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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/12475-0.txt b/12475-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3874629 --- /dev/null +++ b/12475-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3209 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12475 *** + +FIRES OF DRIFTWOOD + +BY ISABEL ECCLESTONE MACKAY +WITH DECORATIONS BY J.E.H. MACDONALD A.R.C.A. + +First published by McClelland & Stewart, Limited, Toronto, 1922. + + + +The thanks of the author are due to the editors of Ainslee's Magazine, +The American Magazine, The Canadian Magazine, Canadian Home Journal, +The Canadian Bookman, The Forum, The Globe, Harper's Magazine, +The Independent, The Ladies' World, McClure's Magazine, Metropolitan +Magazine, The Reader Magazine, Scribner's Magazine, Saturday Night, +and The Youth's Companion for permission to publish this verse +in its present form. + + +CONTENTS + + FIRES OF DRIFTWOOD + WHEN AS A LAD + LAUREATE + OUT OF BABYLON + LAST SPRING + PRESENCE + IN AN AUTUMN GARDEN + ROSE DOLORES + A PILGRIM + SPRING WILL COME + COSMOS + THE SECRET + I WATCH SWIFT PICTURES + FEAR + RESURRECTION + THE LOST NAME + THE HAPPY TRAVELLER + THE DEAD BRIDE + THE CROCUS BED + THE VISION + THE MIRACLE + THE HOMESTEADER + WET WEATHER + THE SLEEPING BEAUTY + DOWN AT THE DOCKS + LAKE LOUISE + THE GATEKEEPER + THE BRIDGE BUILDER + THE PRAIRIE SCHOOL + CALGARY STATION + VALE + THE WAY TO WAIT + THE PASSER BY + FIRST LOVE + SAD ONE, MUST YOU WEEP + JOSEPH + A CHRISTMAS CHILD + SPRING IN NAZARETH + INHERITANCE + SONG OF THE SLEEPER + THE TYRANT + THE GIFTS + THE TOWN BETWEEN + ON THE MOUNTAIN + THE PROPHET + GIVE ME A DAY + LITTLE BROWN BIRD + THE WATCHER + POSSESSION + TO ARCADY + THE FIELDS OF EVEN + I LOVE MY LOVE + SPRING AWOKE TO-DAY + IN TOWN + SUMMER'S PASSING + THE DOOM OF YS + TIME'S GARDEN + THE COMING OF LOVE + PREMONITION + THE CHILD + INTRUSION + THE SEA'S WITHHOLDING + LOVE UNKIND + CHRISTMAS IN HEAVEN + I WHISPERED TO THE BOB-O-LINK + YOU + THE MOTHER + THE VASSAL + THE TROUBADOUR + INDIAN SUMMER + THE UNCHANGED + INDIFFERENCE + LAST THINGS + CALLOUS CUPID + THE MEETING + THE PIPER + WANDERLUST + GOLD + THE MATERIALIST + TIR NAN OG + THE LITTLE MAN IN GREEN + THE ENCHANTRESS + THE BANSHEE + THE WITCH + FAIRY SINGING + KILLED IN ACTION + SPRING CAME IN + FROM THE TRENCHES + THE REASONS + TO-DAY + MEMORY + DREAM + PERHAPS + GLAMOUR + FRIENDSHIP + THE RETURNED MAN + EPITAPH + FOR ONE WHO WENT IN SPRING + + + + +Fires of Driftwood + + +ON what long tides +Do you drift to my fire, +You waifs of strange waters? +From what far seas, +What murmurous sands, +What desolate beaches-- +Flotsam of those glories that were ships! + +I gather you, +Bitter with salt, +Sun-bleached, rock-scarred, moon-harried, +Fuel for my fire. + +You are Pride's end. +Through all to-morrows you are yesterday. +You are waste, +You are ruin, +For where is that which once you were? + +I gather you. +See! I set free the fire within you-- +You awake in thin flame! +Tremulous, mistlike, your soul aspires, +Blue, beautiful, +Up and up to the clouds which are its kindred! +What is left is nothing-- +Ashes blown along the shore! + + + + +When as a Lad + + + WHEN, as a lad, at break of day + I watched the fishers sail away, +My thoughts, like flocking birds, would follow +Across the curving sky's blue hollow, + And on and on-- + Into the very heart of dawn! + + For long I searched the world--ah, me! + I searched the sky, I searched the sea, +With much of useless grief and rueing +Those winged thoughts of mine pursuing-- + So dear were they, + So lovely and so far away! + + I seek them still and always must + Until my laggard heart is dust +And I am free to follow, follow, +Across the curving sky's blue hollow, + Those thoughts too fleet + For any save the soul's swift feet! + + + + +Laureate + + +DEATH met a little child who cried +For a bright star which earth denied, +And Death, so sympathetic, kissed it, +Saying: "With me +All bright things be!"-- +And only the child's mother missed it. + +Death met a maiden on the brae, +Her eyes held dreams life would betray, +And gallant Death was greatly taken-- +"Leave," whispered he, +"Your dream with me +And I will see you never waken." + +Death met an old man in a lane; +So gnarled was he and full of pain +That kindly Death was struck with pity-- +"Come you with me, +Old man," said he, +"I'll set you down in a fair city." + +So, kingly Death along the way +Scatters rare gifts and asks no pay-- +Yet who to Death will write a sonnet? +If any dare, +Let him take care +No foolish tear be spilled upon it! + + + + +Out of Babylon + + +THEIR looks for me are bitter, + And bitter is their word-- +I may not glance behind unseen, + I may not sigh unheard. + +So fare we forth from Babylon, + Along the road of stone; +And no one looks to Babylon + Save I--save I alone! + +My mother's eyes are glory-filled + (Save when they fall on me) +The shining of my father's face + I tremble when I see, + +For they were slaves in Babylon, + And now they're walking free-- +They leave their chains in Babylon, + I bear my chains with me! + +At night a sound of singing + The vast encampment fills; +"Jerusalem! Jerusalem!" + It sweeps the nearing hills-- + +But no one sings of Babylon + (Their home of yesterday) +And no one prays for Babylon, + And I--I dare not pray! + +Last night the Prophet saw me; + And, while he held me there, +The holy fire within his eyes + Burned all my secret bare. + +"What! Sigh you so for Babylon?" + (I turned away my face) +"Here's one who turns to Babylon, + Heart traitor to her race!" + +I follow and I follow! + My heart upon the rack; +I follow to Jerusalem-- + The long road stretches back + +To Babylon, to Babylon! + And every step I take +Bears farther off from Babylon + A heart that cannot break. + + + + +Last Spring + + +THIS morning at the door + I heard the Spring. +Quickly I set it wide + And, welcoming, +"Come in, sweet Spring," I cried, +"The winter ash, long dried, +Waits but your breath to rise + On phantom wing." + +A brown leaf shivered by, + A soulless thing-- +My heart in quick dismay + Forgot to sing-- +Twisted and grim it lay, +Kin to the ghost-ash gray, +Dead, dead--strange herald this + Of jocund Spring! + +I spurned it from the door. + I longed that Spring +Should come with song and glow + And rush of wing, +Not this, not this!--But O +Dead leaf, a year ago +You were the dear first-born + Of Hope and Spring! + + + + +Presence + + +BY a sense of Presence, keenly dear, + I, who thought her distant, +Knew her near. + +By an echo that most sweetly woke, + I, long keyed to silence, +Knew she spoke. + +By her nearness and the word she said, + I, who thought her living, +Knew her dead. + + + + +In an Autumn Garden + + + TO-NIGHT the air discloses + Souls of a million roses, +And ghosts of hyacinths that died too soon; + From Pan's safe-hidden altar + Dim wraiths of incense falter +In waving spiral, making sweet the moon! + + Aroused from fragrant covers, + The vows of vanished lovers +Take voice in whisperings that rise and pass; + Where the crisped leaves are lying + A tremulous, low sighing +Breathes like a startled spirit o'er the grass. + + Ah, Love! in some far garden, + In Arcady or Arden, +We two were lovers! Hush--remember not + The years in which I've missed you-- + 'Twas yesterday I kissed you +Beneath this haunted moon! Have you forgot? + + + + +Rose Dolores + + +THE moan of Rose Dolores, she made her plaint to me, +"My hair is lifted by the wind that sweeps in from the sea; +I taste its salt upon my lips--O jailer, set me free!" + +"Content thee, Rose Dolores; content thee, child of care! +There's satin shoon upon thy feet and emeralds in thy hair, +And one there is who hungers for thy step upon the stair." + +The moan of Rose Dolores, "O jailer, set me free! +These satin shoon and green-lit gems are terrible to me; +I hear a murmur on the wind, the murmur of the sea!" + +"Bethink thee, Rose Dolores, bethink thee, ere too late! +Thou wert a fisher's child, alack, born to a fisher's fate; +Would'st lay thy beauty 'neath the yoke--would'st be a fisher's mate?" + +The moan of Rose Dolores "Kind jailer, let me go! +There's one who is a fisher--ah! my heart beats cold and slow +Lest he should doubt I love him--I! who love not heaven so!" + +"Alas, sweet Rose Dolores, why beat against the bars? +Thy fisher lover drifteth where the sea is full of stars; +Why weep for one who weeps no more?--since grief thy beauty mars!" + +The moan of Rose Dolores (she prayed me patiently) +"O jailer, now I know who called from out the calling sea, +I know whose kiss was in the wind--O jailer, set me free!" + + + + +A Pilgrim + + +ACROSS the trodden continent of years + To shrines of long ago, +My heart, a hooded pilgrim, turns with tears-- + For could I know +That in the temple of thy constancy +There still may burn a taper lit for me, + 'Twould be a star in starless heaven, to show +That Heaven could be. + +Bent with the weight of all that I desired + And all that I forswore, +My heart roams, mendicant, forlorn and tired, + From door to door, +Begging of every stern-faced memory +An alms of pity--just to come to thee, + No more thy knight, thy champion no more-- +Only thy devotee! + + + + +Spring will Come + + +SPRING will come to help me: she'll be back again, + Back with the soft sun, the sun I knew before. + She will wear her green gown, the emerald gown she wore +When the white-faced windflowers blew along the lane. + +Spring will come to help me: When her waking sigh + Drifts across my sore heart all the pain will go. + How shall hearts be aching when larks are flying low, +Low across the fields of camas bluer than the sky? + +I've a tryst with Spring here--maybe they'll be few + Now the world grows older--and shall I delay + Just because a Winter has stolen joy away? +What cares Spring for old joys, all her joys are new. + +Maybe there'll be singing in my sorrow yet-- + I have heard of such things--but, if there be not, + Still there'll be the green pool in the pasture lot, +All a-trail with willow fingers, delicate and wet. + +Winter is a passing thing and Spring is always gay; + If she, too, be passing she does not weep to know it. + Time she takes to quicken seed but never time to grow it-- +Naught she cares for harvest that lies so far away. + + + + +Cosmos + + +THE tiny thing of painted gauze that flutters in the sun +And sinks upon the breast of night with all its living done; + +The unconsidered seed that from the garden blows away, +Blooming its little time to bloom in one short summer day; + +The leaf the idle wind shakes down in autumn from the tree, +The grasshopper who for an hour makes gayest minstrelsy-- + +These--and this restless soul of mine--are one with flaming spheres +And cold, dead moons whose ghostly fires haunt unremembered years. + + + + +The Secret + + +IF I should tell you what I know +Of where the first primroses grow, + Betray the secrets of the lily, + Bring crocus-gold and daffodilly, +Would you tell me if charm there be + To win a maiden, willy-nilly? + +I lie upon the fragrant heath, +Kin to the beating heart beneath; + The nesting plover I discover + Nor stir the scented screen above her, +Yet am I blind--I cannot find + What turns a maiden to her lover! + +Through all the mysteries of May, +Initiate, I take my way-- + Sure as the blithest lark or linnet + To touch the pulsing soul within it-- +Yet with no art to reach Her heart, + Nor skill to teach me how to win it! + + + + +I Watch Swift Pictures + + +I WATCH swift pictures flash and fade + On the closed curtains of my eyes,-- +A bit of river green as jade + Under green skies; + +A single bird that soars and dips + Remote; a young and secret moon +Stealing to kiss some flower's lips + Too shy for noon; + +A pointing tree; a lifted hill, + Sun-misted with a golden ring,-- +Were these once mine? And am I still + Remembering? + +A path that wanders wistfully + With no beginning there nor here, +Nor special grace that it should be + So sharply dear, + +Unless,--what if when every day + Is yesterday, with naught to borrow, +I may slip down this wistful way + Into to-morrow? + + + + +Fear + + +I HEARD a sound of crying in the lane, + A passionless, low crying, +And I said, "It is the tears of the brown rain + On the leaves within the lane!" + +I heard a sudden sighing at the door, + A soft, persuasive sighing, +And I said, "The summer breeze has sighed before, + Gustily, outside the door!" + +Yet from the place I fled, nor came again, + With my heart beating, beating! +For I knew 'twas not the breeze nor the brown rain + At the door and in the lane! + + + + +Resurrection + + +I BURIED Joy; and early to the tomb +I came to weep--so sorrowful was I +Who had not dreamed that Joy, my Joy, could die. + +I turned away, and by my side stood Joy +All glorified--ah, so ashamed was I +Who dared to dream that Joy, my Joy, could die! + + + + +The Lost Name + + +THE voice of my true love is low + And exquisitely kind, +Warm as a flower, cold as snow-- + I think it is the Wind. + +My true love's face is white as mist + That moons have lingered on, +Yet rosy as a cloud, sun-kissed-- + I think it is the Dawn. + +The breath of my true love is sweet + As gardens at day's close +When dew and dark together meet-- + I think it is a Rose. + +My true love's heart is wild and shy + And folded from my sight, +A world, a star, a whispering sigh-- + I think it is the Night. + +My true love's name is lost to me, + The prey of dusty years, +But in the falling Rain I see + And know her by her tears! + + + + +The Happy Traveller + + +WHO is the monarch of the Road? + I, the happy rover! +Lord of the way which lies before + Up to the hill and over-- +Owner of all beneath the blue, +On till the end, and after, too! + +I am the monarch of the Road! + Mine are the keys of morning, +I know where evening keeps her store + Of stars for night's adorning, +I know the wind's wild will, and why +The lone thrush hurries down the sky! + +I am the monarch of the Road! + My court I hold with singing, +Each bird a gay ambassador, + Each flower a censer, swinging; +And every little roadside thing +A wonder to confound a king. + +I am the monarch of the Road! + I ask no leave for living; +I take no less, I seek no more + Than nature's fullest giving-- +And ever, westward with the day, +I travel to the far away! + + + + +The Dead Bride + + +WITHIN my circled arm she lay and faintly smiled the long night through, +And oh, but she was fair to view, fair to view! + +Upon the whiteness of her robe the dew distilled, and on her veil +And on her cheek of carved pearl that gleamed so pale. + +(How still the air is in the night, how near and kind the heavens are, +One might a naked hand outstretch and grasp a star!) + +I kissed her heavy, folded hair. I kissed her heavy lids full oft; +Beneath the shining of the stars her eyes shone soft. + +"Love, Love!" I said, "the day was long"--"Oh, long indeed," she sighing said. +"I grow so jealous of the sun, since I am dead." + +(How sweet the air is in the night, how sweet, sweet, sweet the flowers seem-- +But oh, the emptiness of dawn that breaks the dream!) + + + + +The Crocus Bed + + +YELLOW as the noonday sun, +Purple as a day that's done, +White as mist that lingers pale +On the edge of morning's veil, +Delicate as love's first kiss-- +Crocuses are just like this. + +Ere the robin paints his breast, +Ere the daffodil is drest, +Ere the iris' lovely head +Waves above her perfumed bed +Comes the crocus--and the Spring +Follows after, wing on wing! + +Sweet perfection, holding up +Magic dew in topaz cup, +Alabaster, amethyst-- +Curling lips which Earth has kissed, +Folded hearts where secrets hide, +Secrets old when Eve was bride! + +Beauty's soul was born with wings, +Flight inspires all lovely things-- +Would you gather rainbow fire? +See the rose of dawn's desire +Turn to ash beneath the moon?-- +Crocuses must leave us soon. + + + + +The Vision + + +"O SISTER, sister, from the casement leaning, +What sees thy tranced eye, what is the meaning +Of the strange rapture that thy features know?" +"I see," she said, "the sunset's crimson glow." + +"O sister, sister, from the casement turning, +What saw'st thou there save sunset's sullen burning? +--Thy hand is ice, and fever lights thine eye!" +"I saw," she said, "the twilight drifting by." + +"O sister, oft the sun hath set and often +Have we beheld the twilight fold and soften +The edge of day-- In this no mystery lies!" +"I saw," she said, "the crescent moon arise." + +"O sister, speak! I fear when on me falleth +Thine empty glance which some wild spell enthralleth! +--How chill the air blows through the open door!" +"I saw," she said, "I saw"--and spake no more. + + + + +The Miracle + + +THERE'S not a leaf upon the tree + To show the sap is leaping, +There's not a blade and not an ear + Escaped from winter's keeping-- +But there's a something in the air + A something here, a something there, +A restless something everywhere-- + A stirring in the sleeping! + +A robin's sudden, thrilling note! + And see--the sky is bluer! +The world, so ancient yesterday, + To-day seems strangely newer; +All that was wearisome and stale + Has wrapped itself in rosy veil-- +The wraith of winter, grown so pale + That smiling spring peeps through her! + + + + +The Homesteader + + +WIND-SWEPT and fire-swept and swept with bitter rain, + This was the world I came to when I came across the sea-- +Sun-drenched and panting, a pregnant, waiting plain + Calling out to humankind, calling out to me! + +Leafy lanes and gentle skies and little fields all green, + This was the world I came from when I fared across the sea-- +The mansion and the village and the farmhouse in between, + Never any room for more, never room for me! + +I've fought the wind and braved it; I cringe to it no more! + I've fought the creeping fire back and cheered to see it die. +I've shut the bitter rain outside and, safe within my door, + Laughed to think I feared a thing not so strong as I! + +I mind the long, white road that ran between the hedgerows neat, + In that little, strange old world I left behind me long ago, +I mind the air so full of bells at evening, far and sweet-- + All and all for someone else--I had leave to go! + +It cost a tear to leave it--but here across the sea + With miles and miles of unused sky, and miles of unturned loam, +And miles of room for someone else, and miles of room for me + I've found a bigger meaning for the little word called "Home." + + + + +Wet Weather + + +IT is the English in me that loves the soft, wet weather-- + The cloud upon the mountain, the mist upon the sea, +The sea-gull flying low and near with rain upon each feather, + The scent of deep, green woodlands where the buds are breaking free. + +A world all hot with sunshine, with a hot, white sky above it-- + Oh then I feel an alien in a land I'd call my own; +The rain is like a friend's caress, I lean to it and love it, + 'Tis like a finger on a nerve that thrills for it alone! + +Is it the secret kinship which each new life is given + To link it by an age-long chain to those whose lives are through, +That wheresoever he may go, by fate or fancy driven, + The home-star rises in his heart to keep the compass true? + +Ah, 'tis the English in me that loves the soft, gray weather-- + The little mists that trail along like bits of wind-flung foam, +The primrose and the violet--all wet and sweet together, + And the sound of water calling, as it used to call at home. + + + + +*The Sleeping Beauty + + +SO has she lain for centuries unguessed, + Her waiting face to waiting heaven turned, + While winds have wooed and ardent suns have burned +And stars have died to sentinel her rest. + +Only the snow can reach her as she lies, + Far and serene, and with cold finger-tips + Seal soft the lovely quiet of her lips +And lightly veil the shadows of her eyes. + +Man has no part--his little, noisy years + Rise to her silence thin and impotent-- + There are no echoes in that vast content, +No doubts, no dreams, no laughter and no tears! + +* A formation of mountain peaks above Vancouver Harbor, +outlining the profile and form of a sleeping maiden. + + + + +Down at the Docks + + +DOWN at the docks--when the smoke clouds lie, +Wind-ript and red, on an angry sky-- +Coal-dumps and derricks and piled-up bales, +Tar and the gear of forgotten sails, +Rusted chains and a broken spar +(Yesterday's breath on the things that are) +A lone, black cat and a snappy cur, +Smell of high-tide and of newcut fir, +Smell of low-tide, fish, weed!--I swear +I love every blessed smell that's there-- +For, aeons ago when the sea began, +My soul was the soul of a sailorman. + +Down at the docks--where the ships come in, +And the endless trails of the sea begin, +Where the shining wake of a steamer's track +Is barred by the tow of the tugboats black, +Where slim yachts dip to the singing spray +And a gay wind whistles the world away-- +Here sad ships lie which will sail no more, +But new ships build on the noisy shore, +And always the breath of the wind and tide +Whispers the lure of the sea outside, +Till now and to-morrow and yesterday +Are linked by the spell of the faraway! + +Down at the docks--when the morning's new +And the air is gold and the distance blue, +There's a pull at the heart! But best of all +Is to see the sun shrink, red and small, +While the fog steals in (more surely fleet +Than the smacks that run from her white-shod feet) +And clamours of startled calls arise +From bewildered ships that have lost their eyes; +The fog horn bellows its deep-mouthed shout, +The little lights on the shore blur out +And strange, dim shapes pass wistfully +With a secret tide to a secret sea. + + + + +Lake Louise + + +I THINK that when the Master Jeweler tells + His beads of beauty over, seeking there + One gem to name as most supremely fair, +To you He turns, O lake of hidden wells! + +So very lovely are you, Lake Louise, + The stars which crown your lifted peaks at even + Mistake you for a little sea in heaven +And nightly launch their shining argosies. + +From shore to dim-lit shore a ripple slips, + The happy sigh of faintly stirring night + Where safe she sleeps upon this virgin height +Captive of dream and smiling with white lips. + +Surely a spell, creation-old, was made + For you, O lake of silences, that all + Earth's fretting voices here should muted fall, +As if a finger on their lips were laid! + + + + +The Gatekeeper + + +THE sunlight falls on old Quebec, + A city framed of rose and gold, +An ancient gem more beautiful + In that its beauty waxes old. +O Pearl of Cities! I would set + You higher in our diadem, +And higher yet and higher yet, + That generations still to be + May kindle at your history! + +'Twas here that gallant Champlain stood + And gazed upon this mighty stream, +These towering rock-walls, buttressed high-- + A gateway to a land of dream; +And all his silent men stood near + While the great fleur-de-lis fell free, +(Too awe-struck they to raise a cheer) + And while the shining folds outspread + The sunset burned a sudden red. + +Here paced the haughty Frontenac, + His great heart torn with pride and pain, +His clear eye dimming as it swept + The land he might not see again, +This infant world, this strange New France + Dropped down as by some vagrant wind +Upon the New World's vast expanse, + Threatened yet safe! Through storm and stress + Time's challenge to the wilderness. + +Here, when to ease her tangled skein + Fate cut her threads and formed anew +The pattern of the thing she planned + And red war slipped the shuttle through, +Montcalm met Wolfe! The bitter strife + Of flag and flag was ended here-- +And every man who gave his life + Gave it that now one flag may wave, + One nation rise upon his grave! + +The twilight falls on old Quebec + And in the purple shines a star, +And on her citadel lies peace + More powerful than armies are. +O fair dream city! Ebb and flow + Of race feuds vex no more your walls. +Can they of old see this? and know + That, even as they dreamed, you stand + Gatekeeper of a peace-filled land! + + + + +The Bridge Builder + + +OF old the Winds came romping down, + Oh, wild and free were they! +They bent the prairie grasses low + And made a place to play. + +Then, that the gods might hear their voice + On purple days of spring, +They sought the tossing, pine-clad slope + And made a place to sing. + +Tired at last of song and play, + They found a canyon deep +And in its echoing silences + They made a place to weep. + +Man came, a small and feeble thing, + And looked upon the plain. +"Lo, this is mine," he said, and set + A seal of golden grain. + +Upon the mountain slopes he gazed, + Where the great pine trees grow, +Then gashed their mighty sides and laid + Their singing branches low. + +He clung upon the canyon's ledge + And from its topmost ridge, +Above its vast and awful deeps, + He built himself a bridge. + +A bauble in the light of day, + New gilded by the sun, +It seemed like some great, golden web + By giant spider spun! + +The homeless winds came rushing down-- + Oh they were wild and free! +And angry for their stolen plain + And for their felled pine tree-- + +And angry--angry most of all + For that brave bridge of gold! +With deep-mouthed shout they hurtled down + To tear it from its hold-- + +The girders shrieked, the cables strained + And shuddered at the roar-- +Yet, when the winds had passed, the bridge + Held firmly as before! + +Still fairy-like and frail it shone + Against the sunset's glow-- +But one, the builder of the bridge, + Lay silent, far below! + + + + +The Prairie School + + +THE sweet west wind, the prairie school a break in the yellow wheat, +The prairie trail that wanders by to the place where the four winds meet-- +A trail with never an end at all to the children's eager feet. + +The morning scents, the morning sun, a morning sky so blue +The distance melts to meet it till both are lost to view +In a little line of glory where the new day beckons through-- + +And out of the glow, the children: a whoop and a calling gay, +A clink of lunch-pails swinging as they clash in mimic fray, +A shout and a shouting echo from a world as young as they! + +The prairie school! The well-tramped earth, so ugly and so dear, +The piney steps where teacher stands, a saucy gopher near, +A rough-cut pole where the flag flies up to a shrill voiced children's cheer. + +So stands the outpost! Time and change will crowd its widening door, +Big with the dreams we visioned and the hopes we battled for-- +A legacy to those who come from those who come no more. + + + + +Calgary Station + + +DAZZLED by sun and drugged by space they wait, +These homeless peoples, at our prairie gate; +Dumb with the awe of those whom fate has hurled, +Breathless, upon the threshold of a world! + +From near-horizoned, little lands they come, +From barren country-side and deathly slum, +From bleakest wastes, from lands of aching drouth, +From grape-hung valleys of the smiling South, +From chains and prisons, ay, from horrid fear, +(Mark you the furtive eye, the listening ear!) +And all amazed and silent, scared and shy-- +An alien group beneath an alien sky! + +See--on that bench beside the busy door-- +There sleeps a Roman born: upon the floor +His wife, dark-haired and handsome, takes her rest, +Their black-eyed baby tugging at her breast. +Her hands lie still. Her brooding glances roam +Above the pushing crowd to her far home, +And slow she smiles to think how fine 'twill be +When they (so rich!) return to Italy. + +Yonder, with stolid face and tragic eye, +Sits a lone Russian; as we pass him by +He neither stirs nor looks; his inner gaze +Sees not the future fair, but, troubled, strays +To the dark land he left but can't forget, +Whose bonds, though broken, hold him prisoner yet. + +Here is a Pole--a worker; though so slim +His muscle is of steel--no fear for him; +He is the breed which conquers; he is nerved +To fight and fight again. Too long he served, +Man of a subject race! His fierce, blue eye +Roams like a homing eagle o'er the sky, +So limitless, so deep! for such as he +Life has no higher bliss than to be free. + +This little Englishman with jaunty air +And tweed cap perched awry on close-trimmed hair-- +He, with his faded wife and noisy band, +Has come from Home to seek a promised land-- +He feels himself aggrieved, for no one said +That things would be so big and so--outspread! +He thinks of London with a pang of grief; +His wife is sobbing in her handkerchief. +But all his children stare with eager eyes. +This is their land. Already they surmise +Their heritage, their chance to live and grow, +Won for them by their fathers, long ago! + +Another generation, and this Scot, +Whose longing for the hills is ne'er forgot, +Shall rear a son whose eye will never be +Dim with a craving for that distant sea, +Those barren rocks, that heather's purple glow-- +The ache, the burn that only exiles know! + +This Irishman, who, when he sees the Green, +Turns that his shaking lips may not be seen, +He, too, shall bear a son who, blythe and gay, +Sings the old songs but in a cheerier way! +Who has the love, without the anguish sharp, +For Erin dreamingly by her golden harp! + +All these and many others, patient, wait +Before our ever-open prairie gate +And, filing through with laughter or with tears, +Take what their hands can glean of fruitful years. +Here some find home who knew not home before; +Here some seek peace and some wage glorious war. +Here some who lived in night see morning dawn +And some drop out and let the rest go on. +And of them all the years take toll; they pass +As shadows flit above the prairie grass. + +From every land they come to know but one-- +The kindly earth that hides them from the sun-- +But, in their places, children live, and they +Turn with glad faces to a common day. +Of every land, they too, but one land claim-- +The land that gives them place and hope and name-- +Canadians, they, and proud and glad to be +A part of Canada's sure destiny! +What if within their hearts deep memories hide +Of lands their fathers grieved for, till they died? +The bitterness is gone and in its stead +New understanding and new hopes are bred, +With wider vision which may show the world +Its cannon dumb, its battle-flags close furled! +--Dreams? We may dream indeed, with heart elate, +While a new Nation clamors at our gate! + + + + +Vale* + + +LONE Voyager! Thy Ship of Dreams + Spreads its free sail and slips away +Into the distant visioning + That lies behind the end of day. + +The restless tide's impatient wave + In from the broad Pacific rolls +And sunset marks a mystic way + To the far-shining Port of Souls. + +We, watching on the darkening shore, + Wave you farewell, and strain our eyes +Till that bright speck which is your sail + Is lost in the enfolding skies. + +Brave Heart, Sweet Singer! Speed you well + To those dim islands of the blest, +Far--far--and ever farther, till + The end of distance brings you rest! + +* For Pauline Johnson (Tekahionwake.) + + + + +The Way to Wait + + +O WHETHER by the lonesome road that lies across the lea +Or whether by the hill that stoops, rock-shadowed, to the sea, +Or by a sail that blows from far, my love returns to me! + +No fear is hidden in my heart to make my face less fair, +No tear is hidden in my eye to dim the brightness there-- +I wear upon my cheek the rose a happy bride should wear. + +For should he come not by the road, and come not by the hill +And come not by the far seaway, yet come he surely will-- +Close all the roads of all the world, love's road is open still! + +My heart is light with singing (though they pity me my fate +And drop their merry voices as they pass the garden gate) +For love that finds a way to come, can find a way to wait! + + + + +The Passer-By + + +WE are as children in a field at play +Beside a road whose way we do not know, +Save that somewhere it meets the end of day. + +Upon the road there is a Passer-By +Who, pausing, beckons one of us--and lo! +Quickly he goes, nor stays to tell us why. + +One day I shall look up and see him there +Beckoning me, and with the Passer-By +I, too, shall take the road--I wonder where? + + + + +First Love + + +BY the pulse that beats in my throat + By my heart like a bird +I know who passed through the dusk + Though he spoke no word! + +I cannot move in my place, + I am chained and still; +I pray that the moon pause not + By my window-sill. + +I have hidden my face in my hair + And my eyes are veiled-- +Not even a star must know + How my lips have paled-- + +Was ever a night so quick + 'Neath a moon so round? +I hear the earth as it turns-- + And my heart's low sound! + + + + +Sad One, Must You Weep + + +"SAD one, must you weep alway? + Youth's ill wedded with despair; +Ringless hand and robe of grey + Mock the charms which they declare." + +Sad and sweetly answered she, +"What are comely robes to me? + I would wear a grass green dress, + Dew pearls for my gems--no less +Now can comfort me." + +"Sweet, the shining of your hair + (All forgotten and undone) +Squanders 'neath the veil you wear + Gold whose loss bereaves the sun." + +Very sad and low said she, +"What is shining hair to me? + When from out the rain-wet mold + Kingcups borrow of its gold +Sweet and sweet 'twill be." + +"Love, O Love! your hand is chill + As a snowflake lost in spring, +Wild it flutters--then lies still + As a bird with prisoned wing!" + +Sad and patient answered she, +"As a bird I would be free; + As the spring I would find birth + In the sweet, forgetful earth-- +Pray you, let it be!" + + + + +Joseph + + +NEVER in all her sweet and holy youth +Seemed she so beautiful! The tired lines +Etch her white face with look so wholly pure +I tremble--dare I speak to her of aught?-- +She is so wrapt in silence. Yet her lips +Part on a word whose honey she doth taste +And fears to lose by uttering too soon. +I know the word; its meaning is plain writ +In the wide eyes she turns upon the Child. +I dare not speak. No word of mine could find +Its way into a soul close sealed with God +And busy with the thousand mysteries +Revealed to every mother. The soft hair +Veiling her placid brow is all unbound, +Ungentle hands are mine but, trained by love, +She might conceive them gentle--yet, I pause-- +I'll not disturb her thought . . . . . + + + What meant those men, +Far-famed and wise, who came to see the Child? +Their gifts lie by forgotten, though the Babe +Smiled on the shining treasure in his hands. +(Those tiny hands like crumpled bits of gauze) +Their sayings were mysterious to me. +"A King!" they said. What King? + + + The mother smiled +As one who knew; and it is true they knelt +As to a King. The thing disturbs me much! +I'll ask--but no . . . . . + + + The breathless shepherds, too; +Plain men, blank-eyed with awe, in broken speech +Stumbling some strange, glad tale of midnight sky +A-shine with angel wings! And at their word +Again the mother smiled, as one who sees +No wonder but what well might happen since +A child is born to her. Are mothers so? +And are they prone to dream the careless earth +And distant heaven wait upon their joy? +I'll speak to her . . . . . + + + What is that in her look +Which answers me--yet leaves me wondering still, +With wonder so like rapture that I seem +Caught up a breathless second into Heaven? +She turns deep eyes upon me, and she smiles, +Always she smiles! Ah, Mary! could I know +The source of that glad smile--what would I know? +I dare not dream, save that the mystery +Is not yet given . . . one day I may know! + + + + +A Christmas Child + + +SHE came to me at Christmas time and made me mother, and it seemed +There was a Christ indeed and He had given me the joy I'd dreamed. + +She nestled to me, and I kept her near and warm, surprised to find +The arms that held my babe so close were opened wider to her kind. + +I hid her safe within my heart. "My heart" I said, "is all for you," +But lo! She left the door ajar and all the world came flocking through. + +She needed me. I learned to know the royal joy that service brings, +She was so helpless that I grew to love all little helpless things. + +She trusted me, and I who ne'er had trusted, save in self, grew cold +With panic lest this precious life should know no stronger, surer hold. + +She lay and smiled and in her eyes I watched my narrow world grow broad, +Within her tiny, crumpled hand I touched the mighty hand of God! + + + + +Spring in Nazareth + + +"THE Spring is come!" a shepherd saith; + Sing, sweet Mary, +"The Spring is come to Nazareth +And swift the Summer hurrieth." + Sing low, the barley and the corn! + +Across the field a path is set-- + Sing, sweet Mary, +Green shadow in a golden net-- +The tears of night have left it wet. + Sing low, the barley and the corn! + +The Babe forsakes His mother's knee, + Haste, sweet Mary-- +See how He runneth merrily, +One foot upon the path hath He-- + Green, green, the barley and the corn! + +The mother calls with mother-fear-- + Hush, sweet Mary! +Another sound is in His ear, +A sound he cannot choose but hear-- + Hush, hush, the barley and the corn! + +Far and still far--through years yet dim + List, sweet Mary! +From o'er the waking earth's green rim +Another Springtime calleth Him! + Bend low, the barley and the corn! + +Call low, call high, and call again, + Ah, poor Mary! +Know, by thy heart's prophetic pain, +That one day thou shalt call in vain-- + Moan, moan, the barley and the corn! + +O mother! make thine arms a shield, + Sing, sweet Mary! +While love still holds what love must yield +Hide well the path across the field!-- + Sing low, the barley and the corn! + + . . . . . + +"The Spring is come!" a shepherd saith; + Rest thee, Mary-- +The passing years are but a breath +And Spring still comes to Nazareth-- + Green, green, the barley and the corn! + + + + +Inheritance + + +THERE lived a man who raised his hand and said, + "I will be great!" +And through a long, long life he bravely knocked + At Fame's closed gate. + +A son he left who, like his sire, strove + High place to win;-- +Worn out, he died and, dying, left no trace + That he had been. + +He also left a son, who, without care + Or planning how, +Bore the fair letters of a deathless fame + Upon his brow. + +"Behold a genius, filled with fire divine!" + The people cried; +Not knowing that to make him what he was + Two men had died. + + + + +Song of the Sleeper + + +SLEEPER rest quietly + Deep underground! +Lord of your kingdom + Of murmurous sound. +Hear the grass growing +Sweet for the mowing; +Hear the stars sing + As they travel around-- +Grass blade and star dust, +You, I, and all of us, +One with the cause of us, + Deep underground! + +Murmur not, sleeper! + Yours is the key +To all things that were and + To all things that be-- +While the lark's trilling, +While the grain's filling, +Laugh with the wind + At Life's Riddle-me-ree! +How you were born of it? +Why was the thorn of it? +Where the new morn of it? + Yours is the Key! + +Sleep deeper, brother! + Sleep and forget +Red lips that trembled + Eyes that were wet-- +Though love be weeping, +Turn to your sleeping, +Life has no giving + That death need regret. +Here at the end of all +Hear the Beginning call, +Life's but death's seneschal-- + Sleep and forget! + + + + +The Tyrant + + +ONE comes with foot insistent to my door, + Calling my name; +Nor voice nor footstep have I heard before, +Yet clear the calling sounds and o'er and o'er-- +It seems the sunlight burns along the floor + With paler flame! + +"'Tis vain to call with morning on the wing, + With noon so near, +With Life a dancer in the masque of Spring +And Youth new wedded with a golden ring-- +When falls the night and birds have ceased to sing + My heart may hear! + +"'Tis vain to pause. Pass, friend, upon your way! + I may not heed; +Too swift the hours; too sweet, too brief the day: +Only one life, one spring, one perfect May-- +I crush each moment, with its sweets to stay + Life's joyous greed! + +"Call not again! The wind is roaming by + Across the heath-- +The Wind's a tell-tale and will bear your sigh +To dim the smiling gladness of the sky +Or kill the spring's first violets that lie + In purple sheath-- + +"If you must call, call low! My heart grows still, + Still as my breath, +Still as your smile, O Ancient One! A chill +Strikes through the sun upon the window-sill-- +I know you now--I follow where you will, + O tyrant Death!" + + + + +The Gifts + + +I GIVE you Life, O child, a garden fair; +I give you Love, a rose that blossoms there-- +I give a day to pluck it and to wear! + +I give you Death, O child--a boon more great-- +That, when your Rose has withered and 'tis late, +You may pass out and, smiling, close the gate! + + + + +The Town Between + + +A WALL impregnable surrounds + The Town wherein I dwell; +No man may scale it and it has + Two gates that guard it well. + +One opened long ago, and I + A vagrant soul, slipped through, +Bewildered and forgetting all + The wider world I knew. + +I love the Town, the narrow ways, + The common, yellow sun, +The handclasp and the jesting and + The work that must be done! + +I shun the other gate that stands + Beyond the crowded mart-- +I need but glance that way to feel + Cold fingers on my heart! + +It stands alone and somberly + Within a shaded place, +And every man who turns that way + Has quiet on his face. + +And every man must rise and leave + His pleasant homely door +To vanish through this silent gate + And enter in no more-- + +Yet--once--I saw its opening throw + A brighter light about +And glimpsed strange glory on the brow + Of someone passing out! + +I wonder if Outside may be + One fair and great demesne +Where both gates open, careless of + The Town that lies between? + + + + +On the Mountain + + +THE top of the world and an empty morning, + Mist sweeping in from the dim Outside, +The door of day just a little bit open-- + The wind's great laugh as he flings it wide! + +O wind, here's one who would travel with you + To the far bourne you alone may know-- +There would I seek what some one is hiding, + There would I find where my longings go! + +To some deep calm would I drift and nestle +Close to the heart of the Great Surprise. +O strong wind, do you laugh to see us? + We are so little and oh, so wise! + + + + +The Prophet + + +HE trod upon the heights; the rarer air +Which common people seek, yet cannot bear, +Fed his high soul and kindled in his eye +The fire of one who cries "I prophesy!" + +"Look up!" he said. They looked but could not see. +"Help us!" they cried. He strove, but uselessly-- +The very clouds which veiled the heaven they sought +Hid from his eyes the hearts of them he taught! + + + + +Give Me a Day + + +GIVE me a day, beloved, that I may set +A jewel in my heart--I'll brave regret, +If, on the morrow, you shall say "forget"! + +One golden day when dawn shall blush to noon +And noon incline to dark, and, oversoon, +My joy lie buried 'neath a rounded moon. + +Only a day--it's worth you scarce could tell +From other days; but in my life 'twill dwell +An oasis with palm trees and a well! + + + + +Little Brown Bird + + +O LITTLE brown bird in the rain, + In the sweet rain of spring, +How you carry the youth of the world + In the bend of your wing! +For you the long day is for song + And the night is for sleep-- +With never a sunrise too soon + Or a midnight too deep! + +For you every pool is the sky, + Breaking clouds chasing through,-- +A heaven so instant and near + That you bathe in its blue!-- +And yours is the freedom to rise + To some song-haunted star +Or sink on soft wing to the wood + Where your brown nestlings are. + +So busy, so strong and so glad, + So care-free and young, +So tingling with life to be lived + And with songs to be sung, +O little brown bird!--with your heart + That's the heart of the Spring-- +How you carry the hope of the world + In the bend of your wing! + + + + +The Watcher + + +THE long road and the low shore, a sail against the sky, +The ache in my heart's core, and hope so hard to die-- +Ah me, but the day's long--and all the sails go by! + +The long road and the dark shore, pools with stars aflame, +The ache in my heart's core, the hope I dare not name-- +Ah, me, but the night's long--and every night the same! + + + + +Possession + + +A YOUTH sat down on a wayside stone, + A pack on his back and a staff at his knee. +He whistled a tune which he called his own, + "It's a fine new tune, that tune!" said he. + +In his pack he carried a crust of bread, + And he drank from his hands at a brook hard by; +"Spring water is wonderful cool," he said, + "And wonderful soft is the summer sky!" + +He looked to the hill which his steps had passed, + He looked to the slope where a brooklet purled, +He looked to the distance blue and vast + And "Ah," cried he, "what a fine, wide world!" + +The youth passed on down the winding track + That led to the beckoning distance dim, +And though he carried but staff and pack, + The world and its giving belonged to him. + + + + +To Arcady + + +"TELL me, Singer, of the way +Winding down to Arcady? +Of the world's roads I am weary-- +You, with song so brave and cheery, +Happy troubadour must be +On the way to Arcady?" + +Pausing on a muted note, +Song forsook the Singer's throat, +"Friend," sighed he, "you come too late, +Once I could the way relate, +Once--but long ago; Ah me, +Far away is Arcady!" + +"Tell me, Poet, of the way +Winding down to Arcady? +Haunting is your verse and airy +With the grace and gleam of faery-- +Dweller you must surely be +In the land of Arcady?" + +Slow the Poet raised his eyes, +Sad were they as winter skies, +"Once, I sojourned there," he said; +Then, no more--but with bent head +Whispered low, "Ask not of me +That lost road to Arcady!" + +Tell me, Lover, of the way +Winding down to Arcady? +Some sweet bourne your haste confesses-- +Know you paths no other guesses? +Does your gaze, so far away, +See the road to Arcady? + +In the Lover's eyes there gleamed +Radiance of all things dreamed-- +"Nay, detain me not," he cried +"I am hasting to my bride; +What have roads to do with me, +Love's at home in Arcady!" + + + + +The Fields of Even + + +O STILLER than the fields that lie + Beneath the morning heaven, +And sweeter than day's gardens are + The purple fields of even! + +The vapor rises, silver-eyed, + Leaving the dew-wet clover, +With groping, mist-white hands outspread + To greet the sky, her lover. + +Ripples the brook, a thread of sound + Close-woven through the quiet, +Blending the jarring tones that day + Would stir to noisy riot. + +And all the glory seems so near + A common man may win it-- +When every earth-bound lakelet holds + A million stars within it. + +A common man, who in the day + Lifts not his eyes above him, +Roaming the fields of even through + May find a God to love him! + + + + +I Love My Love + + +I LOVE my love for she is like a garden in the dawn, + Pale, yet pink-flushed, with softly waking eyes, + And primrose hair that brightens to gold skies, +And petalled lips for dew to linger on. + +I love my love for she is like the mirror of the moon, + (A sweet, small moon but newly come to birth) + So full of heaven is she, so close to earth, +So versed in holy spell and magic rune. + +I love my love. O words that be too feeble and too few! + I love my love!--as April on the hill + Brings back earth's morning with each daffodil, +So she within my heart makes all things new. + + + + +Spring Awoke To-Day + + +SPRING awoke to-day! + Somewhere--far away-- +Spring awoke to-day + From the depth of dream. + +Through the air bestirred + Pulse of winging bird, +Through the air bestirred + Laugh of hidden stream. + +On the world's cold lips + Fell warm finger-tips; +On the world's cold lips + Woke the glow and gleam! + +Spring awoke to-day! + Somewhere--far away-- +Spring awoke to-day + From the depth of dream! + + + + +In Town + + +SOMEWHERE there's a willow budding +In a hollow by the river, +Where the autumn leaves lie sodden, +Turning all the pool to brown; +There's a thrush who's building early, +With his feathers all a-shiver, +And the maple sap is rising-- +But I'm glad that I'm in town. + +Somewhere out there in the country +There's a brook that's overflowing, +And a quaker pussy-willow +Sews grey velvet on her gown; +Rushes whisper to each other +That marsh marigolds are showing, +And those saucy crocus fellows-- +But I'm glad that I'm in town. + +Long ago, when we were younger, +How those little things enthralled us; +King-birds nesting in the hedges, +Baby field-mice soft as down, +Muskrats in the sun-warmed shallows-- +Strange how all these voices called us!-- +Hark, was that a robin singing? +When's the next train out of town? + + + + +Summer's Passing + + +A SINGLE branch of flaming red, + A branch of tawny yellow +And every branch in gorgeousness + A rival of its fellow; +Some russet brown and faded green +With golden shadows in between + And mist-hid sun to mellow. + +An instinct as of music near-- + A breath the wind is bringing, +Broken and sweet, as from a host + Of swift and solemn winging-- +A mystery born of light and sound +Wrapping our tranced progress round-- + A sighing and a singing! + +Thus in a certain lovely pomp + We leave the Summer lying-- +These are her funeral banners, this + The pageantry of dying! +The music that we almost hear +Is wafted from her passing bier-- + The singing and the sighing! + + + + +The Doom of Ys + + +DO you hear the bell? 'Tis a silver chime +But it ringeth not in the bourne of time. + +With the wind it swells, with the wind 'twill sink, +Dying at last by the sea's dim brink. + +By mortal hands the bell was hung +By mortal hands 'tis never swung. + +When the moon's at full and the long tide creeps +It rings o'er the town that the deep sea keeps-- + +The town of Ys, that, unafraid, +Cursed God's good bells for the noise they made, + +Cursed them well and pulled them down +From every belfry in the town! + +For that sin of pride and that pride of sin, +Deathly and soft, a Doom stole in. + +It sucked through the stone, it stole through the street, +It rose in the hall, silent and fleet; + +Soundless it swept through the market-place +Folding the town in a chill embrace; + +No ruth it knew, it heard no call, +Sinner and saint it gathered them all, + +Gathered them all, while over them +The bells they had cursed tolled requiem. + +Do you hear the bell? When the full moon rides +It rings o'er the town that the deep sea hides! + + + + +Time's Garden + + +YEARS are the seedlings which we careless sow + In Time's bare garden. Dead they seem to be-- +Dead years! We sigh and cover them with mould, +But though the vagrant wind blow hot, blow cold, + No hint of life beneath the dust we see; +Then comes the magic hour when we are old, + And lo! they stir and blossom wondrously. + +Strange spectral blooms in spectral plots aglow! + Here a great rose and here a ragged tare; +And here pale, scentless blossoms without name, +Robbed to enrich this poppy formed of flame; + Here springs some hearts'ease, scattered unaware; +Here, hawthorn-bloom to show the way Love came; + Here, asphodel, to image Love's despair! + +When I am old and master of the spell + To raise these garden ghosts of memory, +My feet will turn aside from common ways, +Where common flowers mark the common days, + To one green plot; and there I know will be +Fairest of all (O perfect beyond praise!) + The year you gave, beloved, your rosemary. + + + + +The Coming of Love + + +HOW shall I know? Shall I hear Love pass + In the wind that sighs through the poplar tree? +Shall I follow his passing over the grass + By the prisoned scents which his footsteps free? + +Shall I wake one day to a sky all blue + And meet with Spring in a crowded street? +Shall I open a door and, looking through, + Find, on a sudden, the world more sweet? + +How shall I know?--last night I lay + Counting the hours' dreary sum +With naught in my heart save a wild dismay + And a fear that whispered, "Love is come!" + + + + +Premonition + + +LAST night I dreamed +No dream of joy or sorrow, +Yet, when I woke, I wept, +Knowing the brightness of some far to-morrow +Had darkened while I slept! + + + + +The Child + + +I MAY not lift him in my arms. His face I may not see-- +Are angel hands more tender than a mother's hands may be? +And does he smile to hear the song an angel stole from me? + +The wise King said, "He cannot come but I will go to him!" +O David! did you seek with words to make the grave less grim? +And did you think to cheat, with words, the jealous seraphim? + +So! he will learn of heaven--he, who scarcely knew the earth. +All fullness waits the baby eyes that never looked on dearth-- +The mystery of death usurps the mystery of birth! + +What light has earth to give me for the light that heaven beguiled? +What is the calm of heaven to him who has not known the wild?-- +O, we are both bereft, bereft--the mother and the child! + + + + +Intrusion + + +I BUILT myself a pleasant house. + Content was I to dwell in it-- +Its door was fast against the wind + With all the gusty swell of it. + +It had two windows, high and clear, + With trees and skies to shine through them, +They were acquainted with the moon, + And every star was mine through them. + +Its walls were silent walls; its hearth + Held little fires to gladden me-- +And though the nights might weep outside + No sob crept through to sadden me. + +Then came your hand upon the latch + (Although I had not sent for you) +And all Outside came blowing in + The way I had not meant it to! + +Upon the hearth my tended flame + Leapt to a blaze and died in it. +The night sought out a hidden place + I had forgot and sighed in it. + +My window that had known the stars + Seemed suddenly not high at all. +The trees drew back; the friendly birds + Swept dumbly by, too shy to call. + +Said you: "It is a pleasant house, + But surely somewhat small for two!"-- +And at your word my walls fell down, + Leaving no house at all, just you. + + + + +The Sea's Withholding + + +THE ladye's bower faced the sea, +Its casements framed a sea-born day. +She saw the fishers sail away, + And, far and high, + The gulls sweep by +Within the hollow of the sky! + +She saw the laggard twilight come +And, chased by rippling wakes of foam, +She saw the fisher fleet come home-- + Brown sails a-sheen + Against the green +With shadows creeping in between! + +She saw, when it was evening, all +Day's banners stream in crimson rout +Till night's soft finger blurred them out, + And, high and far, + A perfect star +Shone where the keys of heaven are! + +"O far and constant star," she said, +"O passing sail, O passing bird, +O passing day--bring you no word + Of winds that steer + His ship a-near? +Where sails my love that sails not here? + +"The days in splendid pageant pass, +In lovely peace the nights go by, +And day and night are sweet; but I-- + I cannot say + Lo, the bright day! +Can it be dawn and love away?" + + + + +Love Unkind + + +OUT upon the bleak hillside, the bleak hillside, he lay-- +Her lips were red, and red the stream that slipped his life away. +Ah, crimson, crimson were her lips, but his were turning gray. + +The troubled sky seemed bending low, bending low to hide +The foam-white face so wild upturned from off the bleak hillside-- +White as the beaten foam her face, and she was wond'rous eyed. + +The soft, south-wind came creeping up, creeping stealthily +To breathe upon his clay-cold face--but all too cold was he, +Too cold for you to warm, south-wind, since cold at heart was she! + +Sweet morning peeped above the hill, above the hill to find +The shattered, useless, godlike thing the night had left behind-- +Wept the sweet morn her crystal tears that love should prove unkind! + + + + + +Christmas in Heaven + + +HOW hushed they were in Heaven that night, + How lightly all the angels went, +How dumb the singing spheres beneath + Their many-candled tent! + +How silent all the drifting throng + Of earth-freed spirits, strangely torn +By dim and half-remembered pain + And joy but newly born! + +The Glory in the Highest flamed + With awful, unremembered ray-- +But quiet as the falling dew + Was He who went away. + +So swift He went, His passing left + A low, bright door in Heaven ajar-- +With God it was a covenant, + To man it seemed a star. + + + + +I Whispered to the Bobolink + + +I WHISPERED to the bobolink: + "Sweet singer of the field, +Teach me a song to reach a heart + In maiden armor steeled." + + "If there be such a song," sang he, + "No bird can tell its mystery." + +I bent above the sweetest rose, + A deeper sweet to stir-- +"O Rose," I begged, "what charm will wake + The deep, sweet heart of her?" + + "Alas, poor lover," sighed the rose, + "The charm you seek no flower knows." + +I wandered by the midnight lake + Where heaven lay confessed +"Tell me," I cried, "what draws the stars + To lie upon your breast?" + + The silence woke to soft reply + "When Heaven stoops--demand not why!" + +"Alas, sweet maid, love's potent charm + I cannot beg or buy, +I cannot wrest it from the wind + Or steal it from the sky--" + + Breathless, I caught her whisper low, + "I love you--why, I do not know!" + + + + +You + + +SLANTING rain and a sky of gray, +Drifting mist and a wind astray, +The leaden end of a leaden day +And you--away! + +Light in the west! The sky's pale dome +Gemmed with a star; a scented gloam +Of bursting buds and rain-wet loam +And you--at home! + + + + +The Mother + + +LAST night he lay within my arm, + So small, so warm--a mystery + To which God only held the key-- +But mine to keep from fear and harm! + +Ah! He was all my own, last night, + With soft, persuasive, baby eyes, + So wondering and yet so wise, +And hands that held my finger tight. + +Why was it that he could not stay-- +Too rare a gift? Yet who could hold + A treasure with securer hold +Than I, to whom love taught the way? + +As with a flood of golden light + The first sun tipped earth's golden rim + So all my world grew bright with him +And with his going fell the night-- + +O God, is there an angel arm + More strong, more tender than the rest? + Lay Thou my baby on his breast +To keep him safe from fear and harm! + + + + +The Vassal + + +WIND of the North, O far, wild wind + Born of a far, lone sea-- +When suns are soft and breezes kind + Why are you kin to me? + +Uncounted years above the sea, + Rock-fortressed from its rage, +The fishermen, your fathers, kept + A barren heritage-- +Grim as the sea they forced to pay + The sea-toll of their wage. + +And lo! The fate which made you hers + And gave you of her best +And set you in a sunny place, + Down-sloping to the West, +Forgot to change your fisher's heart + Serf to the sea's unrest! + +Wind of the North! O bitter wind, + I hear the wild seas fret-- +In the dim spaces of the mind + They claim me vassal yet! + + + + +The Troubadour + + +THE wind blows salt from off the sea + And sweet from where the land lies green; +I travel down the great highway + That runs so straight and white between-- +I watch the sea-wind strain the sheet, +The land-wind toss the yellow wheat! + +Song is my mistress, fickle she, + Yet dear beyond all dearth of speech; +Child of the winds of land and sea + She charms me with the charm of each-- +Full soft and sweet she sings and then +She sings wild songs for sailor-men! + +No staff I carry in my hand, + No pack I carry on my back, +No foot of earth I call my own, + For castle or for cot I lack-- +I travel fast, I travel slow, +And where my mistress bids I go! + +My gems, the pearl upon the leaf + At mystic hour of the morn; +My gold, the gold that rims the sea + A moment ere the day is born; +And on my breezy couch o' nights +The stars shine down--my taper lights! + +Happy am I that sing of love, + Yet from the thrall of love am free; +Happy am I that sing of pain + And quick forget what pain may be! +I sing of death--and lo! To me +Life is supremest ecstacy! + + + + +Indian Summer + + +I HAVE strayed from silent places, +Where the days are dreaming always; +And fair summer lies a-dying, +Roses withered on her breast. +I have stolen all her beauty, +All her softness, all her sweetness; +In her robe of folden sunshine + I am drest. + +I will breathe a mist about me +Lest you see my face too clearly, +Lest you follow me too boldly +I will silence every song. +Through the haze and through the silence +You will know that I am passing; +When you break the spell that holds you, + I am gone! + + + + +The Unchanged + + +IF we could salvage Babylon +From times's grim heap of dust and bones; +If we could charm cool waters back +To sing against her thirsty stones; +If, on a day, +We two should stray +Down some long, Babylonian way-- +Perhaps the strangest sight of all +Would be the street boys playing ball. + +If through Pompeii's agelong night +A yellow sun again might shine, +And little, sea-born breezes lift +The hair of lovers sipping wine, +If, in some fair, +Dim temple there, +We watched Pompeii come to prayer-- +Not the strange altar would surprise +But strangeness of familiar eyes! + +Ay, should our magic straightly wake +Atlantis from her sea-rocked sleep +And we on some Processional +Look down where dancing maidens leap, +If one flushed maid +Beside us stayed +To tie more firm her loosened braid-- +Would not the shaking wonder be +To find her just like you and me? + + + + +Indifference + + +A BIRD, a wild-flower and a tree-- +I care for them, not they for me. + +I see all heaven in a pool-- +But the frog there takes me for a fool. + +To this dead thrush a tear I gave-- +All Spring shall sing above my grave, + +And naught I spend my heart upon +Know lack or loss that I am gone-- + +A bird, a wild-flower and a tree, +I cherish them; they suffer me! + + + + +Last Things + + +THERE is no one to do it for me, + But I know what I shall do +When the last dawn breaks o'er me + And the last night is through. + +I shall set in pleasant order + The little books I knew, +With flowers on the window ledge + In a shallow bowl of blue. + +I'll leave the out door swinging, + (As it might swing for you) +And on the clean swept door-sill + Wild roses I shall strew-- + +So when pale Death comes trailing + Her branch of sodden rue +She'll gather up my gay content + And know contentment too! + + + + +Callous Cupid + + +CUPID does not care for sighs +Does not care for lover's weeping! +Fair One, dry your pretty eyes, +Cupid does not care for sighs, +Laugh with him if you are wise, +Steel the heart he has in keeping; +Cupid does not care for sighs +Does not care for lover's weeping! + + + + +The Meeting + + +SHE flitted by me on the stair-- +A moment since I knew not of her. +A look, a smile--she passed! but where +She flitted by me on the stair +Joy cradled exquisite despair; +For who am I that I should love her? +She flitted by me on the stair-- +A moment since I knew not of her! + + + + +The Piper + + +I'VE heard the pipes of Pan +Somewhere, just beyond,-- +Over the edge of dawn, I think, +Where the clouds hang soft on the world's dim brink, +Where the red suns rise and the blue stars sink, +I heard the pipes of Pan! + +Hush! what you heard was the wind, +The feet of the wind through the leaves, +Or the sigh of the waking night as it stirred. +Or a bird's note afar, +Or the deep breath of June, +Or the fall of a star, +Or the shimmering skirts of the sea-slipping tide +In the wake of the wandering moon! + +Nay! 'twas the pipes of Pan! +Somewhere--just beyond-- +My soul awoke with a rapturous sigh +(Would I wake my soul for a night bird's cry?) +I heard the winds of the worlds sweep by +To follow the pipes of Pan! + +Stay! 'twas a voice that you heard, +A voice that you love, in the wood, +The vibrating note of a half spoken word-- +For the great Pan is slain, +Of his pipings we know not one magical strain, +They have fled down the years of a world that was young +Oh, ages and ages ago! + +Nay, 'twas the pipes of Pan! +Somewhere--just beyond-- +Far as a star, yet piercing sweet, +A passionate, poignant, rhythmic beat-- +Till my mad blood raced with my racing feet +To follow the piper--Pan! + + + + +Wanderlust + + +THE highways and the byways, the kind sky folding all, +And never a care to drag me back and never a voice to call; +Only the call of the long, white road to the far horizon's wall. + +The glad seas and the mad seas, the seas on a night in June, +And never a hand to beckon back from the path of the new-lit moon; +Never a night that lasts too long or a dawn that breaks too soon! + +The shrill breeze and the hill breeze, the sea breeze, fierce and bold, +And never a breeze that gives the lie to a tale that a breeze has told; +Always the tale of the strange and new in the countries strange and old. + +The lone trail and the known trail, the trail you must take on trust, +And never a trail without a grave where a wanderer's bones are thrust-- +Never a look or a turning back till the dust shall claim the dust! + + + + +Gold + + +WHEN life wakened in the Spring + All the world was gold and green! +Sunlight lay on everything, +Sailing cloud and soaring wing, + Emerald banks where snow had been, + Drifts of daffodils between. + +When Life's pulse beat strong and high + Shone the world in gold and blue! +Canopied with turquoise sky +Summer passed superbly by, + Bluest midnight cupped the dew + Golden morn might sparkle through! + +Now that life would rest again + Soft she lies in gold and brown, +Brown the fields and gold the grain, +Brown the little pools of rain, + Gold the leaves that falter down + To brown pavements in the town. + + + + +The Materialist + + +MY soul has left its tent of clay + And seeks from star to star, +'Mid flaming worlds that are to be, + And fruitful worlds that are, +The Voice which spake and said "Live on!" + (When Death said, "You may die") +And sent my spirit wandering + The stairway of the sky. + +Still must I seek what on the earth + I sought as fruitlessly-- +The world I knew, the heaven I scorned + Lost in infinity: +Alone, and on the ageless breath + Of cosmic whirlwinds spun, +I hurtle through the outer dark + Toward some fantastic sun!-- + +O God! how happy is the leaf, + A sweet and soulless thing, +Dying to live but in the green + Of yet another Spring-- +These heights, these depths, these flaming worlds, + This stairway of the sky +I'd give, had no Voice said "Live on!" + When Death said, "You may die." + + + + +Tir Nan Og + + +THE breeze blows out from the land and it seeks the sea, + O and O! that my sail were set and away-- +Fast and free on its wings would my sailing be + To the west: to the Tir Nan Og, where the blessed stay! + +The darkness stirs, it awakes, it outspreads its arms, + O and O! and the birds in their nests are still, +The red-browed hill bleats low with the lamb's alarms, + And a sound of singing comes from the slipping rill. + +My soul is awake alone, all alone in the earth, + O and O! and around is the lonely night. +As with the sun, would my soul go forth to its birth-- + O'er the darkling sea, to the west--to the light, to the light! + +Do they say, "Be content with the land of the Innis Fail, + O and O! there is friendship here, there is song." +But they smile to your face, when you turn they stammer and rail + And the song of the singer has tears and is over long! + +A call comes out of the west and it calls a name, + O and O! it is soft, it is far, it is low-- +Sweet, so sweet that it touches my soul with a flame + That burns the heart from my breast with the wish to go! + +(Translated from the Celtic.) + + + + +The Little Man in Green + + +'TWAS a little man in green, + And he sat upon a stone; + And he sat there all alone, +Whispering. + +"One and two," so whispered he. + ('Twas an ancient man and hoar) + "One and two," and then no more-- +Never, "Three". + +Hawthorn trees were quick with May-- + "Sir," said I, "Good-day to you"! + But he counted. "One and two" +In strange way. + +Fool I was--oh, fool was I + (Who should know the ways of them!) + That I touched his cloak's green hem, +Passing by. + +I was fey with spring and mirth-- + Speaking him without a thought-- + Now is joy a thing forgot +On the earth. + +Ere the sweet thorn-buds were through, + Wife and child doom-stricken lay, + Cold as winter, white as spray-- +"One and two!" + +Now I seek eternally + That grim Counter of the fen, + Praying he may count again-- +Counting, "Three". + +* In the bad chance of a meeting with the "Little People" the +mortal is cautioned not to speak to them nor to touch, but to pass +by quickly with averted eye.--Old tale. + + + + +The Enchantress + + +I FEAR Eileen, the wild Eileen-- + The eyes she lifts to mine, +That laugh and laugh and never tell + The half that they divine! + +She draws me to her lonely cot + Ayont the Tulloch Hill; +And, laughing, draws me to her door + And, laughing, holds me still. + +I bless myself and bless myself, + But in the holy sign, +There seems to be no heart of love, + To still the pain in mine. + +The morning, bright above the moor, + Is bright no more for me-- +A weary bit of burning pain + Is where my heart should be! + +For since the wild, sweet laugh of her + Has drawn me to her snare, +The only sunlight in the world + Is shining from her hair. + +Yet well I know, ah, well I know + Why 'tis so sweet and wild-- +She slept beneath a faery thorn, + She is a faery child! + +And so I leave my mother lone, + No meal to fill the pot, +And follow, follow wild Eileen. + If so I will or not. + +I fear to meet her in the glen, + Or seek her by the shore; +I fear to lift her cabin's latch, + But--should she come no more!-- + +O Eileen Og, O wild Eileen, + My heart is wracked with fear +Lest you should meet your faery kin, + And, laughing, leave me here! + + + + +The Banshee + + +THE Banshee cries on the rising wind + "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!" +The dead to free and the quick to bind-- +(Close fast the shutter and draw the blind!) + "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!" + +Why are you paler my dearest dear? + "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!" +'Tis but the wind in the elm tree near-- +(Acushla, hush! lest the Banshee hear!) + "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!" + +See, how the crackling fire up-springs, + "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!" +Up and up on its flame-red wings; +Hark, how the cheerful kettle sings! + "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!" + +Core of my heart! How cold your lips! + "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!" +White as the spray the wild wind whips, +Still as your icy finger tips! + "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!" + +On the rising wind the Banshee cries-- + "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!" +I kiss your hair. I kiss your eyes-- +The kettle is dumb; the red flame dies! + "Ochone! Ochone! Ochone!" + + + + +The Witch + + +HER hair was gold and warm it lay + Upon the pallor of her brow; +Her eyes were deep, aye, deep and gray-- + And in their depths he drowned his vow. + +She wandered where the sands were wet, + Weaving the sea-weed for a crown, +And there at eve a monk she met-- + A holy monk in cowl and gown. + +She held him with her witch's stare + (A sweet, child-look--it witched him well!) +Upon his lip she froze the prayer, + And in his ear she breathed a spell. + +He babbled ever of her name + And of her brow that gleamed like dawn, +And of her lips--a lovely shame + No holy man should think upon. + +They hunted her along the sea, + "Witch, Witch!" they cried and hissed their hate-- +Her hair unbound fell to her knee + And made a glory where she sate. + +Her song she hushed and, wonder-eyed, + She gazed upon their bell and book; +The zealous priests were fain to hide + Lest they be holden by her look. + +Most innocent she seemed to be + ("The Devil's sly!" the fathers say) +Her eyes were dreaming eyes that see + Things strange and fair and far away. + +They stood her in the judgment hall. + "Confess," they cried, "the blasting spell +That holds yon crazed monk in thrall?" + "Good sirs," she said, "he loved me well." + +They haled her to a witch's doom, + They matched her shining hair with flame-- +But ever through the cloister's gloom + The mad monk babbles of her name! + +And, when the red sun droppeth down + And wet sand gleameth ghostily, +Men see her weave a sea-weed crown + Between the twilight and the sea. + + + + +Fairy Singing + + +SHE was my love and the pulse of my heart; +Lovely she was as the flowers that start +Straight to the sun from the earth's tender breast, +Sweet as the wind blowing out of the west-- +Elana, Elana, my strong one, my white one, +Soft be the wind blowing over your rest! + + She crept to my side + In the cold mist of morning. + "O wirra" she cried, + "'Tis farewell now, mavourneen! + When the crescent moon hung + Like a scythe in the sky, + I heard in the silence + The Little Folks cry. + + "'Twas like a low sighing, + A sobbing, a singing; + It came from the west, + Where the low moon was swinging: + 'Elana, Elana' + Was all of their crying. + Mavrone! I must go-- + To refuse them, I dare not. + Alone I must go; + They have called and they care not-- + Naught do they care that they call me apart + From the warmth and the light and the love of your heart. + Hark! How their singing + Comes winging, comes winging, + Through your close arms, beloved, + Straight to my heart!" + +White grew her face as the thorn's tender bloom, +White as the mist from the valley of doom! +Swift was her going--her head on my breast +Drooped like a flower that winter has pressed-- +Elana, Elana! My strong one, my white one! +Empty the arms that your beauty had blessed. + + + + +Killed in Action + + +MY father lived his three-score years; my son lived twenty-two; +One looked long back on work well done, and one had all to do-- +Yet which the better served his world, I know not, nor do you! + +Life taught my father all her lore till he grew wise and gray, +She did but whisper to my son before she turned away-- +Yet which her deepest secret held only they two might say. + +Peace brought my father restful days, with love and fame for wage; +War gave my son an unmarked grave and an unwritten page-- +Who shall declare which gift conveyed the greater heritage? + + + + +Spring Came In + + +SPRING came in with a red-wing's feather + And yellow clumps of the wild marshmallow-- +O happy bird, can you tell me whether +In distant France they have April weather? + And little pools that are sunny and shallow? + +My soul is awake and my pulse is racing-- + My heart is aware that the birds are mating-- +Oh, my heart's like a cloud that the wind is chasing +O'er the earth's green blur with its silver tracing + To that sad France where there's someone waiting! + +O Spring! begone with your too-sweet clover + And all your bees with honey to carry-- +Come again when the war is over, +Come, dear Spring, when you bring my lover! + Yet come no more, should he tarry . . . tarry! + + + + +From the Trenches + + +OH, to be in Canada now that Spring is merry, + Happy apple blossoms gay against the smiling green; +Here the lilac's purple plume and here the pink of cherry, + Hillsides just a drift of bloom with clover in between! + +Oh, to be in Canada! there's a road that rambles + Through a leafing maple-wood and up a windy hill, +Velvet pussy-willows press soft hands amid the brambles + Fringing round a sky-filled pool where cattle drink their fill. + +Oh, to be in Canada! there's a farmhouse hidden + Where the hollow meets the hill and Spring's first footsteps show-- +Not a drop of honey there to any bee forbidden, + Not a cherry on a tree but all the robins know! + +Oh, to be in Canada, now that Spring is calling + Sweet, so sweet it breaks the heart to let its sweetness through, +Oh, to breast the windy hill while yet the dew is falling-- + Waking all the meadow-larks to carol in the blue! + +Smile upon us, Canada! None shall fail who love you + While they hold a memory of your fields where flowers are-- +High the task to keep unstained the skies that bend above you, + Proud the life that shields you from the flaming wind of war! + + + + +The Reasons + + +THEY sat before a dugout +In the unfamiliar quiet of silenced guns. +And one said: +"Now that it's over +What about a bit of truth? +Let us say why we came to fight-- +No frills-- +You first, old Fire-eater!"-- + +One with a whimsical face spoke freely; +"I?--I sought some stir, +Some urge in living, +Some sense in dying. +I sought a mountain top +With a view!" + +"And the answer?" + +"I have seen others find +What I sought." + + . . . . . . . + +"I don't know that it's anyone's business +Why I came," +(Another spoke as if unwillingly), +"A girl laughed, I think-- +Funny?--Yes, funny as hell!"-- + + . . . . . . . + +His neighbor said, +"I was a business man, +No sentiment, +Nothing of that kind,-- +But the band played +And, suddenly, I saw +My country, +A woman, with hands outstretched, +Her back to the wall--" + +"U--um," they nodded, +"She's got a pull, +That old lady." + + . . . . . . . + +"As for me," the speaker was abrupt, +"I was afraid! +I saw pictures, +I heard things-- +I couldn't sleep +For the Beast that was abroad-- +Fear! +That's what brought me!" + + . . . . . . . + +They sat silent for a moment +In the sun. +Then an older man said briefly, +"We were all afraid . . . . . +. . . But what of hate? +Did no one come because of hate?" + + . . . . . . . + +"Yes--I"-- +They looked at this man +Curiously, +But he added nothing, +And no one questioned. + + . . . . . . . + +A fresh-faced boy spoke modestly; +"Our family are all Army people-- +So, of course-- +And it's all over now. +We got through. +But it was a near thing-- +What?" + + + + +To-Day + + +TO-DAY is a room +With windows upon one side +And upon the other +A door-- +Through the windows we may look +But cannot pass; +Through the door we must pass +But cannot look, +And there are no windows +Upon that side. + + + + +Memory + + +A YEAR is a thief +Who comes in the guise of a friend +Saying, "Let us travel together, +We have much to give each other. +See, I hold back nothing-- +For what is giving +Between friends?" + +Yet when the year departs +He takes his gifts with him-- +"Oh, Robber!" we cry, +Aghast and weeping, +"Nay," he replies, "I did but lend. +Still, for your weeping, I will leave you something. + +It is not the real thing +But you may keep it always." + + + + +Dream + + +I SEE a spirit +Young and eager, +Beautiful, too, I think, +(Although I cannot see it clearly) +It is, by right of its own being, +One with all lovely, youthful things; +And they, its age-old kindred, +Welcome it +Saying, "Come, you too are one of us!" + + . . . . . . . + +This spirit is my own happy ghost-- +But I, myself,--alas! + + + + +Perhaps + + +THERE was a man, once, and a woman +Whose love was so entire +That an angel, watching them, +Said wistfully, "Would I were no angel +But a mortal, +Loving so, and so beloved!" +. . . . Yet, when these two mated, +A muddied drop, from some forgotten vial of ancestry, +Brought them a child whose mind was dark; +Who lived--and never called them by their names . . . +. . . . They tended her +For twenty years. +Only when she died +Did they weep, whispering, +"Why?" +The years could find no answer, +Though they went questioning +Until the end. + + . . . . . . . + +Still wondering +They wandered out into the other country . . . . +It was lonely there, +Being parted from familiar things, +And there was no one to answer questions, +But, suddenly, +(As a wind blows or a swallow flies against the sun) +Came a young girl--eager! +She ran to them, +Calling dear names, +(Names that would open heaven) +"Who are you?" they entreated, trembling . . . . +But they knew!-- +Had they not dreamed her so +For twenty years? + + + + +Glamour + + +THE knowledge of love +Is like sudden sun upon a river-- +The slipping water +Is instantly opaque and glorious. +No longer can we look into it +Counting the pebbles, +Watching the ribboned water-reeds, +Or searching idly +For that something which we lost +(A ring with gems) +It is all glamour, now! +We turn away, shading our eyes. + + + + +Friendship + + +I THOUGHT of friendship +As a golden ring, +Round as the world +Yet fitted to my finger; +I thought of friendship +As a path in spring +Where there are flowers +And the footsteps linger; +I thought of friendship +As a globe of light, +Yellow before the doorway of my life, +A flame diffused +Yet potent against night; +I thought--but thought itself in ruin lies +Since, yesterday, you passed with lowered eyes! + + + + +The Returned Man + + +THEY thought that he would come back +Quieter, +Less boyish, +But still a hero with tales to tell. +So, when there were no tales, +Only blank silences-- +When he lay for hours +Staring through leafing branches +And forgot them +Utterly-- +They tried to arouse him, saying: +"The war is over." +But when he turned on them +His shadowed eyes +They stammered-- +Knowing that they lied! + + + + +Epitaph + +(For the unknown soldier buried in Westminster Abbey.) + + +YOU who died fighting +For me and my little children; +You who are a million +Yet are but one, +I lay upon your grave +A rose and a tear-- +The tear is the world's sorrow, +The rose is your joy. + + + + +For One Who Went in Spring + + +SHE did not go, as others do, + With backward look and beckoning; + With no farewell for anything +She passed the open doorway through. + +The little things she left behind + Lie where they fell from hands content-- + Fame a forgotten incident +And life a season out of mind. + +The spring will find her footstep gone, + But spring is kind to vanished things, + Camas and buttercups she brings +With green that tears have brightened on. + +And we, who walked with her last year + While April in the lilacs stirred, + Will turn with sudden look or word-- +Forgetting that she is not here. + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Fires of Driftwood, by Isabel Ecclestone Mackay + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12475 *** diff --git a/12475-h/12475-h.htm b/12475-h/12475-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3523dbb --- /dev/null +++ b/12475-h/12475-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2924 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8"> +<title>Fires of Driftwood.</title> +</head> + +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12475 ***</div> + +<h1 align="center">FIRES OF DRIFTWOOD</h1> + +<h2 align="center">BY ISABEL ECCLESTONE MACKAY</h2> +<h3 align="center">WITH DECORATIONS BY J.E.H. MACDONALD A.R.C.A.</h3> + +<p>First published by McClelland & Stewart, Limited, Toronto, 1922.</p> + +<hr> + +<!-- Page 1 --> +<blockquote>The thanks of the author are due to the editors of <i>Ainslee’s Magazine, +The American Magazine, The Canadian Magazine, Canadian Home Journal, +The Canadian Bookman, The Forum, The Globe, Harper’s Magazine, +The Independent, The Ladies’ World, McClure’s Magazine, Metropolitan +Magazine, The Reader Magazine, Scribner’s Magazine, Saturday Night,</i> +and <i>The Youth’s Companion</i> for permission to publish this verse +in its present form.</blockquote> + +<!-- Page 3 --> +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> +<ul> +<li><a href="#Fires_of_Driftwood">FIRES OF DRIFTWOOD</a></li> +<li><a href="#When_as_a_Lad">WHEN AS A LAD</a></li> +<li><a href="#Laureate">LAUREATE</a></li> +<li><a href="#Out_of_Babylon">OUT OF BABYLON</a></li> +<li><a href="#Last_Spring">LAST SPRING</a></li> +<li><a href="#Presence">PRESENCE</a></li> +<li><a href="#In_an_Autumn_Garden">IN AN AUTUMN GARDEN</a></li> +<li><a href="#Rose_Dolores">ROSE DOLORES</a></li> +<li><a href="#A_Pilgrim">A PILGRIM</a></li> +<li><a href="#Spring_will_Come">SPRING WILL COME</a></li> +<li><a href="#Cosmos">COSMOS</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Secret">THE SECRET</a></li> +<li><a href="#I_Watch_Swift_Pictures">I WATCH SWIFT PICTURES</a></li> +<li><a href="#Fear">FEAR</a></li> +<li><a href="#Resurrection">RESURRECTION</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Lost_Name">THE LOST NAME</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Happy_Traveller">THE HAPPY TRAVELLER</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Dead_Bride">THE DEAD BRIDE</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Crocus_Bed">THE CROCUS BED</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Vision">THE VISION</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Miracle">THE MIRACLE</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Homesteader">THE HOMESTEADER</a></li> +<li><a href="#Wet_Weather">WET WEATHER</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Sleeping_Beauty">THE SLEEPING BEAUTY</a></li> +<li><a href="#Down_at_the_Docks">DOWN AT THE DOCKS</a></li> +<li><a href="#Lake_Louise">LAKE LOUISE</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Gatekeeper">THE GATEKEEPER</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Bridge_Builder">THE BRIDGE BUILDER</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Prairie_School">THE PRAIRIE SCHOOL</a></li> +<li><a href="#Calgary_Station">CALGARY STATION</a></li> +<li><a href="#Vale">VALE</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Way_to_Wait">THE WAY TO WAIT</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Passer-By">THE PASSER BY</a></li> +<li><a href="#First_Love">FIRST LOVE</a></li> +<li><a href="#Sad_One_Must_You_Weep">SAD ONE, MUST YOU WEEP</a></li> +<li><a href="#Joseph">JOSEPH</a></li> +<li><a href="#A_Christmas_Child">A CHRISTMAS CHILD</a></li> +<li><a href="#Spring_in_Nazareth">SPRING IN NAZARETH</a></li> +<li><a href="#Inheritance">INHERITANCE</a></li> +<li><a href="#Song_of_the_Sleeper">SONG OF THE SLEEPER</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Tyrant">THE TYRANT</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Gifts">THE GIFTS</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Town_Between">THE TOWN BETWEEN</a></li> +<li><a href="#On_the_Mountain">ON THE MOUNTAIN</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Prophet">THE PROPHET</a></li> +<li><a href="#Give_Me_a_Day">GIVE ME A DAY</a></li> +<li><a href="#Little_Brown_Bird">LITTLE BROWN BIRD</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Watcher">THE WATCHER</a></li> +<li><a href="#Possession">POSSESSION</a></li> +<li><a href="#To_Arcady">TO ARCADY</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Fields_of_Even">THE FIELDS OF EVEN</a></li> +<li><a href="#I_Love_My_Love">I LOVE MY LOVE</a></li> +<li><a href="#Spring_Awoke_To-Day">SPRING AWOKE TO-DAY</a></li> +<li><a href="#In_Town">IN TOWN</a></li> +<li><a href="#Summers_Passing">SUMMER’S PASSING</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Doom_of_Ys">THE DOOM OF YS</a></li> +<li><a href="#Times_Garden">TIME’S GARDEN</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Coming_of_Love">THE COMING OF LOVE</a></li> +<li><a href="#Premonition">PREMONITION</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Child">THE CHILD</a></li> +<li><a href="#Intrusion">INTRUSION</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Seas_Withholding">THE SEA’S WITHHOLDING</a></li> +<li><a href="#Love_Unkind">LOVE UNKIND</a></li> +<li><a href="#Christmas_in_Heaven">CHRISTMAS IN HEAVEN</a></li> +<li><a href="#I_Whispered_to_the_Bobolink">I WHISPERED TO THE BOB-O-LINK</a></li> +<li><a href="#You">YOU</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Mother">THE MOTHER</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Vassal">THE VASSAL</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Troubadour">THE TROUBADOUR</a></li> +<li><a href="#Indian_Summer">INDIAN SUMMER</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Unchanged">THE UNCHANGED</a></li> +<li><a href="#Indifference">INDIFFERENCE</a></li> +<li><a href="#Last_Things">LAST THINGS</a></li> +<li><a href="#Callous_Cupid">CALLOUS CUPID</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Meeting">THE MEETING</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Piper">THE PIPER</a></li> +<li><a href="#Wanderlust">WANDERLUST</a></li> +<li><a href="#Gold">GOLD</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Materialist">THE MATERIALIST</a></li> +<li><a href="#Tir_Nan_Og">TIR NAN OG</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Little_Man_in_Green">THE LITTLE MAN IN GREEN</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Enchantress">THE ENCHANTRESS</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Banshee">THE BANSHEE</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Witch">THE WITCH</a></li> +<li><a href="#Fairy_Singing">FAIRY SINGING</a></li> +<li><a href="#Killed_in_Action">KILLED IN ACTION</a></li> +<li><a href="#Spring_Came_In">SPRING CAME IN</a></li> +<li><a href="#From_the_Trenches">FROM THE TRENCHES</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Reasons">THE REASONS</a></li> +<li><a href="#To-Day">TO-DAY</a></li> +<li><a href="#Memory">MEMORY</a></li> +<li><a href="#Dream">DREAM</a></li> +<li><a href="#Perhaps">PERHAPS</a></li> +<li><a href="#Glamour">GLAMOUR</a></li> +<li><a href="#Friendship">FRIENDSHIP</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Returned_Man">THE RETURNED MAN</a></li> +<li><a href="#Epitaph">EPITAPH</a></li> +<li><a href="#For_One_Who_Went_in_Spring">FOR ONE WHO WENT IN SPRING</a></li> +</ul> + +<hr> +<!-- Page 9 --> + +<h3 id="Fires_of_Driftwood">Fires of Driftwood</h3> + +<p><i>ON what long tides<br> +Do you drift to my fire,<br> +You waifs of strange waters?<br> +From what far seas,<br> +What murmurous sands,<br> +What desolate beaches—<br> +Flotsam of those glories that were ships!</i></p> + +<p><i>I gather you,<br> +Bitter with salt,<br> +Sun-bleached, rock-scarred, moon-harried,<br> +Fuel for my fire.</i></p> + +<p><i>You are Pride’s end.<br> +Through all to-morrows you are yesterday.<br> +You are waste,<br> +You are ruin,<br> +For where is that which once you were?</i></p> + +<p><i>I gather you.<br> +See! I set free the fire within you—<br> +You awake in thin flame!<br> +Tremulous, mistlike, your soul aspires,<br> +Blue, beautiful,<br> +Up and up to the clouds which are its kindred!<br> +What is left is nothing—<br> +Ashes blown along the shore!</i></p> +<!-- Page 10 --> + +<h3 id="When_as_a_Lad">When as a Lad</h3> + +<p> WHEN, as a lad, at break of day<br> + I watched the fishers sail away,<br> +My thoughts, like flocking birds, would follow<br> +Across the curving sky’s blue hollow,<br> + And on and on—<br> + Into the very heart of dawn!</p> + +<p> For long I searched the world—ah, me!<br> + I searched the sky, I searched the sea,<br> +With much of useless grief and rueing<br> +Those wingéd thoughts of mine pursuing—<br> + So dear were they,<br> + So lovely and so far away!</p> + +<p> I seek them still and always must<br> + Until my laggard heart is dust<br> +And I am free to follow, follow,<br> +Across the curving sky’s blue hollow,<br> + Those thoughts too fleet<br> + For any save the soul’s swift feet!</p> +<!-- Page 11 --> + +<h3 id="Laureate">Laureate</h3> + +<p>DEATH met a little child who cried<br> +For a bright star which earth denied,<br> +And Death, so sympathetic, kissed it,<br> +Saying: “With me<br> +All bright things be!”—<br> +And only the child’s mother missed it.</p> + +<p>Death met a maiden on the brae,<br> +Her eyes held dreams life would betray,<br> +And gallant Death was greatly taken—<br> +“Leave,” whispered he,<br> +“Your dream with me<br> +And I will see you never waken.”</p> + +<p>Death met an old man in a lane;<br> +So gnarled was he and full of pain<br> +That kindly Death was struck with pity—<br> +“Come you with me,<br> +Old man,” said he,<br> +“I’ll set you down in a fair city.”</p> + +<p>So, kingly Death along the way<br> +Scatters rare gifts and asks no pay—<br> +Yet who to Death will write a sonnet?<br> +If any dare,<br> +Let him take care<br> +No foolish tear be spilled upon it!</p> +<!-- Page 12 --> + +<h3 id="Out_of_Babylon">Out of Babylon</h3> + +<p>THEIR looks for me are bitter,<br> + And bitter is their word—<br> +I may not glance behind unseen,<br> + I may not sigh unheard.</p> + +<p>So fare we forth from Babylon,<br> + Along the road of stone;<br> +And no one looks to Babylon<br> + Save I—save I alone!</p> + +<p>My mother’s eyes are glory-filled<br> + (Save when they fall on me)<br> +The shining of my father’s face<br> + I tremble when I see,</p> + +<p>For they were slaves in Babylon,<br> + And now they’re walking free—<br> +They leave their chains in Babylon,<br> + I bear my chains with me!</p> + +<p>At night a sound of singing<br> + The vast encampment fills;<br> +<i>“Jerusalem! Jerusalem!”</i><br> + It sweeps the nearing hills—</p> + +<p>But no one sings of Babylon<br> + (Their home of yesterday)<br> +And no one prays for Babylon,<br> + And I—I dare not pray!</p> +<!-- Page 13 --> +<p>Last night the Prophet saw me;<br> + And, while he held me there,<br> +The holy fire within his eyes<br> + Burned all my secret bare.</p> + +<p>“What! Sigh you so for Babylon?”<br> + (I turned away my face)<br> +“Here’s one who turns to Babylon,<br> + Heart traitor to her race!”</p> + +<p>I follow and I follow!<br> + My heart upon the rack;<br> +I follow to Jerusalem—<br> + The long road stretches back</p> + +<p>To Babylon, to Babylon!<br> + And every step I take<br> +Bears farther off from Babylon<br> + A heart that cannot break.</p> +<!-- Page 14 --> + +<h3 id="Last_Spring">Last Spring</h3> + +<p>THIS morning at the door<br> + I heard the Spring.<br> +Quickly I set it wide<br> + And, welcoming,<br> +“Come in, sweet Spring,” I cried,<br> +“The winter ash, long dried,<br> +Waits but your breath to rise<br> + On phantom wing.”</p> + +<p>A brown leaf shivered by,<br> + A soulless thing—<br> +My heart in quick dismay<br> + Forgot to sing—<br> +Twisted and grim it lay,<br> +Kin to the ghost-ash gray,<br> +Dead, dead—strange herald this<br> + Of jocund Spring!</p> + +<p>I spurned it from the door.<br> + I longed that Spring<br> +Should come with song and glow<br> + And rush of wing,<br> +Not this, not this!—But O<br> +Dead leaf, a year ago<br> +You were the dear first-born<br> + Of Hope and Spring!</p> +<!-- Page 15 --> + +<h3 id="Presence">Presence</h3> + +<p>BY a sense of Presence, keenly dear,<br> + I, who thought her distant,<br> +Knew her near.</p> + +<p>By an echo that most sweetly woke,<br> + I, long keyed to silence,<br> +Knew she spoke.</p> + +<p>By her nearness and the word she said,<br> + I, who thought her living,<br> +Knew her dead.</p> +<!-- Page 16 --> + +<h3 id="In_an_Autumn_Garden">In an Autumn Garden</h3> + +<p> TO-NIGHT the air discloses<br> + Souls of a million roses,<br> +And ghosts of hyacinths that died too soon;<br> + From Pan’s safe-hidden altar<br> + Dim wraiths of incense falter<br> +In waving spiral, making sweet the moon!</p> + +<p> Aroused from fragrant covers,<br> + The vows of vanished lovers<br> +Take voice in whisperings that rise and pass;<br> + Where the crisped leaves are lying<br> + A tremulous, low sighing<br> +Breathes like a startled spirit o’er the grass.</p> + +<p> Ah, Love! in some far garden,<br> + In Arcady or Arden,<br> +We two were lovers! Hush—remember not<br> + The years in which I’ve missed you—<br> + ’Twas yesterday I kissed you<br> +Beneath this haunted moon! Have you forgot?</p> +<!-- Page 17 --> + +<h3 id="Rose_Dolores">Rose Dolores</h3> + +<p>THE moan of Rose Dolores, she made her plaint to me,<br> +“My hair is lifted by the wind that sweeps in from the sea;<br> +I taste its salt upon my lips—O jailer, set me free!”</p> + +<p>“Content thee, Rose Dolores; content thee, child of care!<br> +There’s satin shoon upon thy feet and emeralds in thy hair,<br> +And one there is who hungers for thy step upon the stair.”</p> + +<p>The moan of Rose Dolores, “O jailer, set me free!<br> +These satin shoon and green-lit gems are terrible to me;<br> +I hear a murmur on the wind, the murmur of the sea!”</p> + +<p>“Bethink thee, Rose Dolores, bethink thee, ere too late!<br> +Thou wert a fisher’s child, alack, born to a fisher’s fate;<br> +Would’st lay thy beauty ’neath the yoke—would’st be a fisher’s mate?”</p> +<!-- Page 18 --> +<p>The moan of Rose Dolores “Kind jailer, let me go!<br> +There’s one who is a fisher—ah! my heart beats cold and slow<br> +Lest he should doubt I love him—I! who love not heaven so!”</p> + +<p>“Alas, sweet Rose Dolores, why beat against the bars?<br> +Thy fisher lover drifteth where the sea is full of stars;<br> +Why weep for one who weeps no more?—since grief thy beauty mars!”</p> + +<p>The moan of Rose Dolores (she prayed me patiently)<br> +“O jailer, now I know who called from out the calling sea,<br> +I know whose kiss was in the wind—O jailer, set me free!”</p> +<!-- Page 19 --> + +<h3 id="A_Pilgrim">A Pilgrim</h3> + +<p>ACROSS the trodden continent of years<br> + To shrines of long ago,<br> +My heart, a hooded pilgrim, turns with tears—<br> + For could I know<br> +That in the temple of thy constancy<br> +There still may burn a taper lit for me,<br> + ’Twould be a star in starless heaven, to show<br> +That Heaven could be.</p> + +<p>Bent with the weight of all that I desired<br> + And all that I forswore,<br> +My heart roams, mendicant, forlorn and tired,<br> + From door to door,<br> +Begging of every stern-faced memory<br> +An alms of pity—just to come to thee,<br> + No more thy knight, thy champion no more—<br> +Only thy devotee!</p> +<!-- Page 20 --> + +<h3 id="Spring_will_Come">Spring will Come</h3> + +<p>SPRING will come to help me: she’ll be back again,<br> + Back with the soft sun, the sun I knew before.<br> + She will wear her green gown, the emerald gown she wore<br> +When the white-faced windflowers blew along the lane.</p> + +<p>Spring will come to help me: When her waking sigh<br> + Drifts across my sore heart all the pain will go.<br> + How shall hearts be aching when larks are flying low,<br> +Low across the fields of camas bluer than the sky?</p> + +<p>I’ve a tryst with Spring here—maybe they’ll be few<br> + Now the world grows older—and shall I delay<br> + Just because a Winter has stolen joy away?<br> +What cares Spring for old joys, all her joys are new.</p> +<!-- Page 21 --> +<p>Maybe there’ll be singing in my sorrow yet—<br> + I have heard of such things—but, if there be not,<br> + Still there’ll be the green pool in the pasture lot,<br> +All a-trail with willow fingers, delicate and wet.</p> + +<p>Winter is a passing thing and Spring is always gay;<br> + If she, too, be passing she does not weep to know it.<br> + Time she takes to quicken seed but never time to grow it—<br> +Naught she cares for harvest that lies so far away.</p> +<!-- Page 22 --> + +<h3 id="Cosmos">Cosmos</h3> + +<p>THE tiny thing of painted gauze that flutters in the sun<br> +And sinks upon the breast of night with all its living done;</p> + +<p>The unconsidered seed that from the garden blows away,<br> +Blooming its little time to bloom in one short summer day;</p> + +<p>The leaf the idle wind shakes down in autumn from the tree,<br> +The grasshopper who for an hour makes gayest minstrelsy—</p> + +<p>These—and this restless soul of mine—are one with flaming spheres<br> +And cold, dead moons whose ghostly fires haunt unremembered years.</p> +<!-- Page 23 --> + +<h3 id="The_Secret">The Secret</h3> + +<p>IF I should tell you what I know<br> +Of where the first primroses grow,<br> + Betray the secrets of the lily,<br> + Bring crocus-gold and daffodilly,<br> +Would you tell me if charm there be<br> + To win a maiden, willy-nilly?</p> + +<p>I lie upon the fragrant heath,<br> +Kin to the beating heart beneath;<br> + The nesting plover I discover<br> + Nor stir the scented screen above her,<br> +Yet am I blind—I cannot find<br> + What turns a maiden to her lover!</p> + +<p>Through all the mysteries of May,<br> +Initiate, I take my way—<br> + Sure as the blithest lark or linnet<br> + To touch the pulsing soul within it—<br> +Yet with no art to reach Her heart,<br> + Nor skill to teach me how to win it!</p> +<!-- Page 24 --> + +<h3 id="I_Watch_Swift_Pictures">I Watch Swift Pictures</h3> + +<p>I WATCH swift pictures flash and fade<br> + On the closed curtains of my eyes,—<br> +A bit of river green as jade<br> + Under green skies;</p> + +<p>A single bird that soars and dips<br> + Remote; a young and secret moon<br> +Stealing to kiss some flower’s lips<br> + Too shy for noon;</p> + +<p>A pointing tree; a lifted hill,<br> + Sun-misted with a golden ring,—<br> +Were these once mine? And am I still<br> + Remembering?</p> + +<p>A path that wanders wistfully<br> + With no beginning there nor here,<br> +Nor special grace that it should be<br> + So sharply dear,</p> + +<p>Unless,—what if when every day<br> + Is yesterday, with naught to borrow,<br> +I may slip down this wistful way<br> + Into to-morrow?</p> +<!-- Page 25 --> + +<h3 id="Fear">Fear</h3> + +<p>I HEARD a sound of crying in the lane,<br> + A passionless, low crying,<br> +And I said, “It is the tears of the brown rain<br> + On the leaves within the lane!”</p> + +<p>I heard a sudden sighing at the door,<br> + A soft, persuasive sighing,<br> +And I said, “The summer breeze has sighed before,<br> + Gustily, outside the door!”</p> + +<p>Yet from the place I fled, nor came again,<br> + With my heart beating, beating!<br> +For I knew ’twas not the breeze nor the brown rain<br> + At the door and in the lane!</p> +<!-- Page 26 --> + +<h3 id="Resurrection">Resurrection</h3> + +<p>I BURIED Joy; and early to the tomb<br> +I came to weep—so sorrowful was I<br> +Who had not dreamed that Joy, my Joy, could die.</p> + +<p>I turned away, and by my side stood Joy<br> +All glorified—ah, so ashamed was I<br> +Who dared to dream that Joy, my Joy, could die!</p> +<!-- Page 27 --> + +<h3 id="The_Lost_Name">The Lost Name</h3> + +<p>THE voice of my true love is low<br> + And exquisitely kind,<br> +Warm as a flower, cold as snow—<br> + I think it is the Wind.</p> + +<p>My true love’s face is white as mist<br> + That moons have lingered on,<br> +Yet rosy as a cloud, sun-kissed—<br> + I think it is the Dawn.</p> + +<p>The breath of my true love is sweet<br> + As gardens at day’s close<br> +When dew and dark together meet—<br> + I think it is a Rose.</p> + +<p>My true love’s heart is wild and shy<br> + And folded from my sight,<br> +A world, a star, a whispering sigh—<br> + I think it is the Night.</p> + +<p>My true love’s name is lost to me,<br> + The prey of dusty years,<br> +But in the falling Rain I see<br> + And know her by her tears!</p> +<!-- Page 28 --> + +<h3 id="The_Happy_Traveller">The Happy Traveller</h3> + +<p>WHO is the monarch of the Road?<br> + I, the happy rover!<br> +Lord of the way which lies before<br> + Up to the hill and over—<br> +Owner of all beneath the blue,<br> +On till the end, and after, too!</p> + +<p>I am the monarch of the Road!<br> + Mine are the keys of morning,<br> +I know where evening keeps her store<br> + Of stars for night’s adorning,<br> +I know the wind’s wild will, and why<br> +The lone thrush hurries down the sky!</p> + +<p>I am the monarch of the Road!<br> + My court I hold with singing,<br> +Each bird a gay ambassador,<br> + Each flower a censer, swinging;<br> +And every little roadside thing<br> +A wonder to confound a king.</p> + +<p>I am the monarch of the Road!<br> + I ask no leave for living;<br> +I take no less, I seek no more<br> + Than nature’s fullest giving—<br> +And ever, westward with the day,<br> +I travel to the far away!</p> +<!-- Page 29 --> + +<h3 id="The_Dead_Bride">The Dead Bride</h3> + +<p>WITHIN my circled arm she lay and faintly smiled the long night through,<br> +And oh, but she was fair to view, fair to view!</p> + +<p>Upon the whiteness of her robe the dew distilled, and on her veil<br> +And on her cheek of carvéd pearl that gleamed so pale.</p> + +<p>(How still the air is in the night, how near and kind the heavens are,<br> +One might a naked hand outstretch and grasp a star!)</p> + +<p>I kissed her heavy, folded hair. I kissed her heavy lids full oft;<br> +Beneath the shining of the stars her eyes shone soft.</p> + +<p>“Love, Love!” I said, “the day was long”—“Oh, long indeed,” she sighing said.<br> +“I grow so jealous of the sun, since I am dead.”</p> + +<p>(How sweet the air is in the night, how sweet, sweet, sweet the flowers seem—<br> +But oh, the emptiness of dawn that breaks the dream!)</p> +<!-- Page 30 --> + +<h3 id="The_Crocus_Bed">The Crocus Bed</h3> + +<p>YELLOW as the noonday sun,<br> +Purple as a day that’s done,<br> +White as mist that lingers pale<br> +On the edge of morning’s veil,<br> +Delicate as love’s first kiss—<br> +Crocuses are just like this.</p> + +<p>Ere the robin paints his breast,<br> +Ere the daffodil is drest,<br> +Ere the iris’ lovely head<br> +Waves above her perfumed bed<br> +Comes the crocus—and the Spring<br> +Follows after, wing on wing!</p> + +<p>Sweet perfection, holding up<br> +Magic dew in topaz cup,<br> +Alabaster, amethyst—<br> +Curling lips which Earth has kissed,<br> +Folded hearts where secrets hide,<br> +Secrets old when Eve was bride!</p> + +<p>Beauty’s soul was born with wings,<br> +Flight inspires all lovely things—<br> +Would you gather rainbow fire?<br> +See the rose of dawn’s desire<br> +Turn to ash beneath the moon?—<br> +Crocuses must leave us soon.</p> +<!-- Page 31 --> + +<h3 id="The_Vision">The Vision</h3> + +<p>“O SISTER, sister, from the casement leaning,<br> +What sees thy trancéd eye, what is the meaning<br> +Of the strange rapture that thy features know?”<br> +<i>“I see,” she said, “the sunset’s crimson glow.”</i></p> + +<p>“O sister, sister, from the casement turning,<br> +What saw’st thou there save sunset’s sullen burning?<br> +—Thy hand is ice, and fever lights thine eye!”<br> +<i>“I saw,” she said, “the twilight drifting by.”</i></p> + +<p>“O sister, oft the sun hath set and often<br> +Have we beheld the twilight fold and soften<br> +The edge of day— In this no mystery lies!”<br> +<i>“I saw,” she said, “the crescent moon arise.”</i></p> + +<p>“O sister, speak! I fear when on me falleth<br> +Thine empty glance which some wild spell enthralleth!<br> +—How chill the air blows through the open door!”<br> +<i>“I saw,” she said, “I saw”—and spake no more.</i></p> +<!-- Page 32 --> + +<h3 id="The_Miracle">The Miracle</h3> + +<p>THERE’S not a leaf upon the tree<br> + To show the sap is leaping,<br> +There’s not a blade and not an ear<br> + Escaped from winter’s keeping—<br> +But there’s a something in the air<br> + A something here, a something there,<br> +A restless something everywhere—<br> + A stirring in the sleeping!</p> + +<p>A robin’s sudden, thrilling note!<br> + And see—the sky is bluer!<br> +The world, so ancient yesterday,<br> + To-day seems strangely newer;<br> +All that was wearisome and stale<br> + Has wrapped itself in rosy veil—<br> +The wraith of winter, grown so pale<br> + That smiling spring peeps through her!</p> +<!-- Page 33 --> + +<h3 id="The_Homesteader">The Homesteader</h3> + +<p>WIND-SWEPT and fire-swept and swept with bitter rain,<br> + This was the world I came to when I came across the sea—<br> +Sun-drenched and panting, a pregnant, waiting plain<br> + Calling out to humankind, calling out to me!<br> +<br> +Leafy lanes and gentle skies and little fields all green,<br> + This was the world I came from when I fared across the sea—<br> +The mansion and the village and the farmhouse in between,<br> + Never any room for more, never room for me!</p> + +<p>I’ve fought the wind and braved it; I cringe to it no more!<br> + I’ve fought the creeping fire back and cheered to see it die.<br> +I’ve shut the bitter rain outside and, safe within my door,<br> + Laughed to think I feared a thing not so strong as I!</p> +<!-- Page 34 --> +<p>I mind the long, white road that ran between the hedgerows neat,<br> + In that little, strange old world I left behind me long ago,<br> +I mind the air so full of bells at evening, far and sweet—<br> + All and all for someone else—I had leave to go!</p> + +<p>It cost a tear to leave it—but here across the sea<br> + With miles and miles of unused sky, and miles of unturned loam,<br> +And miles of room for someone else, and miles of room for me<br> + I’ve found a bigger meaning for the little word called “Home.”</p> +<!-- Page 35 --> + +<h3 id="Wet_Weather">Wet Weather</h3> + +<p>IT is the English in me that loves the soft, wet weather—<br> + The cloud upon the mountain, the mist upon the sea,<br> +The sea-gull flying low and near with rain upon each feather,<br> + The scent of deep, green woodlands where the buds are breaking free.</p> + +<p>A world all hot with sunshine, with a hot, white sky above it—<br> + Oh then I feel an alien in a land I’d call my own;<br> +The rain is like a friend’s caress, I lean to it and love it,<br> + ’Tis like a finger on a nerve that thrills for it alone!</p> + +<p>Is it the secret kinship which each new life is given<br> + To link it by an age-long chain to those whose lives are through,<br> +That wheresoever he may go, by fate or fancy driven,<br> + The home-star rises in his heart to keep the compass true?</p> +<!-- Page 36 --> +<p>Ah, ’tis the English in me that loves the soft, gray weather—<br> + The little mists that trail along like bits of wind-flung foam,<br> +The primrose and the violet—all wet and sweet together,<br> + And the sound of water calling, as it used to call at home.</p> +<!-- Page 37 --> + +<h3 id="The_Sleeping_Beauty">*The Sleeping Beauty</h3> + +<p>SO has she lain for centuries unguessed,<br> + Her waiting face to waiting heaven turned,<br> + While winds have wooed and ardent suns have burned<br> +And stars have died to sentinel her rest.</p> + +<p>Only the snow can reach her as she lies,<br> + Far and serene, and with cold finger-tips<br> + Seal soft the lovely quiet of her lips<br> +And lightly veil the shadows of her eyes.</p> + +<p>Man has no part—his little, noisy years<br> + Rise to her silence thin and impotent—<br> + There are no echoes in that vast content,<br> +No doubts, no dreams, no laughter and no tears!</p> + +<blockquote>* A formation of mountain peaks above Vancouver +Harbor, outlining the profile and form of a sleeping maiden.</blockquote> +<!-- Page 38 --> + +<h3 id="Down_at_the_Docks">Down at the Docks</h3> + +<p>DOWN at the docks—when the smoke clouds lie,<br> +Wind-ript and red, on an angry sky—<br> +Coal-dumps and derricks and piled-up bales,<br> +Tar and the gear of forgotten sails,<br> +Rusted chains and a broken spar<br> +(Yesterday’s breath on the things that are)<br> +A lone, black cat and a snappy cur,<br> +Smell of high-tide and of newcut fir,<br> +Smell of low-tide, fish, weed!—I swear<br> +I love every blesséd smell that’s there—<br> +For, aeons ago when the sea began,<br> +My soul was the soul of a sailorman.</p> + +<p>Down at the docks—where the ships come in,<br> +And the endless trails of the sea begin,<br> +Where the shining wake of a steamer’s track<br> +Is barred by the tow of the tugboats black,<br> +Where slim yachts dip to the singing spray<br> +And a gay wind whistles the world away—<br> +Here sad ships lie which will sail no more,<br> +But new ships build on the noisy shore,<br> +And always the breath of the wind and tide<br> +Whispers the lure of the sea outside,<br> +Till now and to-morrow and yesterday<br> +Are linked by the spell of the faraway!</p> +<!-- Page 39 --> +<p>Down at the docks—when the morning’s new<br> +And the air is gold and the distance blue,<br> +There’s a pull at the heart! But best of all<br> +Is to see the sun shrink, red and small,<br> +While the fog steals in (more surely fleet<br> +Than the smacks that run from her white-shod feet)<br> +And clamours of startled calls arise<br> +From bewildered ships that have lost their eyes;<br> +The fog horn bellows its deep-mouthed shout,<br> +The little lights on the shore blur out<br> +And strange, dim shapes pass wistfully<br> +With a secret tide to a secret sea.</p> +<!-- Page 40 --> + +<h3 id="Lake_Louise">Lake Louise</h3> + +<p>I THINK that when the Master Jeweler tells<br> + His beads of beauty over, seeking there<br> + One gem to name as most supremely fair,<br> +To you He turns, O lake of hidden wells!</p> + +<p>So very lovely are you, Lake Louise,<br> + The stars which crown your lifted peaks at even<br> + Mistake you for a little sea in heaven<br> +And nightly launch their shining argosies.</p> + +<p>From shore to dim-lit shore a ripple slips,<br> + The happy sigh of faintly stirring night<br> + Where safe she sleeps upon this virgin height<br> +Captive of dream and smiling with white lips.</p> + +<p>Surely a spell, creation-old, was made<br> + For you, O lake of silences, that all<br> + Earth’s fretting voices here should muted fall,<br> +As if a finger on their lips were laid!</p> +<!-- Page 41 --> + +<h3 id="The_Gatekeeper">The Gatekeeper</h3> + +<p>THE sunlight falls on old Quebec,<br> + A city framed of rose and gold,<br> +An ancient gem more beautiful<br> + In that its beauty waxes old.<br> +O Pearl of Cities! I would set<br> + You higher in our diadem,<br> +And higher yet and higher yet,<br> + That generations still to be<br> + May kindle at your history!</p> + +<p>’Twas here that gallant Champlain stood<br> + And gazed upon this mighty stream,<br> +These towering rock-walls, buttressed high—<br> + A gateway to a land of dream;<br> +And all his silent men stood near<br> + While the great fleur-de-lis fell free,<br> +(Too awe-struck they to raise a cheer)<br> + And while the shining folds outspread<br> + The sunset burned a sudden red.</p> + +<p>Here paced the haughty Frontenac,<br> + His great heart torn with pride and pain,<br> +His clear eye dimming as it swept<br> + The land he might not see again,<br> +This infant world, this strange New France<br> + Dropped down as by some vagrant wind<br> +Upon the New World’s vast expanse,<br> + Threatened yet safe! Through storm and stress<br> + Time’s challenge to the wilderness.</p> +<!-- Page 42 --> +<p>Here, when to ease her tangled skein<br> + Fate cut her threads and formed anew<br> +The pattern of the thing she planned<br> + And red war slipped the shuttle through,<br> +Montcalm met Wolfe! The bitter strife<br> + Of flag and flag was ended here—<br> +And every man who gave his life<br> + Gave it that now one flag may wave,<br> + One nation rise upon his grave!</p> + +<p>The twilight falls on old Quebec<br> + And in the purple shines a star,<br> +And on her citadel lies peace<br> + More powerful than armies are.<br> +O fair dream city! Ebb and flow<br> + Of race feuds vex no more your walls.<br> +Can they of old see this? and know<br> + That, even as they dreamed, you stand<br> + Gatekeeper of a peace-filled land!</p> +<!-- Page 43 --> + +<h3 id="The_Bridge_Builder">The Bridge Builder</h3> + +<p>OF old the Winds came romping down,<br> + Oh, wild and free were they!<br> +They bent the prairie grasses low<br> + And made a place to play.</p> + +<p>Then, that the gods might hear their voice<br> + On purple days of spring,<br> +They sought the tossing, pine-clad slope<br> + And made a place to sing.</p> + +<p>Tired at last of song and play,<br> + They found a canyon deep<br> +And in its echoing silences<br> + They made a place to weep.</p> + +<p>Man came, a small and feeble thing,<br> + And looked upon the plain.<br> +“Lo, this is mine,” he said, and set<br> + A seal of golden grain.</p> + +<p>Upon the mountain slopes he gazed,<br> + Where the great pine trees grow,<br> +Then gashed their mighty sides and laid<br> + Their singing branches low.</p> + +<p>He clung upon the canyon’s ledge<br> + And from its topmost ridge,<br> +Above its vast and awful deeps,<br> + He built himself a bridge.</p> +<!-- Page 44 --> +<p>A bauble in the light of day,<br> + New gilded by the sun,<br> +It seemed like some great, golden web<br> + By giant spider spun!</p> + +<p>The homeless winds came rushing down—<br> + Oh they were wild and free!<br> +And angry for their stolen plain<br> + And for their felled pine tree—</p> + +<p>And angry—angry most of all<br> + For that brave bridge of gold!<br> +With deep-mouthed shout they hurtled down<br> + To tear it from its hold—</p> + +<p>The girders shrieked, the cables strained<br> + And shuddered at the roar—<br> +Yet, when the winds had passed, the bridge<br> + Held firmly as before!</p> + +<p>Still fairy-like and frail it shone<br> + Against the sunset’s glow—<br> +But one, the builder of the bridge,<br> + Lay silent, far below!</p> +<!-- Page 45 --> + +<h3 id="The_Prairie_School">The Prairie School</h3> + +<p>THE sweet west wind, the prairie school a break in the yellow wheat,<br> +The prairie trail that wanders by to the place where the four winds meet—<br> +A trail with never an end at all to the children’s eager feet.</p> + +<p>The morning scents, the morning sun, a morning sky so blue<br> +The distance melts to meet it till both are lost to view<br> +In a little line of glory where the new day beckons through—</p> + +<p>And out of the glow, the children: a whoop and a calling gay,<br> +A clink of lunch-pails swinging as they clash in mimic fray,<br> +A shout and a shouting echo from a world as young as they!</p> + +<p>The prairie school! The well-tramped earth, so ugly and so dear,<br> +The piney steps where teacher stands, a saucy gopher near,<br> +A rough-cut pole where the flag flies up to a shrill voiced children’s cheer.</p> +<!-- Page 46 --> +<p>So stands the outpost! Time and change will crowd its widening door,<br> +Big with the dreams we visioned and the hopes we battled for—<br> +A legacy to those who come from those who come no more.</p> +<!-- Page 47 --> + +<h3 id="Calgary_Station">Calgary Station</h3> + +<p>DAZZLED by sun and drugged by space they wait,<br> +These homeless peoples, at our prairie gate;<br> +Dumb with the awe of those whom fate has hurled,<br> +Breathless, upon the threshold of a world!</p> + +<p>From near-horizoned, little lands they come,<br> +From barren country-side and deathly slum,<br> +From bleakest wastes, from lands of aching drouth,<br> +From grape-hung valleys of the smiling South,<br> +From chains and prisons, ay, from horrid fear,<br> +(Mark you the furtive eye, the listening ear!)<br> +And all amazed and silent, scared and shy—<br> +An alien group beneath an alien sky!</p> + +<p>See—on that bench beside the busy door—<br> +There sleeps a Roman born: upon the floor<br> +His wife, dark-haired and handsome, takes her rest,<br> +Their black-eyed baby tugging at her breast.<br> +Her hands lie still. Her brooding glances roam<br> +Above the pushing crowd to her far home,<br> +And slow she smiles to think how fine ’twill be<br> +When they (so rich!) return to Italy.</p> +<!-- Page 48 --> +<p>Yonder, with stolid face and tragic eye,<br> +Sits a lone Russian; as we pass him by<br> +He neither stirs nor looks; his inner gaze<br> +Sees not the future fair, but, troubled, strays<br> +To the dark land he left but can’t forget,<br> +Whose bonds, though broken, hold him prisoner yet.</p> + +<p>Here is a Pole—a worker; though so slim<br> +His muscle is of steel—no fear for him;<br> +He is the breed which conquers; he is nerved<br> +To fight and fight again. Too long he served,<br> +Man of a subject race! His fierce, blue eye<br> +Roams like a homing eagle o’er the sky,<br> +So limitless, so deep! for such as he<br> +Life has no higher bliss than to be free.</p> + +<p>This little Englishman with jaunty air<br> +And tweed cap perched awry on close-trimmed hair—<br> +He, with his faded wife and noisy band,<br> +Has come from Home to seek a promised land—<br> +He feels himself aggrieved, for no one said<br> +That things would be so big and so—outspread!<br> +He thinks of London with a pang of grief;<br> +His wife is sobbing in her handkerchief.<br> +But all his children stare with eager eyes.<br> +This is their land. Already they surmise<br> +Their heritage, their chance to live and grow,<br> +Won for them by their fathers, long ago!</p> +<!-- Page 49 --> +<p>Another generation, and this Scot,<br> +Whose longing for the hills is ne’er forgot,<br> +Shall rear a son whose eye will never be<br> +Dim with a craving for that distant sea,<br> +Those barren rocks, that heather’s purple glow—<br> +The ache, the burn that only exiles know!</p> + +<p>This Irishman, who, when he sees the Green,<br> +Turns that his shaking lips may not be seen,<br> +He, too, shall bear a son who, blythe and gay,<br> +Sings the old songs but in a cheerier way!<br> +Who has the love, without the anguish sharp,<br> +For Erin dreamingly by her golden harp!</p> + +<p>All these and many others, patient, wait<br> +Before our ever-open prairie gate<br> +And, filing through with laughter or with tears,<br> +Take what their hands can glean of fruitful years.<br> +Here some find home who knew not home before;<br> +Here some seek peace and some wage glorious war.<br> +Here some who lived in night see morning dawn<br> +And some drop out and let the rest go on.<br> +And of them all the years take toll; they pass<br> +As shadows flit above the prairie grass.</p> +<!-- Page 50 --> +<p>From every land they come to know but one—<br> +The kindly earth that hides them from the sun—<br> +But, in their places, children live, and they<br> +Turn with glad faces to a common day.<br> +Of every land, they too, but one land claim—<br> +The land that gives them place and hope and name—<br> +Canadians, they, and proud and glad to be<br> +A part of Canada’s sure destiny!<br> +What if within their hearts deep memories hide<br> +Of lands their fathers grieved for, till they died?<br> +The bitterness is gone and in its stead<br> +New understanding and new hopes are bred,<br> +With wider vision which may show the world<br> +Its cannon dumb, its battle-flags close furled!<br> +—Dreams? We may dream indeed, with heart elate,<br> +While a new Nation clamors at our gate!</p> +<!-- Page 51 --> + +<h3 id="Vale">Vale*</h3> + +<p>LONE Voyager! Thy Ship of Dreams<br> + Spreads its free sail and slips away<br> +Into the distant visioning<br> + That lies behind the end of day.</p> + +<p>The restless tide’s impatient wave<br> + In from the broad Pacific rolls<br> +And sunset marks a mystic way<br> + To the far-shining Port of Souls.</p> + +<p>We, watching on the darkening shore,<br> + Wave you farewell, and strain our eyes<br> +Till that bright speck which is your sail<br> + Is lost in the enfolding skies.</p> + +<p>Brave Heart, Sweet Singer! Speed you well<br> + To those dim islands of the blest,<br> +Far—far—and ever farther, till<br> + The end of distance brings you rest!</p> + +<blockquote>* For Pauline Johnson (Tekahionwake.)</blockquote> +<!-- Page 52 --> + +<h3 id="The_Way_to_Wait">The Way to Wait</h3> + +<p>O WHETHER by the lonesome road that lies across the lea<br> +Or whether by the hill that stoops, rock-shadowed, to the sea,<br> +Or by a sail that blows from far, my love returns to me!</p> + +<p>No fear is hidden in my heart to make my face less fair,<br> +No tear is hidden in my eye to dim the brightness there—<br> +I wear upon my cheek the rose a happy bride should wear.</p> + +<p>For should he come not by the road, and come not by the hill<br> +And come not by the far seaway, yet come he surely will—<br> +Close all the roads of all the world, love’s road is open still!</p> + +<p>My heart is light with singing (though they pity me my fate<br> +And drop their merry voices as they pass the garden gate)<br> +For love that finds a way to come, can find a way to wait!</p> +<!-- Page 53 --> + +<h3 id="The_Passer-By">The Passer-By</h3> + +<p>WE are as children in a field at play<br> +Beside a road whose way we do not know,<br> +Save that somewhere it meets the end of day.</p> + +<p>Upon the road there is a Passer-By<br> +Who, pausing, beckons one of us—and lo!<br> +Quickly he goes, nor stays to tell us why.</p> + +<p>One day I shall look up and see him there<br> +Beckoning me, and with the Passer-By<br> +I, too, shall take the road—I wonder where?</p> +<!-- Page 54 --> + +<h3 id="First_Love">First Love</h3> + +<p>BY the pulse that beats in my throat<br> + By my heart like a bird<br> +I know who passed through the dusk<br> + Though he spoke no word!</p> + +<p>I cannot move in my place,<br> + I am chained and still;<br> +I pray that the moon pause not<br> + By my window-sill.</p> + +<p>I have hidden my face in my hair<br> + And my eyes are veiled—<br> +Not even a star must know<br> + How my lips have paled—</p> + +<p>Was ever a night so quick<br> + ’Neath a moon so round?<br> +I hear the earth as it turns—<br> + And my heart’s low sound!</p> +<!-- Page 55 --> + +<h3 id="Sad_One_Must_You_Weep">Sad One, Must You Weep</h3> + +<p>“SAD one, must you weep alway?<br> + Youth’s ill wedded with despair;<br> +Ringless hand and robe of grey<br> + Mock the charms which they declare.”</p> + +<p>Sad and sweetly answered she,<br> +“What are comely robes to me?<br> + I would wear a grass green dress,<br> + Dew pearls for my gems—no less<br> +Now can comfort me.”</p> + +<p>“Sweet, the shining of your hair<br> + (All forgotten and undone)<br> +Squanders ’neath the veil you wear<br> + Gold whose loss bereaves the sun.”</p> + +<p>Very sad and low said she,<br> +“What is shining hair to me?<br> + When from out the rain-wet mold<br> + Kingcups borrow of its gold<br> +Sweet and sweet ’twill be.”</p> + +<p>“Love, O Love! your hand is chill<br> + As a snowflake lost in spring,<br> +Wild it flutters—then lies still<br> + As a bird with prisoned wing!”</p> + +<p>Sad and patient answered she,<br> +“As a bird I would be free;<br> + As the spring I would find birth<br> + In the sweet, forgetful earth—<br> +Pray you, let it be!”</p> +<!-- Page 56 --> + +<h3 id="Joseph">Joseph</h3> + +<p>NEVER in all her sweet and holy youth<br> +Seemed she so beautiful! The tired lines<br> +Etch her white face with look so wholly pure<br> +I tremble—dare I speak to her of aught?—<br> +She is so wrapt in silence. Yet her lips<br> +Part on a word whose honey she doth taste<br> +And fears to lose by uttering too soon.<br> +I know the word; its meaning is plain writ<br> +In the wide eyes she turns upon the Child.<br> +I dare not speak. No word of mine could find<br> +Its way into a soul close sealed with God<br> +And busy with the thousand mysteries<br> +Revealed to every mother. The soft hair<br> +Veiling her placid brow is all unbound,<br> +Ungentle hands are mine but, trained by love,<br> +She might conceive them gentle—yet, I pause—<br> +I’ll not disturb her thought . . . . .</p> + +<p> + What +meant those men,<br> +Far-famed and wise, who came to see the Child?<br> +Their gifts lie by forgotten, though the Babe<br> +Smiled on the shining treasure in his hands.<br> +(Those tiny hands like crumpled bits of gauze)<br> +Their sayings were mysterious to me.<br> +“A King!” they said. What King?</p> +<!-- Page 57 --> +<p> + The +mother smiled<br> +As one who knew; and it is true they knelt<br> +As to a King. The thing disturbs me much!<br> +I’ll ask—but no . . . . .</p> + +<p> + The +breathless shepherds, too;<br> +Plain men, blank-eyed with awe, in broken speech<br> +Stumbling some strange, glad tale of midnight sky<br> +A-shine with angel wings! And at their word<br> +Again the mother smiled, as one who sees<br> +No wonder but what well might happen since<br> +A child is born to her. Are mothers so?<br> +And are they prone to dream the careless earth<br> +And distant heaven wait upon their joy?<br> +I’ll speak to her . . . . .</p> + +<p> + What +is that in her look<br> +Which answers me—yet leaves me wondering still,<br> +With wonder so like rapture that I seem<br> +Caught up a breathless second into Heaven?<br> +She turns deep eyes upon me, and she smiles,<br> +Always she smiles! Ah, Mary! could I know<br> +The source of that glad smile—what would I know?<br> +I dare not dream, save that the mystery<br> +Is not yet given . . . one day I may know!</p> +<!-- Page 58 --> + +<h3 id="A_Christmas_Child">A Christmas Child</h3> + +<p>SHE came to me at Christmas time and made me mother, and it seemed<br> +There was a Christ indeed and He had given me the joy I’d dreamed.</p> + +<p>She nestled to me, and I kept her near and warm, surprised to find<br> +The arms that held my babe so close were opened wider to her kind.</p> + +<p>I hid her safe within my heart. “My heart” I said, “is all for you,”<br> +But lo! She left the door ajar and all the world came flocking through.</p> + +<p>She needed me. I learned to know the royal joy that service brings,<br> +She was so helpless that I grew to love all little helpless things.</p> + +<p>She trusted me, and I who ne’er had trusted, save in self, grew cold<br> +With panic lest this precious life should know no stronger, surer hold.</p> + +<p>She lay and smiled and in her eyes I watched my narrow world grow broad,<br> +Within her tiny, crumpled hand I touched the mighty hand of God!</p> +<!-- Page 59 --> + +<h3 id="Spring_in_Nazareth">Spring in Nazareth</h3> + +<p>“THE Spring is come!” a shepherd saith;<br> + <i>Sing, sweet Mary,</i><br> +“The Spring is come to Nazareth<br> +And swift the Summer hurrieth.”<br> + <i>Sing low, the barley and the corn!</i></p> + +<p>Across the field a path is set—<br> + <i>Sing, sweet Mary,</i><br> +Green shadow in a golden net—<br> +The tears of night have left it wet.<br> + <i>Sing low, the barley and the corn!</i></p> + +<p>The Babe forsakes His mother’s knee,<br> + <i>Haste, sweet Mary—</i><br> +See how He runneth merrily,<br> +One foot upon the path hath He—<br> + <i>Green, green, the barley and the corn!</i></p> + +<p>The mother calls with mother-fear—<br> + <i>Hush, sweet Mary!</i><br> +Another sound is in His ear,<br> +A sound he cannot choose but hear—<br> + <i>Hush, hush, the barley and the corn!</i></p> + +<p>Far and still far—through years yet dim<br> + <i>List, sweet Mary!</i><br> +From o’er the waking earth’s green rim<br> +Another Springtime calleth Him!<br> + <i>Bend low, the barley and the corn!</i></p> +<!-- Page 60 --> +<p>Call low, call high, and call again,<br> + <i>Ah, poor Mary!</i><br> +Know, by thy heart’s prophetic pain,<br> +That one day thou shalt call in vain—<br> + <i>Moan, moan, the barley and the corn!</i></p> + +<p>O mother! make thine arms a shield,<br> + <i>Sing, sweet Mary!</i><br> +While love still holds what love must yield<br> +Hide well the path across the field!—<br> + <i>Sing low, the barley and the corn!</i></p> + +<p>. . . . .</p> + +<p>“The Spring is come!” a shepherd saith;<br> + <i>Rest thee, Mary—</i><br> +The passing years are but a breath<br> +And Spring still comes to Nazareth—<br> + <i>Green, green, the barley and the corn!</i></p> +<!-- Page 61 --> + +<h3 id="Inheritance">Inheritance</h3> + +<p>THERE lived a man who raised his hand and said,<br> + “I will be great!”<br> +And through a long, long life he bravely knocked<br> + At Fame’s closed gate.</p> + +<p>A son he left who, like his sire, strove<br> + High place to win;—<br> +Worn out, he died and, dying, left no trace<br> + That he had been.</p> + +<p>He also left a son, who, without care<br> + Or planning how,<br> +Bore the fair letters of a deathless fame<br> + Upon his brow.</p> + +<p>“Behold a genius, filled with fire divine!”<br> + The people cried;<br> +Not knowing that to make him what he was<br> + Two men had died.</p> +<!-- Page 62 --> + +<h3 id="Song_of_the_Sleeper">Song of the Sleeper</h3> + +<p>SLEEPER rest quietly<br> + Deep underground!<br> +Lord of your kingdom<br> + Of murmurous sound.<br> +Hear the grass growing<br> +Sweet for the mowing;<br> +Hear the stars sing<br> + As they travel around—<br> +Grass blade and star dust,<br> +You, I, and all of us,<br> +One with the cause of us,<br> + Deep underground!</p> + +<p>Murmur not, sleeper!<br> + Yours is the key<br> +To all things that were and<br> + To all things that be—<br> +While the lark’s trilling,<br> +While the grain’s filling,<br> +Laugh with the wind<br> + At Life’s Riddle-me-ree!<br> +How you were born of it?<br> +Why was the thorn of it?<br> +Where the new morn of it?<br> + Yours is the Key!</p> + +<p>Sleep deeper, brother!<br> + Sleep and forget<br> +Red lips that trembled<br> + Eyes that were wet—<br><!-- Page 63 --> +Though love be weeping,<br> +Turn to your sleeping,<br> +Life has no giving<br> + That death need regret.<br> +Here at the end of all<br> +Hear the Beginning call,<br> +Life’s but death’s seneschal—<br> + Sleep and forget!</p> +<!-- Page 64 --> + +<h3 id="The_Tyrant">The Tyrant</h3> + +<p>ONE comes with foot insistent to my door,<br> + Calling my name;<br> +Nor voice nor footstep have I heard before,<br> +Yet clear the calling sounds and o’er and o’er—<br> +It seems the sunlight burns along the floor<br> + With paler flame!</p> + +<p>“’Tis vain to call with morning on the wing,<br> + With noon so near,<br> +With Life a dancer in the masque of Spring<br> +And Youth new wedded with a golden ring—<br> +When falls the night and birds have ceased to sing<br> + My heart may hear!</p> + +<p>“’Tis vain to pause. Pass, friend, upon your way!<br> + I may not heed;<br> +Too swift the hours; too sweet, too brief the day:<br> +Only one life, one spring, one perfect May—<br> +I crush each moment, with its sweets to stay<br> + Life’s joyous greed!</p> + +<p>“Call not again! The wind is roaming by<br> + Across the heath—<br> +The Wind’s a tell-tale and will bear your sigh<br> +To dim the smiling gladness of the sky<br><!-- Page 65 --> +Or kill the spring’s first violets that lie<br> + In purple sheath—</p> + +<p>“If you must call, call low! My heart grows still,<br> + Still as my breath,<br> +Still as your smile, O Ancient One! A chill<br> +Strikes through the sun upon the window-sill—<br> +<i>I know you now</i>—I follow where you will,<br> + O tyrant Death!”</p> +<!-- Page 66 --> + +<h3 id="The_Gifts">The Gifts</h3> + +<p>I GIVE you Life, O child, a garden fair;<br> +I give you Love, a rose that blossoms there—<br> +I give a day to pluck it and to wear!</p> + +<p>I give you Death, O child—a boon more great—<br> +That, when your Rose has withered and ’tis late,<br> +You may pass out and, smiling, close the gate!</p> +<!-- Page 67 --> + +<h3 id="The_Town_Between">The Town Between</h3> + +<p>A WALL impregnable surrounds<br> + The Town wherein I dwell;<br> +No man may scale it and it has<br> + Two gates that guard it well.</p> + +<p>One opened long ago, and I<br> + A vagrant soul, slipped through,<br> +Bewildered and forgetting all<br> + The wider world I knew.</p> + +<p>I love the Town, the narrow ways,<br> + The common, yellow sun,<br> +The handclasp and the jesting and<br> + The work that must be done!</p> + +<p>I shun the other gate that stands<br> + Beyond the crowded mart—<br> +I need but glance that way to feel<br> + Cold fingers on my heart!</p> + +<p>It stands alone and somberly<br> + Within a shaded place,<br> +And every man who turns that way<br> + Has quiet on his face.</p> + +<p>And every man must rise and leave<br> + His pleasant homely door<br> +To vanish through this silent gate<br> + And enter in no more—</p> +<!-- Page 68 --> +<p>Yet—once—I saw its opening throw<br> + A brighter light about<br> +And glimpsed strange glory on the brow<br> + Of someone passing out!</p> + +<p>I wonder if Outside may be<br> + One fair and great demesne<br> +Where both gates open, careless of<br> + The Town that lies between?</p> +<!-- Page 69 --> + +<h3 id="On_the_Mountain">On the Mountain</h3> + +<p>THE top of the world and an empty morning,<br> + Mist sweeping in from the dim Outside,<br> +The door of day just a little bit open—<br> + The wind’s great laugh as he flings it wide!</p> + +<p>O wind, here’s one who would travel with you<br> + To the far bourne you alone may know—<br> +There would I seek what some one is hiding,<br> + There would I find where my longings go!</p> + +<p>To some deep calm would I drift and nestle<br> +Close to the heart of the Great Surprise.<br> +O strong wind, do you laugh to see us?<br> + We are so little and oh, so wise!</p> +<!-- Page 70 --> + +<h3 id="The_Prophet">The Prophet</h3> + +<p>HE trod upon the heights; the rarer air<br> +Which common people seek, yet cannot bear,<br> +Fed his high soul and kindled in his eye<br> +The fire of one who cries “I prophesy!”</p> + +<p>“Look up!” he said. They looked but could not see.<br> +“Help us!” they cried. He strove, but uselessly—<br> +The very clouds which veiled the heaven they sought<br> +Hid from his eyes the hearts of them he taught!</p> +<!-- Page 71 --> + +<h3 id="Give_Me_a_Day">Give Me a Day</h3> + +<p>GIVE me a day, beloved, that I may set<br> +A jewel in my heart—I’ll brave regret,<br> +If, on the morrow, you shall say “forget”!</p> + +<p>One golden day when dawn shall blush to noon<br> +And noon incline to dark, and, oversoon,<br> +My joy lie buried ’neath a rounded moon.</p> + +<p>Only a day—it’s worth you scarce could tell<br> +From other days; but in my life ’twill dwell<br> +An oasis with palm trees and a well!</p> +<!-- Page 72 --> + +<h3 id="Little_Brown_Bird">Little Brown Bird</h3> + +<p>O LITTLE brown bird in the rain,<br> + In the sweet rain of spring,<br> +How you carry the youth of the world<br> + In the bend of your wing!<br> +For you the long day is for song<br> + And the night is for sleep—<br> +With never a sunrise too soon<br> + Or a midnight too deep!</p> + +<p>For you every pool is the sky,<br> + Breaking clouds chasing through,—<br> +A heaven so instant and near<br> + That you bathe in its blue!—<br> +And yours is the freedom to rise<br> + To some song-haunted star<br> +Or sink on soft wing to the wood<br> + Where your brown nestlings are.</p> + +<p>So busy, so strong and so glad,<br> + So care-free and young,<br> +So tingling with life to be lived<br> + And with songs to be sung,<br> +O little brown bird!—with your heart<br> + That’s the heart of the Spring—<br> +How you carry the hope of the world<br> + In the bend of your wing!</p> +<!-- Page 73 --> + +<h3 id="The_Watcher">The Watcher</h3> + +<p>THE long road and the low shore, a sail against the sky,<br> +The ache in my heart’s core, and hope so hard to die—<br> +Ah me, but the day’s long—and all the sails go by!</p> + +<p>The long road and the dark shore, pools with stars aflame,<br> +The ache in my heart’s core, the hope I dare not name—<br> +Ah, me, but the night’s long—and every night the same!</p> +<!-- Page 74 --> + +<h3 id="Possession">Possession</h3> + +<p>A YOUTH sat down on a wayside stone,<br> + A pack on his back and a staff at his knee.<br> +He whistled a tune which he called his own,<br> + “It’s a fine new tune, that tune!” said he.</p> + +<p>In his pack he carried a crust of bread,<br> + And he drank from his hands at a brook hard by;<br> +“Spring water is wonderful cool,” he said,<br> + “And wonderful soft is the summer sky!”</p> + +<p>He looked to the hill which his steps had passed,<br> + He looked to the slope where a brooklet purled,<br> +He looked to the distance blue and vast<br> + And “Ah,” cried he, “what a fine, wide world!”</p> + +<p>The youth passed on down the winding track<br> + That led to the beckoning distance dim,<br> +And though he carried but staff and pack,<br> + The world and its giving belonged to him.</p> +<!-- Page 75 --> + +<h3 id="To_Arcady">To Arcady</h3> + +<p>“TELL me, Singer, of the way<br> +Winding down to Arcady?<br> +Of the world’s roads I am weary—<br> +You, with song so brave and cheery,<br> +Happy troubadour must be<br> +On the way to Arcady?”</p> + +<p>Pausing on a muted note,<br> +Song forsook the Singer’s throat,<br> +“Friend,” sighed he, “you come too late,<br> +Once I could the way relate,<br> +Once—but long ago; Ah me,<br> +Far away is Arcady!”</p> + +<p>“Tell me, Poet, of the way<br> +Winding down to Arcady?<br> +Haunting is your verse and airy<br> +With the grace and gleam of faery—<br> +Dweller you must surely be<br> +In the land of Arcady?”</p> + +<p>Slow the Poet raised his eyes,<br> +Sad were they as winter skies,<br> +“Once, I sojourned there,” he said;<br> +Then, no more—but with bent head<br> +Whispered low, “Ask not of me<br> +That lost road to Arcady!”</p> +<!-- Page 76 --> +<p>Tell me, Lover, of the way<br> +Winding down to Arcady?<br> +Some sweet bourne your haste confesses—<br> +Know you paths no other guesses?<br> +Does your gaze, so far away,<br> +See the road to Arcady?</p> + +<p>In the Lover’s eyes there gleamed<br> +Radiance of all things dreamed—<br> +“Nay, detain me not,” he cried<br> +“I am hasting to my bride;<br> +What have roads to do with me,<br> +Love’s at home in Arcady!”</p> +<!-- Page 77 --> + +<h3 id="The_Fields_of_Even">The Fields of Even</h3> + +<p>O STILLER than the fields that lie<br> + Beneath the morning heaven,<br> +And sweeter than day’s gardens are<br> + The purple fields of even!</p> + +<p>The vapor rises, silver-eyed,<br> + Leaving the dew-wet clover,<br> +With groping, mist-white hands outspread<br> + To greet the sky, her lover.</p> + +<p>Ripples the brook, a thread of sound<br> + Close-woven through the quiet,<br> +Blending the jarring tones that day<br> + Would stir to noisy riot.</p> + +<p>And all the glory seems so near<br> + A common man may win it—<br> +When every earth-bound lakelet holds<br> + A million stars within it.</p> + +<p>A common man, who in the day<br> + Lifts not his eyes above him,<br> +Roaming the fields of even through<br> + May find a God to love him!</p> +<!-- Page 78 --> + +<h3 id="I_Love_My_Love">I Love My Love</h3> + +<p>I LOVE my love for she is like a garden in the dawn,<br> + Pale, yet pink-flushed, with softly waking eyes,<br> + And primrose hair that brightens to gold skies,<br> +And petalled lips for dew to linger on.</p> + +<p>I love my love for she is like the mirror of the moon,<br> + (A sweet, small moon but newly come to birth)<br> + So full of heaven is she, so close to earth,<br> +So versed in holy spell and magic rune.</p> + +<p>I love my love. O words that be too feeble and too few!<br> + I love my love!—as April on the hill<br> + Brings back earth’s morning with each daffodil,<br> +So she within my heart makes all things new.</p> +<!-- Page 79 --> + +<h3 id="Spring_Awoke_To-Day">Spring Awoke To-Day</h3> + +<p>SPRING awoke to-day!<br> + Somewhere—far away—<br> +Spring awoke to-day<br> + From the depth of dream.</p> + +<p>Through the air bestirred<br> + Pulse of winging bird,<br> +Through the air bestirred<br> + Laugh of hidden stream.</p> + +<p>On the world’s cold lips<br> + Fell warm finger-tips;<br> +On the world’s cold lips<br> + Woke the glow and gleam!</p> + +<p>Spring awoke to-day!<br> + Somewhere—far away—<br> +Spring awoke to-day<br> + From the depth of dream!</p> +<!-- Page 80 --> + +<h3 id="In_Town">In Town</h3> + +<p>SOMEWHERE there’s a willow budding<br> +In a hollow by the river,<br> +Where the autumn leaves lie sodden,<br> +Turning all the pool to brown;<br> +There’s a thrush who’s building early,<br> +With his feathers all a-shiver,<br> +And the maple sap is rising—<br> +But I’m glad that I’m in town.</p> + +<p>Somewhere out there in the country<br> +There’s a brook that’s overflowing,<br> +And a quaker pussy-willow<br> +Sews grey velvet on her gown;<br> +Rushes whisper to each other<br> +That marsh marigolds are showing,<br> +And those saucy crocus fellows—<br> +But I’m glad that I’m in town.</p> + +<p>Long ago, when we were younger,<br> +How those little things enthralled us;<br> +King-birds nesting in the hedges,<br> +Baby field-mice soft as down,<br> +Muskrats in the sun-warmed shallows—<br> +Strange how all these voices called us!—<br> +Hark, was that a robin singing?<br> +<i>When’s the next train out of town?</i></p> +<!-- Page 81 --> + +<h3 id="Summers_Passing">Summer’s Passing</h3> + +<p>A SINGLE branch of flaming red,<br> + A branch of tawny yellow<br> +And every branch in gorgeousness<br> + A rival of its fellow;<br> +Some russet brown and faded green<br> +With golden shadows in between<br> + And mist-hid sun to mellow.</p> + +<p>An instinct as of music near—<br> + A breath the wind is bringing,<br> +Broken and sweet, as from a host<br> + Of swift and solemn winging—<br> +A mystery born of light and sound<br> +Wrapping our trancéd progress round—<br> + A sighing and a singing!</p> + +<p>Thus in a certain lovely pomp<br> + We leave the Summer lying—<br> +These are her funeral banners, this<br> + The pageantry of dying!<br> +The music that we almost hear<br> +Is wafted from her passing bier—<br> + The singing and the sighing!</p> +<!-- Page 82 --> + +<h3 id="The_Doom_of_Ys">The Doom of Ys</h3> + +<p>DO you hear the bell? ’Tis a silver chime<br> +But it ringeth not in the bourne of time.</p> + +<p>With the wind it swells, with the wind ’twill sink,<br> +Dying at last by the sea’s dim brink.</p> + +<p>By mortal hands the bell was hung<br> +By mortal hands ’tis never swung.</p> + +<p>When the moon’s at full and the long tide creeps<br> +It rings o’er the town that the deep sea keeps—</p> + +<p>The town of Ys, that, unafraid,<br> +Cursed God’s good bells for the noise they made,</p> + +<p>Cursed them well and pulled them down<br> +From every belfry in the town!</p> + +<p>For that sin of pride and that pride of sin,<br> +Deathly and soft, a Doom stole in.</p> + +<p>It sucked through the stone, it stole through the street,<br> +It rose in the hall, silent and fleet;</p> + +<p>Soundless it swept through the market-place<br> +Folding the town in a chill embrace;</p> + +<p>No ruth it knew, it heard no call,<br> +Sinner and saint it gathered them all,</p> +<!-- Page 83 --> +<p>Gathered them all, while over them<br> +The bells they had cursed tolled requiem.</p> + +<p>Do you hear the bell? When the full moon rides<br> +It rings o’er the town that the deep sea hides!</p> +<!-- Page 84 --> + +<h3 id="Times_Garden">Time’s Garden</h3> + +<p>YEARS are the seedlings which we careless sow<br> + In Time’s bare garden. Dead they seem to be—<br> +Dead years! We sigh and cover them with mould,<br> +But though the vagrant wind blow hot, blow cold,<br> + No hint of life beneath the dust we see;<br> +Then comes the magic hour when we are old,<br> + And lo! they stir and blossom wondrously.</p> + +<p>Strange spectral blooms in spectral plots aglow!<br> + Here a great rose and here a ragged tare;<br> +And here pale, scentless blossoms without name,<br> +Robbed to enrich this poppy formed of flame;<br> + Here springs some hearts’ease, scattered unaware;<br> +Here, hawthorn-bloom to show the way Love came;<br> + Here, asphodel, to image Love’s despair!</p> + +<p>When I am old and master of the spell<br> + To raise these garden ghosts of memory,<br> +My feet will turn aside from common ways,<br><!-- Page 85 --> +Where common flowers mark the common days,<br> + To one green plot; and there I know will be<br> +Fairest of all (O perfect beyond praise!)<br> + The year you gave, beloved, your rosemary.</p> +<!-- Page 86 --> + +<h3 id="The_Coming_of_Love">The Coming of Love</h3> + +<p>HOW shall I know? Shall I hear Love pass<br> + In the wind that sighs through the poplar tree?<br> +Shall I follow his passing over the grass<br> + By the prisoned scents which his footsteps free?</p> + +<p>Shall I wake one day to a sky all blue<br> + And meet with Spring in a crowded street?<br> +Shall I open a door and, looking through,<br> + Find, on a sudden, the world more sweet?</p> + +<p>How shall I know?—last night I lay<br> + Counting the hours’ dreary sum<br> +With naught in my heart save a wild dismay<br> + And a fear that whispered, “Love is come!”</p> +<!-- Page 87 --> + +<h3 id="Premonition">Premonition</h3> + +<p>LAST night I dreamed<br> +No dream of joy or sorrow,<br> +Yet, when I woke, I wept,<br> +Knowing the brightness of some far to-morrow<br> +Had darkened while I slept!</p> +<!-- Page 88 --> + +<h3 id="The_Child">The Child</h3> + +<p>I MAY not lift him in my arms. His face I may not see—<br> +Are angel hands more tender than a mother’s hands may be?<br> +And does he smile to hear the song an angel stole from me?</p> + +<p>The wise King said, “He cannot come but I will go to him!”<br> +O David! did you seek with words to make the grave less grim?<br> +And did you think to cheat, with words, the jealous seraphim?</p> + +<p>So! he will learn of heaven—he, who scarcely knew the earth.<br> +All fullness waits the baby eyes that never looked on dearth—<br> +The mystery of death usurps the mystery of birth!</p> + +<p>What light has earth to give me for the light that heaven beguiled?<br> +What is the calm of heaven to him who has not known the wild?—<br> +O, we are both bereft, bereft—the mother and the child!</p> +<!-- Page 89 --> + +<h3 id="Intrusion">Intrusion</h3> + +<p>I BUILT myself a pleasant house.<br> + Content was I to dwell in it—<br> +Its door was fast against the wind<br> + With all the gusty swell of it.</p> + +<p>It had two windows, high and clear,<br> + With trees and skies to shine through them,<br> +They were acquainted with the moon,<br> + And every star was mine through them.</p> + +<p>Its walls were silent walls; its hearth<br> + Held little fires to gladden me—<br> +And though the nights might weep outside<br> + No sob crept through to sadden me.</p> + +<p>Then came your hand upon the latch<br> + (Although I had not sent for you)<br> +And all Outside came blowing in<br> + The way I had not meant it to!</p> + +<p>Upon the hearth my tended flame<br> + Leapt to a blaze and died in it.<br> +The night sought out a hidden place<br> + I had forgot and sighed in it.</p> + +<p>My window that had known the stars<br> + Seemed suddenly not high at all.<br> +The trees drew back; the friendly birds<br> + Swept dumbly by, too shy to call.</p> +<!-- Page 90 --> +<p>Said you: “It is a pleasant house,<br> + But surely somewhat small for two!”—<br> +And at your word my walls fell down,<br> + Leaving no house at all, just you.</p> +<!-- Page 91 --> + +<h3 id="The_Seas_Withholding">The Sea’s Withholding</h3> + +<p>THE ladye’s bower faced the sea,<br> +Its casements framed a sea-born day.<br> +She saw the fishers sail away,<br> + And, far and high,<br> + The gulls sweep by<br> +Within the hollow of the sky!</p> + +<p>She saw the laggard twilight come<br> +And, chased by rippling wakes of foam,<br> +She saw the fisher fleet come home—<br> + Brown sails a-sheen<br> + Against the green<br> +With shadows creeping in between!</p> + +<p>She saw, when it was evening, all<br> +Day’s banners stream in crimson rout<br> +Till night’s soft finger blurred them out,<br> + And, high and far,<br> + A perfect star<br> +Shone where the keys of heaven are!</p> + +<p>“O far and constant star,” she said,<br> +“O passing sail, O passing bird,<br> +O passing day—bring you no word<br> + Of winds that steer<br> + His ship a-near?<br> +Where sails my love that sails not here?</p> +<!-- Page 92 --> +<p>“The days in splendid pageant pass,<br> +In lovely peace the nights go by,<br> +And day and night are sweet; but I—<br> + I cannot say<br> + Lo, the bright day!<br> +Can it be dawn and love away?”</p> +<!-- Page 93 --> + +<h3 id="Love_Unkind">Love Unkind</h3> + +<p>OUT upon the bleak hillside, the bleak hillside, he lay—<br> +Her lips were red, and red the stream that slipped his life away.<br> +Ah, crimson, crimson were her lips, but his were turning gray.</p> + +<p>The troubled sky seemed bending low, bending low to hide<br> +The foam-white face so wild upturned from off the bleak hillside—<br> +White as the beaten foam her face, and she was wond’rous eyed.</p> + +<p>The soft, south-wind came creeping up, creeping stealthily<br> +To breathe upon his clay-cold face—but all too cold was he,<br> +Too cold for you to warm, south-wind, since cold at heart was she!</p> + +<p>Sweet morning peeped above the hill, above the hill to find<br> +The shattered, useless, godlike thing the night had left behind—<br> +Wept the sweet morn her crystal tears that love should prove unkind!<br> +</p> +<!-- Page 94 --> + +<h3 id="Christmas_in_Heaven">Christmas in Heaven</h3> + +<p>HOW hushed they were in Heaven that night,<br> + How lightly all the angels went,<br> +How dumb the singing spheres beneath<br> + Their many-candled tent!</p> + +<p>How silent all the drifting throng<br> + Of earth-freed spirits, strangely torn<br> +By dim and half-remembered pain<br> + And joy but newly born!</p> + +<p>The Glory in the Highest flamed<br> + With awful, unremembered ray—<br> +But quiet as the falling dew<br> + Was He who went away.</p> + +<p>So swift He went, His passing left<br> + A low, bright door in Heaven ajar—<br> +With God it was a covenant,<br> + To man it seemed a star.</p> +<!-- Page 95 --> + +<h3 id="I_Whispered_to_the_Bobolink">I Whispered to the Bobolink</h3> + +<p>I WHISPERED to the bobolink:<br> + “Sweet singer of the field,<br> +Teach me a song to reach a heart<br> + In maiden armor steeled.”</p> + +<p> <i>“If there be such a song,” sang he,<br> + “No bird can tell its mystery.”</i></p> + +<p>I bent above the sweetest rose,<br> + A deeper sweet to stir—<br> +“O Rose,” I begged, “what charm will wake<br> + The deep, sweet heart of her?”</p> + +<p> <i>“Alas, poor lover,” sighed the rose,<br> + “The charm you seek no flower knows.”</i></p> + +<p>I wandered by the midnight lake<br> + Where heaven lay confessed<br> +“Tell me,” I cried, “what draws the stars<br> + To lie upon your breast?”</p> + +<p> <i>The silence woke to soft reply<br> + “When Heaven stoops—demand not why!”</i></p> + +<p>“Alas, sweet maid, love’s potent charm<br> + I cannot beg or buy,<br> +I cannot wrest it from the wind<br> + Or steal it from the sky—”</p> + +<p> <i>Breathless, I caught her whisper low,<br> + “I love you—why, I do not know!”</i></p> +<!-- Page 96 --> + +<h3 id="You">You</h3> + +<p>SLANTING rain and a sky of gray,<br> +Drifting mist and a wind astray,<br> +The leaden end of a leaden day<br> +And you—away!</p> + +<p>Light in the west! The sky’s pale dome<br> +Gemmed with a star; a scented gloam<br> +Of bursting buds and rain-wet loam<br> +And you—at home!</p> +<!-- Page 97 --> + +<h3 id="The_Mother">The Mother</h3> + +<p>LAST night he lay within my arm,<br> + So small, so warm—a mystery<br> + To which God only held the key—<br> +But mine to keep from fear and harm!</p> + +<p>Ah! He was all my own, last night,<br> + With soft, persuasive, baby eyes,<br> + So wondering and yet so wise,<br> +And hands that held my finger tight.</p> + +<p>Why was it that he could not stay—<br> +Too rare a gift? Yet who could hold<br> + A treasure with securer hold<br> +Than I, to whom love taught the way?</p> + +<p>As with a flood of golden light<br> + The first sun tipped earth’s golden rim<br> + So all my world grew bright with him<br> +And with his going fell the night—</p> + +<p>O God, is there an angel arm<br> + More strong, more tender than the rest?<br> + Lay Thou my baby on his breast<br> +To keep him safe from fear and harm!</p> +<!-- Page 98 --> + +<h3 id="The_Vassal">The Vassal</h3> + +<p>WIND of the North, O far, wild wind<br> + Born of a far, lone sea—<br> +When suns are soft and breezes kind<br> + Why are you kin to me?</p> + +<p><i>Uncounted years above the sea,<br> + Rock-fortressed from its rage,<br> +The fishermen, your fathers, kept<br> + A barren heritage—<br> +Grim as the sea they forced to pay<br> + The sea-toll of their wage.</i></p> + +<p><i>And lo! The fate which made you hers<br> + And gave you of her best<br> +And set you in a sunny place,<br> + Down-sloping to the West,<br> +Forgot to change your fisher’s heart<br> + Serf to the sea’s unrest!</i></p> + +<p>Wind of the North! O bitter wind,<br> + I hear the wild seas fret—<br> +In the dim spaces of the mind<br> + They claim me vassal yet!</p> +<!-- Page 99 --> + +<h3 id="The_Troubadour">The Troubadour</h3> + +<p>THE wind blows salt from off the sea<br> + And sweet from where the land lies green;<br> +I travel down the great highway<br> + That runs so straight and white between—<br> +I watch the sea-wind strain the sheet,<br> +The land-wind toss the yellow wheat!</p> + +<p>Song is my mistress, fickle she,<br> + Yet dear beyond all dearth of speech;<br> +Child of the winds of land and sea<br> + She charms me with the charm of each—<br> +Full soft and sweet she sings and then<br> +She sings wild songs for sailor-men!</p> + +<p>No staff I carry in my hand,<br> + No pack I carry on my back,<br> +No foot of earth I call my own,<br> + For castle or for cot I lack—<br> +I travel fast, I travel slow,<br> +And where my mistress bids I go!</p> + +<p>My gems, the pearl upon the leaf<br> + At mystic hour of the morn;<br> +My gold, the gold that rims the sea<br> + A moment ere the day is born;<br> +And on my breezy couch o’ nights<br> +The stars shine down—my taper lights!</p> +<!-- Page 100 --> +<p>Happy am I that sing of love,<br> + Yet from the thrall of love am free;<br> +Happy am I that sing of pain<br> + And quick forget what pain may be!<br> +I sing of death—and lo! To me<br> +Life is supremest ecstacy!</p> +<!-- Page 101 --> + +<h3 id="Indian_Summer">Indian Summer</h3> + +<p>I HAVE strayed from silent places,<br> +Where the days are dreaming always;<br> +And fair summer lies a-dying,<br> +Roses withered on her breast.<br> +I have stolen all her beauty,<br> +All her softness, all her sweetness;<br> +In her robe of folden sunshine<br> + I am drest.</p> + +<p>I will breathe a mist about me<br> +Lest you see my face too clearly,<br> +Lest you follow me too boldly<br> +I will silence every song.<br> +Through the haze and through the silence<br> +You will know that I am passing;<br> +When you break the spell that holds you,<br> + I am gone!</p> +<!-- Page 102 --> + +<h3 id="The_Unchanged">The Unchanged</h3> + +<p>IF we could salvage Babylon<br> +From times’s grim heap of dust and bones;<br> +If we could charm cool waters back<br> +To sing against her thirsty stones;<br> +If, on a day,<br> +We two should stray<br> +Down some long, Babylonian way—<br> +Perhaps the strangest sight of all<br> +Would be the street boys playing ball.</p> + +<p>If through Pompeii’s agelong night<br> +A yellow sun again might shine,<br> +And little, sea-born breezes lift<br> +The hair of lovers sipping wine,<br> +If, in some fair,<br> +Dim temple there,<br> +We watched Pompeii come to prayer—<br> +Not the strange altar would surprise<br> +But strangeness of familiar eyes!</p> + +<p>Ay, should our magic straightly wake<br> +Atlantis from her sea-rocked sleep<br> +And we on some Processional<br> +Look down where dancing maidens leap,<br> +If one flushed maid<br> +Beside us stayed<br> +To tie more firm her loosened braid—<br> +Would not the shaking wonder be<br> +To find her just like you and me?</p> +<!-- Page 103 --> + +<h3 id="Indifference">Indifference</h3> + +<p>A BIRD, a wild-flower and a tree—<br> +I care for them, not they for me.</p> + +<p>I see all heaven in a pool—<br> +But the frog there takes me for a fool.</p> + +<p>To this dead thrush a tear I gave—<br> +All Spring shall sing above my grave,</p> + +<p>And naught I spend my heart upon<br> +Know lack or loss that I am gone—</p> + +<p>A bird, a wild-flower and a tree,<br> +I cherish them; they suffer me!</p> +<!-- Page 104 --> + +<h3 id="Last_Things">Last Things</h3> + +<p>THERE is no one to do it for me,<br> + But I know what I shall do<br> +When the last dawn breaks o’er me<br> + And the last night is through.</p> + +<p>I shall set in pleasant order<br> + The little books I knew,<br> +With flowers on the window ledge<br> + In a shallow bowl of blue.</p> + +<p>I’ll leave the out door swinging,<br> + (As it might swing for you)<br> +And on the clean swept door-sill<br> + Wild roses I shall strew—</p> + +<p>So when pale Death comes trailing<br> + Her branch of sodden rue<br> +She’ll gather up my gay content<br> + And know contentment too!</p> +<!-- Page 105 --> + +<h3 id="Callous_Cupid">Callous Cupid</h3> + +<p>CUPID does not care for sighs<br> +Does not care for lover’s weeping!<br> +Fair One, dry your pretty eyes,<br> +Cupid does not care for sighs,<br> +Laugh with him if you are wise,<br> +Steel the heart he has in keeping;<br> +Cupid does not care for sighs<br> +Does not care for lover’s weeping!</p> +<!-- Page 106 --> + +<h3 id="The_Meeting">The Meeting</h3> + +<p>SHE flitted by me on the stair—<br> +A moment since I knew not of her.<br> +A look, a smile—she passed! but where<br> +She flitted by me on the stair<br> +Joy cradled exquisite despair;<br> +For who am I that I should love her?<br> +She flitted by me on the stair—<br> +A moment since I knew not of her!</p> +<!-- Page 107 --> + +<h3 id="The_Piper">The Piper</h3> + +<p>I’VE heard the pipes of Pan<br> +Somewhere, just beyond,—<br> +Over the edge of dawn, I think,<br> +Where the clouds hang soft on the world’s dim brink,<br> +Where the red suns rise and the blue stars sink,<br> +I heard the pipes of Pan!</p> + +<p><i>Hush! what you heard was the wind,<br> +The feet of the wind through the leaves,<br> +Or the sigh of the waking night as it stirred.<br> +Or a bird’s note afar,<br> +Or the deep breath of June,<br> +Or the fall of a star,<br> +Or the shimmering skirts of the sea-slipping tide<br> +In the wake of the wandering moon!</i></p> + +<p>Nay! ’twas the pipes of Pan!<br> +Somewhere—just beyond—<br> +My soul awoke with a rapturous sigh<br> +(Would I wake my soul for a night bird’s cry?)<br> +I heard the winds of the worlds sweep by<br> +To follow the pipes of Pan!</p> + +<p><i>Stay! ’twas a voice that you heard,<br> +A voice that you love, in the wood,<br> +The vibrating note of a half spoken word—<br> +For the great Pan is slain,</i><br><!-- Page 108 --> +Of his pipings we know not one magical strain,<br> +They have fled down the years of a world that was young<br> +Oh, ages and ages ago!</p> + +<p>Nay, ’twas the pipes of Pan!<br> +Somewhere—just beyond—<br> +Far as a star, yet piercing sweet,<br> +A passionate, poignant, rhythmic beat—<br> +Till my mad blood raced with my racing feet<br> +To follow the piper—Pan!</p> +<!-- Page 109 --> + +<h3 id="Wanderlust">Wanderlust</h3> + +<p>THE highways and the byways, the kind sky folding all,<br> +And never a care to drag me back and never a voice to call;<br> +Only the call of the long, white road to the far horizon’s wall.</p> + +<p>The glad seas and the mad seas, the seas on a night in June,<br> +And never a hand to beckon back from the path of the new-lit moon;<br> +Never a night that lasts too long or a dawn that breaks too soon!</p> + +<p>The shrill breeze and the hill breeze, the sea breeze, fierce and bold,<br> +And never a breeze that gives the lie to a tale that a breeze has told;<br> +Always the tale of the strange and new in the countries strange and old.</p> + +<p>The lone trail and the known trail, the trail you must take on trust,<br> +And never a trail without a grave where a wanderer’s bones are thrust—<br> +Never a look or a turning back till the dust shall claim the dust!</p> +<!-- Page 110 --> + +<h3 id="Gold">Gold</h3> + +<p>WHEN life wakened in the Spring<br> + All the world was gold and green!<br> +Sunlight lay on everything,<br> +Sailing cloud and soaring wing,<br> + Emerald banks where snow had been,<br> + Drifts of daffodils between.</p> + +<p>When Life’s pulse beat strong and high<br> + Shone the world in gold and blue!<br> +Canopied with turquoise sky<br> +Summer passed superbly by,<br> + Bluest midnight cupped the dew<br> + Golden morn might sparkle through!</p> + +<p>Now that life would rest again<br> + Soft she lies in gold and brown,<br> +Brown the fields and gold the grain,<br> +Brown the little pools of rain,<br> + Gold the leaves that falter down<br> + To brown pavements in the town.</p> +<!-- Page 111 --> + +<h3 id="The_Materialist">The Materialist</h3> + +<p>MY soul has left its tent of clay<br> + And seeks from star to star,<br> +’Mid flaming worlds that are to be,<br> + And fruitful worlds that are,<br> +The Voice which spake and said “Live on!”<br> + (When Death said, “You may die”)<br> +And sent my spirit wandering<br> + The stairway of the sky.</p> + +<p>Still must I seek what on the earth<br> + I sought as fruitlessly—<br> +The world I knew, the heaven I scorned<br> + Lost in infinity:<br> +Alone, and on the ageless breath<br> + Of cosmic whirlwinds spun,<br> +I hurtle through the outer dark<br> + Toward some fantastic sun!—</p> + +<p>O God! how happy is the leaf,<br> + A sweet and soulless thing,<br> +Dying to live but in the green<br> + Of yet another Spring—<br> +These heights, these depths, these flaming worlds,<br> + This stairway of the sky<br> +I’d give, had no Voice said “Live on!”<br> + When Death said, “You may die.”</p> +<!-- Page 112 --> + +<h3 id="Tir_Nan_Og">Tir Nan Og</h3> + +<p>THE breeze blows out from the land and it seeks the sea,<br> + O and O! that my sail were set and away—<br> +Fast and free on its wings would my sailing be<br> + To the west: to the Tir Nan Og, where the blesséd stay!</p> + +<p>The darkness stirs, it awakes, it outspreads its arms,<br> + O and O! and the birds in their nests are still,<br> +The red-browed hill bleats low with the lamb’s alarms,<br> + And a sound of singing comes from the slipping rill.</p> + +<p>My soul is awake alone, all alone in the earth,<br> + O and O! and around is the lonely night.<br> +As with the sun, would my soul go forth to its birth—<br> + O’er the darkling sea, to the west—to the light, to the light!</p> + +<p>Do they say, “Be content with the land of the Innis Fail,<br> + O and O! there is friendship here, there is song.”<br> +But they smile to your face, when you turn they stammer and rail<br><!-- Page 113 --> + And the song of the singer has tears and is over long!</p> + +<p>A call comes out of the west and it calls a name,<br> + O and O! it is soft, it is far, it is low—<br> +Sweet, so sweet that it touches my soul with a flame<br> + That burns the heart from my breast with the wish to go!</p> + +<blockquote>(Translated from the Celtic.)</blockquote> +<!-- Page 114 --> + +<h3 id="The_Little_Man_in_Green">The Little Man in Green</h3> + +<p>’TWAS a little man in green,<br> + And he sat upon a stone;<br> + And he sat there all alone,<br> +Whispering.</p> + +<p>“One and two,” so whispered he.<br> + (’Twas an ancient man and hoar)<br> + “One and two,” and then no more—<br> +Never, “Three”.</p> + +<p>Hawthorn trees were quick with May—<br> + “Sir,” said I, “Good-day to you”!<br> + But he counted. “One and two”<br> +In strange way.</p> + +<p>Fool I was—oh, fool was I<br> + (Who should know the ways of them!)<br> + That I touched his cloak’s green hem,<br> +Passing by.</p> + +<p>I was fey with spring and mirth—<br> + Speaking him without a thought—<br> + Now is joy a thing forgot<br> +On the earth.</p> + +<p>Ere the sweet thorn-buds were through,<br> + Wife and child doom-stricken lay,<br> + Cold as winter, white as spray—<br> +<i>“One and two!”</i></p> +<!-- Page 115 --> +<p>Now I seek eternally<br> + That grim Counter of the fen,<br> + Praying he may count again—<br> +Counting, “Three”.</p> + +<blockquote>* In the bad chance of a meeting with the “Little People” the +mortal is cautioned not to speak to them nor to touch, but to pass +by quickly with averted eye.—Old tale.</blockquote> +<!-- Page 116 --> + +<h3 id="The_Enchantress">The Enchantress</h3> + +<p>I FEAR Eileen, the wild Eileen—<br> + The eyes she lifts to mine,<br> +That laugh and laugh and never tell<br> + The half that they divine!</p> + +<p>She draws me to her lonely cot<br> + Ayont the Tulloch Hill;<br> +And, laughing, draws me to her door<br> + And, laughing, holds me still.</p> + +<p>I bless myself and bless myself,<br> + But in the holy sign,<br> +There seems to be no heart of love,<br> + To still the pain in mine.</p> + +<p>The morning, bright above the moor,<br> + Is bright no more for me—<br> +A weary bit of burning pain<br> + Is where my heart should be!</p> + +<p>For since the wild, sweet laugh of her<br> + Has drawn me to her snare,<br> +The only sunlight in the world<br> + Is shining from her hair.</p> + +<p>Yet well I know, ah, well I know<br> + Why ’tis so sweet and wild—<br> +She slept beneath a faery thorn,<br> + She is a faery child!</p> +<!-- Page 117 --> +<p>And so I leave my mother lone,<br> + No meal to fill the pot,<br> +And follow, follow wild Eileen.<br> + If so I will or not.</p> + +<p>I fear to meet her in the glen,<br> + Or seek her by the shore;<br> +I fear to lift her cabin’s latch,<br> + But—should she come no more!—</p> + +<p>O Eileen Og, O wild Eileen,<br> + My heart is wracked with fear<br> +Lest you should meet your faery kin,<br> + And, laughing, leave me here!</p> +<!-- Page 118 --> + +<h3 id="The_Banshee">The Banshee</h3> + +<p>THE Banshee cries on the rising wind<br> + <i>“O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!”</i><br> +The dead to free and the quick to bind—<br> +(Close fast the shutter and draw the blind!)<br> + <i>“O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!”</i></p> + +<p>Why are you paler my dearest dear?<br> + <i>“O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!”</i><br> +’Tis but the wind in the elm tree near—<br> +(Acushla, hush! lest the Banshee hear!)<br> + <i>“O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!”</i></p> + +<p>See, how the crackling fire up-springs,<br> + <i>“O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!”</i><br> +Up and up on its flame-red wings;<br> +Hark, how the cheerful kettle sings!<br> + <i>“O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!”</i></p> + +<p>Core of my heart! How cold your lips!<br> + <i>“O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!”</i><br> +White as the spray the wild wind whips,<br> +Still as your icy finger tips!<br> + <i>“O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!”</i></p> + +<p>On the rising wind the Banshee cries—<br> + <i>“O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!”</i><br> +I kiss your hair. I kiss your eyes—<br> +The kettle is dumb; the red flame dies!<br> + <i>“Ochone! Ochone! Ochone!”</i></p> +<!-- Page 119 --> + +<h3 id="The_Witch">The Witch</h3> + +<p>HER hair was gold and warm it lay<br> + Upon the pallor of her brow;<br> +Her eyes were deep, aye, deep and gray—<br> + And in their depths he drowned his vow.</p> + +<p>She wandered where the sands were wet,<br> + Weaving the sea-weed for a crown,<br> +And there at eve a monk she met—<br> + A holy monk in cowl and gown.</p> + +<p>She held him with her witch’s stare<br> + (A sweet, child-look—it witched him well!)<br> +Upon his lip she froze the prayer,<br> + And in his ear she breathed a spell.</p> + +<p>He babbled ever of her name<br> + And of her brow that gleamed like dawn,<br> +And of her lips—a lovely shame<br> + No holy man should think upon.</p> + +<p>They hunted her along the sea,<br> + “Witch, Witch!” they cried and hissed their hate—<br> +Her hair unbound fell to her knee<br> + And made a glory where she sate.</p> + +<p>Her song she hushed and, wonder-eyed,<br> + She gazed upon their bell and book;<br> +The zealous priests were fain to hide<br> + Lest they be holden by her look.</p> +<!-- Page 120 --> +<p>Most innocent she seemed to be<br> + (“The Devil’s sly!” the fathers say)<br> +Her eyes were dreaming eyes that see<br> + Things strange and fair and far away.</p> + +<p>They stood her in the judgment hall.<br> + “Confess,” they cried, “the blasting spell<br> +That holds yon crazéd monk in thrall?”<br> + “Good sirs,” she said, “he loved me well.”</p> + +<p>They haled her to a witch’s doom,<br> + They matched her shining hair with flame—<br> +But ever through the cloister’s gloom<br> + The mad monk babbles of her name!</p> + +<p>And, when the red sun droppeth down<br> + And wet sand gleameth ghostily,<br> +Men see her weave a sea-weed crown<br> + Between the twilight and the sea.</p> +<!-- Page 121 --> + +<h3 id="Fairy_Singing">Fairy Singing</h3> + +<p>SHE was my love and the pulse of my heart;<br> +Lovely she was as the flowers that start<br> +Straight to the sun from the earth’s tender breast,<br> +Sweet as the wind blowing out of the west—<br> +Elana, Elana, my strong one, my white one,<br> +Soft be the wind blowing over your rest!</p> + +<p><i> She crept to my side<br> + In the cold mist of morning.<br> + “O wirra” she cried,<br> + “’Tis farewell now, mavourneen!<br> + When the crescent moon hung<br> + Like a scythe in the sky,<br> + I heard in the silence<br> + The Little Folks cry.</i></p> + +<p><i> “’Twas like a low sighing,<br> + A sobbing, a singing;<br> + It came from the west,<br> + Where the low moon was swinging:<br> + ‘Elana, Elana’<br> + Was all of their crying.<br> + Mavrone! I must go—<br> + To refuse them, I dare not.<br> + Alone I must go;<br> + They have called and they care not—<br> + Naught do they care that they call me apart<br><!-- Page 122 --> + From the warmth and the light and the love of your heart.<br> + Hark! How their singing<br> + Comes winging, comes winging,<br> + Through your close arms, beloved,<br> + Straight to my heart!”</i></p> + +<p>White grew her face as the thorn’s tender bloom,<br> +White as the mist from the valley of doom!<br> +Swift was her going—her head on my breast<br> +Drooped like a flower that winter has pressed—<br> +Elana, Elana! My strong one, my white one!<br> +Empty the arms that your beauty had blessed.</p> +<!-- Page 123 --> + +<h3 id="Killed_in_Action">Killed in Action</h3> + +<p>MY father lived his three-score years; my son lived twenty-two;<br> +One looked long back on work well done, and one had all to do—<br> +Yet which the better served his world, I know not, nor do you!</p> + +<p>Life taught my father all her lore till he grew wise and gray,<br> +She did but whisper to my son before she turned away—<br> +Yet which her deepest secret held only they two might say.</p> + +<p>Peace brought my father restful days, with love and fame for wage;<br> +War gave my son an unmarked grave and an unwritten page—<br> +Who shall declare which gift conveyed the greater heritage?</p> +<!-- Page 124 --> + +<h3 id="Spring_Came_In">Spring Came In</h3> + +<p>SPRING came in with a red-wing’s feather<br> + And yellow clumps of the wild marshmallow—<br> +O happy bird, can you tell me whether<br> +In distant France they have April weather?<br> + And little pools that are sunny and shallow?</p> + +<p>My soul is awake and my pulse is racing—<br> + My heart is aware that the birds are mating—<br> +Oh, my heart’s like a cloud that the wind is chasing<br> +O’er the earth’s green blur with its silver tracing<br> + To that sad France where there’s someone waiting!</p> + +<p>O Spring! begone with your too-sweet clover<br> + And all your bees with honey to carry—<br> +Come again when the war is over,<br> +Come, dear Spring, when you bring my lover!<br> + Yet come no more, should he tarry . . . tarry!</p> +<!-- Page 125 --> + +<h3 id="From_the_Trenches">From the Trenches</h3> + +<p>OH, to be in Canada now that Spring is merry,<br> + Happy apple blossoms gay against the smiling green;<br> +Here the lilac’s purple plume and here the pink of cherry,<br> + Hillsides just a drift of bloom with clover in between!</p> + +<p>Oh, to be in Canada! there’s a road that rambles<br> + Through a leafing maple-wood and up a windy hill,<br> +Velvet pussy-willows press soft hands amid the brambles<br> + Fringing round a sky-filled pool where cattle drink their fill.</p> + +<p>Oh, to be in Canada! there’s a farmhouse hidden<br> + Where the hollow meets the hill and Spring’s first footsteps show—<br> +Not a drop of honey there to any bee forbidden,<br> + Not a cherry on a tree but all the robins know!</p> + +<p>Oh, to be in Canada, now that Spring is calling<br> + Sweet, so sweet it breaks the heart to let its sweetness through,<br><!-- Page 126 --> +Oh, to breast the windy hill while yet the dew is falling—<br> + Waking all the meadow-larks to carol in the blue!</p> + +<p>Smile upon us, Canada! None shall fail who love you<br> + While they hold a memory of your fields where flowers are—<br> +High the task to keep unstained the skies that bend above you,<br> + Proud the life that shields you from the flaming wind of war!</p> +<!-- Page 127 --> + +<h3 id="The_Reasons">The Reasons</h3> + +<p>THEY sat before a dugout<br> +In the unfamiliar quiet of silenced guns.<br> +And one said:<br> +“Now that it’s over<br> +What about a bit of truth?<br> +Let us say why we came to fight—<br> +No frills—<br> +You first, old Fire-eater!”—</p> + +<p>One with a whimsical face spoke freely;<br> +“I?—I sought some stir,<br> +Some urge in living,<br> +Some sense in dying.<br> +I sought a mountain top<br> +With a view!”</p> + +<p>“And the answer?”</p> + +<p>“I have seen others find<br> +What I sought.”</p> + +<p>. . . . . . .</p> + +<p>“I don’t know that it’s anyone’s business<br> +Why I came,”<br> +(Another spoke as if unwillingly),<br> +“A girl laughed, I think—<br> +Funny?—Yes, funny as hell!”—</p> + +<p>. . . . . . .</p> + +<p>His neighbor said,<br> +“I was a business man,<br> +No sentiment,<br><!-- Page 128 --> +Nothing of that kind,—<br> +But the band played<br> +And, suddenly, I saw<br> +My country,<br> +A woman, with hands outstretched,<br> +Her back to the wall—”</p> + +<p>“U—um,” they nodded,<br> +<i>“She’s got a pull,<br> +That old lady.”</i></p> + +<p>. . . . . . .</p> + +<p>“As for me,” the speaker was abrupt,<br> +“I was afraid!<br> +I saw pictures,<br> +I heard things—<br> +I couldn’t sleep<br> +For the Beast that was abroad—<br> +Fear!<br> +That’s what brought me!”</p> + +<p>. . . . . . .</p> + +<p>They sat silent for a moment<br> +In the sun.<br> +Then an older man said briefly,<br> +“We were all afraid . . . . .<br> +. . . But what of hate?<br> +Did no one come because of hate?”<br> + . . . . . .</p> + +<p>“Yes—I”—<br> +They looked at this man<br> +Curiously,<br><!-- Page 129 --> +But he added nothing,<br> +And no one questioned.</p> + +<p>. . . . . . .</p> + +<p>A fresh-faced boy spoke modestly;<br> +“Our family are all Army people—<br> +So, of course—<br> +And it’s all over now.<br> +We got through.<br> +But it was a near thing—<br> +What?”</p> +<!-- Page 130 --> + +<h3 id="To-Day">To-Day</h3> + +<p>TO-DAY is a room<br> +With windows upon one side<br> +And upon the other<br> +A door—<br> +Through the windows we may look<br> +But cannot pass;<br> +Through the door we must pass<br> +But cannot look,<br> +And there are no windows<br> +Upon that side.</p> +<!-- Page 131 --> + +<h3 id="Memory">Memory</h3> + +<p>A YEAR is a thief<br> +Who comes in the guise of a friend<br> +Saying, “Let us travel together,<br> +We have much to give each other.<br> +See, I hold back nothing—<br> +For what is giving<br> +Between friends?”</p> + +<p>Yet when the year departs<br> +He takes his gifts with him—<br> +“Oh, Robber!” we cry,<br> +Aghast and weeping,<br> +“Nay,” he replies, “I did but lend.<br> +Still, for your weeping, I will leave you something.</p> + +<p>It is not the real thing<br> +But you may keep it always.”</p> +<!-- Page 132 --> + +<h3 id="Dream">Dream</h3> + +<p>I SEE a spirit<br> +Young and eager,<br> +Beautiful, too, I think,<br> +(Although I cannot see it clearly)<br> +It is, by right of its own being,<br> +One with all lovely, youthful things;<br> +And they, its age-old kindred,<br> +Welcome it<br> +Saying, “Come, you too are one of us!”</p> + +<p>. . . . . . .</p> + +<p>This spirit is my own happy ghost—<br> +But I, myself,—alas!</p> +<!-- Page 133 --> + +<h3 id="Perhaps">Perhaps</h3> + +<p>THERE was a man, once, and a woman<br> +Whose love was so entire<br> +That an angel, watching them,<br> +Said wistfully, “Would I were no angel<br> +But a mortal,<br> +Loving so, and so beloved!”<br> +. . . . Yet, when these two mated,<br> +A muddied drop, from some forgotten vial of ancestry,<br> +Brought them a child whose mind was dark;<br> +Who lived—and never called them by their names . . .<br> +. . . . They tended her<br> +For twenty years.<br> +Only when she died<br> +Did they weep, whispering,<br> +“Why?”<br> +The years could find no answer,<br> +Though they went questioning<br> +Until the end.</p> + +<p>. . . . . . .</p> + +<p>Still wondering<br> +They wandered out into the other country . . . .<br> +It was lonely there,<br> +Being parted from familiar things,<br> +And there was no one to answer questions,<br> +But, suddenly,<br><!-- Page 134 --> +(As a wind blows or a swallow flies against the sun)<br> +Came a young girl—eager!<br> +She ran to them,<br> +Calling dear names,<br> +(Names that would open heaven)<br> +“Who are you?” they entreated, trembling . . . .<br> +But they knew!—<br> +Had they not dreamed her so<br> +For twenty years?</p> +<!-- Page 135 --> + +<h3 id="Glamour">Glamour</h3> + +<p>THE knowledge of love<br> +Is like sudden sun upon a river—<br> +The slipping water<br> +Is instantly opaque and glorious.<br> +No longer can we look into it<br> +Counting the pebbles,<br> +Watching the ribboned water-reeds,<br> +Or searching idly<br> +For that something which we lost<br> +(A ring with gems)<br> +It is all glamour, now!<br> +We turn away, shading our eyes.</p> +<!-- Page 136 --> + +<h3 id="Friendship">Friendship</h3> + +<p>I THOUGHT of friendship<br> +As a golden ring,<br> +Round as the world<br> +Yet fitted to my finger;<br> +I thought of friendship<br> +As a path in spring<br> +Where there are flowers<br> +And the footsteps linger;<br> +I thought of friendship<br> +As a globe of light,<br> +Yellow before the doorway of my life,<br> +A flame diffused<br> +Yet potent against night;<br> +I thought—but thought itself in ruin lies<br> +Since, yesterday, you passed with lowered eyes!</p> +<!-- Page 137 --> + +<h3 id="The_Returned_Man">The Returned Man</h3> + +<p>THEY thought that he would come back<br> +Quieter,<br> +Less boyish,<br> +But still a hero with tales to tell.<br> +So, when there were no tales,<br> +Only blank silences—<br> +When he lay for hours<br> +Staring through leafing branches<br> +And forgot them<br> +Utterly—<br> +They tried to arouse him, saying:<br> +“The war is over.”<br> +But when he turned on them<br> +His shadowed eyes<br> +They stammered—<br> +Knowing that they lied!</p> +<!-- Page 138 --> + +<h3 id="Epitaph">Epitaph</h3> + +<blockquote>(For the unknown soldier buried in Westminster Abbey.)</blockquote> + +<p>YOU who died fighting<br> +For me and my little children;<br> +You who are a million<br> +Yet are but one,<br> +I lay upon your grave<br> +A rose and a tear—<br> +The tear is the world’s sorrow,<br> +The rose is your joy.</p> +<!-- Page 139 --> + +<h3 id="For_One_Who_Went_in_Spring">For One Who Went in Spring</h3> + +<p>SHE did not go, as others do,<br> + With backward look and beckoning;<br> + With no farewell for anything<br> +She passed the open doorway through.</p> + +<p>The little things she left behind<br> + Lie where they fell from hands content—<br> + Fame a forgotten incident<br> +And life a season out of mind.</p> + +<p>The spring will find her footstep gone,<br> + But spring is kind to vanished things,<br> + Camas and buttercups she brings<br> +With green that tears have brightened on.</p> + +<p>And we, who walked with her last year<br> + While April in the lilacs stirred,<br> + Will turn with sudden look or word—<br> +Forgetting that she is not here.</p> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12475 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. 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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: Fires of Driftwood + +Author: Isabel Ecclestone Mackay + +Release Date: May 30, 2004 [EBook #12475] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIRES OF DRIFTWOOD *** + + + + +Produced by Andrew Sly. Thanks to A Celebration of Women Writers +for providing the source text. + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1 align="center">FIRES OF DRIFTWOOD</h1> + +<h2 align="center">BY ISABEL ECCLESTONE MACKAY</h2> +<h3 align="center">WITH DECORATIONS BY J.E.H. MACDONALD A.R.C.A.</h3> + +<p>First published by McClelland & Stewart, Limited, Toronto, 1922.</p> + +<hr> + +<!-- Page 1 --> +<blockquote>The thanks of the author are due to the editors of <i>Ainslee’s Magazine, +The American Magazine, The Canadian Magazine, Canadian Home Journal, +The Canadian Bookman, The Forum, The Globe, Harper’s Magazine, +The Independent, The Ladies’ World, McClure’s Magazine, Metropolitan +Magazine, The Reader Magazine, Scribner’s Magazine, Saturday Night,</i> +and <i>The Youth’s Companion</i> for permission to publish this verse +in its present form.</blockquote> + +<!-- Page 3 --> +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> +<ul> +<li><a href="#Fires_of_Driftwood">FIRES OF DRIFTWOOD</a></li> +<li><a href="#When_as_a_Lad">WHEN AS A LAD</a></li> +<li><a href="#Laureate">LAUREATE</a></li> +<li><a href="#Out_of_Babylon">OUT OF BABYLON</a></li> +<li><a href="#Last_Spring">LAST SPRING</a></li> +<li><a href="#Presence">PRESENCE</a></li> +<li><a href="#In_an_Autumn_Garden">IN AN AUTUMN GARDEN</a></li> +<li><a href="#Rose_Dolores">ROSE DOLORES</a></li> +<li><a href="#A_Pilgrim">A PILGRIM</a></li> +<li><a href="#Spring_will_Come">SPRING WILL COME</a></li> +<li><a href="#Cosmos">COSMOS</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Secret">THE SECRET</a></li> +<li><a href="#I_Watch_Swift_Pictures">I WATCH SWIFT PICTURES</a></li> +<li><a href="#Fear">FEAR</a></li> +<li><a href="#Resurrection">RESURRECTION</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Lost_Name">THE LOST NAME</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Happy_Traveller">THE HAPPY TRAVELLER</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Dead_Bride">THE DEAD BRIDE</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Crocus_Bed">THE CROCUS BED</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Vision">THE VISION</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Miracle">THE MIRACLE</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Homesteader">THE HOMESTEADER</a></li> +<li><a href="#Wet_Weather">WET WEATHER</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Sleeping_Beauty">THE SLEEPING BEAUTY</a></li> +<li><a href="#Down_at_the_Docks">DOWN AT THE DOCKS</a></li> +<li><a href="#Lake_Louise">LAKE LOUISE</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Gatekeeper">THE GATEKEEPER</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Bridge_Builder">THE BRIDGE BUILDER</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Prairie_School">THE PRAIRIE SCHOOL</a></li> +<li><a href="#Calgary_Station">CALGARY STATION</a></li> +<li><a href="#Vale">VALE</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Way_to_Wait">THE WAY TO WAIT</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Passer-By">THE PASSER BY</a></li> +<li><a href="#First_Love">FIRST LOVE</a></li> +<li><a href="#Sad_One_Must_You_Weep">SAD ONE, MUST YOU WEEP</a></li> +<li><a href="#Joseph">JOSEPH</a></li> +<li><a href="#A_Christmas_Child">A CHRISTMAS CHILD</a></li> +<li><a href="#Spring_in_Nazareth">SPRING IN NAZARETH</a></li> +<li><a href="#Inheritance">INHERITANCE</a></li> +<li><a href="#Song_of_the_Sleeper">SONG OF THE SLEEPER</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Tyrant">THE TYRANT</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Gifts">THE GIFTS</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Town_Between">THE TOWN BETWEEN</a></li> +<li><a href="#On_the_Mountain">ON THE MOUNTAIN</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Prophet">THE PROPHET</a></li> +<li><a href="#Give_Me_a_Day">GIVE ME A DAY</a></li> +<li><a href="#Little_Brown_Bird">LITTLE BROWN BIRD</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Watcher">THE WATCHER</a></li> +<li><a href="#Possession">POSSESSION</a></li> +<li><a href="#To_Arcady">TO ARCADY</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Fields_of_Even">THE FIELDS OF EVEN</a></li> +<li><a href="#I_Love_My_Love">I LOVE MY LOVE</a></li> +<li><a href="#Spring_Awoke_To-Day">SPRING AWOKE TO-DAY</a></li> +<li><a href="#In_Town">IN TOWN</a></li> +<li><a href="#Summers_Passing">SUMMER’S PASSING</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Doom_of_Ys">THE DOOM OF YS</a></li> +<li><a href="#Times_Garden">TIME’S GARDEN</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Coming_of_Love">THE COMING OF LOVE</a></li> +<li><a href="#Premonition">PREMONITION</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Child">THE CHILD</a></li> +<li><a href="#Intrusion">INTRUSION</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Seas_Withholding">THE SEA’S WITHHOLDING</a></li> +<li><a href="#Love_Unkind">LOVE UNKIND</a></li> +<li><a href="#Christmas_in_Heaven">CHRISTMAS IN HEAVEN</a></li> +<li><a href="#I_Whispered_to_the_Bobolink">I WHISPERED TO THE BOB-O-LINK</a></li> +<li><a href="#You">YOU</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Mother">THE MOTHER</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Vassal">THE VASSAL</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Troubadour">THE TROUBADOUR</a></li> +<li><a href="#Indian_Summer">INDIAN SUMMER</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Unchanged">THE UNCHANGED</a></li> +<li><a href="#Indifference">INDIFFERENCE</a></li> +<li><a href="#Last_Things">LAST THINGS</a></li> +<li><a href="#Callous_Cupid">CALLOUS CUPID</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Meeting">THE MEETING</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Piper">THE PIPER</a></li> +<li><a href="#Wanderlust">WANDERLUST</a></li> +<li><a href="#Gold">GOLD</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Materialist">THE MATERIALIST</a></li> +<li><a href="#Tir_Nan_Og">TIR NAN OG</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Little_Man_in_Green">THE LITTLE MAN IN GREEN</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Enchantress">THE ENCHANTRESS</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Banshee">THE BANSHEE</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Witch">THE WITCH</a></li> +<li><a href="#Fairy_Singing">FAIRY SINGING</a></li> +<li><a href="#Killed_in_Action">KILLED IN ACTION</a></li> +<li><a href="#Spring_Came_In">SPRING CAME IN</a></li> +<li><a href="#From_the_Trenches">FROM THE TRENCHES</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Reasons">THE REASONS</a></li> +<li><a href="#To-Day">TO-DAY</a></li> +<li><a href="#Memory">MEMORY</a></li> +<li><a href="#Dream">DREAM</a></li> +<li><a href="#Perhaps">PERHAPS</a></li> +<li><a href="#Glamour">GLAMOUR</a></li> +<li><a href="#Friendship">FRIENDSHIP</a></li> +<li><a href="#The_Returned_Man">THE RETURNED MAN</a></li> +<li><a href="#Epitaph">EPITAPH</a></li> +<li><a href="#For_One_Who_Went_in_Spring">FOR ONE WHO WENT IN SPRING</a></li> +</ul> + +<hr> +<!-- Page 9 --> + +<h3 id="Fires_of_Driftwood">Fires of Driftwood</h3> + +<p><i>ON what long tides<br> +Do you drift to my fire,<br> +You waifs of strange waters?<br> +From what far seas,<br> +What murmurous sands,<br> +What desolate beaches—<br> +Flotsam of those glories that were ships!</i></p> + +<p><i>I gather you,<br> +Bitter with salt,<br> +Sun-bleached, rock-scarred, moon-harried,<br> +Fuel for my fire.</i></p> + +<p><i>You are Pride’s end.<br> +Through all to-morrows you are yesterday.<br> +You are waste,<br> +You are ruin,<br> +For where is that which once you were?</i></p> + +<p><i>I gather you.<br> +See! I set free the fire within you—<br> +You awake in thin flame!<br> +Tremulous, mistlike, your soul aspires,<br> +Blue, beautiful,<br> +Up and up to the clouds which are its kindred!<br> +What is left is nothing—<br> +Ashes blown along the shore!</i></p> +<!-- Page 10 --> + +<h3 id="When_as_a_Lad">When as a Lad</h3> + +<p> WHEN, as a lad, at break of day<br> + I watched the fishers sail away,<br> +My thoughts, like flocking birds, would follow<br> +Across the curving sky’s blue hollow,<br> + And on and on—<br> + Into the very heart of dawn!</p> + +<p> For long I searched the world—ah, me!<br> + I searched the sky, I searched the sea,<br> +With much of useless grief and rueing<br> +Those wingéd thoughts of mine pursuing—<br> + So dear were they,<br> + So lovely and so far away!</p> + +<p> I seek them still and always must<br> + Until my laggard heart is dust<br> +And I am free to follow, follow,<br> +Across the curving sky’s blue hollow,<br> + Those thoughts too fleet<br> + For any save the soul’s swift feet!</p> +<!-- Page 11 --> + +<h3 id="Laureate">Laureate</h3> + +<p>DEATH met a little child who cried<br> +For a bright star which earth denied,<br> +And Death, so sympathetic, kissed it,<br> +Saying: “With me<br> +All bright things be!”—<br> +And only the child’s mother missed it.</p> + +<p>Death met a maiden on the brae,<br> +Her eyes held dreams life would betray,<br> +And gallant Death was greatly taken—<br> +“Leave,” whispered he,<br> +“Your dream with me<br> +And I will see you never waken.”</p> + +<p>Death met an old man in a lane;<br> +So gnarled was he and full of pain<br> +That kindly Death was struck with pity—<br> +“Come you with me,<br> +Old man,” said he,<br> +“I’ll set you down in a fair city.”</p> + +<p>So, kingly Death along the way<br> +Scatters rare gifts and asks no pay—<br> +Yet who to Death will write a sonnet?<br> +If any dare,<br> +Let him take care<br> +No foolish tear be spilled upon it!</p> +<!-- Page 12 --> + +<h3 id="Out_of_Babylon">Out of Babylon</h3> + +<p>THEIR looks for me are bitter,<br> + And bitter is their word—<br> +I may not glance behind unseen,<br> + I may not sigh unheard.</p> + +<p>So fare we forth from Babylon,<br> + Along the road of stone;<br> +And no one looks to Babylon<br> + Save I—save I alone!</p> + +<p>My mother’s eyes are glory-filled<br> + (Save when they fall on me)<br> +The shining of my father’s face<br> + I tremble when I see,</p> + +<p>For they were slaves in Babylon,<br> + And now they’re walking free—<br> +They leave their chains in Babylon,<br> + I bear my chains with me!</p> + +<p>At night a sound of singing<br> + The vast encampment fills;<br> +<i>“Jerusalem! Jerusalem!”</i><br> + It sweeps the nearing hills—</p> + +<p>But no one sings of Babylon<br> + (Their home of yesterday)<br> +And no one prays for Babylon,<br> + And I—I dare not pray!</p> +<!-- Page 13 --> +<p>Last night the Prophet saw me;<br> + And, while he held me there,<br> +The holy fire within his eyes<br> + Burned all my secret bare.</p> + +<p>“What! Sigh you so for Babylon?”<br> + (I turned away my face)<br> +“Here’s one who turns to Babylon,<br> + Heart traitor to her race!”</p> + +<p>I follow and I follow!<br> + My heart upon the rack;<br> +I follow to Jerusalem—<br> + The long road stretches back</p> + +<p>To Babylon, to Babylon!<br> + And every step I take<br> +Bears farther off from Babylon<br> + A heart that cannot break.</p> +<!-- Page 14 --> + +<h3 id="Last_Spring">Last Spring</h3> + +<p>THIS morning at the door<br> + I heard the Spring.<br> +Quickly I set it wide<br> + And, welcoming,<br> +“Come in, sweet Spring,” I cried,<br> +“The winter ash, long dried,<br> +Waits but your breath to rise<br> + On phantom wing.”</p> + +<p>A brown leaf shivered by,<br> + A soulless thing—<br> +My heart in quick dismay<br> + Forgot to sing—<br> +Twisted and grim it lay,<br> +Kin to the ghost-ash gray,<br> +Dead, dead—strange herald this<br> + Of jocund Spring!</p> + +<p>I spurned it from the door.<br> + I longed that Spring<br> +Should come with song and glow<br> + And rush of wing,<br> +Not this, not this!—But O<br> +Dead leaf, a year ago<br> +You were the dear first-born<br> + Of Hope and Spring!</p> +<!-- Page 15 --> + +<h3 id="Presence">Presence</h3> + +<p>BY a sense of Presence, keenly dear,<br> + I, who thought her distant,<br> +Knew her near.</p> + +<p>By an echo that most sweetly woke,<br> + I, long keyed to silence,<br> +Knew she spoke.</p> + +<p>By her nearness and the word she said,<br> + I, who thought her living,<br> +Knew her dead.</p> +<!-- Page 16 --> + +<h3 id="In_an_Autumn_Garden">In an Autumn Garden</h3> + +<p> TO-NIGHT the air discloses<br> + Souls of a million roses,<br> +And ghosts of hyacinths that died too soon;<br> + From Pan’s safe-hidden altar<br> + Dim wraiths of incense falter<br> +In waving spiral, making sweet the moon!</p> + +<p> Aroused from fragrant covers,<br> + The vows of vanished lovers<br> +Take voice in whisperings that rise and pass;<br> + Where the crisped leaves are lying<br> + A tremulous, low sighing<br> +Breathes like a startled spirit o’er the grass.</p> + +<p> Ah, Love! in some far garden,<br> + In Arcady or Arden,<br> +We two were lovers! Hush—remember not<br> + The years in which I’ve missed you—<br> + ’Twas yesterday I kissed you<br> +Beneath this haunted moon! Have you forgot?</p> +<!-- Page 17 --> + +<h3 id="Rose_Dolores">Rose Dolores</h3> + +<p>THE moan of Rose Dolores, she made her plaint to me,<br> +“My hair is lifted by the wind that sweeps in from the sea;<br> +I taste its salt upon my lips—O jailer, set me free!”</p> + +<p>“Content thee, Rose Dolores; content thee, child of care!<br> +There’s satin shoon upon thy feet and emeralds in thy hair,<br> +And one there is who hungers for thy step upon the stair.”</p> + +<p>The moan of Rose Dolores, “O jailer, set me free!<br> +These satin shoon and green-lit gems are terrible to me;<br> +I hear a murmur on the wind, the murmur of the sea!”</p> + +<p>“Bethink thee, Rose Dolores, bethink thee, ere too late!<br> +Thou wert a fisher’s child, alack, born to a fisher’s fate;<br> +Would’st lay thy beauty ’neath the yoke—would’st be a fisher’s mate?”</p> +<!-- Page 18 --> +<p>The moan of Rose Dolores “Kind jailer, let me go!<br> +There’s one who is a fisher—ah! my heart beats cold and slow<br> +Lest he should doubt I love him—I! who love not heaven so!”</p> + +<p>“Alas, sweet Rose Dolores, why beat against the bars?<br> +Thy fisher lover drifteth where the sea is full of stars;<br> +Why weep for one who weeps no more?—since grief thy beauty mars!”</p> + +<p>The moan of Rose Dolores (she prayed me patiently)<br> +“O jailer, now I know who called from out the calling sea,<br> +I know whose kiss was in the wind—O jailer, set me free!”</p> +<!-- Page 19 --> + +<h3 id="A_Pilgrim">A Pilgrim</h3> + +<p>ACROSS the trodden continent of years<br> + To shrines of long ago,<br> +My heart, a hooded pilgrim, turns with tears—<br> + For could I know<br> +That in the temple of thy constancy<br> +There still may burn a taper lit for me,<br> + ’Twould be a star in starless heaven, to show<br> +That Heaven could be.</p> + +<p>Bent with the weight of all that I desired<br> + And all that I forswore,<br> +My heart roams, mendicant, forlorn and tired,<br> + From door to door,<br> +Begging of every stern-faced memory<br> +An alms of pity—just to come to thee,<br> + No more thy knight, thy champion no more—<br> +Only thy devotee!</p> +<!-- Page 20 --> + +<h3 id="Spring_will_Come">Spring will Come</h3> + +<p>SPRING will come to help me: she’ll be back again,<br> + Back with the soft sun, the sun I knew before.<br> + She will wear her green gown, the emerald gown she wore<br> +When the white-faced windflowers blew along the lane.</p> + +<p>Spring will come to help me: When her waking sigh<br> + Drifts across my sore heart all the pain will go.<br> + How shall hearts be aching when larks are flying low,<br> +Low across the fields of camas bluer than the sky?</p> + +<p>I’ve a tryst with Spring here—maybe they’ll be few<br> + Now the world grows older—and shall I delay<br> + Just because a Winter has stolen joy away?<br> +What cares Spring for old joys, all her joys are new.</p> +<!-- Page 21 --> +<p>Maybe there’ll be singing in my sorrow yet—<br> + I have heard of such things—but, if there be not,<br> + Still there’ll be the green pool in the pasture lot,<br> +All a-trail with willow fingers, delicate and wet.</p> + +<p>Winter is a passing thing and Spring is always gay;<br> + If she, too, be passing she does not weep to know it.<br> + Time she takes to quicken seed but never time to grow it—<br> +Naught she cares for harvest that lies so far away.</p> +<!-- Page 22 --> + +<h3 id="Cosmos">Cosmos</h3> + +<p>THE tiny thing of painted gauze that flutters in the sun<br> +And sinks upon the breast of night with all its living done;</p> + +<p>The unconsidered seed that from the garden blows away,<br> +Blooming its little time to bloom in one short summer day;</p> + +<p>The leaf the idle wind shakes down in autumn from the tree,<br> +The grasshopper who for an hour makes gayest minstrelsy—</p> + +<p>These—and this restless soul of mine—are one with flaming spheres<br> +And cold, dead moons whose ghostly fires haunt unremembered years.</p> +<!-- Page 23 --> + +<h3 id="The_Secret">The Secret</h3> + +<p>IF I should tell you what I know<br> +Of where the first primroses grow,<br> + Betray the secrets of the lily,<br> + Bring crocus-gold and daffodilly,<br> +Would you tell me if charm there be<br> + To win a maiden, willy-nilly?</p> + +<p>I lie upon the fragrant heath,<br> +Kin to the beating heart beneath;<br> + The nesting plover I discover<br> + Nor stir the scented screen above her,<br> +Yet am I blind—I cannot find<br> + What turns a maiden to her lover!</p> + +<p>Through all the mysteries of May,<br> +Initiate, I take my way—<br> + Sure as the blithest lark or linnet<br> + To touch the pulsing soul within it—<br> +Yet with no art to reach Her heart,<br> + Nor skill to teach me how to win it!</p> +<!-- Page 24 --> + +<h3 id="I_Watch_Swift_Pictures">I Watch Swift Pictures</h3> + +<p>I WATCH swift pictures flash and fade<br> + On the closed curtains of my eyes,—<br> +A bit of river green as jade<br> + Under green skies;</p> + +<p>A single bird that soars and dips<br> + Remote; a young and secret moon<br> +Stealing to kiss some flower’s lips<br> + Too shy for noon;</p> + +<p>A pointing tree; a lifted hill,<br> + Sun-misted with a golden ring,—<br> +Were these once mine? And am I still<br> + Remembering?</p> + +<p>A path that wanders wistfully<br> + With no beginning there nor here,<br> +Nor special grace that it should be<br> + So sharply dear,</p> + +<p>Unless,—what if when every day<br> + Is yesterday, with naught to borrow,<br> +I may slip down this wistful way<br> + Into to-morrow?</p> +<!-- Page 25 --> + +<h3 id="Fear">Fear</h3> + +<p>I HEARD a sound of crying in the lane,<br> + A passionless, low crying,<br> +And I said, “It is the tears of the brown rain<br> + On the leaves within the lane!”</p> + +<p>I heard a sudden sighing at the door,<br> + A soft, persuasive sighing,<br> +And I said, “The summer breeze has sighed before,<br> + Gustily, outside the door!”</p> + +<p>Yet from the place I fled, nor came again,<br> + With my heart beating, beating!<br> +For I knew ’twas not the breeze nor the brown rain<br> + At the door and in the lane!</p> +<!-- Page 26 --> + +<h3 id="Resurrection">Resurrection</h3> + +<p>I BURIED Joy; and early to the tomb<br> +I came to weep—so sorrowful was I<br> +Who had not dreamed that Joy, my Joy, could die.</p> + +<p>I turned away, and by my side stood Joy<br> +All glorified—ah, so ashamed was I<br> +Who dared to dream that Joy, my Joy, could die!</p> +<!-- Page 27 --> + +<h3 id="The_Lost_Name">The Lost Name</h3> + +<p>THE voice of my true love is low<br> + And exquisitely kind,<br> +Warm as a flower, cold as snow—<br> + I think it is the Wind.</p> + +<p>My true love’s face is white as mist<br> + That moons have lingered on,<br> +Yet rosy as a cloud, sun-kissed—<br> + I think it is the Dawn.</p> + +<p>The breath of my true love is sweet<br> + As gardens at day’s close<br> +When dew and dark together meet—<br> + I think it is a Rose.</p> + +<p>My true love’s heart is wild and shy<br> + And folded from my sight,<br> +A world, a star, a whispering sigh—<br> + I think it is the Night.</p> + +<p>My true love’s name is lost to me,<br> + The prey of dusty years,<br> +But in the falling Rain I see<br> + And know her by her tears!</p> +<!-- Page 28 --> + +<h3 id="The_Happy_Traveller">The Happy Traveller</h3> + +<p>WHO is the monarch of the Road?<br> + I, the happy rover!<br> +Lord of the way which lies before<br> + Up to the hill and over—<br> +Owner of all beneath the blue,<br> +On till the end, and after, too!</p> + +<p>I am the monarch of the Road!<br> + Mine are the keys of morning,<br> +I know where evening keeps her store<br> + Of stars for night’s adorning,<br> +I know the wind’s wild will, and why<br> +The lone thrush hurries down the sky!</p> + +<p>I am the monarch of the Road!<br> + My court I hold with singing,<br> +Each bird a gay ambassador,<br> + Each flower a censer, swinging;<br> +And every little roadside thing<br> +A wonder to confound a king.</p> + +<p>I am the monarch of the Road!<br> + I ask no leave for living;<br> +I take no less, I seek no more<br> + Than nature’s fullest giving—<br> +And ever, westward with the day,<br> +I travel to the far away!</p> +<!-- Page 29 --> + +<h3 id="The_Dead_Bride">The Dead Bride</h3> + +<p>WITHIN my circled arm she lay and faintly smiled the long night through,<br> +And oh, but she was fair to view, fair to view!</p> + +<p>Upon the whiteness of her robe the dew distilled, and on her veil<br> +And on her cheek of carvéd pearl that gleamed so pale.</p> + +<p>(How still the air is in the night, how near and kind the heavens are,<br> +One might a naked hand outstretch and grasp a star!)</p> + +<p>I kissed her heavy, folded hair. I kissed her heavy lids full oft;<br> +Beneath the shining of the stars her eyes shone soft.</p> + +<p>“Love, Love!” I said, “the day was long”—“Oh, long indeed,” she sighing said.<br> +“I grow so jealous of the sun, since I am dead.”</p> + +<p>(How sweet the air is in the night, how sweet, sweet, sweet the flowers seem—<br> +But oh, the emptiness of dawn that breaks the dream!)</p> +<!-- Page 30 --> + +<h3 id="The_Crocus_Bed">The Crocus Bed</h3> + +<p>YELLOW as the noonday sun,<br> +Purple as a day that’s done,<br> +White as mist that lingers pale<br> +On the edge of morning’s veil,<br> +Delicate as love’s first kiss—<br> +Crocuses are just like this.</p> + +<p>Ere the robin paints his breast,<br> +Ere the daffodil is drest,<br> +Ere the iris’ lovely head<br> +Waves above her perfumed bed<br> +Comes the crocus—and the Spring<br> +Follows after, wing on wing!</p> + +<p>Sweet perfection, holding up<br> +Magic dew in topaz cup,<br> +Alabaster, amethyst—<br> +Curling lips which Earth has kissed,<br> +Folded hearts where secrets hide,<br> +Secrets old when Eve was bride!</p> + +<p>Beauty’s soul was born with wings,<br> +Flight inspires all lovely things—<br> +Would you gather rainbow fire?<br> +See the rose of dawn’s desire<br> +Turn to ash beneath the moon?—<br> +Crocuses must leave us soon.</p> +<!-- Page 31 --> + +<h3 id="The_Vision">The Vision</h3> + +<p>“O SISTER, sister, from the casement leaning,<br> +What sees thy trancéd eye, what is the meaning<br> +Of the strange rapture that thy features know?”<br> +<i>“I see,” she said, “the sunset’s crimson glow.”</i></p> + +<p>“O sister, sister, from the casement turning,<br> +What saw’st thou there save sunset’s sullen burning?<br> +—Thy hand is ice, and fever lights thine eye!”<br> +<i>“I saw,” she said, “the twilight drifting by.”</i></p> + +<p>“O sister, oft the sun hath set and often<br> +Have we beheld the twilight fold and soften<br> +The edge of day— In this no mystery lies!”<br> +<i>“I saw,” she said, “the crescent moon arise.”</i></p> + +<p>“O sister, speak! I fear when on me falleth<br> +Thine empty glance which some wild spell enthralleth!<br> +—How chill the air blows through the open door!”<br> +<i>“I saw,” she said, “I saw”—and spake no more.</i></p> +<!-- Page 32 --> + +<h3 id="The_Miracle">The Miracle</h3> + +<p>THERE’S not a leaf upon the tree<br> + To show the sap is leaping,<br> +There’s not a blade and not an ear<br> + Escaped from winter’s keeping—<br> +But there’s a something in the air<br> + A something here, a something there,<br> +A restless something everywhere—<br> + A stirring in the sleeping!</p> + +<p>A robin’s sudden, thrilling note!<br> + And see—the sky is bluer!<br> +The world, so ancient yesterday,<br> + To-day seems strangely newer;<br> +All that was wearisome and stale<br> + Has wrapped itself in rosy veil—<br> +The wraith of winter, grown so pale<br> + That smiling spring peeps through her!</p> +<!-- Page 33 --> + +<h3 id="The_Homesteader">The Homesteader</h3> + +<p>WIND-SWEPT and fire-swept and swept with bitter rain,<br> + This was the world I came to when I came across the sea—<br> +Sun-drenched and panting, a pregnant, waiting plain<br> + Calling out to humankind, calling out to me!<br> +<br> +Leafy lanes and gentle skies and little fields all green,<br> + This was the world I came from when I fared across the sea—<br> +The mansion and the village and the farmhouse in between,<br> + Never any room for more, never room for me!</p> + +<p>I’ve fought the wind and braved it; I cringe to it no more!<br> + I’ve fought the creeping fire back and cheered to see it die.<br> +I’ve shut the bitter rain outside and, safe within my door,<br> + Laughed to think I feared a thing not so strong as I!</p> +<!-- Page 34 --> +<p>I mind the long, white road that ran between the hedgerows neat,<br> + In that little, strange old world I left behind me long ago,<br> +I mind the air so full of bells at evening, far and sweet—<br> + All and all for someone else—I had leave to go!</p> + +<p>It cost a tear to leave it—but here across the sea<br> + With miles and miles of unused sky, and miles of unturned loam,<br> +And miles of room for someone else, and miles of room for me<br> + I’ve found a bigger meaning for the little word called “Home.”</p> +<!-- Page 35 --> + +<h3 id="Wet_Weather">Wet Weather</h3> + +<p>IT is the English in me that loves the soft, wet weather—<br> + The cloud upon the mountain, the mist upon the sea,<br> +The sea-gull flying low and near with rain upon each feather,<br> + The scent of deep, green woodlands where the buds are breaking free.</p> + +<p>A world all hot with sunshine, with a hot, white sky above it—<br> + Oh then I feel an alien in a land I’d call my own;<br> +The rain is like a friend’s caress, I lean to it and love it,<br> + ’Tis like a finger on a nerve that thrills for it alone!</p> + +<p>Is it the secret kinship which each new life is given<br> + To link it by an age-long chain to those whose lives are through,<br> +That wheresoever he may go, by fate or fancy driven,<br> + The home-star rises in his heart to keep the compass true?</p> +<!-- Page 36 --> +<p>Ah, ’tis the English in me that loves the soft, gray weather—<br> + The little mists that trail along like bits of wind-flung foam,<br> +The primrose and the violet—all wet and sweet together,<br> + And the sound of water calling, as it used to call at home.</p> +<!-- Page 37 --> + +<h3 id="The_Sleeping_Beauty">*The Sleeping Beauty</h3> + +<p>SO has she lain for centuries unguessed,<br> + Her waiting face to waiting heaven turned,<br> + While winds have wooed and ardent suns have burned<br> +And stars have died to sentinel her rest.</p> + +<p>Only the snow can reach her as she lies,<br> + Far and serene, and with cold finger-tips<br> + Seal soft the lovely quiet of her lips<br> +And lightly veil the shadows of her eyes.</p> + +<p>Man has no part—his little, noisy years<br> + Rise to her silence thin and impotent—<br> + There are no echoes in that vast content,<br> +No doubts, no dreams, no laughter and no tears!</p> + +<blockquote>* A formation of mountain peaks above Vancouver +Harbor, outlining the profile and form of a sleeping maiden.</blockquote> +<!-- Page 38 --> + +<h3 id="Down_at_the_Docks">Down at the Docks</h3> + +<p>DOWN at the docks—when the smoke clouds lie,<br> +Wind-ript and red, on an angry sky—<br> +Coal-dumps and derricks and piled-up bales,<br> +Tar and the gear of forgotten sails,<br> +Rusted chains and a broken spar<br> +(Yesterday’s breath on the things that are)<br> +A lone, black cat and a snappy cur,<br> +Smell of high-tide and of newcut fir,<br> +Smell of low-tide, fish, weed!—I swear<br> +I love every blesséd smell that’s there—<br> +For, aeons ago when the sea began,<br> +My soul was the soul of a sailorman.</p> + +<p>Down at the docks—where the ships come in,<br> +And the endless trails of the sea begin,<br> +Where the shining wake of a steamer’s track<br> +Is barred by the tow of the tugboats black,<br> +Where slim yachts dip to the singing spray<br> +And a gay wind whistles the world away—<br> +Here sad ships lie which will sail no more,<br> +But new ships build on the noisy shore,<br> +And always the breath of the wind and tide<br> +Whispers the lure of the sea outside,<br> +Till now and to-morrow and yesterday<br> +Are linked by the spell of the faraway!</p> +<!-- Page 39 --> +<p>Down at the docks—when the morning’s new<br> +And the air is gold and the distance blue,<br> +There’s a pull at the heart! But best of all<br> +Is to see the sun shrink, red and small,<br> +While the fog steals in (more surely fleet<br> +Than the smacks that run from her white-shod feet)<br> +And clamours of startled calls arise<br> +From bewildered ships that have lost their eyes;<br> +The fog horn bellows its deep-mouthed shout,<br> +The little lights on the shore blur out<br> +And strange, dim shapes pass wistfully<br> +With a secret tide to a secret sea.</p> +<!-- Page 40 --> + +<h3 id="Lake_Louise">Lake Louise</h3> + +<p>I THINK that when the Master Jeweler tells<br> + His beads of beauty over, seeking there<br> + One gem to name as most supremely fair,<br> +To you He turns, O lake of hidden wells!</p> + +<p>So very lovely are you, Lake Louise,<br> + The stars which crown your lifted peaks at even<br> + Mistake you for a little sea in heaven<br> +And nightly launch their shining argosies.</p> + +<p>From shore to dim-lit shore a ripple slips,<br> + The happy sigh of faintly stirring night<br> + Where safe she sleeps upon this virgin height<br> +Captive of dream and smiling with white lips.</p> + +<p>Surely a spell, creation-old, was made<br> + For you, O lake of silences, that all<br> + Earth’s fretting voices here should muted fall,<br> +As if a finger on their lips were laid!</p> +<!-- Page 41 --> + +<h3 id="The_Gatekeeper">The Gatekeeper</h3> + +<p>THE sunlight falls on old Quebec,<br> + A city framed of rose and gold,<br> +An ancient gem more beautiful<br> + In that its beauty waxes old.<br> +O Pearl of Cities! I would set<br> + You higher in our diadem,<br> +And higher yet and higher yet,<br> + That generations still to be<br> + May kindle at your history!</p> + +<p>’Twas here that gallant Champlain stood<br> + And gazed upon this mighty stream,<br> +These towering rock-walls, buttressed high—<br> + A gateway to a land of dream;<br> +And all his silent men stood near<br> + While the great fleur-de-lis fell free,<br> +(Too awe-struck they to raise a cheer)<br> + And while the shining folds outspread<br> + The sunset burned a sudden red.</p> + +<p>Here paced the haughty Frontenac,<br> + His great heart torn with pride and pain,<br> +His clear eye dimming as it swept<br> + The land he might not see again,<br> +This infant world, this strange New France<br> + Dropped down as by some vagrant wind<br> +Upon the New World’s vast expanse,<br> + Threatened yet safe! Through storm and stress<br> + Time’s challenge to the wilderness.</p> +<!-- Page 42 --> +<p>Here, when to ease her tangled skein<br> + Fate cut her threads and formed anew<br> +The pattern of the thing she planned<br> + And red war slipped the shuttle through,<br> +Montcalm met Wolfe! The bitter strife<br> + Of flag and flag was ended here—<br> +And every man who gave his life<br> + Gave it that now one flag may wave,<br> + One nation rise upon his grave!</p> + +<p>The twilight falls on old Quebec<br> + And in the purple shines a star,<br> +And on her citadel lies peace<br> + More powerful than armies are.<br> +O fair dream city! Ebb and flow<br> + Of race feuds vex no more your walls.<br> +Can they of old see this? and know<br> + That, even as they dreamed, you stand<br> + Gatekeeper of a peace-filled land!</p> +<!-- Page 43 --> + +<h3 id="The_Bridge_Builder">The Bridge Builder</h3> + +<p>OF old the Winds came romping down,<br> + Oh, wild and free were they!<br> +They bent the prairie grasses low<br> + And made a place to play.</p> + +<p>Then, that the gods might hear their voice<br> + On purple days of spring,<br> +They sought the tossing, pine-clad slope<br> + And made a place to sing.</p> + +<p>Tired at last of song and play,<br> + They found a canyon deep<br> +And in its echoing silences<br> + They made a place to weep.</p> + +<p>Man came, a small and feeble thing,<br> + And looked upon the plain.<br> +“Lo, this is mine,” he said, and set<br> + A seal of golden grain.</p> + +<p>Upon the mountain slopes he gazed,<br> + Where the great pine trees grow,<br> +Then gashed their mighty sides and laid<br> + Their singing branches low.</p> + +<p>He clung upon the canyon’s ledge<br> + And from its topmost ridge,<br> +Above its vast and awful deeps,<br> + He built himself a bridge.</p> +<!-- Page 44 --> +<p>A bauble in the light of day,<br> + New gilded by the sun,<br> +It seemed like some great, golden web<br> + By giant spider spun!</p> + +<p>The homeless winds came rushing down—<br> + Oh they were wild and free!<br> +And angry for their stolen plain<br> + And for their felled pine tree—</p> + +<p>And angry—angry most of all<br> + For that brave bridge of gold!<br> +With deep-mouthed shout they hurtled down<br> + To tear it from its hold—</p> + +<p>The girders shrieked, the cables strained<br> + And shuddered at the roar—<br> +Yet, when the winds had passed, the bridge<br> + Held firmly as before!</p> + +<p>Still fairy-like and frail it shone<br> + Against the sunset’s glow—<br> +But one, the builder of the bridge,<br> + Lay silent, far below!</p> +<!-- Page 45 --> + +<h3 id="The_Prairie_School">The Prairie School</h3> + +<p>THE sweet west wind, the prairie school a break in the yellow wheat,<br> +The prairie trail that wanders by to the place where the four winds meet—<br> +A trail with never an end at all to the children’s eager feet.</p> + +<p>The morning scents, the morning sun, a morning sky so blue<br> +The distance melts to meet it till both are lost to view<br> +In a little line of glory where the new day beckons through—</p> + +<p>And out of the glow, the children: a whoop and a calling gay,<br> +A clink of lunch-pails swinging as they clash in mimic fray,<br> +A shout and a shouting echo from a world as young as they!</p> + +<p>The prairie school! The well-tramped earth, so ugly and so dear,<br> +The piney steps where teacher stands, a saucy gopher near,<br> +A rough-cut pole where the flag flies up to a shrill voiced children’s cheer.</p> +<!-- Page 46 --> +<p>So stands the outpost! Time and change will crowd its widening door,<br> +Big with the dreams we visioned and the hopes we battled for—<br> +A legacy to those who come from those who come no more.</p> +<!-- Page 47 --> + +<h3 id="Calgary_Station">Calgary Station</h3> + +<p>DAZZLED by sun and drugged by space they wait,<br> +These homeless peoples, at our prairie gate;<br> +Dumb with the awe of those whom fate has hurled,<br> +Breathless, upon the threshold of a world!</p> + +<p>From near-horizoned, little lands they come,<br> +From barren country-side and deathly slum,<br> +From bleakest wastes, from lands of aching drouth,<br> +From grape-hung valleys of the smiling South,<br> +From chains and prisons, ay, from horrid fear,<br> +(Mark you the furtive eye, the listening ear!)<br> +And all amazed and silent, scared and shy—<br> +An alien group beneath an alien sky!</p> + +<p>See—on that bench beside the busy door—<br> +There sleeps a Roman born: upon the floor<br> +His wife, dark-haired and handsome, takes her rest,<br> +Their black-eyed baby tugging at her breast.<br> +Her hands lie still. Her brooding glances roam<br> +Above the pushing crowd to her far home,<br> +And slow she smiles to think how fine ’twill be<br> +When they (so rich!) return to Italy.</p> +<!-- Page 48 --> +<p>Yonder, with stolid face and tragic eye,<br> +Sits a lone Russian; as we pass him by<br> +He neither stirs nor looks; his inner gaze<br> +Sees not the future fair, but, troubled, strays<br> +To the dark land he left but can’t forget,<br> +Whose bonds, though broken, hold him prisoner yet.</p> + +<p>Here is a Pole—a worker; though so slim<br> +His muscle is of steel—no fear for him;<br> +He is the breed which conquers; he is nerved<br> +To fight and fight again. Too long he served,<br> +Man of a subject race! His fierce, blue eye<br> +Roams like a homing eagle o’er the sky,<br> +So limitless, so deep! for such as he<br> +Life has no higher bliss than to be free.</p> + +<p>This little Englishman with jaunty air<br> +And tweed cap perched awry on close-trimmed hair—<br> +He, with his faded wife and noisy band,<br> +Has come from Home to seek a promised land—<br> +He feels himself aggrieved, for no one said<br> +That things would be so big and so—outspread!<br> +He thinks of London with a pang of grief;<br> +His wife is sobbing in her handkerchief.<br> +But all his children stare with eager eyes.<br> +This is their land. Already they surmise<br> +Their heritage, their chance to live and grow,<br> +Won for them by their fathers, long ago!</p> +<!-- Page 49 --> +<p>Another generation, and this Scot,<br> +Whose longing for the hills is ne’er forgot,<br> +Shall rear a son whose eye will never be<br> +Dim with a craving for that distant sea,<br> +Those barren rocks, that heather’s purple glow—<br> +The ache, the burn that only exiles know!</p> + +<p>This Irishman, who, when he sees the Green,<br> +Turns that his shaking lips may not be seen,<br> +He, too, shall bear a son who, blythe and gay,<br> +Sings the old songs but in a cheerier way!<br> +Who has the love, without the anguish sharp,<br> +For Erin dreamingly by her golden harp!</p> + +<p>All these and many others, patient, wait<br> +Before our ever-open prairie gate<br> +And, filing through with laughter or with tears,<br> +Take what their hands can glean of fruitful years.<br> +Here some find home who knew not home before;<br> +Here some seek peace and some wage glorious war.<br> +Here some who lived in night see morning dawn<br> +And some drop out and let the rest go on.<br> +And of them all the years take toll; they pass<br> +As shadows flit above the prairie grass.</p> +<!-- Page 50 --> +<p>From every land they come to know but one—<br> +The kindly earth that hides them from the sun—<br> +But, in their places, children live, and they<br> +Turn with glad faces to a common day.<br> +Of every land, they too, but one land claim—<br> +The land that gives them place and hope and name—<br> +Canadians, they, and proud and glad to be<br> +A part of Canada’s sure destiny!<br> +What if within their hearts deep memories hide<br> +Of lands their fathers grieved for, till they died?<br> +The bitterness is gone and in its stead<br> +New understanding and new hopes are bred,<br> +With wider vision which may show the world<br> +Its cannon dumb, its battle-flags close furled!<br> +—Dreams? We may dream indeed, with heart elate,<br> +While a new Nation clamors at our gate!</p> +<!-- Page 51 --> + +<h3 id="Vale">Vale*</h3> + +<p>LONE Voyager! Thy Ship of Dreams<br> + Spreads its free sail and slips away<br> +Into the distant visioning<br> + That lies behind the end of day.</p> + +<p>The restless tide’s impatient wave<br> + In from the broad Pacific rolls<br> +And sunset marks a mystic way<br> + To the far-shining Port of Souls.</p> + +<p>We, watching on the darkening shore,<br> + Wave you farewell, and strain our eyes<br> +Till that bright speck which is your sail<br> + Is lost in the enfolding skies.</p> + +<p>Brave Heart, Sweet Singer! Speed you well<br> + To those dim islands of the blest,<br> +Far—far—and ever farther, till<br> + The end of distance brings you rest!</p> + +<blockquote>* For Pauline Johnson (Tekahionwake.)</blockquote> +<!-- Page 52 --> + +<h3 id="The_Way_to_Wait">The Way to Wait</h3> + +<p>O WHETHER by the lonesome road that lies across the lea<br> +Or whether by the hill that stoops, rock-shadowed, to the sea,<br> +Or by a sail that blows from far, my love returns to me!</p> + +<p>No fear is hidden in my heart to make my face less fair,<br> +No tear is hidden in my eye to dim the brightness there—<br> +I wear upon my cheek the rose a happy bride should wear.</p> + +<p>For should he come not by the road, and come not by the hill<br> +And come not by the far seaway, yet come he surely will—<br> +Close all the roads of all the world, love’s road is open still!</p> + +<p>My heart is light with singing (though they pity me my fate<br> +And drop their merry voices as they pass the garden gate)<br> +For love that finds a way to come, can find a way to wait!</p> +<!-- Page 53 --> + +<h3 id="The_Passer-By">The Passer-By</h3> + +<p>WE are as children in a field at play<br> +Beside a road whose way we do not know,<br> +Save that somewhere it meets the end of day.</p> + +<p>Upon the road there is a Passer-By<br> +Who, pausing, beckons one of us—and lo!<br> +Quickly he goes, nor stays to tell us why.</p> + +<p>One day I shall look up and see him there<br> +Beckoning me, and with the Passer-By<br> +I, too, shall take the road—I wonder where?</p> +<!-- Page 54 --> + +<h3 id="First_Love">First Love</h3> + +<p>BY the pulse that beats in my throat<br> + By my heart like a bird<br> +I know who passed through the dusk<br> + Though he spoke no word!</p> + +<p>I cannot move in my place,<br> + I am chained and still;<br> +I pray that the moon pause not<br> + By my window-sill.</p> + +<p>I have hidden my face in my hair<br> + And my eyes are veiled—<br> +Not even a star must know<br> + How my lips have paled—</p> + +<p>Was ever a night so quick<br> + ’Neath a moon so round?<br> +I hear the earth as it turns—<br> + And my heart’s low sound!</p> +<!-- Page 55 --> + +<h3 id="Sad_One_Must_You_Weep">Sad One, Must You Weep</h3> + +<p>“SAD one, must you weep alway?<br> + Youth’s ill wedded with despair;<br> +Ringless hand and robe of grey<br> + Mock the charms which they declare.”</p> + +<p>Sad and sweetly answered she,<br> +“What are comely robes to me?<br> + I would wear a grass green dress,<br> + Dew pearls for my gems—no less<br> +Now can comfort me.”</p> + +<p>“Sweet, the shining of your hair<br> + (All forgotten and undone)<br> +Squanders ’neath the veil you wear<br> + Gold whose loss bereaves the sun.”</p> + +<p>Very sad and low said she,<br> +“What is shining hair to me?<br> + When from out the rain-wet mold<br> + Kingcups borrow of its gold<br> +Sweet and sweet ’twill be.”</p> + +<p>“Love, O Love! your hand is chill<br> + As a snowflake lost in spring,<br> +Wild it flutters—then lies still<br> + As a bird with prisoned wing!”</p> + +<p>Sad and patient answered she,<br> +“As a bird I would be free;<br> + As the spring I would find birth<br> + In the sweet, forgetful earth—<br> +Pray you, let it be!”</p> +<!-- Page 56 --> + +<h3 id="Joseph">Joseph</h3> + +<p>NEVER in all her sweet and holy youth<br> +Seemed she so beautiful! The tired lines<br> +Etch her white face with look so wholly pure<br> +I tremble—dare I speak to her of aught?—<br> +She is so wrapt in silence. Yet her lips<br> +Part on a word whose honey she doth taste<br> +And fears to lose by uttering too soon.<br> +I know the word; its meaning is plain writ<br> +In the wide eyes she turns upon the Child.<br> +I dare not speak. No word of mine could find<br> +Its way into a soul close sealed with God<br> +And busy with the thousand mysteries<br> +Revealed to every mother. The soft hair<br> +Veiling her placid brow is all unbound,<br> +Ungentle hands are mine but, trained by love,<br> +She might conceive them gentle—yet, I pause—<br> +I’ll not disturb her thought . . . . .</p> + +<p> + What +meant those men,<br> +Far-famed and wise, who came to see the Child?<br> +Their gifts lie by forgotten, though the Babe<br> +Smiled on the shining treasure in his hands.<br> +(Those tiny hands like crumpled bits of gauze)<br> +Their sayings were mysterious to me.<br> +“A King!” they said. What King?</p> +<!-- Page 57 --> +<p> + The +mother smiled<br> +As one who knew; and it is true they knelt<br> +As to a King. The thing disturbs me much!<br> +I’ll ask—but no . . . . .</p> + +<p> + The +breathless shepherds, too;<br> +Plain men, blank-eyed with awe, in broken speech<br> +Stumbling some strange, glad tale of midnight sky<br> +A-shine with angel wings! And at their word<br> +Again the mother smiled, as one who sees<br> +No wonder but what well might happen since<br> +A child is born to her. Are mothers so?<br> +And are they prone to dream the careless earth<br> +And distant heaven wait upon their joy?<br> +I’ll speak to her . . . . .</p> + +<p> + What +is that in her look<br> +Which answers me—yet leaves me wondering still,<br> +With wonder so like rapture that I seem<br> +Caught up a breathless second into Heaven?<br> +She turns deep eyes upon me, and she smiles,<br> +Always she smiles! Ah, Mary! could I know<br> +The source of that glad smile—what would I know?<br> +I dare not dream, save that the mystery<br> +Is not yet given . . . one day I may know!</p> +<!-- Page 58 --> + +<h3 id="A_Christmas_Child">A Christmas Child</h3> + +<p>SHE came to me at Christmas time and made me mother, and it seemed<br> +There was a Christ indeed and He had given me the joy I’d dreamed.</p> + +<p>She nestled to me, and I kept her near and warm, surprised to find<br> +The arms that held my babe so close were opened wider to her kind.</p> + +<p>I hid her safe within my heart. “My heart” I said, “is all for you,”<br> +But lo! She left the door ajar and all the world came flocking through.</p> + +<p>She needed me. I learned to know the royal joy that service brings,<br> +She was so helpless that I grew to love all little helpless things.</p> + +<p>She trusted me, and I who ne’er had trusted, save in self, grew cold<br> +With panic lest this precious life should know no stronger, surer hold.</p> + +<p>She lay and smiled and in her eyes I watched my narrow world grow broad,<br> +Within her tiny, crumpled hand I touched the mighty hand of God!</p> +<!-- Page 59 --> + +<h3 id="Spring_in_Nazareth">Spring in Nazareth</h3> + +<p>“THE Spring is come!” a shepherd saith;<br> + <i>Sing, sweet Mary,</i><br> +“The Spring is come to Nazareth<br> +And swift the Summer hurrieth.”<br> + <i>Sing low, the barley and the corn!</i></p> + +<p>Across the field a path is set—<br> + <i>Sing, sweet Mary,</i><br> +Green shadow in a golden net—<br> +The tears of night have left it wet.<br> + <i>Sing low, the barley and the corn!</i></p> + +<p>The Babe forsakes His mother’s knee,<br> + <i>Haste, sweet Mary—</i><br> +See how He runneth merrily,<br> +One foot upon the path hath He—<br> + <i>Green, green, the barley and the corn!</i></p> + +<p>The mother calls with mother-fear—<br> + <i>Hush, sweet Mary!</i><br> +Another sound is in His ear,<br> +A sound he cannot choose but hear—<br> + <i>Hush, hush, the barley and the corn!</i></p> + +<p>Far and still far—through years yet dim<br> + <i>List, sweet Mary!</i><br> +From o’er the waking earth’s green rim<br> +Another Springtime calleth Him!<br> + <i>Bend low, the barley and the corn!</i></p> +<!-- Page 60 --> +<p>Call low, call high, and call again,<br> + <i>Ah, poor Mary!</i><br> +Know, by thy heart’s prophetic pain,<br> +That one day thou shalt call in vain—<br> + <i>Moan, moan, the barley and the corn!</i></p> + +<p>O mother! make thine arms a shield,<br> + <i>Sing, sweet Mary!</i><br> +While love still holds what love must yield<br> +Hide well the path across the field!—<br> + <i>Sing low, the barley and the corn!</i></p> + +<p>. . . . .</p> + +<p>“The Spring is come!” a shepherd saith;<br> + <i>Rest thee, Mary—</i><br> +The passing years are but a breath<br> +And Spring still comes to Nazareth—<br> + <i>Green, green, the barley and the corn!</i></p> +<!-- Page 61 --> + +<h3 id="Inheritance">Inheritance</h3> + +<p>THERE lived a man who raised his hand and said,<br> + “I will be great!”<br> +And through a long, long life he bravely knocked<br> + At Fame’s closed gate.</p> + +<p>A son he left who, like his sire, strove<br> + High place to win;—<br> +Worn out, he died and, dying, left no trace<br> + That he had been.</p> + +<p>He also left a son, who, without care<br> + Or planning how,<br> +Bore the fair letters of a deathless fame<br> + Upon his brow.</p> + +<p>“Behold a genius, filled with fire divine!”<br> + The people cried;<br> +Not knowing that to make him what he was<br> + Two men had died.</p> +<!-- Page 62 --> + +<h3 id="Song_of_the_Sleeper">Song of the Sleeper</h3> + +<p>SLEEPER rest quietly<br> + Deep underground!<br> +Lord of your kingdom<br> + Of murmurous sound.<br> +Hear the grass growing<br> +Sweet for the mowing;<br> +Hear the stars sing<br> + As they travel around—<br> +Grass blade and star dust,<br> +You, I, and all of us,<br> +One with the cause of us,<br> + Deep underground!</p> + +<p>Murmur not, sleeper!<br> + Yours is the key<br> +To all things that were and<br> + To all things that be—<br> +While the lark’s trilling,<br> +While the grain’s filling,<br> +Laugh with the wind<br> + At Life’s Riddle-me-ree!<br> +How you were born of it?<br> +Why was the thorn of it?<br> +Where the new morn of it?<br> + Yours is the Key!</p> + +<p>Sleep deeper, brother!<br> + Sleep and forget<br> +Red lips that trembled<br> + Eyes that were wet—<br><!-- Page 63 --> +Though love be weeping,<br> +Turn to your sleeping,<br> +Life has no giving<br> + That death need regret.<br> +Here at the end of all<br> +Hear the Beginning call,<br> +Life’s but death’s seneschal—<br> + Sleep and forget!</p> +<!-- Page 64 --> + +<h3 id="The_Tyrant">The Tyrant</h3> + +<p>ONE comes with foot insistent to my door,<br> + Calling my name;<br> +Nor voice nor footstep have I heard before,<br> +Yet clear the calling sounds and o’er and o’er—<br> +It seems the sunlight burns along the floor<br> + With paler flame!</p> + +<p>“’Tis vain to call with morning on the wing,<br> + With noon so near,<br> +With Life a dancer in the masque of Spring<br> +And Youth new wedded with a golden ring—<br> +When falls the night and birds have ceased to sing<br> + My heart may hear!</p> + +<p>“’Tis vain to pause. Pass, friend, upon your way!<br> + I may not heed;<br> +Too swift the hours; too sweet, too brief the day:<br> +Only one life, one spring, one perfect May—<br> +I crush each moment, with its sweets to stay<br> + Life’s joyous greed!</p> + +<p>“Call not again! The wind is roaming by<br> + Across the heath—<br> +The Wind’s a tell-tale and will bear your sigh<br> +To dim the smiling gladness of the sky<br><!-- Page 65 --> +Or kill the spring’s first violets that lie<br> + In purple sheath—</p> + +<p>“If you must call, call low! My heart grows still,<br> + Still as my breath,<br> +Still as your smile, O Ancient One! A chill<br> +Strikes through the sun upon the window-sill—<br> +<i>I know you now</i>—I follow where you will,<br> + O tyrant Death!”</p> +<!-- Page 66 --> + +<h3 id="The_Gifts">The Gifts</h3> + +<p>I GIVE you Life, O child, a garden fair;<br> +I give you Love, a rose that blossoms there—<br> +I give a day to pluck it and to wear!</p> + +<p>I give you Death, O child—a boon more great—<br> +That, when your Rose has withered and ’tis late,<br> +You may pass out and, smiling, close the gate!</p> +<!-- Page 67 --> + +<h3 id="The_Town_Between">The Town Between</h3> + +<p>A WALL impregnable surrounds<br> + The Town wherein I dwell;<br> +No man may scale it and it has<br> + Two gates that guard it well.</p> + +<p>One opened long ago, and I<br> + A vagrant soul, slipped through,<br> +Bewildered and forgetting all<br> + The wider world I knew.</p> + +<p>I love the Town, the narrow ways,<br> + The common, yellow sun,<br> +The handclasp and the jesting and<br> + The work that must be done!</p> + +<p>I shun the other gate that stands<br> + Beyond the crowded mart—<br> +I need but glance that way to feel<br> + Cold fingers on my heart!</p> + +<p>It stands alone and somberly<br> + Within a shaded place,<br> +And every man who turns that way<br> + Has quiet on his face.</p> + +<p>And every man must rise and leave<br> + His pleasant homely door<br> +To vanish through this silent gate<br> + And enter in no more—</p> +<!-- Page 68 --> +<p>Yet—once—I saw its opening throw<br> + A brighter light about<br> +And glimpsed strange glory on the brow<br> + Of someone passing out!</p> + +<p>I wonder if Outside may be<br> + One fair and great demesne<br> +Where both gates open, careless of<br> + The Town that lies between?</p> +<!-- Page 69 --> + +<h3 id="On_the_Mountain">On the Mountain</h3> + +<p>THE top of the world and an empty morning,<br> + Mist sweeping in from the dim Outside,<br> +The door of day just a little bit open—<br> + The wind’s great laugh as he flings it wide!</p> + +<p>O wind, here’s one who would travel with you<br> + To the far bourne you alone may know—<br> +There would I seek what some one is hiding,<br> + There would I find where my longings go!</p> + +<p>To some deep calm would I drift and nestle<br> +Close to the heart of the Great Surprise.<br> +O strong wind, do you laugh to see us?<br> + We are so little and oh, so wise!</p> +<!-- Page 70 --> + +<h3 id="The_Prophet">The Prophet</h3> + +<p>HE trod upon the heights; the rarer air<br> +Which common people seek, yet cannot bear,<br> +Fed his high soul and kindled in his eye<br> +The fire of one who cries “I prophesy!”</p> + +<p>“Look up!” he said. They looked but could not see.<br> +“Help us!” they cried. He strove, but uselessly—<br> +The very clouds which veiled the heaven they sought<br> +Hid from his eyes the hearts of them he taught!</p> +<!-- Page 71 --> + +<h3 id="Give_Me_a_Day">Give Me a Day</h3> + +<p>GIVE me a day, beloved, that I may set<br> +A jewel in my heart—I’ll brave regret,<br> +If, on the morrow, you shall say “forget”!</p> + +<p>One golden day when dawn shall blush to noon<br> +And noon incline to dark, and, oversoon,<br> +My joy lie buried ’neath a rounded moon.</p> + +<p>Only a day—it’s worth you scarce could tell<br> +From other days; but in my life ’twill dwell<br> +An oasis with palm trees and a well!</p> +<!-- Page 72 --> + +<h3 id="Little_Brown_Bird">Little Brown Bird</h3> + +<p>O LITTLE brown bird in the rain,<br> + In the sweet rain of spring,<br> +How you carry the youth of the world<br> + In the bend of your wing!<br> +For you the long day is for song<br> + And the night is for sleep—<br> +With never a sunrise too soon<br> + Or a midnight too deep!</p> + +<p>For you every pool is the sky,<br> + Breaking clouds chasing through,—<br> +A heaven so instant and near<br> + That you bathe in its blue!—<br> +And yours is the freedom to rise<br> + To some song-haunted star<br> +Or sink on soft wing to the wood<br> + Where your brown nestlings are.</p> + +<p>So busy, so strong and so glad,<br> + So care-free and young,<br> +So tingling with life to be lived<br> + And with songs to be sung,<br> +O little brown bird!—with your heart<br> + That’s the heart of the Spring—<br> +How you carry the hope of the world<br> + In the bend of your wing!</p> +<!-- Page 73 --> + +<h3 id="The_Watcher">The Watcher</h3> + +<p>THE long road and the low shore, a sail against the sky,<br> +The ache in my heart’s core, and hope so hard to die—<br> +Ah me, but the day’s long—and all the sails go by!</p> + +<p>The long road and the dark shore, pools with stars aflame,<br> +The ache in my heart’s core, the hope I dare not name—<br> +Ah, me, but the night’s long—and every night the same!</p> +<!-- Page 74 --> + +<h3 id="Possession">Possession</h3> + +<p>A YOUTH sat down on a wayside stone,<br> + A pack on his back and a staff at his knee.<br> +He whistled a tune which he called his own,<br> + “It’s a fine new tune, that tune!” said he.</p> + +<p>In his pack he carried a crust of bread,<br> + And he drank from his hands at a brook hard by;<br> +“Spring water is wonderful cool,” he said,<br> + “And wonderful soft is the summer sky!”</p> + +<p>He looked to the hill which his steps had passed,<br> + He looked to the slope where a brooklet purled,<br> +He looked to the distance blue and vast<br> + And “Ah,” cried he, “what a fine, wide world!”</p> + +<p>The youth passed on down the winding track<br> + That led to the beckoning distance dim,<br> +And though he carried but staff and pack,<br> + The world and its giving belonged to him.</p> +<!-- Page 75 --> + +<h3 id="To_Arcady">To Arcady</h3> + +<p>“TELL me, Singer, of the way<br> +Winding down to Arcady?<br> +Of the world’s roads I am weary—<br> +You, with song so brave and cheery,<br> +Happy troubadour must be<br> +On the way to Arcady?”</p> + +<p>Pausing on a muted note,<br> +Song forsook the Singer’s throat,<br> +“Friend,” sighed he, “you come too late,<br> +Once I could the way relate,<br> +Once—but long ago; Ah me,<br> +Far away is Arcady!”</p> + +<p>“Tell me, Poet, of the way<br> +Winding down to Arcady?<br> +Haunting is your verse and airy<br> +With the grace and gleam of faery—<br> +Dweller you must surely be<br> +In the land of Arcady?”</p> + +<p>Slow the Poet raised his eyes,<br> +Sad were they as winter skies,<br> +“Once, I sojourned there,” he said;<br> +Then, no more—but with bent head<br> +Whispered low, “Ask not of me<br> +That lost road to Arcady!”</p> +<!-- Page 76 --> +<p>Tell me, Lover, of the way<br> +Winding down to Arcady?<br> +Some sweet bourne your haste confesses—<br> +Know you paths no other guesses?<br> +Does your gaze, so far away,<br> +See the road to Arcady?</p> + +<p>In the Lover’s eyes there gleamed<br> +Radiance of all things dreamed—<br> +“Nay, detain me not,” he cried<br> +“I am hasting to my bride;<br> +What have roads to do with me,<br> +Love’s at home in Arcady!”</p> +<!-- Page 77 --> + +<h3 id="The_Fields_of_Even">The Fields of Even</h3> + +<p>O STILLER than the fields that lie<br> + Beneath the morning heaven,<br> +And sweeter than day’s gardens are<br> + The purple fields of even!</p> + +<p>The vapor rises, silver-eyed,<br> + Leaving the dew-wet clover,<br> +With groping, mist-white hands outspread<br> + To greet the sky, her lover.</p> + +<p>Ripples the brook, a thread of sound<br> + Close-woven through the quiet,<br> +Blending the jarring tones that day<br> + Would stir to noisy riot.</p> + +<p>And all the glory seems so near<br> + A common man may win it—<br> +When every earth-bound lakelet holds<br> + A million stars within it.</p> + +<p>A common man, who in the day<br> + Lifts not his eyes above him,<br> +Roaming the fields of even through<br> + May find a God to love him!</p> +<!-- Page 78 --> + +<h3 id="I_Love_My_Love">I Love My Love</h3> + +<p>I LOVE my love for she is like a garden in the dawn,<br> + Pale, yet pink-flushed, with softly waking eyes,<br> + And primrose hair that brightens to gold skies,<br> +And petalled lips for dew to linger on.</p> + +<p>I love my love for she is like the mirror of the moon,<br> + (A sweet, small moon but newly come to birth)<br> + So full of heaven is she, so close to earth,<br> +So versed in holy spell and magic rune.</p> + +<p>I love my love. O words that be too feeble and too few!<br> + I love my love!—as April on the hill<br> + Brings back earth’s morning with each daffodil,<br> +So she within my heart makes all things new.</p> +<!-- Page 79 --> + +<h3 id="Spring_Awoke_To-Day">Spring Awoke To-Day</h3> + +<p>SPRING awoke to-day!<br> + Somewhere—far away—<br> +Spring awoke to-day<br> + From the depth of dream.</p> + +<p>Through the air bestirred<br> + Pulse of winging bird,<br> +Through the air bestirred<br> + Laugh of hidden stream.</p> + +<p>On the world’s cold lips<br> + Fell warm finger-tips;<br> +On the world’s cold lips<br> + Woke the glow and gleam!</p> + +<p>Spring awoke to-day!<br> + Somewhere—far away—<br> +Spring awoke to-day<br> + From the depth of dream!</p> +<!-- Page 80 --> + +<h3 id="In_Town">In Town</h3> + +<p>SOMEWHERE there’s a willow budding<br> +In a hollow by the river,<br> +Where the autumn leaves lie sodden,<br> +Turning all the pool to brown;<br> +There’s a thrush who’s building early,<br> +With his feathers all a-shiver,<br> +And the maple sap is rising—<br> +But I’m glad that I’m in town.</p> + +<p>Somewhere out there in the country<br> +There’s a brook that’s overflowing,<br> +And a quaker pussy-willow<br> +Sews grey velvet on her gown;<br> +Rushes whisper to each other<br> +That marsh marigolds are showing,<br> +And those saucy crocus fellows—<br> +But I’m glad that I’m in town.</p> + +<p>Long ago, when we were younger,<br> +How those little things enthralled us;<br> +King-birds nesting in the hedges,<br> +Baby field-mice soft as down,<br> +Muskrats in the sun-warmed shallows—<br> +Strange how all these voices called us!—<br> +Hark, was that a robin singing?<br> +<i>When’s the next train out of town?</i></p> +<!-- Page 81 --> + +<h3 id="Summers_Passing">Summer’s Passing</h3> + +<p>A SINGLE branch of flaming red,<br> + A branch of tawny yellow<br> +And every branch in gorgeousness<br> + A rival of its fellow;<br> +Some russet brown and faded green<br> +With golden shadows in between<br> + And mist-hid sun to mellow.</p> + +<p>An instinct as of music near—<br> + A breath the wind is bringing,<br> +Broken and sweet, as from a host<br> + Of swift and solemn winging—<br> +A mystery born of light and sound<br> +Wrapping our trancéd progress round—<br> + A sighing and a singing!</p> + +<p>Thus in a certain lovely pomp<br> + We leave the Summer lying—<br> +These are her funeral banners, this<br> + The pageantry of dying!<br> +The music that we almost hear<br> +Is wafted from her passing bier—<br> + The singing and the sighing!</p> +<!-- Page 82 --> + +<h3 id="The_Doom_of_Ys">The Doom of Ys</h3> + +<p>DO you hear the bell? ’Tis a silver chime<br> +But it ringeth not in the bourne of time.</p> + +<p>With the wind it swells, with the wind ’twill sink,<br> +Dying at last by the sea’s dim brink.</p> + +<p>By mortal hands the bell was hung<br> +By mortal hands ’tis never swung.</p> + +<p>When the moon’s at full and the long tide creeps<br> +It rings o’er the town that the deep sea keeps—</p> + +<p>The town of Ys, that, unafraid,<br> +Cursed God’s good bells for the noise they made,</p> + +<p>Cursed them well and pulled them down<br> +From every belfry in the town!</p> + +<p>For that sin of pride and that pride of sin,<br> +Deathly and soft, a Doom stole in.</p> + +<p>It sucked through the stone, it stole through the street,<br> +It rose in the hall, silent and fleet;</p> + +<p>Soundless it swept through the market-place<br> +Folding the town in a chill embrace;</p> + +<p>No ruth it knew, it heard no call,<br> +Sinner and saint it gathered them all,</p> +<!-- Page 83 --> +<p>Gathered them all, while over them<br> +The bells they had cursed tolled requiem.</p> + +<p>Do you hear the bell? When the full moon rides<br> +It rings o’er the town that the deep sea hides!</p> +<!-- Page 84 --> + +<h3 id="Times_Garden">Time’s Garden</h3> + +<p>YEARS are the seedlings which we careless sow<br> + In Time’s bare garden. Dead they seem to be—<br> +Dead years! We sigh and cover them with mould,<br> +But though the vagrant wind blow hot, blow cold,<br> + No hint of life beneath the dust we see;<br> +Then comes the magic hour when we are old,<br> + And lo! they stir and blossom wondrously.</p> + +<p>Strange spectral blooms in spectral plots aglow!<br> + Here a great rose and here a ragged tare;<br> +And here pale, scentless blossoms without name,<br> +Robbed to enrich this poppy formed of flame;<br> + Here springs some hearts’ease, scattered unaware;<br> +Here, hawthorn-bloom to show the way Love came;<br> + Here, asphodel, to image Love’s despair!</p> + +<p>When I am old and master of the spell<br> + To raise these garden ghosts of memory,<br> +My feet will turn aside from common ways,<br><!-- Page 85 --> +Where common flowers mark the common days,<br> + To one green plot; and there I know will be<br> +Fairest of all (O perfect beyond praise!)<br> + The year you gave, beloved, your rosemary.</p> +<!-- Page 86 --> + +<h3 id="The_Coming_of_Love">The Coming of Love</h3> + +<p>HOW shall I know? Shall I hear Love pass<br> + In the wind that sighs through the poplar tree?<br> +Shall I follow his passing over the grass<br> + By the prisoned scents which his footsteps free?</p> + +<p>Shall I wake one day to a sky all blue<br> + And meet with Spring in a crowded street?<br> +Shall I open a door and, looking through,<br> + Find, on a sudden, the world more sweet?</p> + +<p>How shall I know?—last night I lay<br> + Counting the hours’ dreary sum<br> +With naught in my heart save a wild dismay<br> + And a fear that whispered, “Love is come!”</p> +<!-- Page 87 --> + +<h3 id="Premonition">Premonition</h3> + +<p>LAST night I dreamed<br> +No dream of joy or sorrow,<br> +Yet, when I woke, I wept,<br> +Knowing the brightness of some far to-morrow<br> +Had darkened while I slept!</p> +<!-- Page 88 --> + +<h3 id="The_Child">The Child</h3> + +<p>I MAY not lift him in my arms. His face I may not see—<br> +Are angel hands more tender than a mother’s hands may be?<br> +And does he smile to hear the song an angel stole from me?</p> + +<p>The wise King said, “He cannot come but I will go to him!”<br> +O David! did you seek with words to make the grave less grim?<br> +And did you think to cheat, with words, the jealous seraphim?</p> + +<p>So! he will learn of heaven—he, who scarcely knew the earth.<br> +All fullness waits the baby eyes that never looked on dearth—<br> +The mystery of death usurps the mystery of birth!</p> + +<p>What light has earth to give me for the light that heaven beguiled?<br> +What is the calm of heaven to him who has not known the wild?—<br> +O, we are both bereft, bereft—the mother and the child!</p> +<!-- Page 89 --> + +<h3 id="Intrusion">Intrusion</h3> + +<p>I BUILT myself a pleasant house.<br> + Content was I to dwell in it—<br> +Its door was fast against the wind<br> + With all the gusty swell of it.</p> + +<p>It had two windows, high and clear,<br> + With trees and skies to shine through them,<br> +They were acquainted with the moon,<br> + And every star was mine through them.</p> + +<p>Its walls were silent walls; its hearth<br> + Held little fires to gladden me—<br> +And though the nights might weep outside<br> + No sob crept through to sadden me.</p> + +<p>Then came your hand upon the latch<br> + (Although I had not sent for you)<br> +And all Outside came blowing in<br> + The way I had not meant it to!</p> + +<p>Upon the hearth my tended flame<br> + Leapt to a blaze and died in it.<br> +The night sought out a hidden place<br> + I had forgot and sighed in it.</p> + +<p>My window that had known the stars<br> + Seemed suddenly not high at all.<br> +The trees drew back; the friendly birds<br> + Swept dumbly by, too shy to call.</p> +<!-- Page 90 --> +<p>Said you: “It is a pleasant house,<br> + But surely somewhat small for two!”—<br> +And at your word my walls fell down,<br> + Leaving no house at all, just you.</p> +<!-- Page 91 --> + +<h3 id="The_Seas_Withholding">The Sea’s Withholding</h3> + +<p>THE ladye’s bower faced the sea,<br> +Its casements framed a sea-born day.<br> +She saw the fishers sail away,<br> + And, far and high,<br> + The gulls sweep by<br> +Within the hollow of the sky!</p> + +<p>She saw the laggard twilight come<br> +And, chased by rippling wakes of foam,<br> +She saw the fisher fleet come home—<br> + Brown sails a-sheen<br> + Against the green<br> +With shadows creeping in between!</p> + +<p>She saw, when it was evening, all<br> +Day’s banners stream in crimson rout<br> +Till night’s soft finger blurred them out,<br> + And, high and far,<br> + A perfect star<br> +Shone where the keys of heaven are!</p> + +<p>“O far and constant star,” she said,<br> +“O passing sail, O passing bird,<br> +O passing day—bring you no word<br> + Of winds that steer<br> + His ship a-near?<br> +Where sails my love that sails not here?</p> +<!-- Page 92 --> +<p>“The days in splendid pageant pass,<br> +In lovely peace the nights go by,<br> +And day and night are sweet; but I—<br> + I cannot say<br> + Lo, the bright day!<br> +Can it be dawn and love away?”</p> +<!-- Page 93 --> + +<h3 id="Love_Unkind">Love Unkind</h3> + +<p>OUT upon the bleak hillside, the bleak hillside, he lay—<br> +Her lips were red, and red the stream that slipped his life away.<br> +Ah, crimson, crimson were her lips, but his were turning gray.</p> + +<p>The troubled sky seemed bending low, bending low to hide<br> +The foam-white face so wild upturned from off the bleak hillside—<br> +White as the beaten foam her face, and she was wond’rous eyed.</p> + +<p>The soft, south-wind came creeping up, creeping stealthily<br> +To breathe upon his clay-cold face—but all too cold was he,<br> +Too cold for you to warm, south-wind, since cold at heart was she!</p> + +<p>Sweet morning peeped above the hill, above the hill to find<br> +The shattered, useless, godlike thing the night had left behind—<br> +Wept the sweet morn her crystal tears that love should prove unkind!<br> +</p> +<!-- Page 94 --> + +<h3 id="Christmas_in_Heaven">Christmas in Heaven</h3> + +<p>HOW hushed they were in Heaven that night,<br> + How lightly all the angels went,<br> +How dumb the singing spheres beneath<br> + Their many-candled tent!</p> + +<p>How silent all the drifting throng<br> + Of earth-freed spirits, strangely torn<br> +By dim and half-remembered pain<br> + And joy but newly born!</p> + +<p>The Glory in the Highest flamed<br> + With awful, unremembered ray—<br> +But quiet as the falling dew<br> + Was He who went away.</p> + +<p>So swift He went, His passing left<br> + A low, bright door in Heaven ajar—<br> +With God it was a covenant,<br> + To man it seemed a star.</p> +<!-- Page 95 --> + +<h3 id="I_Whispered_to_the_Bobolink">I Whispered to the Bobolink</h3> + +<p>I WHISPERED to the bobolink:<br> + “Sweet singer of the field,<br> +Teach me a song to reach a heart<br> + In maiden armor steeled.”</p> + +<p> <i>“If there be such a song,” sang he,<br> + “No bird can tell its mystery.”</i></p> + +<p>I bent above the sweetest rose,<br> + A deeper sweet to stir—<br> +“O Rose,” I begged, “what charm will wake<br> + The deep, sweet heart of her?”</p> + +<p> <i>“Alas, poor lover,” sighed the rose,<br> + “The charm you seek no flower knows.”</i></p> + +<p>I wandered by the midnight lake<br> + Where heaven lay confessed<br> +“Tell me,” I cried, “what draws the stars<br> + To lie upon your breast?”</p> + +<p> <i>The silence woke to soft reply<br> + “When Heaven stoops—demand not why!”</i></p> + +<p>“Alas, sweet maid, love’s potent charm<br> + I cannot beg or buy,<br> +I cannot wrest it from the wind<br> + Or steal it from the sky—”</p> + +<p> <i>Breathless, I caught her whisper low,<br> + “I love you—why, I do not know!”</i></p> +<!-- Page 96 --> + +<h3 id="You">You</h3> + +<p>SLANTING rain and a sky of gray,<br> +Drifting mist and a wind astray,<br> +The leaden end of a leaden day<br> +And you—away!</p> + +<p>Light in the west! The sky’s pale dome<br> +Gemmed with a star; a scented gloam<br> +Of bursting buds and rain-wet loam<br> +And you—at home!</p> +<!-- Page 97 --> + +<h3 id="The_Mother">The Mother</h3> + +<p>LAST night he lay within my arm,<br> + So small, so warm—a mystery<br> + To which God only held the key—<br> +But mine to keep from fear and harm!</p> + +<p>Ah! He was all my own, last night,<br> + With soft, persuasive, baby eyes,<br> + So wondering and yet so wise,<br> +And hands that held my finger tight.</p> + +<p>Why was it that he could not stay—<br> +Too rare a gift? Yet who could hold<br> + A treasure with securer hold<br> +Than I, to whom love taught the way?</p> + +<p>As with a flood of golden light<br> + The first sun tipped earth’s golden rim<br> + So all my world grew bright with him<br> +And with his going fell the night—</p> + +<p>O God, is there an angel arm<br> + More strong, more tender than the rest?<br> + Lay Thou my baby on his breast<br> +To keep him safe from fear and harm!</p> +<!-- Page 98 --> + +<h3 id="The_Vassal">The Vassal</h3> + +<p>WIND of the North, O far, wild wind<br> + Born of a far, lone sea—<br> +When suns are soft and breezes kind<br> + Why are you kin to me?</p> + +<p><i>Uncounted years above the sea,<br> + Rock-fortressed from its rage,<br> +The fishermen, your fathers, kept<br> + A barren heritage—<br> +Grim as the sea they forced to pay<br> + The sea-toll of their wage.</i></p> + +<p><i>And lo! The fate which made you hers<br> + And gave you of her best<br> +And set you in a sunny place,<br> + Down-sloping to the West,<br> +Forgot to change your fisher’s heart<br> + Serf to the sea’s unrest!</i></p> + +<p>Wind of the North! O bitter wind,<br> + I hear the wild seas fret—<br> +In the dim spaces of the mind<br> + They claim me vassal yet!</p> +<!-- Page 99 --> + +<h3 id="The_Troubadour">The Troubadour</h3> + +<p>THE wind blows salt from off the sea<br> + And sweet from where the land lies green;<br> +I travel down the great highway<br> + That runs so straight and white between—<br> +I watch the sea-wind strain the sheet,<br> +The land-wind toss the yellow wheat!</p> + +<p>Song is my mistress, fickle she,<br> + Yet dear beyond all dearth of speech;<br> +Child of the winds of land and sea<br> + She charms me with the charm of each—<br> +Full soft and sweet she sings and then<br> +She sings wild songs for sailor-men!</p> + +<p>No staff I carry in my hand,<br> + No pack I carry on my back,<br> +No foot of earth I call my own,<br> + For castle or for cot I lack—<br> +I travel fast, I travel slow,<br> +And where my mistress bids I go!</p> + +<p>My gems, the pearl upon the leaf<br> + At mystic hour of the morn;<br> +My gold, the gold that rims the sea<br> + A moment ere the day is born;<br> +And on my breezy couch o’ nights<br> +The stars shine down—my taper lights!</p> +<!-- Page 100 --> +<p>Happy am I that sing of love,<br> + Yet from the thrall of love am free;<br> +Happy am I that sing of pain<br> + And quick forget what pain may be!<br> +I sing of death—and lo! To me<br> +Life is supremest ecstacy!</p> +<!-- Page 101 --> + +<h3 id="Indian_Summer">Indian Summer</h3> + +<p>I HAVE strayed from silent places,<br> +Where the days are dreaming always;<br> +And fair summer lies a-dying,<br> +Roses withered on her breast.<br> +I have stolen all her beauty,<br> +All her softness, all her sweetness;<br> +In her robe of folden sunshine<br> + I am drest.</p> + +<p>I will breathe a mist about me<br> +Lest you see my face too clearly,<br> +Lest you follow me too boldly<br> +I will silence every song.<br> +Through the haze and through the silence<br> +You will know that I am passing;<br> +When you break the spell that holds you,<br> + I am gone!</p> +<!-- Page 102 --> + +<h3 id="The_Unchanged">The Unchanged</h3> + +<p>IF we could salvage Babylon<br> +From times’s grim heap of dust and bones;<br> +If we could charm cool waters back<br> +To sing against her thirsty stones;<br> +If, on a day,<br> +We two should stray<br> +Down some long, Babylonian way—<br> +Perhaps the strangest sight of all<br> +Would be the street boys playing ball.</p> + +<p>If through Pompeii’s agelong night<br> +A yellow sun again might shine,<br> +And little, sea-born breezes lift<br> +The hair of lovers sipping wine,<br> +If, in some fair,<br> +Dim temple there,<br> +We watched Pompeii come to prayer—<br> +Not the strange altar would surprise<br> +But strangeness of familiar eyes!</p> + +<p>Ay, should our magic straightly wake<br> +Atlantis from her sea-rocked sleep<br> +And we on some Processional<br> +Look down where dancing maidens leap,<br> +If one flushed maid<br> +Beside us stayed<br> +To tie more firm her loosened braid—<br> +Would not the shaking wonder be<br> +To find her just like you and me?</p> +<!-- Page 103 --> + +<h3 id="Indifference">Indifference</h3> + +<p>A BIRD, a wild-flower and a tree—<br> +I care for them, not they for me.</p> + +<p>I see all heaven in a pool—<br> +But the frog there takes me for a fool.</p> + +<p>To this dead thrush a tear I gave—<br> +All Spring shall sing above my grave,</p> + +<p>And naught I spend my heart upon<br> +Know lack or loss that I am gone—</p> + +<p>A bird, a wild-flower and a tree,<br> +I cherish them; they suffer me!</p> +<!-- Page 104 --> + +<h3 id="Last_Things">Last Things</h3> + +<p>THERE is no one to do it for me,<br> + But I know what I shall do<br> +When the last dawn breaks o’er me<br> + And the last night is through.</p> + +<p>I shall set in pleasant order<br> + The little books I knew,<br> +With flowers on the window ledge<br> + In a shallow bowl of blue.</p> + +<p>I’ll leave the out door swinging,<br> + (As it might swing for you)<br> +And on the clean swept door-sill<br> + Wild roses I shall strew—</p> + +<p>So when pale Death comes trailing<br> + Her branch of sodden rue<br> +She’ll gather up my gay content<br> + And know contentment too!</p> +<!-- Page 105 --> + +<h3 id="Callous_Cupid">Callous Cupid</h3> + +<p>CUPID does not care for sighs<br> +Does not care for lover’s weeping!<br> +Fair One, dry your pretty eyes,<br> +Cupid does not care for sighs,<br> +Laugh with him if you are wise,<br> +Steel the heart he has in keeping;<br> +Cupid does not care for sighs<br> +Does not care for lover’s weeping!</p> +<!-- Page 106 --> + +<h3 id="The_Meeting">The Meeting</h3> + +<p>SHE flitted by me on the stair—<br> +A moment since I knew not of her.<br> +A look, a smile—she passed! but where<br> +She flitted by me on the stair<br> +Joy cradled exquisite despair;<br> +For who am I that I should love her?<br> +She flitted by me on the stair—<br> +A moment since I knew not of her!</p> +<!-- Page 107 --> + +<h3 id="The_Piper">The Piper</h3> + +<p>I’VE heard the pipes of Pan<br> +Somewhere, just beyond,—<br> +Over the edge of dawn, I think,<br> +Where the clouds hang soft on the world’s dim brink,<br> +Where the red suns rise and the blue stars sink,<br> +I heard the pipes of Pan!</p> + +<p><i>Hush! what you heard was the wind,<br> +The feet of the wind through the leaves,<br> +Or the sigh of the waking night as it stirred.<br> +Or a bird’s note afar,<br> +Or the deep breath of June,<br> +Or the fall of a star,<br> +Or the shimmering skirts of the sea-slipping tide<br> +In the wake of the wandering moon!</i></p> + +<p>Nay! ’twas the pipes of Pan!<br> +Somewhere—just beyond—<br> +My soul awoke with a rapturous sigh<br> +(Would I wake my soul for a night bird’s cry?)<br> +I heard the winds of the worlds sweep by<br> +To follow the pipes of Pan!</p> + +<p><i>Stay! ’twas a voice that you heard,<br> +A voice that you love, in the wood,<br> +The vibrating note of a half spoken word—<br> +For the great Pan is slain,</i><br><!-- Page 108 --> +Of his pipings we know not one magical strain,<br> +They have fled down the years of a world that was young<br> +Oh, ages and ages ago!</p> + +<p>Nay, ’twas the pipes of Pan!<br> +Somewhere—just beyond—<br> +Far as a star, yet piercing sweet,<br> +A passionate, poignant, rhythmic beat—<br> +Till my mad blood raced with my racing feet<br> +To follow the piper—Pan!</p> +<!-- Page 109 --> + +<h3 id="Wanderlust">Wanderlust</h3> + +<p>THE highways and the byways, the kind sky folding all,<br> +And never a care to drag me back and never a voice to call;<br> +Only the call of the long, white road to the far horizon’s wall.</p> + +<p>The glad seas and the mad seas, the seas on a night in June,<br> +And never a hand to beckon back from the path of the new-lit moon;<br> +Never a night that lasts too long or a dawn that breaks too soon!</p> + +<p>The shrill breeze and the hill breeze, the sea breeze, fierce and bold,<br> +And never a breeze that gives the lie to a tale that a breeze has told;<br> +Always the tale of the strange and new in the countries strange and old.</p> + +<p>The lone trail and the known trail, the trail you must take on trust,<br> +And never a trail without a grave where a wanderer’s bones are thrust—<br> +Never a look or a turning back till the dust shall claim the dust!</p> +<!-- Page 110 --> + +<h3 id="Gold">Gold</h3> + +<p>WHEN life wakened in the Spring<br> + All the world was gold and green!<br> +Sunlight lay on everything,<br> +Sailing cloud and soaring wing,<br> + Emerald banks where snow had been,<br> + Drifts of daffodils between.</p> + +<p>When Life’s pulse beat strong and high<br> + Shone the world in gold and blue!<br> +Canopied with turquoise sky<br> +Summer passed superbly by,<br> + Bluest midnight cupped the dew<br> + Golden morn might sparkle through!</p> + +<p>Now that life would rest again<br> + Soft she lies in gold and brown,<br> +Brown the fields and gold the grain,<br> +Brown the little pools of rain,<br> + Gold the leaves that falter down<br> + To brown pavements in the town.</p> +<!-- Page 111 --> + +<h3 id="The_Materialist">The Materialist</h3> + +<p>MY soul has left its tent of clay<br> + And seeks from star to star,<br> +’Mid flaming worlds that are to be,<br> + And fruitful worlds that are,<br> +The Voice which spake and said “Live on!”<br> + (When Death said, “You may die”)<br> +And sent my spirit wandering<br> + The stairway of the sky.</p> + +<p>Still must I seek what on the earth<br> + I sought as fruitlessly—<br> +The world I knew, the heaven I scorned<br> + Lost in infinity:<br> +Alone, and on the ageless breath<br> + Of cosmic whirlwinds spun,<br> +I hurtle through the outer dark<br> + Toward some fantastic sun!—</p> + +<p>O God! how happy is the leaf,<br> + A sweet and soulless thing,<br> +Dying to live but in the green<br> + Of yet another Spring—<br> +These heights, these depths, these flaming worlds,<br> + This stairway of the sky<br> +I’d give, had no Voice said “Live on!”<br> + When Death said, “You may die.”</p> +<!-- Page 112 --> + +<h3 id="Tir_Nan_Og">Tir Nan Og</h3> + +<p>THE breeze blows out from the land and it seeks the sea,<br> + O and O! that my sail were set and away—<br> +Fast and free on its wings would my sailing be<br> + To the west: to the Tir Nan Og, where the blesséd stay!</p> + +<p>The darkness stirs, it awakes, it outspreads its arms,<br> + O and O! and the birds in their nests are still,<br> +The red-browed hill bleats low with the lamb’s alarms,<br> + And a sound of singing comes from the slipping rill.</p> + +<p>My soul is awake alone, all alone in the earth,<br> + O and O! and around is the lonely night.<br> +As with the sun, would my soul go forth to its birth—<br> + O’er the darkling sea, to the west—to the light, to the light!</p> + +<p>Do they say, “Be content with the land of the Innis Fail,<br> + O and O! there is friendship here, there is song.”<br> +But they smile to your face, when you turn they stammer and rail<br><!-- Page 113 --> + And the song of the singer has tears and is over long!</p> + +<p>A call comes out of the west and it calls a name,<br> + O and O! it is soft, it is far, it is low—<br> +Sweet, so sweet that it touches my soul with a flame<br> + That burns the heart from my breast with the wish to go!</p> + +<blockquote>(Translated from the Celtic.)</blockquote> +<!-- Page 114 --> + +<h3 id="The_Little_Man_in_Green">The Little Man in Green</h3> + +<p>’TWAS a little man in green,<br> + And he sat upon a stone;<br> + And he sat there all alone,<br> +Whispering.</p> + +<p>“One and two,” so whispered he.<br> + (’Twas an ancient man and hoar)<br> + “One and two,” and then no more—<br> +Never, “Three”.</p> + +<p>Hawthorn trees were quick with May—<br> + “Sir,” said I, “Good-day to you”!<br> + But he counted. “One and two”<br> +In strange way.</p> + +<p>Fool I was—oh, fool was I<br> + (Who should know the ways of them!)<br> + That I touched his cloak’s green hem,<br> +Passing by.</p> + +<p>I was fey with spring and mirth—<br> + Speaking him without a thought—<br> + Now is joy a thing forgot<br> +On the earth.</p> + +<p>Ere the sweet thorn-buds were through,<br> + Wife and child doom-stricken lay,<br> + Cold as winter, white as spray—<br> +<i>“One and two!”</i></p> +<!-- Page 115 --> +<p>Now I seek eternally<br> + That grim Counter of the fen,<br> + Praying he may count again—<br> +Counting, “Three”.</p> + +<blockquote>* In the bad chance of a meeting with the “Little People” the +mortal is cautioned not to speak to them nor to touch, but to pass +by quickly with averted eye.—Old tale.</blockquote> +<!-- Page 116 --> + +<h3 id="The_Enchantress">The Enchantress</h3> + +<p>I FEAR Eileen, the wild Eileen—<br> + The eyes she lifts to mine,<br> +That laugh and laugh and never tell<br> + The half that they divine!</p> + +<p>She draws me to her lonely cot<br> + Ayont the Tulloch Hill;<br> +And, laughing, draws me to her door<br> + And, laughing, holds me still.</p> + +<p>I bless myself and bless myself,<br> + But in the holy sign,<br> +There seems to be no heart of love,<br> + To still the pain in mine.</p> + +<p>The morning, bright above the moor,<br> + Is bright no more for me—<br> +A weary bit of burning pain<br> + Is where my heart should be!</p> + +<p>For since the wild, sweet laugh of her<br> + Has drawn me to her snare,<br> +The only sunlight in the world<br> + Is shining from her hair.</p> + +<p>Yet well I know, ah, well I know<br> + Why ’tis so sweet and wild—<br> +She slept beneath a faery thorn,<br> + She is a faery child!</p> +<!-- Page 117 --> +<p>And so I leave my mother lone,<br> + No meal to fill the pot,<br> +And follow, follow wild Eileen.<br> + If so I will or not.</p> + +<p>I fear to meet her in the glen,<br> + Or seek her by the shore;<br> +I fear to lift her cabin’s latch,<br> + But—should she come no more!—</p> + +<p>O Eileen Og, O wild Eileen,<br> + My heart is wracked with fear<br> +Lest you should meet your faery kin,<br> + And, laughing, leave me here!</p> +<!-- Page 118 --> + +<h3 id="The_Banshee">The Banshee</h3> + +<p>THE Banshee cries on the rising wind<br> + <i>“O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!”</i><br> +The dead to free and the quick to bind—<br> +(Close fast the shutter and draw the blind!)<br> + <i>“O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!”</i></p> + +<p>Why are you paler my dearest dear?<br> + <i>“O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!”</i><br> +’Tis but the wind in the elm tree near—<br> +(Acushla, hush! lest the Banshee hear!)<br> + <i>“O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!”</i></p> + +<p>See, how the crackling fire up-springs,<br> + <i>“O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!”</i><br> +Up and up on its flame-red wings;<br> +Hark, how the cheerful kettle sings!<br> + <i>“O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!”</i></p> + +<p>Core of my heart! How cold your lips!<br> + <i>“O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!”</i><br> +White as the spray the wild wind whips,<br> +Still as your icy finger tips!<br> + <i>“O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!”</i></p> + +<p>On the rising wind the Banshee cries—<br> + <i>“O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!”</i><br> +I kiss your hair. I kiss your eyes—<br> +The kettle is dumb; the red flame dies!<br> + <i>“Ochone! Ochone! Ochone!”</i></p> +<!-- Page 119 --> + +<h3 id="The_Witch">The Witch</h3> + +<p>HER hair was gold and warm it lay<br> + Upon the pallor of her brow;<br> +Her eyes were deep, aye, deep and gray—<br> + And in their depths he drowned his vow.</p> + +<p>She wandered where the sands were wet,<br> + Weaving the sea-weed for a crown,<br> +And there at eve a monk she met—<br> + A holy monk in cowl and gown.</p> + +<p>She held him with her witch’s stare<br> + (A sweet, child-look—it witched him well!)<br> +Upon his lip she froze the prayer,<br> + And in his ear she breathed a spell.</p> + +<p>He babbled ever of her name<br> + And of her brow that gleamed like dawn,<br> +And of her lips—a lovely shame<br> + No holy man should think upon.</p> + +<p>They hunted her along the sea,<br> + “Witch, Witch!” they cried and hissed their hate—<br> +Her hair unbound fell to her knee<br> + And made a glory where she sate.</p> + +<p>Her song she hushed and, wonder-eyed,<br> + She gazed upon their bell and book;<br> +The zealous priests were fain to hide<br> + Lest they be holden by her look.</p> +<!-- Page 120 --> +<p>Most innocent she seemed to be<br> + (“The Devil’s sly!” the fathers say)<br> +Her eyes were dreaming eyes that see<br> + Things strange and fair and far away.</p> + +<p>They stood her in the judgment hall.<br> + “Confess,” they cried, “the blasting spell<br> +That holds yon crazéd monk in thrall?”<br> + “Good sirs,” she said, “he loved me well.”</p> + +<p>They haled her to a witch’s doom,<br> + They matched her shining hair with flame—<br> +But ever through the cloister’s gloom<br> + The mad monk babbles of her name!</p> + +<p>And, when the red sun droppeth down<br> + And wet sand gleameth ghostily,<br> +Men see her weave a sea-weed crown<br> + Between the twilight and the sea.</p> +<!-- Page 121 --> + +<h3 id="Fairy_Singing">Fairy Singing</h3> + +<p>SHE was my love and the pulse of my heart;<br> +Lovely she was as the flowers that start<br> +Straight to the sun from the earth’s tender breast,<br> +Sweet as the wind blowing out of the west—<br> +Elana, Elana, my strong one, my white one,<br> +Soft be the wind blowing over your rest!</p> + +<p><i> She crept to my side<br> + In the cold mist of morning.<br> + “O wirra” she cried,<br> + “’Tis farewell now, mavourneen!<br> + When the crescent moon hung<br> + Like a scythe in the sky,<br> + I heard in the silence<br> + The Little Folks cry.</i></p> + +<p><i> “’Twas like a low sighing,<br> + A sobbing, a singing;<br> + It came from the west,<br> + Where the low moon was swinging:<br> + ‘Elana, Elana’<br> + Was all of their crying.<br> + Mavrone! I must go—<br> + To refuse them, I dare not.<br> + Alone I must go;<br> + They have called and they care not—<br> + Naught do they care that they call me apart<br><!-- Page 122 --> + From the warmth and the light and the love of your heart.<br> + Hark! How their singing<br> + Comes winging, comes winging,<br> + Through your close arms, beloved,<br> + Straight to my heart!”</i></p> + +<p>White grew her face as the thorn’s tender bloom,<br> +White as the mist from the valley of doom!<br> +Swift was her going—her head on my breast<br> +Drooped like a flower that winter has pressed—<br> +Elana, Elana! My strong one, my white one!<br> +Empty the arms that your beauty had blessed.</p> +<!-- Page 123 --> + +<h3 id="Killed_in_Action">Killed in Action</h3> + +<p>MY father lived his three-score years; my son lived twenty-two;<br> +One looked long back on work well done, and one had all to do—<br> +Yet which the better served his world, I know not, nor do you!</p> + +<p>Life taught my father all her lore till he grew wise and gray,<br> +She did but whisper to my son before she turned away—<br> +Yet which her deepest secret held only they two might say.</p> + +<p>Peace brought my father restful days, with love and fame for wage;<br> +War gave my son an unmarked grave and an unwritten page—<br> +Who shall declare which gift conveyed the greater heritage?</p> +<!-- Page 124 --> + +<h3 id="Spring_Came_In">Spring Came In</h3> + +<p>SPRING came in with a red-wing’s feather<br> + And yellow clumps of the wild marshmallow—<br> +O happy bird, can you tell me whether<br> +In distant France they have April weather?<br> + And little pools that are sunny and shallow?</p> + +<p>My soul is awake and my pulse is racing—<br> + My heart is aware that the birds are mating—<br> +Oh, my heart’s like a cloud that the wind is chasing<br> +O’er the earth’s green blur with its silver tracing<br> + To that sad France where there’s someone waiting!</p> + +<p>O Spring! begone with your too-sweet clover<br> + And all your bees with honey to carry—<br> +Come again when the war is over,<br> +Come, dear Spring, when you bring my lover!<br> + Yet come no more, should he tarry . . . tarry!</p> +<!-- Page 125 --> + +<h3 id="From_the_Trenches">From the Trenches</h3> + +<p>OH, to be in Canada now that Spring is merry,<br> + Happy apple blossoms gay against the smiling green;<br> +Here the lilac’s purple plume and here the pink of cherry,<br> + Hillsides just a drift of bloom with clover in between!</p> + +<p>Oh, to be in Canada! there’s a road that rambles<br> + Through a leafing maple-wood and up a windy hill,<br> +Velvet pussy-willows press soft hands amid the brambles<br> + Fringing round a sky-filled pool where cattle drink their fill.</p> + +<p>Oh, to be in Canada! there’s a farmhouse hidden<br> + Where the hollow meets the hill and Spring’s first footsteps show—<br> +Not a drop of honey there to any bee forbidden,<br> + Not a cherry on a tree but all the robins know!</p> + +<p>Oh, to be in Canada, now that Spring is calling<br> + Sweet, so sweet it breaks the heart to let its sweetness through,<br><!-- Page 126 --> +Oh, to breast the windy hill while yet the dew is falling—<br> + Waking all the meadow-larks to carol in the blue!</p> + +<p>Smile upon us, Canada! None shall fail who love you<br> + While they hold a memory of your fields where flowers are—<br> +High the task to keep unstained the skies that bend above you,<br> + Proud the life that shields you from the flaming wind of war!</p> +<!-- Page 127 --> + +<h3 id="The_Reasons">The Reasons</h3> + +<p>THEY sat before a dugout<br> +In the unfamiliar quiet of silenced guns.<br> +And one said:<br> +“Now that it’s over<br> +What about a bit of truth?<br> +Let us say why we came to fight—<br> +No frills—<br> +You first, old Fire-eater!”—</p> + +<p>One with a whimsical face spoke freely;<br> +“I?—I sought some stir,<br> +Some urge in living,<br> +Some sense in dying.<br> +I sought a mountain top<br> +With a view!”</p> + +<p>“And the answer?”</p> + +<p>“I have seen others find<br> +What I sought.”</p> + +<p>. . . . . . .</p> + +<p>“I don’t know that it’s anyone’s business<br> +Why I came,”<br> +(Another spoke as if unwillingly),<br> +“A girl laughed, I think—<br> +Funny?—Yes, funny as hell!”—</p> + +<p>. . . . . . .</p> + +<p>His neighbor said,<br> +“I was a business man,<br> +No sentiment,<br><!-- Page 128 --> +Nothing of that kind,—<br> +But the band played<br> +And, suddenly, I saw<br> +My country,<br> +A woman, with hands outstretched,<br> +Her back to the wall—”</p> + +<p>“U—um,” they nodded,<br> +<i>“She’s got a pull,<br> +That old lady.”</i></p> + +<p>. . . . . . .</p> + +<p>“As for me,” the speaker was abrupt,<br> +“I was afraid!<br> +I saw pictures,<br> +I heard things—<br> +I couldn’t sleep<br> +For the Beast that was abroad—<br> +Fear!<br> +That’s what brought me!”</p> + +<p>. . . . . . .</p> + +<p>They sat silent for a moment<br> +In the sun.<br> +Then an older man said briefly,<br> +“We were all afraid . . . . .<br> +. . . But what of hate?<br> +Did no one come because of hate?”<br> + . . . . . .</p> + +<p>“Yes—I”—<br> +They looked at this man<br> +Curiously,<br><!-- Page 129 --> +But he added nothing,<br> +And no one questioned.</p> + +<p>. . . . . . .</p> + +<p>A fresh-faced boy spoke modestly;<br> +“Our family are all Army people—<br> +So, of course—<br> +And it’s all over now.<br> +We got through.<br> +But it was a near thing—<br> +What?”</p> +<!-- Page 130 --> + +<h3 id="To-Day">To-Day</h3> + +<p>TO-DAY is a room<br> +With windows upon one side<br> +And upon the other<br> +A door—<br> +Through the windows we may look<br> +But cannot pass;<br> +Through the door we must pass<br> +But cannot look,<br> +And there are no windows<br> +Upon that side.</p> +<!-- Page 131 --> + +<h3 id="Memory">Memory</h3> + +<p>A YEAR is a thief<br> +Who comes in the guise of a friend<br> +Saying, “Let us travel together,<br> +We have much to give each other.<br> +See, I hold back nothing—<br> +For what is giving<br> +Between friends?”</p> + +<p>Yet when the year departs<br> +He takes his gifts with him—<br> +“Oh, Robber!” we cry,<br> +Aghast and weeping,<br> +“Nay,” he replies, “I did but lend.<br> +Still, for your weeping, I will leave you something.</p> + +<p>It is not the real thing<br> +But you may keep it always.”</p> +<!-- Page 132 --> + +<h3 id="Dream">Dream</h3> + +<p>I SEE a spirit<br> +Young and eager,<br> +Beautiful, too, I think,<br> +(Although I cannot see it clearly)<br> +It is, by right of its own being,<br> +One with all lovely, youthful things;<br> +And they, its age-old kindred,<br> +Welcome it<br> +Saying, “Come, you too are one of us!”</p> + +<p>. . . . . . .</p> + +<p>This spirit is my own happy ghost—<br> +But I, myself,—alas!</p> +<!-- Page 133 --> + +<h3 id="Perhaps">Perhaps</h3> + +<p>THERE was a man, once, and a woman<br> +Whose love was so entire<br> +That an angel, watching them,<br> +Said wistfully, “Would I were no angel<br> +But a mortal,<br> +Loving so, and so beloved!”<br> +. . . . Yet, when these two mated,<br> +A muddied drop, from some forgotten vial of ancestry,<br> +Brought them a child whose mind was dark;<br> +Who lived—and never called them by their names . . .<br> +. . . . They tended her<br> +For twenty years.<br> +Only when she died<br> +Did they weep, whispering,<br> +“Why?”<br> +The years could find no answer,<br> +Though they went questioning<br> +Until the end.</p> + +<p>. . . . . . .</p> + +<p>Still wondering<br> +They wandered out into the other country . . . .<br> +It was lonely there,<br> +Being parted from familiar things,<br> +And there was no one to answer questions,<br> +But, suddenly,<br><!-- Page 134 --> +(As a wind blows or a swallow flies against the sun)<br> +Came a young girl—eager!<br> +She ran to them,<br> +Calling dear names,<br> +(Names that would open heaven)<br> +“Who are you?” they entreated, trembling . . . .<br> +But they knew!—<br> +Had they not dreamed her so<br> +For twenty years?</p> +<!-- Page 135 --> + +<h3 id="Glamour">Glamour</h3> + +<p>THE knowledge of love<br> +Is like sudden sun upon a river—<br> +The slipping water<br> +Is instantly opaque and glorious.<br> +No longer can we look into it<br> +Counting the pebbles,<br> +Watching the ribboned water-reeds,<br> +Or searching idly<br> +For that something which we lost<br> +(A ring with gems)<br> +It is all glamour, now!<br> +We turn away, shading our eyes.</p> +<!-- Page 136 --> + +<h3 id="Friendship">Friendship</h3> + +<p>I THOUGHT of friendship<br> +As a golden ring,<br> +Round as the world<br> +Yet fitted to my finger;<br> +I thought of friendship<br> +As a path in spring<br> +Where there are flowers<br> +And the footsteps linger;<br> +I thought of friendship<br> +As a globe of light,<br> +Yellow before the doorway of my life,<br> +A flame diffused<br> +Yet potent against night;<br> +I thought—but thought itself in ruin lies<br> +Since, yesterday, you passed with lowered eyes!</p> +<!-- Page 137 --> + +<h3 id="The_Returned_Man">The Returned Man</h3> + +<p>THEY thought that he would come back<br> +Quieter,<br> +Less boyish,<br> +But still a hero with tales to tell.<br> +So, when there were no tales,<br> +Only blank silences—<br> +When he lay for hours<br> +Staring through leafing branches<br> +And forgot them<br> +Utterly—<br> +They tried to arouse him, saying:<br> +“The war is over.”<br> +But when he turned on them<br> +His shadowed eyes<br> +They stammered—<br> +Knowing that they lied!</p> +<!-- Page 138 --> + +<h3 id="Epitaph">Epitaph</h3> + +<blockquote>(For the unknown soldier buried in Westminster Abbey.)</blockquote> + +<p>YOU who died fighting<br> +For me and my little children;<br> +You who are a million<br> +Yet are but one,<br> +I lay upon your grave<br> +A rose and a tear—<br> +The tear is the world’s sorrow,<br> +The rose is your joy.</p> +<!-- Page 139 --> + +<h3 id="For_One_Who_Went_in_Spring">For One Who Went in Spring</h3> + +<p>SHE did not go, as others do,<br> + With backward look and beckoning;<br> + With no farewell for anything<br> +She passed the open doorway through.</p> + +<p>The little things she left behind<br> + Lie where they fell from hands content—<br> + Fame a forgotten incident<br> +And life a season out of mind.</p> + +<p>The spring will find her footstep gone,<br> + But spring is kind to vanished things,<br> + Camas and buttercups she brings<br> +With green that tears have brightened on.</p> + +<p>And we, who walked with her last year<br> + While April in the lilacs stirred,<br> + Will turn with sudden look or word—<br> +Forgetting that she is not here.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Fires of Driftwood, by Isabel Ecclestone Mackay + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIRES OF DRIFTWOOD *** + +***** This file should be named 12475-h.htm or 12475-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/4/7/12475/ + +Produced by Andrew Sly. 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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: Fires of Driftwood + +Author: Isabel Ecclestone Mackay + +Release Date: May 30, 2004 [EBook #12475] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIRES OF DRIFTWOOD *** + + + + +Produced by Andrew Sly. Thanks to A Celebration of Women Writers +for providing the source text. + + + + + +FIRES OF DRIFTWOOD + +BY ISABEL ECCLESTONE MACKAY +WITH DECORATIONS BY J.E.H. MACDONALD A.R.C.A. + +First published by McClelland & Stewart, Limited, Toronto, 1922. + + + +The thanks of the author are due to the editors of Ainslee's Magazine, +The American Magazine, The Canadian Magazine, Canadian Home Journal, +The Canadian Bookman, The Forum, The Globe, Harper's Magazine, +The Independent, The Ladies' World, McClure's Magazine, Metropolitan +Magazine, The Reader Magazine, Scribner's Magazine, Saturday Night, +and The Youth's Companion for permission to publish this verse +in its present form. + + +CONTENTS + + FIRES OF DRIFTWOOD + WHEN AS A LAD + LAUREATE + OUT OF BABYLON + LAST SPRING + PRESENCE + IN AN AUTUMN GARDEN + ROSE DOLORES + A PILGRIM + SPRING WILL COME + COSMOS + THE SECRET + I WATCH SWIFT PICTURES + FEAR + RESURRECTION + THE LOST NAME + THE HAPPY TRAVELLER + THE DEAD BRIDE + THE CROCUS BED + THE VISION + THE MIRACLE + THE HOMESTEADER + WET WEATHER + THE SLEEPING BEAUTY + DOWN AT THE DOCKS + LAKE LOUISE + THE GATEKEEPER + THE BRIDGE BUILDER + THE PRAIRIE SCHOOL + CALGARY STATION + VALE + THE WAY TO WAIT + THE PASSER BY + FIRST LOVE + SAD ONE, MUST YOU WEEP + JOSEPH + A CHRISTMAS CHILD + SPRING IN NAZARETH + INHERITANCE + SONG OF THE SLEEPER + THE TYRANT + THE GIFTS + THE TOWN BETWEEN + ON THE MOUNTAIN + THE PROPHET + GIVE ME A DAY + LITTLE BROWN BIRD + THE WATCHER + POSSESSION + TO ARCADY + THE FIELDS OF EVEN + I LOVE MY LOVE + SPRING AWOKE TO-DAY + IN TOWN + SUMMER'S PASSING + THE DOOM OF YS + TIME'S GARDEN + THE COMING OF LOVE + PREMONITION + THE CHILD + INTRUSION + THE SEA'S WITHHOLDING + LOVE UNKIND + CHRISTMAS IN HEAVEN + I WHISPERED TO THE BOB-O-LINK + YOU + THE MOTHER + THE VASSAL + THE TROUBADOUR + INDIAN SUMMER + THE UNCHANGED + INDIFFERENCE + LAST THINGS + CALLOUS CUPID + THE MEETING + THE PIPER + WANDERLUST + GOLD + THE MATERIALIST + TIR NAN OG + THE LITTLE MAN IN GREEN + THE ENCHANTRESS + THE BANSHEE + THE WITCH + FAIRY SINGING + KILLED IN ACTION + SPRING CAME IN + FROM THE TRENCHES + THE REASONS + TO-DAY + MEMORY + DREAM + PERHAPS + GLAMOUR + FRIENDSHIP + THE RETURNED MAN + EPITAPH + FOR ONE WHO WENT IN SPRING + + + + +Fires of Driftwood + + +ON what long tides +Do you drift to my fire, +You waifs of strange waters? +From what far seas, +What murmurous sands, +What desolate beaches-- +Flotsam of those glories that were ships! + +I gather you, +Bitter with salt, +Sun-bleached, rock-scarred, moon-harried, +Fuel for my fire. + +You are Pride's end. +Through all to-morrows you are yesterday. +You are waste, +You are ruin, +For where is that which once you were? + +I gather you. +See! I set free the fire within you-- +You awake in thin flame! +Tremulous, mistlike, your soul aspires, +Blue, beautiful, +Up and up to the clouds which are its kindred! +What is left is nothing-- +Ashes blown along the shore! + + + + +When as a Lad + + + WHEN, as a lad, at break of day + I watched the fishers sail away, +My thoughts, like flocking birds, would follow +Across the curving sky's blue hollow, + And on and on-- + Into the very heart of dawn! + + For long I searched the world--ah, me! + I searched the sky, I searched the sea, +With much of useless grief and rueing +Those winged thoughts of mine pursuing-- + So dear were they, + So lovely and so far away! + + I seek them still and always must + Until my laggard heart is dust +And I am free to follow, follow, +Across the curving sky's blue hollow, + Those thoughts too fleet + For any save the soul's swift feet! + + + + +Laureate + + +DEATH met a little child who cried +For a bright star which earth denied, +And Death, so sympathetic, kissed it, +Saying: "With me +All bright things be!"-- +And only the child's mother missed it. + +Death met a maiden on the brae, +Her eyes held dreams life would betray, +And gallant Death was greatly taken-- +"Leave," whispered he, +"Your dream with me +And I will see you never waken." + +Death met an old man in a lane; +So gnarled was he and full of pain +That kindly Death was struck with pity-- +"Come you with me, +Old man," said he, +"I'll set you down in a fair city." + +So, kingly Death along the way +Scatters rare gifts and asks no pay-- +Yet who to Death will write a sonnet? +If any dare, +Let him take care +No foolish tear be spilled upon it! + + + + +Out of Babylon + + +THEIR looks for me are bitter, + And bitter is their word-- +I may not glance behind unseen, + I may not sigh unheard. + +So fare we forth from Babylon, + Along the road of stone; +And no one looks to Babylon + Save I--save I alone! + +My mother's eyes are glory-filled + (Save when they fall on me) +The shining of my father's face + I tremble when I see, + +For they were slaves in Babylon, + And now they're walking free-- +They leave their chains in Babylon, + I bear my chains with me! + +At night a sound of singing + The vast encampment fills; +"Jerusalem! Jerusalem!" + It sweeps the nearing hills-- + +But no one sings of Babylon + (Their home of yesterday) +And no one prays for Babylon, + And I--I dare not pray! + +Last night the Prophet saw me; + And, while he held me there, +The holy fire within his eyes + Burned all my secret bare. + +"What! Sigh you so for Babylon?" + (I turned away my face) +"Here's one who turns to Babylon, + Heart traitor to her race!" + +I follow and I follow! + My heart upon the rack; +I follow to Jerusalem-- + The long road stretches back + +To Babylon, to Babylon! + And every step I take +Bears farther off from Babylon + A heart that cannot break. + + + + +Last Spring + + +THIS morning at the door + I heard the Spring. +Quickly I set it wide + And, welcoming, +"Come in, sweet Spring," I cried, +"The winter ash, long dried, +Waits but your breath to rise + On phantom wing." + +A brown leaf shivered by, + A soulless thing-- +My heart in quick dismay + Forgot to sing-- +Twisted and grim it lay, +Kin to the ghost-ash gray, +Dead, dead--strange herald this + Of jocund Spring! + +I spurned it from the door. + I longed that Spring +Should come with song and glow + And rush of wing, +Not this, not this!--But O +Dead leaf, a year ago +You were the dear first-born + Of Hope and Spring! + + + + +Presence + + +BY a sense of Presence, keenly dear, + I, who thought her distant, +Knew her near. + +By an echo that most sweetly woke, + I, long keyed to silence, +Knew she spoke. + +By her nearness and the word she said, + I, who thought her living, +Knew her dead. + + + + +In an Autumn Garden + + + TO-NIGHT the air discloses + Souls of a million roses, +And ghosts of hyacinths that died too soon; + From Pan's safe-hidden altar + Dim wraiths of incense falter +In waving spiral, making sweet the moon! + + Aroused from fragrant covers, + The vows of vanished lovers +Take voice in whisperings that rise and pass; + Where the crisped leaves are lying + A tremulous, low sighing +Breathes like a startled spirit o'er the grass. + + Ah, Love! in some far garden, + In Arcady or Arden, +We two were lovers! Hush--remember not + The years in which I've missed you-- + 'Twas yesterday I kissed you +Beneath this haunted moon! Have you forgot? + + + + +Rose Dolores + + +THE moan of Rose Dolores, she made her plaint to me, +"My hair is lifted by the wind that sweeps in from the sea; +I taste its salt upon my lips--O jailer, set me free!" + +"Content thee, Rose Dolores; content thee, child of care! +There's satin shoon upon thy feet and emeralds in thy hair, +And one there is who hungers for thy step upon the stair." + +The moan of Rose Dolores, "O jailer, set me free! +These satin shoon and green-lit gems are terrible to me; +I hear a murmur on the wind, the murmur of the sea!" + +"Bethink thee, Rose Dolores, bethink thee, ere too late! +Thou wert a fisher's child, alack, born to a fisher's fate; +Would'st lay thy beauty 'neath the yoke--would'st be a fisher's mate?" + +The moan of Rose Dolores "Kind jailer, let me go! +There's one who is a fisher--ah! my heart beats cold and slow +Lest he should doubt I love him--I! who love not heaven so!" + +"Alas, sweet Rose Dolores, why beat against the bars? +Thy fisher lover drifteth where the sea is full of stars; +Why weep for one who weeps no more?--since grief thy beauty mars!" + +The moan of Rose Dolores (she prayed me patiently) +"O jailer, now I know who called from out the calling sea, +I know whose kiss was in the wind--O jailer, set me free!" + + + + +A Pilgrim + + +ACROSS the trodden continent of years + To shrines of long ago, +My heart, a hooded pilgrim, turns with tears-- + For could I know +That in the temple of thy constancy +There still may burn a taper lit for me, + 'Twould be a star in starless heaven, to show +That Heaven could be. + +Bent with the weight of all that I desired + And all that I forswore, +My heart roams, mendicant, forlorn and tired, + From door to door, +Begging of every stern-faced memory +An alms of pity--just to come to thee, + No more thy knight, thy champion no more-- +Only thy devotee! + + + + +Spring will Come + + +SPRING will come to help me: she'll be back again, + Back with the soft sun, the sun I knew before. + She will wear her green gown, the emerald gown she wore +When the white-faced windflowers blew along the lane. + +Spring will come to help me: When her waking sigh + Drifts across my sore heart all the pain will go. + How shall hearts be aching when larks are flying low, +Low across the fields of camas bluer than the sky? + +I've a tryst with Spring here--maybe they'll be few + Now the world grows older--and shall I delay + Just because a Winter has stolen joy away? +What cares Spring for old joys, all her joys are new. + +Maybe there'll be singing in my sorrow yet-- + I have heard of such things--but, if there be not, + Still there'll be the green pool in the pasture lot, +All a-trail with willow fingers, delicate and wet. + +Winter is a passing thing and Spring is always gay; + If she, too, be passing she does not weep to know it. + Time she takes to quicken seed but never time to grow it-- +Naught she cares for harvest that lies so far away. + + + + +Cosmos + + +THE tiny thing of painted gauze that flutters in the sun +And sinks upon the breast of night with all its living done; + +The unconsidered seed that from the garden blows away, +Blooming its little time to bloom in one short summer day; + +The leaf the idle wind shakes down in autumn from the tree, +The grasshopper who for an hour makes gayest minstrelsy-- + +These--and this restless soul of mine--are one with flaming spheres +And cold, dead moons whose ghostly fires haunt unremembered years. + + + + +The Secret + + +IF I should tell you what I know +Of where the first primroses grow, + Betray the secrets of the lily, + Bring crocus-gold and daffodilly, +Would you tell me if charm there be + To win a maiden, willy-nilly? + +I lie upon the fragrant heath, +Kin to the beating heart beneath; + The nesting plover I discover + Nor stir the scented screen above her, +Yet am I blind--I cannot find + What turns a maiden to her lover! + +Through all the mysteries of May, +Initiate, I take my way-- + Sure as the blithest lark or linnet + To touch the pulsing soul within it-- +Yet with no art to reach Her heart, + Nor skill to teach me how to win it! + + + + +I Watch Swift Pictures + + +I WATCH swift pictures flash and fade + On the closed curtains of my eyes,-- +A bit of river green as jade + Under green skies; + +A single bird that soars and dips + Remote; a young and secret moon +Stealing to kiss some flower's lips + Too shy for noon; + +A pointing tree; a lifted hill, + Sun-misted with a golden ring,-- +Were these once mine? And am I still + Remembering? + +A path that wanders wistfully + With no beginning there nor here, +Nor special grace that it should be + So sharply dear, + +Unless,--what if when every day + Is yesterday, with naught to borrow, +I may slip down this wistful way + Into to-morrow? + + + + +Fear + + +I HEARD a sound of crying in the lane, + A passionless, low crying, +And I said, "It is the tears of the brown rain + On the leaves within the lane!" + +I heard a sudden sighing at the door, + A soft, persuasive sighing, +And I said, "The summer breeze has sighed before, + Gustily, outside the door!" + +Yet from the place I fled, nor came again, + With my heart beating, beating! +For I knew 'twas not the breeze nor the brown rain + At the door and in the lane! + + + + +Resurrection + + +I BURIED Joy; and early to the tomb +I came to weep--so sorrowful was I +Who had not dreamed that Joy, my Joy, could die. + +I turned away, and by my side stood Joy +All glorified--ah, so ashamed was I +Who dared to dream that Joy, my Joy, could die! + + + + +The Lost Name + + +THE voice of my true love is low + And exquisitely kind, +Warm as a flower, cold as snow-- + I think it is the Wind. + +My true love's face is white as mist + That moons have lingered on, +Yet rosy as a cloud, sun-kissed-- + I think it is the Dawn. + +The breath of my true love is sweet + As gardens at day's close +When dew and dark together meet-- + I think it is a Rose. + +My true love's heart is wild and shy + And folded from my sight, +A world, a star, a whispering sigh-- + I think it is the Night. + +My true love's name is lost to me, + The prey of dusty years, +But in the falling Rain I see + And know her by her tears! + + + + +The Happy Traveller + + +WHO is the monarch of the Road? + I, the happy rover! +Lord of the way which lies before + Up to the hill and over-- +Owner of all beneath the blue, +On till the end, and after, too! + +I am the monarch of the Road! + Mine are the keys of morning, +I know where evening keeps her store + Of stars for night's adorning, +I know the wind's wild will, and why +The lone thrush hurries down the sky! + +I am the monarch of the Road! + My court I hold with singing, +Each bird a gay ambassador, + Each flower a censer, swinging; +And every little roadside thing +A wonder to confound a king. + +I am the monarch of the Road! + I ask no leave for living; +I take no less, I seek no more + Than nature's fullest giving-- +And ever, westward with the day, +I travel to the far away! + + + + +The Dead Bride + + +WITHIN my circled arm she lay and faintly smiled the long night through, +And oh, but she was fair to view, fair to view! + +Upon the whiteness of her robe the dew distilled, and on her veil +And on her cheek of carved pearl that gleamed so pale. + +(How still the air is in the night, how near and kind the heavens are, +One might a naked hand outstretch and grasp a star!) + +I kissed her heavy, folded hair. I kissed her heavy lids full oft; +Beneath the shining of the stars her eyes shone soft. + +"Love, Love!" I said, "the day was long"--"Oh, long indeed," she sighing said. +"I grow so jealous of the sun, since I am dead." + +(How sweet the air is in the night, how sweet, sweet, sweet the flowers seem-- +But oh, the emptiness of dawn that breaks the dream!) + + + + +The Crocus Bed + + +YELLOW as the noonday sun, +Purple as a day that's done, +White as mist that lingers pale +On the edge of morning's veil, +Delicate as love's first kiss-- +Crocuses are just like this. + +Ere the robin paints his breast, +Ere the daffodil is drest, +Ere the iris' lovely head +Waves above her perfumed bed +Comes the crocus--and the Spring +Follows after, wing on wing! + +Sweet perfection, holding up +Magic dew in topaz cup, +Alabaster, amethyst-- +Curling lips which Earth has kissed, +Folded hearts where secrets hide, +Secrets old when Eve was bride! + +Beauty's soul was born with wings, +Flight inspires all lovely things-- +Would you gather rainbow fire? +See the rose of dawn's desire +Turn to ash beneath the moon?-- +Crocuses must leave us soon. + + + + +The Vision + + +"O SISTER, sister, from the casement leaning, +What sees thy tranced eye, what is the meaning +Of the strange rapture that thy features know?" +"I see," she said, "the sunset's crimson glow." + +"O sister, sister, from the casement turning, +What saw'st thou there save sunset's sullen burning? +--Thy hand is ice, and fever lights thine eye!" +"I saw," she said, "the twilight drifting by." + +"O sister, oft the sun hath set and often +Have we beheld the twilight fold and soften +The edge of day-- In this no mystery lies!" +"I saw," she said, "the crescent moon arise." + +"O sister, speak! I fear when on me falleth +Thine empty glance which some wild spell enthralleth! +--How chill the air blows through the open door!" +"I saw," she said, "I saw"--and spake no more. + + + + +The Miracle + + +THERE'S not a leaf upon the tree + To show the sap is leaping, +There's not a blade and not an ear + Escaped from winter's keeping-- +But there's a something in the air + A something here, a something there, +A restless something everywhere-- + A stirring in the sleeping! + +A robin's sudden, thrilling note! + And see--the sky is bluer! +The world, so ancient yesterday, + To-day seems strangely newer; +All that was wearisome and stale + Has wrapped itself in rosy veil-- +The wraith of winter, grown so pale + That smiling spring peeps through her! + + + + +The Homesteader + + +WIND-SWEPT and fire-swept and swept with bitter rain, + This was the world I came to when I came across the sea-- +Sun-drenched and panting, a pregnant, waiting plain + Calling out to humankind, calling out to me! + +Leafy lanes and gentle skies and little fields all green, + This was the world I came from when I fared across the sea-- +The mansion and the village and the farmhouse in between, + Never any room for more, never room for me! + +I've fought the wind and braved it; I cringe to it no more! + I've fought the creeping fire back and cheered to see it die. +I've shut the bitter rain outside and, safe within my door, + Laughed to think I feared a thing not so strong as I! + +I mind the long, white road that ran between the hedgerows neat, + In that little, strange old world I left behind me long ago, +I mind the air so full of bells at evening, far and sweet-- + All and all for someone else--I had leave to go! + +It cost a tear to leave it--but here across the sea + With miles and miles of unused sky, and miles of unturned loam, +And miles of room for someone else, and miles of room for me + I've found a bigger meaning for the little word called "Home." + + + + +Wet Weather + + +IT is the English in me that loves the soft, wet weather-- + The cloud upon the mountain, the mist upon the sea, +The sea-gull flying low and near with rain upon each feather, + The scent of deep, green woodlands where the buds are breaking free. + +A world all hot with sunshine, with a hot, white sky above it-- + Oh then I feel an alien in a land I'd call my own; +The rain is like a friend's caress, I lean to it and love it, + 'Tis like a finger on a nerve that thrills for it alone! + +Is it the secret kinship which each new life is given + To link it by an age-long chain to those whose lives are through, +That wheresoever he may go, by fate or fancy driven, + The home-star rises in his heart to keep the compass true? + +Ah, 'tis the English in me that loves the soft, gray weather-- + The little mists that trail along like bits of wind-flung foam, +The primrose and the violet--all wet and sweet together, + And the sound of water calling, as it used to call at home. + + + + +*The Sleeping Beauty + + +SO has she lain for centuries unguessed, + Her waiting face to waiting heaven turned, + While winds have wooed and ardent suns have burned +And stars have died to sentinel her rest. + +Only the snow can reach her as she lies, + Far and serene, and with cold finger-tips + Seal soft the lovely quiet of her lips +And lightly veil the shadows of her eyes. + +Man has no part--his little, noisy years + Rise to her silence thin and impotent-- + There are no echoes in that vast content, +No doubts, no dreams, no laughter and no tears! + +* A formation of mountain peaks above Vancouver Harbor, +outlining the profile and form of a sleeping maiden. + + + + +Down at the Docks + + +DOWN at the docks--when the smoke clouds lie, +Wind-ript and red, on an angry sky-- +Coal-dumps and derricks and piled-up bales, +Tar and the gear of forgotten sails, +Rusted chains and a broken spar +(Yesterday's breath on the things that are) +A lone, black cat and a snappy cur, +Smell of high-tide and of newcut fir, +Smell of low-tide, fish, weed!--I swear +I love every blessed smell that's there-- +For, aeons ago when the sea began, +My soul was the soul of a sailorman. + +Down at the docks--where the ships come in, +And the endless trails of the sea begin, +Where the shining wake of a steamer's track +Is barred by the tow of the tugboats black, +Where slim yachts dip to the singing spray +And a gay wind whistles the world away-- +Here sad ships lie which will sail no more, +But new ships build on the noisy shore, +And always the breath of the wind and tide +Whispers the lure of the sea outside, +Till now and to-morrow and yesterday +Are linked by the spell of the faraway! + +Down at the docks--when the morning's new +And the air is gold and the distance blue, +There's a pull at the heart! But best of all +Is to see the sun shrink, red and small, +While the fog steals in (more surely fleet +Than the smacks that run from her white-shod feet) +And clamours of startled calls arise +From bewildered ships that have lost their eyes; +The fog horn bellows its deep-mouthed shout, +The little lights on the shore blur out +And strange, dim shapes pass wistfully +With a secret tide to a secret sea. + + + + +Lake Louise + + +I THINK that when the Master Jeweler tells + His beads of beauty over, seeking there + One gem to name as most supremely fair, +To you He turns, O lake of hidden wells! + +So very lovely are you, Lake Louise, + The stars which crown your lifted peaks at even + Mistake you for a little sea in heaven +And nightly launch their shining argosies. + +From shore to dim-lit shore a ripple slips, + The happy sigh of faintly stirring night + Where safe she sleeps upon this virgin height +Captive of dream and smiling with white lips. + +Surely a spell, creation-old, was made + For you, O lake of silences, that all + Earth's fretting voices here should muted fall, +As if a finger on their lips were laid! + + + + +The Gatekeeper + + +THE sunlight falls on old Quebec, + A city framed of rose and gold, +An ancient gem more beautiful + In that its beauty waxes old. +O Pearl of Cities! I would set + You higher in our diadem, +And higher yet and higher yet, + That generations still to be + May kindle at your history! + +'Twas here that gallant Champlain stood + And gazed upon this mighty stream, +These towering rock-walls, buttressed high-- + A gateway to a land of dream; +And all his silent men stood near + While the great fleur-de-lis fell free, +(Too awe-struck they to raise a cheer) + And while the shining folds outspread + The sunset burned a sudden red. + +Here paced the haughty Frontenac, + His great heart torn with pride and pain, +His clear eye dimming as it swept + The land he might not see again, +This infant world, this strange New France + Dropped down as by some vagrant wind +Upon the New World's vast expanse, + Threatened yet safe! Through storm and stress + Time's challenge to the wilderness. + +Here, when to ease her tangled skein + Fate cut her threads and formed anew +The pattern of the thing she planned + And red war slipped the shuttle through, +Montcalm met Wolfe! The bitter strife + Of flag and flag was ended here-- +And every man who gave his life + Gave it that now one flag may wave, + One nation rise upon his grave! + +The twilight falls on old Quebec + And in the purple shines a star, +And on her citadel lies peace + More powerful than armies are. +O fair dream city! Ebb and flow + Of race feuds vex no more your walls. +Can they of old see this? and know + That, even as they dreamed, you stand + Gatekeeper of a peace-filled land! + + + + +The Bridge Builder + + +OF old the Winds came romping down, + Oh, wild and free were they! +They bent the prairie grasses low + And made a place to play. + +Then, that the gods might hear their voice + On purple days of spring, +They sought the tossing, pine-clad slope + And made a place to sing. + +Tired at last of song and play, + They found a canyon deep +And in its echoing silences + They made a place to weep. + +Man came, a small and feeble thing, + And looked upon the plain. +"Lo, this is mine," he said, and set + A seal of golden grain. + +Upon the mountain slopes he gazed, + Where the great pine trees grow, +Then gashed their mighty sides and laid + Their singing branches low. + +He clung upon the canyon's ledge + And from its topmost ridge, +Above its vast and awful deeps, + He built himself a bridge. + +A bauble in the light of day, + New gilded by the sun, +It seemed like some great, golden web + By giant spider spun! + +The homeless winds came rushing down-- + Oh they were wild and free! +And angry for their stolen plain + And for their felled pine tree-- + +And angry--angry most of all + For that brave bridge of gold! +With deep-mouthed shout they hurtled down + To tear it from its hold-- + +The girders shrieked, the cables strained + And shuddered at the roar-- +Yet, when the winds had passed, the bridge + Held firmly as before! + +Still fairy-like and frail it shone + Against the sunset's glow-- +But one, the builder of the bridge, + Lay silent, far below! + + + + +The Prairie School + + +THE sweet west wind, the prairie school a break in the yellow wheat, +The prairie trail that wanders by to the place where the four winds meet-- +A trail with never an end at all to the children's eager feet. + +The morning scents, the morning sun, a morning sky so blue +The distance melts to meet it till both are lost to view +In a little line of glory where the new day beckons through-- + +And out of the glow, the children: a whoop and a calling gay, +A clink of lunch-pails swinging as they clash in mimic fray, +A shout and a shouting echo from a world as young as they! + +The prairie school! The well-tramped earth, so ugly and so dear, +The piney steps where teacher stands, a saucy gopher near, +A rough-cut pole where the flag flies up to a shrill voiced children's cheer. + +So stands the outpost! Time and change will crowd its widening door, +Big with the dreams we visioned and the hopes we battled for-- +A legacy to those who come from those who come no more. + + + + +Calgary Station + + +DAZZLED by sun and drugged by space they wait, +These homeless peoples, at our prairie gate; +Dumb with the awe of those whom fate has hurled, +Breathless, upon the threshold of a world! + +From near-horizoned, little lands they come, +From barren country-side and deathly slum, +From bleakest wastes, from lands of aching drouth, +From grape-hung valleys of the smiling South, +From chains and prisons, ay, from horrid fear, +(Mark you the furtive eye, the listening ear!) +And all amazed and silent, scared and shy-- +An alien group beneath an alien sky! + +See--on that bench beside the busy door-- +There sleeps a Roman born: upon the floor +His wife, dark-haired and handsome, takes her rest, +Their black-eyed baby tugging at her breast. +Her hands lie still. Her brooding glances roam +Above the pushing crowd to her far home, +And slow she smiles to think how fine 'twill be +When they (so rich!) return to Italy. + +Yonder, with stolid face and tragic eye, +Sits a lone Russian; as we pass him by +He neither stirs nor looks; his inner gaze +Sees not the future fair, but, troubled, strays +To the dark land he left but can't forget, +Whose bonds, though broken, hold him prisoner yet. + +Here is a Pole--a worker; though so slim +His muscle is of steel--no fear for him; +He is the breed which conquers; he is nerved +To fight and fight again. Too long he served, +Man of a subject race! His fierce, blue eye +Roams like a homing eagle o'er the sky, +So limitless, so deep! for such as he +Life has no higher bliss than to be free. + +This little Englishman with jaunty air +And tweed cap perched awry on close-trimmed hair-- +He, with his faded wife and noisy band, +Has come from Home to seek a promised land-- +He feels himself aggrieved, for no one said +That things would be so big and so--outspread! +He thinks of London with a pang of grief; +His wife is sobbing in her handkerchief. +But all his children stare with eager eyes. +This is their land. Already they surmise +Their heritage, their chance to live and grow, +Won for them by their fathers, long ago! + +Another generation, and this Scot, +Whose longing for the hills is ne'er forgot, +Shall rear a son whose eye will never be +Dim with a craving for that distant sea, +Those barren rocks, that heather's purple glow-- +The ache, the burn that only exiles know! + +This Irishman, who, when he sees the Green, +Turns that his shaking lips may not be seen, +He, too, shall bear a son who, blythe and gay, +Sings the old songs but in a cheerier way! +Who has the love, without the anguish sharp, +For Erin dreamingly by her golden harp! + +All these and many others, patient, wait +Before our ever-open prairie gate +And, filing through with laughter or with tears, +Take what their hands can glean of fruitful years. +Here some find home who knew not home before; +Here some seek peace and some wage glorious war. +Here some who lived in night see morning dawn +And some drop out and let the rest go on. +And of them all the years take toll; they pass +As shadows flit above the prairie grass. + +From every land they come to know but one-- +The kindly earth that hides them from the sun-- +But, in their places, children live, and they +Turn with glad faces to a common day. +Of every land, they too, but one land claim-- +The land that gives them place and hope and name-- +Canadians, they, and proud and glad to be +A part of Canada's sure destiny! +What if within their hearts deep memories hide +Of lands their fathers grieved for, till they died? +The bitterness is gone and in its stead +New understanding and new hopes are bred, +With wider vision which may show the world +Its cannon dumb, its battle-flags close furled! +--Dreams? We may dream indeed, with heart elate, +While a new Nation clamors at our gate! + + + + +Vale* + + +LONE Voyager! Thy Ship of Dreams + Spreads its free sail and slips away +Into the distant visioning + That lies behind the end of day. + +The restless tide's impatient wave + In from the broad Pacific rolls +And sunset marks a mystic way + To the far-shining Port of Souls. + +We, watching on the darkening shore, + Wave you farewell, and strain our eyes +Till that bright speck which is your sail + Is lost in the enfolding skies. + +Brave Heart, Sweet Singer! Speed you well + To those dim islands of the blest, +Far--far--and ever farther, till + The end of distance brings you rest! + +* For Pauline Johnson (Tekahionwake.) + + + + +The Way to Wait + + +O WHETHER by the lonesome road that lies across the lea +Or whether by the hill that stoops, rock-shadowed, to the sea, +Or by a sail that blows from far, my love returns to me! + +No fear is hidden in my heart to make my face less fair, +No tear is hidden in my eye to dim the brightness there-- +I wear upon my cheek the rose a happy bride should wear. + +For should he come not by the road, and come not by the hill +And come not by the far seaway, yet come he surely will-- +Close all the roads of all the world, love's road is open still! + +My heart is light with singing (though they pity me my fate +And drop their merry voices as they pass the garden gate) +For love that finds a way to come, can find a way to wait! + + + + +The Passer-By + + +WE are as children in a field at play +Beside a road whose way we do not know, +Save that somewhere it meets the end of day. + +Upon the road there is a Passer-By +Who, pausing, beckons one of us--and lo! +Quickly he goes, nor stays to tell us why. + +One day I shall look up and see him there +Beckoning me, and with the Passer-By +I, too, shall take the road--I wonder where? + + + + +First Love + + +BY the pulse that beats in my throat + By my heart like a bird +I know who passed through the dusk + Though he spoke no word! + +I cannot move in my place, + I am chained and still; +I pray that the moon pause not + By my window-sill. + +I have hidden my face in my hair + And my eyes are veiled-- +Not even a star must know + How my lips have paled-- + +Was ever a night so quick + 'Neath a moon so round? +I hear the earth as it turns-- + And my heart's low sound! + + + + +Sad One, Must You Weep + + +"SAD one, must you weep alway? + Youth's ill wedded with despair; +Ringless hand and robe of grey + Mock the charms which they declare." + +Sad and sweetly answered she, +"What are comely robes to me? + I would wear a grass green dress, + Dew pearls for my gems--no less +Now can comfort me." + +"Sweet, the shining of your hair + (All forgotten and undone) +Squanders 'neath the veil you wear + Gold whose loss bereaves the sun." + +Very sad and low said she, +"What is shining hair to me? + When from out the rain-wet mold + Kingcups borrow of its gold +Sweet and sweet 'twill be." + +"Love, O Love! your hand is chill + As a snowflake lost in spring, +Wild it flutters--then lies still + As a bird with prisoned wing!" + +Sad and patient answered she, +"As a bird I would be free; + As the spring I would find birth + In the sweet, forgetful earth-- +Pray you, let it be!" + + + + +Joseph + + +NEVER in all her sweet and holy youth +Seemed she so beautiful! The tired lines +Etch her white face with look so wholly pure +I tremble--dare I speak to her of aught?-- +She is so wrapt in silence. Yet her lips +Part on a word whose honey she doth taste +And fears to lose by uttering too soon. +I know the word; its meaning is plain writ +In the wide eyes she turns upon the Child. +I dare not speak. No word of mine could find +Its way into a soul close sealed with God +And busy with the thousand mysteries +Revealed to every mother. The soft hair +Veiling her placid brow is all unbound, +Ungentle hands are mine but, trained by love, +She might conceive them gentle--yet, I pause-- +I'll not disturb her thought . . . . . + + + What meant those men, +Far-famed and wise, who came to see the Child? +Their gifts lie by forgotten, though the Babe +Smiled on the shining treasure in his hands. +(Those tiny hands like crumpled bits of gauze) +Their sayings were mysterious to me. +"A King!" they said. What King? + + + The mother smiled +As one who knew; and it is true they knelt +As to a King. The thing disturbs me much! +I'll ask--but no . . . . . + + + The breathless shepherds, too; +Plain men, blank-eyed with awe, in broken speech +Stumbling some strange, glad tale of midnight sky +A-shine with angel wings! And at their word +Again the mother smiled, as one who sees +No wonder but what well might happen since +A child is born to her. Are mothers so? +And are they prone to dream the careless earth +And distant heaven wait upon their joy? +I'll speak to her . . . . . + + + What is that in her look +Which answers me--yet leaves me wondering still, +With wonder so like rapture that I seem +Caught up a breathless second into Heaven? +She turns deep eyes upon me, and she smiles, +Always she smiles! Ah, Mary! could I know +The source of that glad smile--what would I know? +I dare not dream, save that the mystery +Is not yet given . . . one day I may know! + + + + +A Christmas Child + + +SHE came to me at Christmas time and made me mother, and it seemed +There was a Christ indeed and He had given me the joy I'd dreamed. + +She nestled to me, and I kept her near and warm, surprised to find +The arms that held my babe so close were opened wider to her kind. + +I hid her safe within my heart. "My heart" I said, "is all for you," +But lo! She left the door ajar and all the world came flocking through. + +She needed me. I learned to know the royal joy that service brings, +She was so helpless that I grew to love all little helpless things. + +She trusted me, and I who ne'er had trusted, save in self, grew cold +With panic lest this precious life should know no stronger, surer hold. + +She lay and smiled and in her eyes I watched my narrow world grow broad, +Within her tiny, crumpled hand I touched the mighty hand of God! + + + + +Spring in Nazareth + + +"THE Spring is come!" a shepherd saith; + Sing, sweet Mary, +"The Spring is come to Nazareth +And swift the Summer hurrieth." + Sing low, the barley and the corn! + +Across the field a path is set-- + Sing, sweet Mary, +Green shadow in a golden net-- +The tears of night have left it wet. + Sing low, the barley and the corn! + +The Babe forsakes His mother's knee, + Haste, sweet Mary-- +See how He runneth merrily, +One foot upon the path hath He-- + Green, green, the barley and the corn! + +The mother calls with mother-fear-- + Hush, sweet Mary! +Another sound is in His ear, +A sound he cannot choose but hear-- + Hush, hush, the barley and the corn! + +Far and still far--through years yet dim + List, sweet Mary! +From o'er the waking earth's green rim +Another Springtime calleth Him! + Bend low, the barley and the corn! + +Call low, call high, and call again, + Ah, poor Mary! +Know, by thy heart's prophetic pain, +That one day thou shalt call in vain-- + Moan, moan, the barley and the corn! + +O mother! make thine arms a shield, + Sing, sweet Mary! +While love still holds what love must yield +Hide well the path across the field!-- + Sing low, the barley and the corn! + + . . . . . + +"The Spring is come!" a shepherd saith; + Rest thee, Mary-- +The passing years are but a breath +And Spring still comes to Nazareth-- + Green, green, the barley and the corn! + + + + +Inheritance + + +THERE lived a man who raised his hand and said, + "I will be great!" +And through a long, long life he bravely knocked + At Fame's closed gate. + +A son he left who, like his sire, strove + High place to win;-- +Worn out, he died and, dying, left no trace + That he had been. + +He also left a son, who, without care + Or planning how, +Bore the fair letters of a deathless fame + Upon his brow. + +"Behold a genius, filled with fire divine!" + The people cried; +Not knowing that to make him what he was + Two men had died. + + + + +Song of the Sleeper + + +SLEEPER rest quietly + Deep underground! +Lord of your kingdom + Of murmurous sound. +Hear the grass growing +Sweet for the mowing; +Hear the stars sing + As they travel around-- +Grass blade and star dust, +You, I, and all of us, +One with the cause of us, + Deep underground! + +Murmur not, sleeper! + Yours is the key +To all things that were and + To all things that be-- +While the lark's trilling, +While the grain's filling, +Laugh with the wind + At Life's Riddle-me-ree! +How you were born of it? +Why was the thorn of it? +Where the new morn of it? + Yours is the Key! + +Sleep deeper, brother! + Sleep and forget +Red lips that trembled + Eyes that were wet-- +Though love be weeping, +Turn to your sleeping, +Life has no giving + That death need regret. +Here at the end of all +Hear the Beginning call, +Life's but death's seneschal-- + Sleep and forget! + + + + +The Tyrant + + +ONE comes with foot insistent to my door, + Calling my name; +Nor voice nor footstep have I heard before, +Yet clear the calling sounds and o'er and o'er-- +It seems the sunlight burns along the floor + With paler flame! + +"'Tis vain to call with morning on the wing, + With noon so near, +With Life a dancer in the masque of Spring +And Youth new wedded with a golden ring-- +When falls the night and birds have ceased to sing + My heart may hear! + +"'Tis vain to pause. Pass, friend, upon your way! + I may not heed; +Too swift the hours; too sweet, too brief the day: +Only one life, one spring, one perfect May-- +I crush each moment, with its sweets to stay + Life's joyous greed! + +"Call not again! The wind is roaming by + Across the heath-- +The Wind's a tell-tale and will bear your sigh +To dim the smiling gladness of the sky +Or kill the spring's first violets that lie + In purple sheath-- + +"If you must call, call low! My heart grows still, + Still as my breath, +Still as your smile, O Ancient One! A chill +Strikes through the sun upon the window-sill-- +I know you now--I follow where you will, + O tyrant Death!" + + + + +The Gifts + + +I GIVE you Life, O child, a garden fair; +I give you Love, a rose that blossoms there-- +I give a day to pluck it and to wear! + +I give you Death, O child--a boon more great-- +That, when your Rose has withered and 'tis late, +You may pass out and, smiling, close the gate! + + + + +The Town Between + + +A WALL impregnable surrounds + The Town wherein I dwell; +No man may scale it and it has + Two gates that guard it well. + +One opened long ago, and I + A vagrant soul, slipped through, +Bewildered and forgetting all + The wider world I knew. + +I love the Town, the narrow ways, + The common, yellow sun, +The handclasp and the jesting and + The work that must be done! + +I shun the other gate that stands + Beyond the crowded mart-- +I need but glance that way to feel + Cold fingers on my heart! + +It stands alone and somberly + Within a shaded place, +And every man who turns that way + Has quiet on his face. + +And every man must rise and leave + His pleasant homely door +To vanish through this silent gate + And enter in no more-- + +Yet--once--I saw its opening throw + A brighter light about +And glimpsed strange glory on the brow + Of someone passing out! + +I wonder if Outside may be + One fair and great demesne +Where both gates open, careless of + The Town that lies between? + + + + +On the Mountain + + +THE top of the world and an empty morning, + Mist sweeping in from the dim Outside, +The door of day just a little bit open-- + The wind's great laugh as he flings it wide! + +O wind, here's one who would travel with you + To the far bourne you alone may know-- +There would I seek what some one is hiding, + There would I find where my longings go! + +To some deep calm would I drift and nestle +Close to the heart of the Great Surprise. +O strong wind, do you laugh to see us? + We are so little and oh, so wise! + + + + +The Prophet + + +HE trod upon the heights; the rarer air +Which common people seek, yet cannot bear, +Fed his high soul and kindled in his eye +The fire of one who cries "I prophesy!" + +"Look up!" he said. They looked but could not see. +"Help us!" they cried. He strove, but uselessly-- +The very clouds which veiled the heaven they sought +Hid from his eyes the hearts of them he taught! + + + + +Give Me a Day + + +GIVE me a day, beloved, that I may set +A jewel in my heart--I'll brave regret, +If, on the morrow, you shall say "forget"! + +One golden day when dawn shall blush to noon +And noon incline to dark, and, oversoon, +My joy lie buried 'neath a rounded moon. + +Only a day--it's worth you scarce could tell +From other days; but in my life 'twill dwell +An oasis with palm trees and a well! + + + + +Little Brown Bird + + +O LITTLE brown bird in the rain, + In the sweet rain of spring, +How you carry the youth of the world + In the bend of your wing! +For you the long day is for song + And the night is for sleep-- +With never a sunrise too soon + Or a midnight too deep! + +For you every pool is the sky, + Breaking clouds chasing through,-- +A heaven so instant and near + That you bathe in its blue!-- +And yours is the freedom to rise + To some song-haunted star +Or sink on soft wing to the wood + Where your brown nestlings are. + +So busy, so strong and so glad, + So care-free and young, +So tingling with life to be lived + And with songs to be sung, +O little brown bird!--with your heart + That's the heart of the Spring-- +How you carry the hope of the world + In the bend of your wing! + + + + +The Watcher + + +THE long road and the low shore, a sail against the sky, +The ache in my heart's core, and hope so hard to die-- +Ah me, but the day's long--and all the sails go by! + +The long road and the dark shore, pools with stars aflame, +The ache in my heart's core, the hope I dare not name-- +Ah, me, but the night's long--and every night the same! + + + + +Possession + + +A YOUTH sat down on a wayside stone, + A pack on his back and a staff at his knee. +He whistled a tune which he called his own, + "It's a fine new tune, that tune!" said he. + +In his pack he carried a crust of bread, + And he drank from his hands at a brook hard by; +"Spring water is wonderful cool," he said, + "And wonderful soft is the summer sky!" + +He looked to the hill which his steps had passed, + He looked to the slope where a brooklet purled, +He looked to the distance blue and vast + And "Ah," cried he, "what a fine, wide world!" + +The youth passed on down the winding track + That led to the beckoning distance dim, +And though he carried but staff and pack, + The world and its giving belonged to him. + + + + +To Arcady + + +"TELL me, Singer, of the way +Winding down to Arcady? +Of the world's roads I am weary-- +You, with song so brave and cheery, +Happy troubadour must be +On the way to Arcady?" + +Pausing on a muted note, +Song forsook the Singer's throat, +"Friend," sighed he, "you come too late, +Once I could the way relate, +Once--but long ago; Ah me, +Far away is Arcady!" + +"Tell me, Poet, of the way +Winding down to Arcady? +Haunting is your verse and airy +With the grace and gleam of faery-- +Dweller you must surely be +In the land of Arcady?" + +Slow the Poet raised his eyes, +Sad were they as winter skies, +"Once, I sojourned there," he said; +Then, no more--but with bent head +Whispered low, "Ask not of me +That lost road to Arcady!" + +Tell me, Lover, of the way +Winding down to Arcady? +Some sweet bourne your haste confesses-- +Know you paths no other guesses? +Does your gaze, so far away, +See the road to Arcady? + +In the Lover's eyes there gleamed +Radiance of all things dreamed-- +"Nay, detain me not," he cried +"I am hasting to my bride; +What have roads to do with me, +Love's at home in Arcady!" + + + + +The Fields of Even + + +O STILLER than the fields that lie + Beneath the morning heaven, +And sweeter than day's gardens are + The purple fields of even! + +The vapor rises, silver-eyed, + Leaving the dew-wet clover, +With groping, mist-white hands outspread + To greet the sky, her lover. + +Ripples the brook, a thread of sound + Close-woven through the quiet, +Blending the jarring tones that day + Would stir to noisy riot. + +And all the glory seems so near + A common man may win it-- +When every earth-bound lakelet holds + A million stars within it. + +A common man, who in the day + Lifts not his eyes above him, +Roaming the fields of even through + May find a God to love him! + + + + +I Love My Love + + +I LOVE my love for she is like a garden in the dawn, + Pale, yet pink-flushed, with softly waking eyes, + And primrose hair that brightens to gold skies, +And petalled lips for dew to linger on. + +I love my love for she is like the mirror of the moon, + (A sweet, small moon but newly come to birth) + So full of heaven is she, so close to earth, +So versed in holy spell and magic rune. + +I love my love. O words that be too feeble and too few! + I love my love!--as April on the hill + Brings back earth's morning with each daffodil, +So she within my heart makes all things new. + + + + +Spring Awoke To-Day + + +SPRING awoke to-day! + Somewhere--far away-- +Spring awoke to-day + From the depth of dream. + +Through the air bestirred + Pulse of winging bird, +Through the air bestirred + Laugh of hidden stream. + +On the world's cold lips + Fell warm finger-tips; +On the world's cold lips + Woke the glow and gleam! + +Spring awoke to-day! + Somewhere--far away-- +Spring awoke to-day + From the depth of dream! + + + + +In Town + + +SOMEWHERE there's a willow budding +In a hollow by the river, +Where the autumn leaves lie sodden, +Turning all the pool to brown; +There's a thrush who's building early, +With his feathers all a-shiver, +And the maple sap is rising-- +But I'm glad that I'm in town. + +Somewhere out there in the country +There's a brook that's overflowing, +And a quaker pussy-willow +Sews grey velvet on her gown; +Rushes whisper to each other +That marsh marigolds are showing, +And those saucy crocus fellows-- +But I'm glad that I'm in town. + +Long ago, when we were younger, +How those little things enthralled us; +King-birds nesting in the hedges, +Baby field-mice soft as down, +Muskrats in the sun-warmed shallows-- +Strange how all these voices called us!-- +Hark, was that a robin singing? +When's the next train out of town? + + + + +Summer's Passing + + +A SINGLE branch of flaming red, + A branch of tawny yellow +And every branch in gorgeousness + A rival of its fellow; +Some russet brown and faded green +With golden shadows in between + And mist-hid sun to mellow. + +An instinct as of music near-- + A breath the wind is bringing, +Broken and sweet, as from a host + Of swift and solemn winging-- +A mystery born of light and sound +Wrapping our tranced progress round-- + A sighing and a singing! + +Thus in a certain lovely pomp + We leave the Summer lying-- +These are her funeral banners, this + The pageantry of dying! +The music that we almost hear +Is wafted from her passing bier-- + The singing and the sighing! + + + + +The Doom of Ys + + +DO you hear the bell? 'Tis a silver chime +But it ringeth not in the bourne of time. + +With the wind it swells, with the wind 'twill sink, +Dying at last by the sea's dim brink. + +By mortal hands the bell was hung +By mortal hands 'tis never swung. + +When the moon's at full and the long tide creeps +It rings o'er the town that the deep sea keeps-- + +The town of Ys, that, unafraid, +Cursed God's good bells for the noise they made, + +Cursed them well and pulled them down +From every belfry in the town! + +For that sin of pride and that pride of sin, +Deathly and soft, a Doom stole in. + +It sucked through the stone, it stole through the street, +It rose in the hall, silent and fleet; + +Soundless it swept through the market-place +Folding the town in a chill embrace; + +No ruth it knew, it heard no call, +Sinner and saint it gathered them all, + +Gathered them all, while over them +The bells they had cursed tolled requiem. + +Do you hear the bell? When the full moon rides +It rings o'er the town that the deep sea hides! + + + + +Time's Garden + + +YEARS are the seedlings which we careless sow + In Time's bare garden. Dead they seem to be-- +Dead years! We sigh and cover them with mould, +But though the vagrant wind blow hot, blow cold, + No hint of life beneath the dust we see; +Then comes the magic hour when we are old, + And lo! they stir and blossom wondrously. + +Strange spectral blooms in spectral plots aglow! + Here a great rose and here a ragged tare; +And here pale, scentless blossoms without name, +Robbed to enrich this poppy formed of flame; + Here springs some hearts'ease, scattered unaware; +Here, hawthorn-bloom to show the way Love came; + Here, asphodel, to image Love's despair! + +When I am old and master of the spell + To raise these garden ghosts of memory, +My feet will turn aside from common ways, +Where common flowers mark the common days, + To one green plot; and there I know will be +Fairest of all (O perfect beyond praise!) + The year you gave, beloved, your rosemary. + + + + +The Coming of Love + + +HOW shall I know? Shall I hear Love pass + In the wind that sighs through the poplar tree? +Shall I follow his passing over the grass + By the prisoned scents which his footsteps free? + +Shall I wake one day to a sky all blue + And meet with Spring in a crowded street? +Shall I open a door and, looking through, + Find, on a sudden, the world more sweet? + +How shall I know?--last night I lay + Counting the hours' dreary sum +With naught in my heart save a wild dismay + And a fear that whispered, "Love is come!" + + + + +Premonition + + +LAST night I dreamed +No dream of joy or sorrow, +Yet, when I woke, I wept, +Knowing the brightness of some far to-morrow +Had darkened while I slept! + + + + +The Child + + +I MAY not lift him in my arms. His face I may not see-- +Are angel hands more tender than a mother's hands may be? +And does he smile to hear the song an angel stole from me? + +The wise King said, "He cannot come but I will go to him!" +O David! did you seek with words to make the grave less grim? +And did you think to cheat, with words, the jealous seraphim? + +So! he will learn of heaven--he, who scarcely knew the earth. +All fullness waits the baby eyes that never looked on dearth-- +The mystery of death usurps the mystery of birth! + +What light has earth to give me for the light that heaven beguiled? +What is the calm of heaven to him who has not known the wild?-- +O, we are both bereft, bereft--the mother and the child! + + + + +Intrusion + + +I BUILT myself a pleasant house. + Content was I to dwell in it-- +Its door was fast against the wind + With all the gusty swell of it. + +It had two windows, high and clear, + With trees and skies to shine through them, +They were acquainted with the moon, + And every star was mine through them. + +Its walls were silent walls; its hearth + Held little fires to gladden me-- +And though the nights might weep outside + No sob crept through to sadden me. + +Then came your hand upon the latch + (Although I had not sent for you) +And all Outside came blowing in + The way I had not meant it to! + +Upon the hearth my tended flame + Leapt to a blaze and died in it. +The night sought out a hidden place + I had forgot and sighed in it. + +My window that had known the stars + Seemed suddenly not high at all. +The trees drew back; the friendly birds + Swept dumbly by, too shy to call. + +Said you: "It is a pleasant house, + But surely somewhat small for two!"-- +And at your word my walls fell down, + Leaving no house at all, just you. + + + + +The Sea's Withholding + + +THE ladye's bower faced the sea, +Its casements framed a sea-born day. +She saw the fishers sail away, + And, far and high, + The gulls sweep by +Within the hollow of the sky! + +She saw the laggard twilight come +And, chased by rippling wakes of foam, +She saw the fisher fleet come home-- + Brown sails a-sheen + Against the green +With shadows creeping in between! + +She saw, when it was evening, all +Day's banners stream in crimson rout +Till night's soft finger blurred them out, + And, high and far, + A perfect star +Shone where the keys of heaven are! + +"O far and constant star," she said, +"O passing sail, O passing bird, +O passing day--bring you no word + Of winds that steer + His ship a-near? +Where sails my love that sails not here? + +"The days in splendid pageant pass, +In lovely peace the nights go by, +And day and night are sweet; but I-- + I cannot say + Lo, the bright day! +Can it be dawn and love away?" + + + + +Love Unkind + + +OUT upon the bleak hillside, the bleak hillside, he lay-- +Her lips were red, and red the stream that slipped his life away. +Ah, crimson, crimson were her lips, but his were turning gray. + +The troubled sky seemed bending low, bending low to hide +The foam-white face so wild upturned from off the bleak hillside-- +White as the beaten foam her face, and she was wond'rous eyed. + +The soft, south-wind came creeping up, creeping stealthily +To breathe upon his clay-cold face--but all too cold was he, +Too cold for you to warm, south-wind, since cold at heart was she! + +Sweet morning peeped above the hill, above the hill to find +The shattered, useless, godlike thing the night had left behind-- +Wept the sweet morn her crystal tears that love should prove unkind! + + + + + +Christmas in Heaven + + +HOW hushed they were in Heaven that night, + How lightly all the angels went, +How dumb the singing spheres beneath + Their many-candled tent! + +How silent all the drifting throng + Of earth-freed spirits, strangely torn +By dim and half-remembered pain + And joy but newly born! + +The Glory in the Highest flamed + With awful, unremembered ray-- +But quiet as the falling dew + Was He who went away. + +So swift He went, His passing left + A low, bright door in Heaven ajar-- +With God it was a covenant, + To man it seemed a star. + + + + +I Whispered to the Bobolink + + +I WHISPERED to the bobolink: + "Sweet singer of the field, +Teach me a song to reach a heart + In maiden armor steeled." + + "If there be such a song," sang he, + "No bird can tell its mystery." + +I bent above the sweetest rose, + A deeper sweet to stir-- +"O Rose," I begged, "what charm will wake + The deep, sweet heart of her?" + + "Alas, poor lover," sighed the rose, + "The charm you seek no flower knows." + +I wandered by the midnight lake + Where heaven lay confessed +"Tell me," I cried, "what draws the stars + To lie upon your breast?" + + The silence woke to soft reply + "When Heaven stoops--demand not why!" + +"Alas, sweet maid, love's potent charm + I cannot beg or buy, +I cannot wrest it from the wind + Or steal it from the sky--" + + Breathless, I caught her whisper low, + "I love you--why, I do not know!" + + + + +You + + +SLANTING rain and a sky of gray, +Drifting mist and a wind astray, +The leaden end of a leaden day +And you--away! + +Light in the west! The sky's pale dome +Gemmed with a star; a scented gloam +Of bursting buds and rain-wet loam +And you--at home! + + + + +The Mother + + +LAST night he lay within my arm, + So small, so warm--a mystery + To which God only held the key-- +But mine to keep from fear and harm! + +Ah! He was all my own, last night, + With soft, persuasive, baby eyes, + So wondering and yet so wise, +And hands that held my finger tight. + +Why was it that he could not stay-- +Too rare a gift? Yet who could hold + A treasure with securer hold +Than I, to whom love taught the way? + +As with a flood of golden light + The first sun tipped earth's golden rim + So all my world grew bright with him +And with his going fell the night-- + +O God, is there an angel arm + More strong, more tender than the rest? + Lay Thou my baby on his breast +To keep him safe from fear and harm! + + + + +The Vassal + + +WIND of the North, O far, wild wind + Born of a far, lone sea-- +When suns are soft and breezes kind + Why are you kin to me? + +Uncounted years above the sea, + Rock-fortressed from its rage, +The fishermen, your fathers, kept + A barren heritage-- +Grim as the sea they forced to pay + The sea-toll of their wage. + +And lo! The fate which made you hers + And gave you of her best +And set you in a sunny place, + Down-sloping to the West, +Forgot to change your fisher's heart + Serf to the sea's unrest! + +Wind of the North! O bitter wind, + I hear the wild seas fret-- +In the dim spaces of the mind + They claim me vassal yet! + + + + +The Troubadour + + +THE wind blows salt from off the sea + And sweet from where the land lies green; +I travel down the great highway + That runs so straight and white between-- +I watch the sea-wind strain the sheet, +The land-wind toss the yellow wheat! + +Song is my mistress, fickle she, + Yet dear beyond all dearth of speech; +Child of the winds of land and sea + She charms me with the charm of each-- +Full soft and sweet she sings and then +She sings wild songs for sailor-men! + +No staff I carry in my hand, + No pack I carry on my back, +No foot of earth I call my own, + For castle or for cot I lack-- +I travel fast, I travel slow, +And where my mistress bids I go! + +My gems, the pearl upon the leaf + At mystic hour of the morn; +My gold, the gold that rims the sea + A moment ere the day is born; +And on my breezy couch o' nights +The stars shine down--my taper lights! + +Happy am I that sing of love, + Yet from the thrall of love am free; +Happy am I that sing of pain + And quick forget what pain may be! +I sing of death--and lo! To me +Life is supremest ecstacy! + + + + +Indian Summer + + +I HAVE strayed from silent places, +Where the days are dreaming always; +And fair summer lies a-dying, +Roses withered on her breast. +I have stolen all her beauty, +All her softness, all her sweetness; +In her robe of folden sunshine + I am drest. + +I will breathe a mist about me +Lest you see my face too clearly, +Lest you follow me too boldly +I will silence every song. +Through the haze and through the silence +You will know that I am passing; +When you break the spell that holds you, + I am gone! + + + + +The Unchanged + + +IF we could salvage Babylon +From times's grim heap of dust and bones; +If we could charm cool waters back +To sing against her thirsty stones; +If, on a day, +We two should stray +Down some long, Babylonian way-- +Perhaps the strangest sight of all +Would be the street boys playing ball. + +If through Pompeii's agelong night +A yellow sun again might shine, +And little, sea-born breezes lift +The hair of lovers sipping wine, +If, in some fair, +Dim temple there, +We watched Pompeii come to prayer-- +Not the strange altar would surprise +But strangeness of familiar eyes! + +Ay, should our magic straightly wake +Atlantis from her sea-rocked sleep +And we on some Processional +Look down where dancing maidens leap, +If one flushed maid +Beside us stayed +To tie more firm her loosened braid-- +Would not the shaking wonder be +To find her just like you and me? + + + + +Indifference + + +A BIRD, a wild-flower and a tree-- +I care for them, not they for me. + +I see all heaven in a pool-- +But the frog there takes me for a fool. + +To this dead thrush a tear I gave-- +All Spring shall sing above my grave, + +And naught I spend my heart upon +Know lack or loss that I am gone-- + +A bird, a wild-flower and a tree, +I cherish them; they suffer me! + + + + +Last Things + + +THERE is no one to do it for me, + But I know what I shall do +When the last dawn breaks o'er me + And the last night is through. + +I shall set in pleasant order + The little books I knew, +With flowers on the window ledge + In a shallow bowl of blue. + +I'll leave the out door swinging, + (As it might swing for you) +And on the clean swept door-sill + Wild roses I shall strew-- + +So when pale Death comes trailing + Her branch of sodden rue +She'll gather up my gay content + And know contentment too! + + + + +Callous Cupid + + +CUPID does not care for sighs +Does not care for lover's weeping! +Fair One, dry your pretty eyes, +Cupid does not care for sighs, +Laugh with him if you are wise, +Steel the heart he has in keeping; +Cupid does not care for sighs +Does not care for lover's weeping! + + + + +The Meeting + + +SHE flitted by me on the stair-- +A moment since I knew not of her. +A look, a smile--she passed! but where +She flitted by me on the stair +Joy cradled exquisite despair; +For who am I that I should love her? +She flitted by me on the stair-- +A moment since I knew not of her! + + + + +The Piper + + +I'VE heard the pipes of Pan +Somewhere, just beyond,-- +Over the edge of dawn, I think, +Where the clouds hang soft on the world's dim brink, +Where the red suns rise and the blue stars sink, +I heard the pipes of Pan! + +Hush! what you heard was the wind, +The feet of the wind through the leaves, +Or the sigh of the waking night as it stirred. +Or a bird's note afar, +Or the deep breath of June, +Or the fall of a star, +Or the shimmering skirts of the sea-slipping tide +In the wake of the wandering moon! + +Nay! 'twas the pipes of Pan! +Somewhere--just beyond-- +My soul awoke with a rapturous sigh +(Would I wake my soul for a night bird's cry?) +I heard the winds of the worlds sweep by +To follow the pipes of Pan! + +Stay! 'twas a voice that you heard, +A voice that you love, in the wood, +The vibrating note of a half spoken word-- +For the great Pan is slain, +Of his pipings we know not one magical strain, +They have fled down the years of a world that was young +Oh, ages and ages ago! + +Nay, 'twas the pipes of Pan! +Somewhere--just beyond-- +Far as a star, yet piercing sweet, +A passionate, poignant, rhythmic beat-- +Till my mad blood raced with my racing feet +To follow the piper--Pan! + + + + +Wanderlust + + +THE highways and the byways, the kind sky folding all, +And never a care to drag me back and never a voice to call; +Only the call of the long, white road to the far horizon's wall. + +The glad seas and the mad seas, the seas on a night in June, +And never a hand to beckon back from the path of the new-lit moon; +Never a night that lasts too long or a dawn that breaks too soon! + +The shrill breeze and the hill breeze, the sea breeze, fierce and bold, +And never a breeze that gives the lie to a tale that a breeze has told; +Always the tale of the strange and new in the countries strange and old. + +The lone trail and the known trail, the trail you must take on trust, +And never a trail without a grave where a wanderer's bones are thrust-- +Never a look or a turning back till the dust shall claim the dust! + + + + +Gold + + +WHEN life wakened in the Spring + All the world was gold and green! +Sunlight lay on everything, +Sailing cloud and soaring wing, + Emerald banks where snow had been, + Drifts of daffodils between. + +When Life's pulse beat strong and high + Shone the world in gold and blue! +Canopied with turquoise sky +Summer passed superbly by, + Bluest midnight cupped the dew + Golden morn might sparkle through! + +Now that life would rest again + Soft she lies in gold and brown, +Brown the fields and gold the grain, +Brown the little pools of rain, + Gold the leaves that falter down + To brown pavements in the town. + + + + +The Materialist + + +MY soul has left its tent of clay + And seeks from star to star, +'Mid flaming worlds that are to be, + And fruitful worlds that are, +The Voice which spake and said "Live on!" + (When Death said, "You may die") +And sent my spirit wandering + The stairway of the sky. + +Still must I seek what on the earth + I sought as fruitlessly-- +The world I knew, the heaven I scorned + Lost in infinity: +Alone, and on the ageless breath + Of cosmic whirlwinds spun, +I hurtle through the outer dark + Toward some fantastic sun!-- + +O God! how happy is the leaf, + A sweet and soulless thing, +Dying to live but in the green + Of yet another Spring-- +These heights, these depths, these flaming worlds, + This stairway of the sky +I'd give, had no Voice said "Live on!" + When Death said, "You may die." + + + + +Tir Nan Og + + +THE breeze blows out from the land and it seeks the sea, + O and O! that my sail were set and away-- +Fast and free on its wings would my sailing be + To the west: to the Tir Nan Og, where the blessed stay! + +The darkness stirs, it awakes, it outspreads its arms, + O and O! and the birds in their nests are still, +The red-browed hill bleats low with the lamb's alarms, + And a sound of singing comes from the slipping rill. + +My soul is awake alone, all alone in the earth, + O and O! and around is the lonely night. +As with the sun, would my soul go forth to its birth-- + O'er the darkling sea, to the west--to the light, to the light! + +Do they say, "Be content with the land of the Innis Fail, + O and O! there is friendship here, there is song." +But they smile to your face, when you turn they stammer and rail + And the song of the singer has tears and is over long! + +A call comes out of the west and it calls a name, + O and O! it is soft, it is far, it is low-- +Sweet, so sweet that it touches my soul with a flame + That burns the heart from my breast with the wish to go! + +(Translated from the Celtic.) + + + + +The Little Man in Green + + +'TWAS a little man in green, + And he sat upon a stone; + And he sat there all alone, +Whispering. + +"One and two," so whispered he. + ('Twas an ancient man and hoar) + "One and two," and then no more-- +Never, "Three". + +Hawthorn trees were quick with May-- + "Sir," said I, "Good-day to you"! + But he counted. "One and two" +In strange way. + +Fool I was--oh, fool was I + (Who should know the ways of them!) + That I touched his cloak's green hem, +Passing by. + +I was fey with spring and mirth-- + Speaking him without a thought-- + Now is joy a thing forgot +On the earth. + +Ere the sweet thorn-buds were through, + Wife and child doom-stricken lay, + Cold as winter, white as spray-- +"One and two!" + +Now I seek eternally + That grim Counter of the fen, + Praying he may count again-- +Counting, "Three". + +* In the bad chance of a meeting with the "Little People" the +mortal is cautioned not to speak to them nor to touch, but to pass +by quickly with averted eye.--Old tale. + + + + +The Enchantress + + +I FEAR Eileen, the wild Eileen-- + The eyes she lifts to mine, +That laugh and laugh and never tell + The half that they divine! + +She draws me to her lonely cot + Ayont the Tulloch Hill; +And, laughing, draws me to her door + And, laughing, holds me still. + +I bless myself and bless myself, + But in the holy sign, +There seems to be no heart of love, + To still the pain in mine. + +The morning, bright above the moor, + Is bright no more for me-- +A weary bit of burning pain + Is where my heart should be! + +For since the wild, sweet laugh of her + Has drawn me to her snare, +The only sunlight in the world + Is shining from her hair. + +Yet well I know, ah, well I know + Why 'tis so sweet and wild-- +She slept beneath a faery thorn, + She is a faery child! + +And so I leave my mother lone, + No meal to fill the pot, +And follow, follow wild Eileen. + If so I will or not. + +I fear to meet her in the glen, + Or seek her by the shore; +I fear to lift her cabin's latch, + But--should she come no more!-- + +O Eileen Og, O wild Eileen, + My heart is wracked with fear +Lest you should meet your faery kin, + And, laughing, leave me here! + + + + +The Banshee + + +THE Banshee cries on the rising wind + "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!" +The dead to free and the quick to bind-- +(Close fast the shutter and draw the blind!) + "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!" + +Why are you paler my dearest dear? + "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!" +'Tis but the wind in the elm tree near-- +(Acushla, hush! lest the Banshee hear!) + "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!" + +See, how the crackling fire up-springs, + "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!" +Up and up on its flame-red wings; +Hark, how the cheerful kettle sings! + "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!" + +Core of my heart! How cold your lips! + "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!" +White as the spray the wild wind whips, +Still as your icy finger tips! + "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!" + +On the rising wind the Banshee cries-- + "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!" +I kiss your hair. I kiss your eyes-- +The kettle is dumb; the red flame dies! + "Ochone! Ochone! Ochone!" + + + + +The Witch + + +HER hair was gold and warm it lay + Upon the pallor of her brow; +Her eyes were deep, aye, deep and gray-- + And in their depths he drowned his vow. + +She wandered where the sands were wet, + Weaving the sea-weed for a crown, +And there at eve a monk she met-- + A holy monk in cowl and gown. + +She held him with her witch's stare + (A sweet, child-look--it witched him well!) +Upon his lip she froze the prayer, + And in his ear she breathed a spell. + +He babbled ever of her name + And of her brow that gleamed like dawn, +And of her lips--a lovely shame + No holy man should think upon. + +They hunted her along the sea, + "Witch, Witch!" they cried and hissed their hate-- +Her hair unbound fell to her knee + And made a glory where she sate. + +Her song she hushed and, wonder-eyed, + She gazed upon their bell and book; +The zealous priests were fain to hide + Lest they be holden by her look. + +Most innocent she seemed to be + ("The Devil's sly!" the fathers say) +Her eyes were dreaming eyes that see + Things strange and fair and far away. + +They stood her in the judgment hall. + "Confess," they cried, "the blasting spell +That holds yon crazed monk in thrall?" + "Good sirs," she said, "he loved me well." + +They haled her to a witch's doom, + They matched her shining hair with flame-- +But ever through the cloister's gloom + The mad monk babbles of her name! + +And, when the red sun droppeth down + And wet sand gleameth ghostily, +Men see her weave a sea-weed crown + Between the twilight and the sea. + + + + +Fairy Singing + + +SHE was my love and the pulse of my heart; +Lovely she was as the flowers that start +Straight to the sun from the earth's tender breast, +Sweet as the wind blowing out of the west-- +Elana, Elana, my strong one, my white one, +Soft be the wind blowing over your rest! + + She crept to my side + In the cold mist of morning. + "O wirra" she cried, + "'Tis farewell now, mavourneen! + When the crescent moon hung + Like a scythe in the sky, + I heard in the silence + The Little Folks cry. + + "'Twas like a low sighing, + A sobbing, a singing; + It came from the west, + Where the low moon was swinging: + 'Elana, Elana' + Was all of their crying. + Mavrone! I must go-- + To refuse them, I dare not. + Alone I must go; + They have called and they care not-- + Naught do they care that they call me apart + From the warmth and the light and the love of your heart. + Hark! How their singing + Comes winging, comes winging, + Through your close arms, beloved, + Straight to my heart!" + +White grew her face as the thorn's tender bloom, +White as the mist from the valley of doom! +Swift was her going--her head on my breast +Drooped like a flower that winter has pressed-- +Elana, Elana! My strong one, my white one! +Empty the arms that your beauty had blessed. + + + + +Killed in Action + + +MY father lived his three-score years; my son lived twenty-two; +One looked long back on work well done, and one had all to do-- +Yet which the better served his world, I know not, nor do you! + +Life taught my father all her lore till he grew wise and gray, +She did but whisper to my son before she turned away-- +Yet which her deepest secret held only they two might say. + +Peace brought my father restful days, with love and fame for wage; +War gave my son an unmarked grave and an unwritten page-- +Who shall declare which gift conveyed the greater heritage? + + + + +Spring Came In + + +SPRING came in with a red-wing's feather + And yellow clumps of the wild marshmallow-- +O happy bird, can you tell me whether +In distant France they have April weather? + And little pools that are sunny and shallow? + +My soul is awake and my pulse is racing-- + My heart is aware that the birds are mating-- +Oh, my heart's like a cloud that the wind is chasing +O'er the earth's green blur with its silver tracing + To that sad France where there's someone waiting! + +O Spring! begone with your too-sweet clover + And all your bees with honey to carry-- +Come again when the war is over, +Come, dear Spring, when you bring my lover! + Yet come no more, should he tarry . . . tarry! + + + + +From the Trenches + + +OH, to be in Canada now that Spring is merry, + Happy apple blossoms gay against the smiling green; +Here the lilac's purple plume and here the pink of cherry, + Hillsides just a drift of bloom with clover in between! + +Oh, to be in Canada! there's a road that rambles + Through a leafing maple-wood and up a windy hill, +Velvet pussy-willows press soft hands amid the brambles + Fringing round a sky-filled pool where cattle drink their fill. + +Oh, to be in Canada! there's a farmhouse hidden + Where the hollow meets the hill and Spring's first footsteps show-- +Not a drop of honey there to any bee forbidden, + Not a cherry on a tree but all the robins know! + +Oh, to be in Canada, now that Spring is calling + Sweet, so sweet it breaks the heart to let its sweetness through, +Oh, to breast the windy hill while yet the dew is falling-- + Waking all the meadow-larks to carol in the blue! + +Smile upon us, Canada! None shall fail who love you + While they hold a memory of your fields where flowers are-- +High the task to keep unstained the skies that bend above you, + Proud the life that shields you from the flaming wind of war! + + + + +The Reasons + + +THEY sat before a dugout +In the unfamiliar quiet of silenced guns. +And one said: +"Now that it's over +What about a bit of truth? +Let us say why we came to fight-- +No frills-- +You first, old Fire-eater!"-- + +One with a whimsical face spoke freely; +"I?--I sought some stir, +Some urge in living, +Some sense in dying. +I sought a mountain top +With a view!" + +"And the answer?" + +"I have seen others find +What I sought." + + . . . . . . . + +"I don't know that it's anyone's business +Why I came," +(Another spoke as if unwillingly), +"A girl laughed, I think-- +Funny?--Yes, funny as hell!"-- + + . . . . . . . + +His neighbor said, +"I was a business man, +No sentiment, +Nothing of that kind,-- +But the band played +And, suddenly, I saw +My country, +A woman, with hands outstretched, +Her back to the wall--" + +"U--um," they nodded, +"She's got a pull, +That old lady." + + . . . . . . . + +"As for me," the speaker was abrupt, +"I was afraid! +I saw pictures, +I heard things-- +I couldn't sleep +For the Beast that was abroad-- +Fear! +That's what brought me!" + + . . . . . . . + +They sat silent for a moment +In the sun. +Then an older man said briefly, +"We were all afraid . . . . . +. . . But what of hate? +Did no one come because of hate?" + + . . . . . . . + +"Yes--I"-- +They looked at this man +Curiously, +But he added nothing, +And no one questioned. + + . . . . . . . + +A fresh-faced boy spoke modestly; +"Our family are all Army people-- +So, of course-- +And it's all over now. +We got through. +But it was a near thing-- +What?" + + + + +To-Day + + +TO-DAY is a room +With windows upon one side +And upon the other +A door-- +Through the windows we may look +But cannot pass; +Through the door we must pass +But cannot look, +And there are no windows +Upon that side. + + + + +Memory + + +A YEAR is a thief +Who comes in the guise of a friend +Saying, "Let us travel together, +We have much to give each other. +See, I hold back nothing-- +For what is giving +Between friends?" + +Yet when the year departs +He takes his gifts with him-- +"Oh, Robber!" we cry, +Aghast and weeping, +"Nay," he replies, "I did but lend. +Still, for your weeping, I will leave you something. + +It is not the real thing +But you may keep it always." + + + + +Dream + + +I SEE a spirit +Young and eager, +Beautiful, too, I think, +(Although I cannot see it clearly) +It is, by right of its own being, +One with all lovely, youthful things; +And they, its age-old kindred, +Welcome it +Saying, "Come, you too are one of us!" + + . . . . . . . + +This spirit is my own happy ghost-- +But I, myself,--alas! + + + + +Perhaps + + +THERE was a man, once, and a woman +Whose love was so entire +That an angel, watching them, +Said wistfully, "Would I were no angel +But a mortal, +Loving so, and so beloved!" +. . . . Yet, when these two mated, +A muddied drop, from some forgotten vial of ancestry, +Brought them a child whose mind was dark; +Who lived--and never called them by their names . . . +. . . . They tended her +For twenty years. +Only when she died +Did they weep, whispering, +"Why?" +The years could find no answer, +Though they went questioning +Until the end. + + . . . . . . . + +Still wondering +They wandered out into the other country . . . . +It was lonely there, +Being parted from familiar things, +And there was no one to answer questions, +But, suddenly, +(As a wind blows or a swallow flies against the sun) +Came a young girl--eager! +She ran to them, +Calling dear names, +(Names that would open heaven) +"Who are you?" they entreated, trembling . . . . +But they knew!-- +Had they not dreamed her so +For twenty years? + + + + +Glamour + + +THE knowledge of love +Is like sudden sun upon a river-- +The slipping water +Is instantly opaque and glorious. +No longer can we look into it +Counting the pebbles, +Watching the ribboned water-reeds, +Or searching idly +For that something which we lost +(A ring with gems) +It is all glamour, now! +We turn away, shading our eyes. + + + + +Friendship + + +I THOUGHT of friendship +As a golden ring, +Round as the world +Yet fitted to my finger; +I thought of friendship +As a path in spring +Where there are flowers +And the footsteps linger; +I thought of friendship +As a globe of light, +Yellow before the doorway of my life, +A flame diffused +Yet potent against night; +I thought--but thought itself in ruin lies +Since, yesterday, you passed with lowered eyes! + + + + +The Returned Man + + +THEY thought that he would come back +Quieter, +Less boyish, +But still a hero with tales to tell. +So, when there were no tales, +Only blank silences-- +When he lay for hours +Staring through leafing branches +And forgot them +Utterly-- +They tried to arouse him, saying: +"The war is over." +But when he turned on them +His shadowed eyes +They stammered-- +Knowing that they lied! + + + + +Epitaph + +(For the unknown soldier buried in Westminster Abbey.) + + +YOU who died fighting +For me and my little children; +You who are a million +Yet are but one, +I lay upon your grave +A rose and a tear-- +The tear is the world's sorrow, +The rose is your joy. + + + + +For One Who Went in Spring + + +SHE did not go, as others do, + With backward look and beckoning; + With no farewell for anything +She passed the open doorway through. + +The little things she left behind + Lie where they fell from hands content-- + Fame a forgotten incident +And life a season out of mind. + +The spring will find her footstep gone, + But spring is kind to vanished things, + Camas and buttercups she brings +With green that tears have brightened on. + +And we, who walked with her last year + While April in the lilacs stirred, + Will turn with sudden look or word-- +Forgetting that she is not here. + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Fires of Driftwood, by Isabel Ecclestone Mackay + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIRES OF DRIFTWOOD *** + +***** This file should be named 12475.txt or 12475.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/4/7/12475/ + +Produced by Andrew Sly. 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