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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 *** |