ear.
+
+Strange hidden thing, that beats and beats
+  We know not why,
+And makes us live, though we indeed
+  Would rather die.
+
+Mysterious, fighting, loving thing,
+  So sad, so true--
+I would my laughing eyes some day
+  Might look on you.
+
+
+THE SHIMMER OF THE SOUND
+
+In the long shimmer of the Sound
+May I some day be laughing found,
+Part of its restless to and fro,
+A humble worker of the tides
+That round the sleepless planet flow,
+And in the rock and drift of things--
+
+_(O how the sea-weed sways and swings!
+Is it her hair--has she been found
+In the long shimmer of the Sound!)_
+
+Do some small task I do not know--
+O maybe help the mussel grow,
+Or tint the shell-imprisoned pearl--
+
+A mute companion of the waves
+That toss within their moonlit graves--
+Is it a king, or but a girl?
+
+And, all the while, she sings and sings,
+And waves her wild white hands with glee,
+Mysterious sister of the world,
+That singing water called the sea.
+
+(_O tell me was this sea-weed found
+In the long shimmer of the Sound!_)
+
+
+A SONG OF SINGERS
+
+Singers all along the street,
+Singing every kind of song--
+One man's song is honey-sweet,
+One man's song is hammer-strong;
+Yet, however sweet the singing,
+However strong the hammer-swinging,--
+All the bees are round that honey
+Which the vulgar world calls money.
+
+Singers all along the street--
+One sings Love and one sings Death,
+Roses sings one and little feet,
+And one sings wine with fevered breath;
+Yet all the bees are round that honey
+Which the vulgar world calls money.
+
+Singers singing down the street,
+I believe there is a song,
+Could you sing it, that would beat
+All the sweet and all the strong;
+Just a simple song of pity,
+'Mid the iron of the city.
+
+Singers all the street along,
+There is still another song
+All the world is waiting, breathless,
+Just to hear some poet singing,
+Song of something gay and deathless
+'Mid the grinding dark endeavour
+That goes on and on for ever,
+Something more than mere words bringing,
+
+Something more than butterflies,
+Or the sugared ancient lies,
+Something with the ring of truth,
+And the majesty of youth,
+Something singing "all is well"
+In the blackest pit of hell!
+
+O we are so tired of birds,
+Of rainbows and the love-sick words!
+Sing us but some manly tune,
+(Leaving out the rising moon)
+Sing the song of Hope Eternal
+In the face of Facts Infernal,
+And make your singing somehow prove it--
+Faith so firm no doubt can move it--
+Then the bees will leave the honey
+Which the vulgar world calls money.
+
+
+THE END
+
+Tell me, strange heart, so mysteriously beating--
+  Unto what end?
+Body and soul so mysteriously meeting,
+  Strange friend and friend;
+Hand clasped in hand so mysteriously faring,
+Say what and why all this dreaming and daring,
+  This sowing and reaping and laughing and weeping,
+  That ends but in sleeping--
+  Only one meaning, only--the End.
+
+Ah! all the love, the gold glory, the singing,--
+  Unto what end?
+Flowers of April immortally springing,
+  Face of one's friend,
+Stars of the morning and moon in her quarters,
+Shining of suns and running of waters,
+  Growing and blowing and snowing and flowing,--
+  Ah! where are they going?
+  All on one journey, all to--the End.
+
+
+
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