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+Project Gutenberg's Lundy's Lane and Other Poems, by Duncan Campbell Scott
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Lundy's Lane and Other Poems
+
+Author: Duncan Campbell Scott
+
+Release Date: September 22, 2007 [EBook #22717]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LUNDY'S LANE AND OTHER POEMS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+_Lundy's Lane
+
+and Other Poems_
+
+
+
+
+_By_
+
+_Duncan Campbell Scott_
+
+
+_Author of "The Magic House,"
+"In the Village of Viger," etc., etc._
+
+
+
+_McClelland, Goodchild & Stewart_
+_Publishers_ :: :: :: :: _Toronto_
+
+Copyright, 1916,
+By GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
+
+Printed in the United States of America
+
+
+
+
+To the Memory of My Daughter
+
+ELIZABETH DUNCAN SCOTT
+
+1895-1907
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+                                                  Page
+
+THE BATTLE OF LUNDY'S LANE                         13
+
+VIA BOREALIS--
+  Spring on Mattagami                              25
+  An Impromptu                                     36
+  The Half-Breed Girl                              38
+  Night Burial in the Forest                       41
+  Dream Voyageurs                                  44
+  Song: Creep into My Heart                        45
+  Ecstasy                                          46
+
+LYRICS, SONGS AND SONNETS--
+  Meditation at Perugia                            49
+  At William MacLennan's Grave. Near Florence      53
+  The Wood-Spring to the Poet                      56
+  The November Pansy                               63
+  The Height of Land                               68
+  New Year's Night, 1916                           77
+  Fragment of an Ode to Canada                     79
+  Fantasia                                         84
+  The Lover to His Lass                            86
+  The Ghost's Story                                90
+  Night                                            92
+  The Apparition                                   94
+  At Sea                                           96
+  Madonna with Two Angels                          98
+  Mid-August                                      100
+  Mist and Frost                                  105
+  The Beggar and the Angel                        110
+  Improvisation on an Old Song                    117
+  O Turn Once More                                121
+  At the Gill-Nets                                124
+  A Love Song                                     126
+  Three Songs:
+      I Where love is life                        128
+     II Nothing came here but sunlight            129
+    III I have songs of dancing pleasure          129
+  The Sailor's Sweetheart                         131
+  Feuilles d'Automne                              133
+  To the Heroic Soul:
+     I Nurture thyself, O Soul!                   135
+    II Be strong, O Warring Soul!                 136
+  Retrospect                                      138
+  Frost Magic:
+     I Now in the moonrise, from a wintry sky     139
+    II With these alone he draws in magic lines   140
+  In Snow-Time                                    142
+  To a Canadian Lad Killed in the War             143
+
+THE CLOSED DOOR--
+  By a Child's Bed                                147
+  Elizabeth Speaks                                149
+  A Legend of Christ's Nativity                   154
+  Willow-Pipes                                    163
+  Angel                                           164
+  Christmas Folk-Song                             165
+  From Beyond                                     166
+  The Leaf                                        167
+  A Mystery Play                                  168
+
+LINES IN MEMORY OF EDMUND MORRIS                  179
+
+
+
+
+THE BATTLE OF LUNDY'S LANE
+
+
+
+
+THE BATTLE OF LUNDY'S LANE
+
+Rufus Gale speaks--1852
+
+
+Yes,--in the Lincoln Militia,--in the war of eighteen-twelve;
+Many's the day I've had since then to dig and delve--
+But those are the years I remember as the brightest years of all,
+When we left the plow in the furrow to follow the bugle's call.
+Why, even our son Abner wanted to fight with the men!
+"Don't you go, d'ye hear, sir!"--I was angry with him then.
+"Stay with your mother!" I said, and he looked so old and grim--
+He was just sixteen that April--I couldn't believe it was him;
+But I didn't think--I was off--and we met the foe again,
+Five thousand strong and ready, at the hill by Lundy's Lane.
+There as the night came on we fought them from six to nine,
+Whenever they broke our line we broke their line,
+They took our guns and we won them again, and around the levels
+Where the hill sloped up--with the Eighty-ninth,--we fought like devils
+Around the flag;--and on they came and we drove them back,
+  Until with its very fierceness the fight grew slack.
+
+It was then about nine and dark as a miser's pocket,
+When up came Hercules Scott's brigade swift as a rocket,
+And charged,--and the flashes sprang in the dark like a lion's eyes;
+The night was full of fire--groans, and cheers, and cries;
+Then through the sound and the fury another sound broke in--
+The roar of a great old duck-gun shattered the rest of the din;
+It took two minutes to charge it and another to set it free.
+Every time I heard it an angel spoke to me;
+Yes, the minute I heard it I felt the strangest tide
+Flow in my veins like lightning, as if, there, by my side,
+Was the very spirit of Valor. But 'twas dark--you couldn't see--
+And the one who was firing the duck-gun fell against me
+And slid down to the clover, and lay there still;
+Something went through me--piercing--with a strange, swift thrill;
+The noise fell away into silence, and I heard as clear as thunder
+The long, slow roar of Niagara: O the wonder
+Of that deep sound. But again the battle broke
+And the foe, driven before us desperately--stroke upon stroke,
+Left the field to his master, and sullenly down the road
+Sounded the boom of his guns, trailing the heavy load
+Of his wounded men and his shattered flags, sullen and slow,
+Setting fire in his rage to Bridgewater mills and the glow
+Flared in the distant forest. We rested as we could,
+And for a while I slept in the dark of a maple wood:
+But when the clouds in the east were red all over,
+I came back there to the place we made the stand in the clover;
+For my heart was heavy then with a strange deep pain,
+As I thought of the glorious fight, and again and again
+I remembered the valiant spirit and the piercing thrill;
+But I knew it all when I reached the top of the hill,--
+For there, there with the blood on his dear, brave head,
+There on the hill in the clover lay our Abner--dead!--
+No--thank you--no, I don't need it; I'm solid as granite rock,
+But every time that I tell it I feel the old, cold shock,
+I'm eighty-one my next birthday--do you breed such fellows now?
+There he lay with the dawn cooling his broad fair brow,
+That was no dawn for him; and there was the old duck-gun
+That many and many's the time,--just for the fun,
+We together, alone, would take to the hickory rise,
+And bring home more wild pigeons than ever you saw with your eyes.
+Up with Hercules Scott's brigade, just as it came on night--
+He was the angel beside me in the thickest of the fight--
+Wrote a note to his mother--He said, "I've got to go;
+Mother what would home be under the heel of the foe!"
+Oh! she never slept a wink, she would rise and walk the floor;
+She'd say this over and over, "I knew it all before!"
+I'd try to speak of the glory to give her a little joy.
+"What is the glory to me when I want my boy, my boy!"
+She'd say, and she'd wring her hands; her hair grew white as snow--
+And I'd argue with her up and down, to and fro,
+Of how she had mothered a hero, and his was a glorious fate,
+Better than years of grubbing to gather an estate.
+Sometimes I'd put it this way: "If God was to say to me now
+'Take him back as he once was helping you with the plow,'
+I'd say, 'No, God, thank You kindly; 'twas You that he obeyed;
+You told him to fight and he fought, and he wasn't afraid;
+You wanted to prove him in battle, You sent him to Lundy's Lane,
+'Tis well!" But she only would answer over and over again,
+"Give me back my Abner--give me back my son!"
+It was so all through the winter until the spring had begun,
+And the crocus was up in the dooryard, and the drift by the fence
+    was thinned,
+And the sap drip-dropped from the branches wounded by the wind,
+And the whole earth smelled like a flower,--then she came to me one
+    night--
+"Rufus!" she said, with a sob in her throat,--"Rufus, you're right."
+I hadn't cried till then, not a tear--but then I was torn in two--
+There, it's all right--my eyes don't see as they used to do!
+
+But O the joy of that battle--it was worth the whole of life,
+You felt immortal in action with the rapture of the strife,
+There in the dark by the river, with the flashes of fire before,
+Running and crashing along, there in the dark, and the roar
+Of the guns, and the shrilling cheers, and the knowledge that filled
+    your heart
+That there was a victory making and you must do your part,
+But--there's his grave in the orchard where the headstone glimmers
+    white:
+We could see it, we thought, from our window even on the darkest
+    night;
+It is set there for a sign that what one lad could do
+Would be done by a hundred hundred lads whose hearts were stout and
+    true.
+And when in the time of trial you hear the recreant say,
+Shooting his coward lips at us, "You shall have had your day:
+For all your state and glory shall pass like a cloudy wrack,
+And here some other flag shall fly where flew the Union Jack,"--
+Why tell him a hundred thousand men would spring from these sleepy
+    farms,
+To tie that flag in its ancient place with the sinews of their arms;
+And if they doubt you and put you to scorn, why you can make it plain,
+With the tale of the gallant Lincoln men and the fight at Lundy's Lane.
+
+1908.
+
+
+
+
+VIA BOREALIS
+
+TO
+
+_Pelham Edgar_
+
+
+
+
+SPRING ON MATTAGAMI
+
+
+Far in the east the rain-clouds sweep and harry,
+  Down the long haggard hills, formless and low,
+Far in the west the shell-tints meet and marry,
+  Piled gray and tender blue and roseate snow;
+East--like a fiend, the bolt-breasted, streaming
+  Storm strikes the world with lightning and with hail;
+West--like the thought of a seraph that is dreaming,
+  Venus leads the young moon down the vale.
+
+Through the lake furrow between the gloom and bright'ning
+  Firm runs our long canoe with a whistling rush,
+While Potàn the wise and the cunning Silver Lightning
+  Break with their slender blades the long clear hush;
+Soon shall I pitch my tent amid the birches,
+  Wise Potàn shall gather boughs of balsam fir,
+While for bark and dry wood Silver Lightning searches;
+  Soon the smoke shall hang and lapse in the moist air.
+
+Soon shall I sleep--if I may not remember
+  One who lives far away where the storm-cloud went;
+May it part and starshine burn in many a quiet ember,
+  Over her towered city crowned with large content;
+Dear God, let me sleep, here where deep peace is,
+  Let me own a dreamless sleep once for all the years,
+Let me know a quiet mind and what heart ease is,
+  Lost to light and life and hope, to longing and to tears.
+
+Here in the solitude less her memory presses,
+  Yet I see her lingering where the birches shine,
+All the dark cedars are sleep-laden like her tresses,
+  The gold-moted wood-pools pellucid as her eyen;
+Memories and ghost-forms of the days departed
+  People all the forest lone in the dead of night;
+While Potàn and Silver Lightning sleep, the happy-hearted,
+  Troop they from their fastnesses upon my sight.
+
+Once when the tide came straining from the Lido,
+  In a sea of flame our gondola flickered like a sword,
+Venice lay abroad builded like beauty's credo,
+  Smouldering like a gorget on the breast of the Lord:
+Did she mourn for fame foredoomed or passion shattered
+  That with a sudden impulse she gathered at my side?
+But when I spoke the ancient fates were flattered,
+  Chill there crept between us the imperceptible tide.
+
+Once I well remember in her twilight garden,
+  She pulled a half-blown rose, I thought it meant for me,
+But poising in the act, and with half a sigh for pardon,
+  She hid it in her bosom where none may dare to see:
+Had she a subtle meaning?--would to God I knew it,
+  Where'er I am I always feel the rose leaves nestling there,
+If I might know her mind and the thought which then flashed through it,
+  My soul might look to heaven not commissioned to despair.
+
+Though she denied at parting the gift that I besought her,
+  Just a bit of ribbon or a strand of her hair;
+Though she would not keep the token that I brought her,
+  Proud she stood and calm and marvellously fair;
+Yet I saw her spirit--truth cannot dissemble--
+  Saw her pure as gold, staunch and keen and brave,
+For she knows my worth and her heart was all atremble,
+  Lest her will should weaken and make her heart a slave.
+
+If she could be here where all the world is eager
+  For dear love with the primal Eden sway,
+Where the blood is fire and no pulse is thin or meagre,
+  All the heart of all the world beats one way!
+There is the land of fraud and fame and fashion,
+  Joy is but a gaud and withers in an hour,
+Here is the land of quintessential passion,
+Where in a wild throb Spring wells up with power.
+
+She would hear the partridge drumming in the distance,
+  Rolling out his mimic thunder in the sultry noons;
+Hear beyond the silver reach in ringing wild persistence
+  Reel remote the ululating laughter of the loons;
+See the shy moose fawn nestling by its mother,
+  In a cool marsh pool where the sedges meet;
+Rest by a moss-mound where the twin-flowers smother
+  With a drowse of orient perfume drenched in light and heat:
+
+She would see the dawn rise behind the smoky mountain,
+  In a jet of colour curving up to break,
+While like spray from the iridescent fountain,
+  Opal fires weave over all the oval of the lake:
+She would see like fireflies the stars alight and spangle
+  All the heaven meadows thick with growing dusk,
+Feel the gipsy airs that gather up and tangle
+The woodsy odours in a maze of myrrh and musk:
+
+There in the forest all the birds are nesting,
+  Tells the hermit thrush the song he cannot tell,
+While the white-throat sparrow never resting,
+  Even in the deepest night rings his crystal bell:
+O, she would love me then with a wild elation,
+  Then she must love me and leave her lonely state,
+Give me love yet keep her soul's imperial reservation,
+  Large as her deep nature and fathomless as fate:
+
+Then, if she would lie beside me in the even,
+  On my deep couch heaped of balsam fir,
+Fragrant with sleep as nothing under heaven,
+  Let the past and future mingle in one blur;
+While all the stars were watchful and thereunder
+  Earth breathed not but took their silent light,
+All life withdrew and wrapt in a wild wonder
+  Peace fell tranquil on the odorous night:
+
+She would let me steal,--not consenting or denying--
+  One strong arm beneath her dusky hair,
+She would let me bare, not resisting or complying,
+  One sweet breast so sweet and firm and fair;
+Then with the quick sob of passion's shy endeavour,
+  She would gather close and shudder and swoon away,
+She would be mine for ever and for ever,
+  Mine for all time and beyond the judgment day.
+
+Vain is the dream, and deep with all derision--
+  Fate is stern and hard--fair and false and vain--
+But what would life be worth without the vision,
+  Dark with sordid passion, pale with wringing pain?
+What I dream is mine, mine beyond all cavil,
+  Pure and fair and sweet, and mine for evermore,
+And when I will my life I may unravel,
+  And find my passion dream deep at the red core.
+
+Venus sinks first lost in ruby splendour,
+  Stars like wood-daffodils grow golden in the night,
+Far, far above, in a space entranced and tender,
+  Floats the growing moon pale with virgin light.
+Vaster than the world or life or death my trust is
+  Based in the unseen and towering far above;
+Hold me, O Law, that deeper lies than Justice,
+  Guide me, O Light, that stronger burns than Love.
+
+
+
+
+AN IMPROMPTU
+
+
+Here in the pungent gloom
+Where the tamarac roses glow
+And the balsam burns its perfume,
+A vireo turns his slow
+Cadence, as if he gloated
+Over the last phrase he floated;
+Each one he moulds and mellows
+Matching it with its fellows:
+So have you noted
+How the oboe croons,
+The canary-throated,
+In the gloom of the violoncellos
+And bassoons.
+
+But afar in the thickset forest
+I hear a sound go free,
+Crashing the stately neighbours
+The pine and the cedar tree,
+Horns and harps and tabors,
+Drumming and harping and horning
+In savage minstrelsy--
+It wakes in my soul a warning
+Of the wind of destiny.
+
+My life is soaring and swinging
+In triple walls of quiet,
+In my heart there is rippling and ringing
+A song with melodious riot,
+When a fateful thing comes nigh it
+A hush falls, and then
+I hear in the thickset world
+The wind of destiny hurled
+On the lives of men.
+
+
+
+
+THE HALF-BREED GIRL
+
+
+She is free of the trap and the paddle,
+  The portage and the trail,
+But something behind her savage life
+  Shines like a fragile veil.
+
+Her dreams are undiscovered,
+  Shadows trouble her breast,
+When the time for resting cometh
+  Then least is she at rest.
+
+Oft in the morns of winter,
+  When she visits the rabbit snares,
+An appearance floats in the crystal air
+  Beyond the balsam firs.
+
+Oft in the summer mornings
+  When she strips the nets of fish,
+The smell of the dripping net-twine
+  Gives to her heart a wish.
+
+But she cannot learn the meaning
+  Of the shadows in her soul,
+The lights that break and gather,
+  The clouds that part and roll,
+
+The reek of rock-built cities,
+  Where her fathers dwelt of yore,
+The gleam of loch and shealing,
+  The mist on the moor,
+
+Frail traces of kindred kindness,
+  Of feud by hill and strand,
+The heritage of an age-long life
+  In a legendary land.
+
+She wakes in the stifling wigwam,
+  Where the air is heavy and wild,
+She fears for something or nothing
+  With the heart of a frightened child.
+
+She sees the stars turn slowly
+  Past the tangle of the poles,
+Through the smoke of the dying embers,
+  Like the eyes of dead souls.
+
+Her heart is shaken with longing
+  For the strange, still years,
+For what she knows and knows not,
+  For the wells of ancient tears.
+
+A voice calls from the rapids,
+  Deep, careless and free,
+A voice that is larger than her life
+  Or than her death shall be.
+
+She covers her face with her blanket,
+  Her fierce soul hates her breath,
+As it cries with a sudden passion
+  For life or death.
+
+
+
+
+NIGHT BURIAL IN THE FOREST
+
+
+Lay him down where the fern is thick and fair.
+Fain was he for life, here lies he low:
+With the blood washed clean from his brow and his beautiful hair,
+Lay him here in the dell where the orchids grow.
+
+Let the birch-bark torches roar in the gloom,
+And the trees crowd up in a quiet startled ring
+So lone is the land that in this lonely room
+Never before has breathed a human thing.
+
+Cover him well in his canvas shroud, and the moss
+Part and heap again on his quiet breast,
+What recks he now of gain, or love, or loss
+Who for love gained rest?
+
+While she who caused it all hides her insolent eyes
+Or braids her hair with the ribbons of lust and of lies,
+And he who did the deed fares out like a hunted beast
+To lurk where the musk-ox tramples the barren ground
+Where the stroke of his coward heart is the only sound.
+
+Haunting the tamarac shade,
+Hear them up-thronging
+Memories foredoomed
+Of strife and of longing:
+Haggard or bright
+By the tamaracs and birches,
+Where the red torch light
+Trembles and searches,
+The wilderness teems
+With inscrutable eyes
+Of ghosts that are dreams
+Commingled with memories.
+
+Leave him here in his secret ferny tomb,
+Withdraw the little light from the ocean of gloom,
+He who feared nought will fear aught never,
+Left alone in the forest forever and ever.
+
+Then, as we fare on our way to the shore
+Sudden the torches cease to roar:
+For cleaving the darkness remote and still
+Comes a wind with a rushing, harp-like thrill,
+The sound of wings hurled and furled and unfurled,
+The wings of the Angel who gathers the souls from the wastes of
+    the world.
+
+
+
+
+DREAM VOYAGEURS
+
+
+To ports of balm through isles of musk
+The gentle airs are leading us;
+To curtained calm and tents of dusk,
+The wood-wild things unheeding us
+Will share their hoards of hardihood,
+Cool dew and roots of fern for food,
+Frail berries full of the sun's blood.
+
+To planets bland with dales of dream
+A tranquil life is leading us,
+We shall land from the languid stream,
+The musing shades, unheeding us,
+Will share their veils of angelhood,
+Thoughts that are tranced with mystic food,
+Still broodings tinct with a seraph's blood.
+
+
+
+
+SONG
+
+
+Creep into my heart, creep in, creep in,
+Afar from the fret, the toil and the din,
+Where the spring of love forever flows,
+As clear as light and as sweet as the rose;
+(Creep into my heart),
+Where the dreams never wilt but their tints refine,
+Rooted in beautiful thoughts of thine;
+Where morn falls cool on the soul, like sleep,
+And the nights are tranquil and tranced and deep;
+Where the fairest thing of all the fair
+Thou art, who hast somehow crept in there,
+Deep into my heart,
+Deep into my heart.
+
+
+
+
+ECSTASY
+
+
+The shore-lark soars to his topmost flight,
+  Sings at the height where morning springs,
+What though his voice be lost in the light,
+  The light comes dropping from his wings.
+
+Mount, my soul, and sing at the height
+  Of thy clear flight in the light and the air,
+Heard or unheard in the night in the light
+  Sing there! Sing there!
+
+
+
+
+LYRICS, SONGS AND SONNETS
+
+
+
+
+MEDITATION AT PERUGIA
+
+
+The sunset colours mingle in the sky,
+  And over all the Umbrian valleys flow;
+  Trevi is touched with wonder, and the glow
+Finds high Perugia crimson with renown;
+    Spello is bright;
+And, ah! St. Francis, thy deep-treasured town,
+    Enshrined Assisi, fully fronts the light.
+
+This valley knew thee many a year ago;
+  Thy shrine was built by simpleness of heart;
+  And from the wound called life thou drew'st the smart:
+Unquiet kings came to thee and the sad poor--
+    Thou gavest them peace;
+Far as the Sultan and the Iberian shore
+    Thy faith and abnegation gave release.
+
+Deeper our faith, but not so sweet as thine;
+  Wider our view, but not so sanely sure;
+  For we are troubled by the witching lure
+Of Science, with her lightning on the mist;
+    Science that clears,
+Yet never quite discloses what she wist,
+    And leaves us half with doubts and half with fears.
+
+We act her dreams that shadow forth the truth,
+  That somehow here the very nerves of God
+  Thrill the old fires, the rocks, the primal sod;
+We throw our speech upon the open air,
+    And it is caught
+Far down the world, to sing and murmur there;
+    Our common words are with deep wonder fraught.
+
+Shall not the subtle spirit of man contrive
+  To charm the tremulous ether of the soul,
+  Wherein it breathes?--until, from pole to pole,
+Those who are kin shall speak, as face to face,
+    From star to star,
+Even from earth to the most secret place,
+    Where God and the supreme archangels are.
+
+Shall we not prove, what thou hast faintly taught,
+  That all the powers of earth and air are one,
+  That one deep law persists from mole to sun?
+Shall we not search the heart of God and find
+    That law empearled,
+Until all things that are in matter and mind
+    Throb with the secret that began the world?
+
+Yea, we have journeyed since thou trod'st the road,
+  Yet still we keep the foreappointed quest;
+  While the last sunset smoulders in the West,
+Still the great faith with the undying hope
+    Upsprings and flows,
+While dim Assisi fades on the wide slope
+    And the deep Umbrian valleys fill with rose.
+
+
+
+
+AT WILLIAM MACLENNAN'S GRAVE
+
+
+Here where the cypress tall
+Shadows the stucco wall,
+    Bronze and deep,
+Where the chrysanthemums blow,
+And the roses--blood and snow--
+    He lies asleep.
+
+Florence dreameth afar;
+Memories of foray and war,
+    Murmur still;
+The Certosa crowns with a cold
+Cloud of snow and gold
+    The olive hill.
+
+What has he now for the streams
+Born sweet and deep with dreams
+    From the cedar meres?
+Only the Arno's flow,
+Turbid, and weary, and slow
+    With wrath and tears.
+
+What has he now for the song
+Of the boatmen, joyous and long,
+    Where the rapids shine?
+Only the sound of toil,
+Where the peasants press the soil
+    For the oil and wine.
+
+Spirit-fellow in sooth
+With bold La Salle and Duluth,
+    And La Vérandrye,--
+Nothing he has but rest,
+Deep in his cypress nest
+    With memory.
+
+Hearts of steel and of fire,
+Why do ye love and aspire,
+    When follows
+Death--all your passionate deeds,
+Garnered with rust and with weeds
+    In the hollows?
+
+God that hardened the steel,
+Bid the flame leap and reel,
+    Gave us unrest;
+We act in the dusk afar,
+In a star beyond your star,
+    His behest.
+
+"We leave you dreams and names
+Still we are iron and flames,
+    Biting and bright;
+Into some virgin world,
+Champions, we are hurled,
+    Of venture and fight."
+
+Here where the shadows fall,
+From the cypress by the wall,
+    Where the roses are--
+Here is a dream and a name,
+There, like a rose of flame,
+    Rises--a star.
+
+
+
+
+THE WOOD-SPRING TO THE POET
+
+
+Dawn-cool, dew-cool
+Gleams the surface of my pool
+Bird haunted, fern enchanted,
+Where but tempered spirits rule;
+Stars do not trace their mystic lines
+In my confines;
+I take a double night within my breast
+A night of darkened heavens, a night of leaves,
+And in the two-fold dark I hear the owl
+Puff at his velvet horn
+And the wolves howl.
+Even daylight comes with a touch of gold
+Not overbold,
+And shows dwarf-cornel and the twin-flowers,
+Below the balsam bowers,
+Their tints enamelled in my dew-drop shield.
+Too small even for a thirsty fawn
+To quench upon,
+I hold my crystal at one level
+There where you see the liquid bevel
+Break in silver and go free
+Singing to its destiny.
+
+Give, Poet, give!
+Thus only shalt thou live.
+Give! for 'tis thy joyous doom
+To charm, to comfort, to illume.
+
+Speak to the maiden and the child
+With accents deep and mild,
+Tell them of the world so wide
+In words of wonder and pure pride,
+Touched with the rapture of surprise
+That dwells in a child angel's eyes,
+Awed with the strangeness of new-birth,
+When the flaming seraph sent
+To lead him into Paradise,
+Calls his name with the mother's voice
+He has just ceased to hear on earth.
+
+Give to the youth his heart's content,
+But power with prudence blent,
+Thicken his sinews with love,
+With courage his heart prove,
+Till over his spirit shall roll
+The vast wave of control.
+In the cages and dens of strife,
+Where men draw breath
+Thick with a curse at the dear thing called life,
+Give them courage to bear,
+Strength to aspire and dare;
+Give them hopes rooted in stone,
+That the loveliest flowers take on,
+Bind on their brows with a gesture free
+The palm green bays of liberty.
+
+Give to the mothers of men
+  The knowledge of joy in pain,
+Give them the sense of reward
+That grew in the breast of the Lord
+On the dawn of the seventh morn;
+For 'tis they who re-create the world
+Whenever a child is born.
+
+Give, Poet, give!
+Give them songs that charm and fill
+The soul with an alluring pleasure,
+Prelusive to a deeper thrill,
+A richer tone, a fuller measure;
+Like voices, veiled with hidden treasure,
+Of angels on a windy morning,
+That first far off, then all together,
+Come with a glorious clarion calling;
+And when they swoon beneath the spell
+Recapture them to hear the echoes
+Falling--falling--falling.
+
+To those stoned for the truth
+Give ruth;
+Give manna for the mourner's mouth
+Sovereign as air;
+For his heart's drouth
+A prayer.
+
+Give to dead souls that mock at life
+Aweary of their cankered hearts,
+Weary of sleep and weary of strife,
+Weary of markets and of arts,--
+Helve them a song of life,
+Two-edged with joyous life,
+Tempered trusty with life,
+Proud pointed with wild life,
+Plunge it as lightning plunges,
+Stab them to life!
+
+Give to those who grieve in secret,
+Those who bear the sorrows of earth,
+The deep unappeasable longings
+Which beset them with throngings and throngings,
+(As, on a windless night,
+Through the fold of a dark mantle furled,
+Gleams on our world, world after unknown world)
+Give them peace,
+Wide as the veil that hides God's face,
+The pure plenitude of space,
+In which our universe is but a glittering crease,--
+Give them such peace.
+
+Give, Poet, give!
+Thus only shalt thou live:
+Give as we give who are hidden
+In myriad dimples of rock and fern;
+Give as we give unbidden
+To tarn and rillet and burn,
+Where the lake dreams,
+Where the fall is hurled,
+Striving to sweeten
+The oceans of the world.
+
+Should my song for a moment cease,
+Silence fall in the woodland peace;
+Should I wilfully check the flow
+Bubbling and dancing up from below;
+Say to my heart be still--be still,
+Let the murmur die with the rill;
+Then should the glittering, grey sea-things
+Sigh as they wallow the under springs;
+Where the deep brine-pools used to lie
+Deserts vast would stare at the sky,
+And even thy rich heart
+(O Poet, Poet!)
+Even thy rich heart run dry.
+
+
+
+
+THE NOVEMBER PANSY
+
+
+This is not June,--by Autumn's stratagem
+Thou hast been ambushed in the chilly air;
+  Upon thy fragile crest virginal fair
+The rime has clustered in a diadem;
+  The early frost
+Has nipped thy roots and tried thy tender stem,
+  Seared thy gold petals, all thy charm is lost.
+
+Thyself the only sunshine: in obeying
+The law that bids thee blossom in the world
+  Thy little flag of courage is unfurled;
+Inherent pansy-memories are saying
+  That there is sun,
+That there is dew and colour and warmth repaying
+  The rain, the starlight when the light is done.
+
+These are the gaunt forms of the hollyhocks
+That shower the seeds from out their withered purses;
+  Here were the pinks; there the nasturtium nurses
+The last of colour in her gaudy smocks;
+  The ruins yonder
+Show but a vestige of the flaming phlox;
+  The poppies on their faded glory ponder.
+
+Here visited the vagrant humming-bird,
+The nebulous darting green, the ruby-throated;
+  The warm fans of the butterfly here floated;
+Those two nests reared the robins, and the third
+  Was left forlorn
+Muffled in lilacs, whence the perfume stirred
+  The tremulous eyelids of the dewy morn.
+
+Thy sisters of the early summer-time
+Were masquers in this carnival of pleasure;
+  Each in her turn unrolled her golden treasure,
+And thou hast but the ashes of the prime;
+  'Tis life's own malice
+That brings the peasant of a race sublime
+  To feed her flock around her ruined palace.
+
+Yet for withstanding thus the autumn's dart
+Some deeper pansy-insight will atone;
+  It comes to souls neglected and alone,
+Something that prodigals in pleasure's mart
+  Lose in the whirl;
+The peasant child will have a purer heart
+  Than the vain favourite of the vanished earl.
+
+And far above this tragic world of ours
+There is a world of a diviner fashion,
+  A mystic world, a world of dreams and passion
+That each aspiring thing creates and dowers
+  With its own light;
+Where even the frail spirits of trees and flowers
+  Pause, and reach out, and pass from height to height.
+
+Here will we claim for thee another fief,
+An upland where a glamour haunts the meadows,
+  Snow peaks arise enrobed in rosy shadows,
+Fairer the under slopes with vine and sheaf
+  And shimmering lea;
+The paradise of a simple old belief,
+  That flourished in the Islands of the Sea.
+
+A snow-cool cistern in the fairy hills
+Shall feed thy roots with moisture clear as dew;
+  A ferny shield to temper the warm blue
+That heaven is; a thrush that thrills
+  To answer his mate,
+And when above the ferns the shadow fills,
+  Fireflies to render darkness consolate.
+
+Here muse and brood, moulding thy seed and die
+And re-create thy form a thousand fold,
+  Mellowing thy petals to more lucent gold,
+Till they expand, tissues of amber sky;
+  Till the full hour,
+And the full light and the fulfilling eye
+  Shall find amid the ferns the perfect flower.
+
+
+
+
+THE HEIGHT OF LAND
+
+
+Here is the height of land:
+The watershed on either hand
+Goes down to Hudson Bay
+Or Lake Superior;
+The stars are up, and far away
+The wind sounds in the wood, wearier
+Than the long Ojibway cadence
+In which Potàn the Wise
+Declares the ills of life
+And Chees-que-ne-ne makes a mournful sound
+Of acquiescence. The fires burn low
+With just sufficient glow
+To light the flakes of ash that play
+At being moths, and flutter away
+To fall in the dark and die as ashes:
+Here there is peace in the lofty air,
+And Something comes by flashes
+Deeper than peace;--
+The spruces have retired a little space
+And left a field of sky in violet shadow
+With stars like marigolds in a water-meadow.
+
+Now the Indian guides are dead asleep;
+There is no sound unless the soul can hear
+The gathering of the waters in their sources.
+
+We have come up through the spreading lakes
+From level to level,--
+Pitching our tents sometimes over a revel
+Of roses that nodded all night,
+Dreaming within our dreams,
+To wake at dawn and find that they were captured
+With no dew on their leaves;
+Sometimes mid sheaves
+Of braken and dwarf-cornel, and again
+On a wide blue-berry plain
+Brushed with the shimmer of a bluebird's wing;
+A rocky islet followed
+With one lone poplar and a single nest
+Of white-throat-sparrows that took no rest
+But sang in dreams or woke to sing,--
+To the last portage and the height of land--:
+Upon one hand
+The lonely north enlaced with lakes and streams,
+And the enormous targe of Hudson Bay,
+Glimmering all night
+In the cold arctic light;
+On the other hand
+The crowded southern land
+With all the welter of the lives of men.
+But here is peace, and again
+That Something comes by flashes
+Deeper than peace,--a spell
+Golden and inappellable
+That gives the inarticulate part
+Of our strange being one moment of release
+That seems more native than the touch of time,
+And we must answer in chime;
+Though yet no man may tell
+The secret of that spell
+Golden and inappellable.
+
+Now are there sounds walking in the wood,
+And all the spruces shiver and tremble,
+And the stars move a little in their courses.
+The ancient disturber of solitude
+Breathes a pervasive sigh,
+And the soul seems to hear
+The gathering of the waters at their sources;
+Then quiet ensues and pure starlight and dark;
+The region-spirit murmurs in meditation,
+The heart replies in exaltation
+And echoes faintly like an inland shell
+Ghost tremors of the spell;
+Thought reawakens and is linked again
+With all the welter of the lives of men.
+
+Here on the uplands where the air is clear
+We think of life as of a stormy scene,--
+Of tempest, of revolt and desperate shock;
+And here, where we can think, on the bright uplands
+Where the air is clear, we deeply brood on life
+Until the tempest parts, and it appears
+As simple as to the shepherd seems his flock:
+A Something to be guided by ideals--
+That in themselves are simple and serene--
+Of noble deed to foster noble thought,
+And noble thought to image noble deed,
+Till deed and thought shall interpenetrate,
+Making life lovelier, till we come to doubt
+Whether the perfect beauty that escapes
+Is beauty of deed or thought or some high thing
+Mingled of both, a greater boon than either:
+Thus we have seen in the retreating tempest
+The victor-sunlight merge with the ruined rain,
+And from the rain and sunlight spring the rainbow.
+
+The ancient disturber of solitude
+Stirs his ancestral potion in the gloom,
+And the dark wood
+Is stifled with the pungent fume
+Of charred earth burnt to the bone
+That takes the place of air.
+Then sudden I remember when and where,--
+The last weird lakelet foul with weedy growths
+And slimy viscid things the spirit loathes,
+Skin of vile water over viler mud
+Where the paddle stirred unutterable stenches,
+And the canoes seemed heavy with fear,
+Not to be urged toward the fatal shore
+Where a bush fire, smouldering, with sudden roar
+Leaped on a cedar and smothered it with light
+And terror. It had left the portage-height
+A tangle of slanted spruces burned to the roots,
+Covered still with patches of bright fire
+Smoking with incense of the fragrant resin
+That even then began to thin and lessen
+Into the gloom and glimmer of ruin.
+
+'Tis overpast. How strange the stars have grown;
+The presage of extinction glows on their crests
+  And they are beautied with impermanence;
+  They shall be after the race of men
+  And mourn for them who snared their fiery pinions,
+Entangled in the meshes of bright words.
+
+A lemming stirs the fern and in the mosses
+Eft-minded things feel the air change, and dawn
+Tolls out from the dark belfries of the spruces.
+How often in the autumn of the world
+Shall the crystal shrine of dawning be rebuilt
+With deeper meaning! Shall the poet then,
+Wrapped in his mantle on the height of land,
+Brood on the welter of the lives of men
+And dream of his ideal hope and promise
+In the blush sunrise? Shall he base his flight
+Upon a more compelling law than Love
+As Life's atonement; shall the vision
+Of noble deed and noble thought immingled
+Seem as uncouth to him as the pictograph
+Scratched on the cave side by the cave-dweller
+To us of the Christ-time? Shall he stand
+With deeper joy, with more complex emotion,
+In closer commune with divinity,
+With the deep fathomed, with the firmament charted,
+With life as simple as a sheep-boy's song,
+What lies beyond a romaunt that was read
+Once on a morn of storm and laid aside
+Memorious with strange immortal memories?
+Or shall he see the sunrise as I see it
+In shoals of misty fire the deluge-light
+Dashes upon and whelms with purer radiance,
+And feel the lulled earth, older in pulse and motion,
+Turn the rich lands and the inundant oceans
+To the flushed color, and hear as now I hear
+The thrill of life beat up the planet's margin
+And break in the clear susurrus of deep joy
+That echoes and reëchoes in my being?
+O Life is intuition the measure of knowledge
+And do I stand with heart entranced and burning
+At the zenith of our wisdom when I feel
+The long light flow, the long wind pause, the deep
+Influx of spirit, of which no man may tell
+The Secret, golden and inappellable?
+
+
+
+
+NEW YEAR'S NIGHT, 1916
+
+
+The Earth moans in her sleep
+Like an old mother
+Whose sons have gone to the war,
+Who weeps silently in her heart
+Till dreams comfort her.
+
+The Earth tosses
+As if she would shake off humanity,
+A burden too heavy to be borne,
+And free of the pest of intolerable men,
+Spin with woods and waters
+Joyously in the clear heavens
+In the beautiful cool rains,
+Bearing gladly the dumb animals,
+And sleep when the time comes
+Glistening in the remains of sunlight
+With marmoreal innocency.
+
+Be comforted, old mother,
+Whose sons have gone to the war;
+And be assured, O Earth,
+Of your burden of passionate men,
+For without them who would dream the dreams
+That encompass you with glory,
+Who would gather your youth
+And store it in the jar of remembrance,
+Who would comfort your old heart
+With tales told of the heroes,
+Who would cover your face with the cerecloth
+All rustling with stars,
+And mourn in the ashes of sunlight,
+Mourn your marmoreal innocency?
+
+
+
+
+FRAGMENT OF AN ODE TO CANADA
+
+
+                               This is the land!
+It lies outstretched a vision of delight,
+Bent like a shield between the silver seas
+It flashes back the hauteur of the sun;
+Yet teems with humblest beauties, still a part
+Of its Titanic and ebullient heart.
+
+Land of the glacial, lonely mountain ranges,
+Where nothing haps save vast Æonian changes,
+The slow moraine, the avalanche's wings,
+Summer and Sun,--the elemental things,
+Pulses of Awe,--Winter and Night and the lightnings.
+Land of the pines that rear their dusky spars
+A ready midnight for the earliest stars.
+The land of rivers, rivulets, and rills,
+Straining incessant everyway to the sea
+With their white thunder harnessed in the mills,
+Turning one wealth to another wealth perpetually;
+Spinning the lightning with dynamic spindles,
+Till some far city dowered with fire enkindles.
+
+The land of fruit, fine-flavoured with the frost,
+Land of the cattle, the deep-chested host,
+The happy-souled, that contemplate the hours,
+Their dew-laps buried in the grass and flowers.
+And, O! the myriad-miracle of the grain
+Cresting the hill, brimming the level plain,
+The miracle of the flower and milk and kernel,
+Nurtured by sun-fire and frost-fire supernal,
+Until the farmer turns it in his hand,
+The million-millioned miracle of the land.
+
+And yet with all these pastoral and heroic graces,
+Our simplest flowers wear the loveliest faces;
+The sparrows are our most enraptured singers,
+And round their songs the fondest memory lingers;
+Our forests tower and tremble, star-enchanted,
+Their roots are by the timid spirits haunted
+Of hermit thrushes,--trancèd is the air,
+Ever in doubt when they shall sing or where;
+The mountains may with ice and avalanche wrestle,
+Far down their rugged steeps dimple and nestle
+The still, translucent, turquoise-hearted tarns.
+
+          *      *      *      *      *
+
+And Thou, O Power, that 'stablishest the Nation,
+Give wisdom in the midst of our elation;
+Who are so free that we forget we are--
+That freedom brings the deepest obligation:
+Grant us this presage for a guiding star,
+To lead the van of Peace, not with a craven spirit,
+But with the consciousness that we inherit
+What built the Empire out of blood and fire,
+And can smite, too, in passion and with ire.
+Purge us of Pride, who are so quick in vaunting
+Thy gift, this land, that is in nothing wanting;
+Give Mind to match the glory of the gift,
+Give great Ideals to bridge the sordid rift
+Between our heritage and our use of it.
+
+Then in some day of terror for the world,
+When all the flags of the Furies are unfurled,
+When Truth and Justice, wildered and unknit,
+Shall turn for help to this young, radiant land,
+We shall be quick to see and understand:
+What shall we answer in that stricken hour?
+Shall the deep thought be pregnant then with power?
+Shall the few words spring swift and grave and clear?
+Use well the present moment. They shall hear.
+
+August, 1911.
+
+
+
+
+FANTASIA
+
+
+Here in Samarcand they offer emeralds,
+Pure as frozen drops of sea-water,
+Rubies, pale as dew-ponds stained with slaughter,
+Where the fairies fought for a king's daughter
+In the elfin upland.
+Here they sell you jade and calcedony,
+And the matrix of the turquoise,
+Spheres of onyx held in eagles' claws,
+But they keep the gems as far asunder
+From the dull stones as the lightning from the thunder;
+They can never come together
+On the mats of Turkish leather
+In the booths of Samarcand.
+
+Here they sell you balls of nard and honey,
+And squat jars of clarid butter,
+And the cheese from Kurdistan.
+When you offer Frankish money,
+Then they scowl and curse and mutter,
+Deep in Kurdish or Persan
+For they want your heart out and my hand
+In the booths of Samarcand.
+
+They would sell your heart's blood separate,
+In a jar with a gold brim,
+With a text of burning hatred
+Coiled around the rim;
+They would sell my hand upon a beam of teak wood,
+In the other scale a feather curled;
+They would sell your heart upon a silver balance
+Weighed against the world.
+But your heart could never touch my hand,
+They could never come together
+On the mats of Turkish leather
+In the booths of Samarcand.
+
+
+
+
+THE LOVER TO HIS LASS
+
+
+Crown her with stars, this angel of our planet,
+  Cover her with morning, this thing of pure delight,
+Mantle her with midnight till a mortal cannot
+  See her for the garments of the light and the night.
+
+How far I wandered, worlds away and far away,
+  Heard a voice but knew it not in the clear cold,
+Many a wide circle and many a wan star away,
+  Dwelling in the chambers where the worlds were growing old.
+
+Saw them growing old and heard them falling
+  Like ripe fruit when a tree is in the wind;
+Saw the seraphs gather them, their clarion voices calling
+  In rounds of cheering labour till the orchard floor was thinned.
+
+Saw a whole universe turn to its setting,
+  Old and cold and weary, gray and cold as death,
+But before mine eyes were veiled in forgetting,
+  Something always caught my soul and held its breath.
+
+Caught it up and held it, now I know the reason;
+  Governed it and soothed it, now I know why;
+Nurtured it and trained it and kept it for the season
+  When new worlds should blossom in the springtime sky.
+
+How have they blossomed, see the sky is like a garden!
+  Ah! how fresh the worlds look hanging on the slope!
+Pluck one and wear it, Love, and ask the Gardener's pardon,
+  Pluck out the Pleiads like a spray of heliotrope.
+
+See Aldebaran like a red rose clamber,
+  See brave Betelgeux pranked with poppy light;
+This young earth must float in floods of amber
+  Glowing with a crocus flame in the dells of night.
+
+O you cannot cheat the soul of an inborn ambition,
+  'Tis a naked viewless thing living in its thought,
+But it mounts through errors and by valleys of contrition
+  Till it conquers destiny and finds the thing it sought.
+
+Crown her with stars, this angel of our planet,
+  Cover her with morning, this thing of pure delight,
+Mantle her with midnight till a mortal cannot
+  See her for the garments of the light and the night.
+
+
+
+
+THE GHOST'S STORY
+
+
+All my life long I heard the step
+  Of some one I would know,
+Break softly in upon my days
+  And lightly come and go.
+
+A foot so brisk I said must bear
+  A heart that's clean and clear;
+If that companion blithe would come,
+  I should be happy here.
+
+But though I waited long and well,
+  He never came at all,
+I grew aweary of the void,
+  Even of the light foot-fall.
+
+From loneliness to loneliness
+  I felt my spirit grope--
+At last I knew the uttermost,
+  The loneliness of hope.
+
+And just upon the border land,
+  Where flesh and spirit part,
+I knew the secret foot-fall was
+  The beating of my heart.
+
+
+
+
+NIGHT
+
+
+The night is old, and all the world
+  Is wearied out with strife;
+A long gray mist lies heavy and wan
+  Above the house of life.
+
+Four stars burn up and are unquelled
+  By the low, shrunken moon;
+Her spirit draws her down and down--
+  She shall be buried soon.
+
+There is a sound that is no sound,
+  Yet fine it falls and clear,
+The whisper of the spinning earth
+  To the tranced atmosphere.
+
+An odour lives where once was air,
+  A strange, unearthly scent,
+From the burning of the four great stars
+  Within the firmament.
+
+The universe, deathless and old,
+  Breathes, yet is void of breath:
+As still as death that seems to move
+  And yet is still as death.
+
+
+
+
+THE APPARITION
+
+
+Gentle angel with your mantle,
+  All of tender green,
+I was yearning for a vision
+  Of the life unseen.
+
+When you hovered in the sunset,
+  Just as rain was done;
+Where the dropping from the poplars
+  Seemed like rain begun.
+
+There you gathered forming slowly
+  Rounding into view:
+All your vesture glowed like verdure
+  When the sap is new.
+
+Then you mutely gave your warning
+  And I felt the stress
+Of its passion and its presage
+  And its utterness.
+
+There you swayed one tranquil moment,
+  Mystically fair,
+Then you were not of the sunset,
+  Were not in the air.
+
+
+
+
+AT SEA
+
+
+Three are emerald pools in the sea,
+  And wing-like flashes of light;
+The sea is bound with the heavens
+  In a large delight.
+
+Night comes out of the east
+  And rushes down on the sun;
+The emerald pools and the light pools
+  Are darkened and done.
+
+Our boat dips and cleaves onward,
+  Careless of night or of light,
+Following the line of her compass
+  By her engines' might.
+
+Through the desert of air and of water;
+  Like the lonely soul of man,
+Following her fate to the ending,
+  Unaware of the hidden plan.
+
+Sure only of battle and longing,
+  Of the pain and the quest,
+And beyond in the darkness somewhere
+  Sure of her rest.
+
+
+
+
+MADONNA WITH TWO ANGELS
+
+
+Under the sky without a stain
+The long, ripe, rippling of the grain;
+Light, broadcast from the golden oats
+Over the blackberry fences floats.
+Madonna sits in a cedar chair
+Tranquillized by the warm, still air;
+One of the angels asleep on her knee
+Under the shade of an apple tree.
+The other angel holds a doll,
+Covered warm in a tiny shawl;
+The toy is supposed to be fast asleep
+As the sister angel: in dimples deep
+The grave, sweet charm on the baby face
+Repeats the look of maturer grace
+That hovers about Madonna's eyes,
+One of the heavenly mysteries
+From far ethereal latitudes
+Where neither doubt nor trouble intrudes.
+Ponder here in the orchard nest
+On the truth of life made manifest:
+The struggle and effort was all to prove
+That the best of the world is home and love.
+
+
+
+
+MID-AUGUST
+
+
+From the upland hidden,
+  Where the hill is sunny
+  Tawny like pure honey
+  In the August heat,
+Memories float unbidden
+  Where the thicket serries
+  Fragrant with ripe berries
+  And the milk-weed sweet.
+
+Like a prayer-mat holy
+  Are the patterned mosses
+  Which the twin-flower crosses
+  With her flowerless vine;
+In fragile melancholy
+  The pallid ghost flowers hover
+  As if to guard and cover
+  The shadow of a shrine.
+
+Where the pine-linnet lingered
+  The pale water searches,
+  The roots of gleaming birches
+  Draw silver from the lake;
+The ripples, liquid-fingered,
+  Plucking the root-layers,
+  Fairy like lute players
+  Lulling music make.
+
+O to lie here brooding
+  Where the pine-tree column
+  Rises dark and solemn
+  To the airy lair,
+Where, the day eluding,
+  Night is couched dream laden,
+  Like a deep witch-maiden
+  Hidden in her hair.
+
+In filmy evanescence
+  Wraithlike scents assemble,
+  Then dissolve and tremble
+  A little until they die;
+Spirits of the florescence
+  Where the bees searched and tarried
+  Till the blossoms all were married
+  In the days before July.
+
+Light has lost its splendour,
+  Light refined and sifted,
+  Cool light and dream drifted
+  Ventures even where,
+(Seeping silver tender)
+  In the dim recesses,
+  Trembling mid her tresses,
+  Hides the maiden hair.
+
+Covered with the shy-light,
+  Filling in the hushes,
+  Slide the tawny thrushes
+  Calling to their broods,
+Hoarding till the twilight
+  The song that made for noon-days
+  Of the amorous June days
+  Preludes and interludes.
+
+The joy that I am feeling
+  Is there something in it
+  Unlike the warble the linnet
+  Phrases and intones?
+Or is a like thought stealing
+  With a rapture fine, free
+  Through the happy pine tree
+  Ripening her cones?
+
+In some high existence
+  In another planet
+  Where their poets cannot
+  Know our birds and flowers,
+Does the same persistence
+  Give the dreams they issue
+  Something like the tissue
+  Of these dreams of ours?
+
+O to lie athinking--
+  Moods and whims! I fancy
+  Only necromancy
+  Could the web unroll,
+Only somehow linking
+  Beauties that meet and mingle
+  In this quiet dingle
+  With the beauty of the whole.
+
+
+
+
+MIST AND FROST
+
+
+Veil-like and beautiful
+Gathered the dutiful
+    Mist in the night,
+True to the messaging,
+Dreamful and presaging
+    Vapour and light.
+
+Ghostly and chill it is,
+Pallid and still it is,
+    Sudden uprist;
+What is there tragical,
+Moving or magical,
+    Hid in the mist?
+
+Millions of essences,
+Fairy-like presences
+    Formless as yet;
+Light-riven spangles,
+Crystalline tangles
+    Floating unset.
+
+Frost will come shepherding
+Nowise enjeoparding
+    Frondage or flower;
+Just a degree of it,
+Nought can we see of it
+    Only its power.
+
+Earth like a Swimmer
+Plunged into the dimmer
+    Wave of the night,
+Now is uprisen,
+An Elysian vision
+    Of spray and of light.
+
+'Tis the intangible
+Delicate frangible
+    Secret of mist,
+Breathing may banish it,
+Thought may evanish it,--
+    Ponder and whist!
+
+Passionless purity,
+Calmness in surety
+    Dwells everywhere,
+A winnowed whiteness,
+A lunar lightness
+    Glows in the air.
+
+But in the heart of it
+Every least part of it
+    Blooms with the charm,
+Star-shape and frondage
+Broken from bondage
+    Forged into form.
+
+Crystals encrusted,
+Diamonds dusted
+    Line everything,
+Tiny the stencillings
+Are as the pencillings
+    On a moth's wing.
+
+And O, what a wonder!
+No farther asunder
+    Than atoms are laid,
+The arches and angles
+Of star-froth and spangles
+    Cast their own shade.
+
+Out from the chalices,
+The pigmy palaces
+    Where the tint hides,
+Opal and sapphire
+Half-pearl and half-fire
+    The colour slides;
+
+Till the frail miracle
+Rapturous lyrical
+    Flushes and glows
+With a wraith of florescence
+That tempers or lessens
+    The light of the snows.
+
+Held all aquiver,--
+But now with a shiver
+    The power of the sun
+Dissolves the laces
+Of the tender mazes,
+    All is undone.
+
+But the old Earth brooding,
+All wisdom including,
+    Affirms and assures
+That above the material,
+Triumphal imperial
+    Beauty endures.
+
+
+
+
+THE BEGGAR AND THE ANGEL
+
+
+An angel burdened with self-pity
+Came out of heaven to a modern city.
+
+He saw a beggar on the street,
+Where the tides of traffic meet.
+
+A pair of brass-bound hickory pegs
+Brought him his pence instead of legs.
+
+A murky dog by him did lie,
+Poodle, in part, his ancestry.
+
+The angel stood and thought upon
+This poodle-haunted beggar man.
+
+"My life is grown a bore," said he,
+"One long round of sciamachy;
+
+I think I'll do a little good,
+By way of change from angelhood."
+
+He drew near to the beggar grim,
+And gravely thus accosted him:
+
+"How would you like, my friend, to fly
+All day through the translucent sky;
+
+To knock at the door of the red leaven,
+And even to enter the orthodox heaven?
+
+If you would care to know this joy,
+I will surrender my employ,
+
+And take your ills, collect your pelf,
+An humble beggar like yourself.
+
+For ages you these joys may know,
+While I shall suffer here below;
+
+And in the end we both may gain
+Access of pleasure from my pain."
+
+The stationary vagrant said,
+"I do not mind, so go ahead."
+
+The angel told the heavenly charm,
+He felt a wing on either arm;
+
+"Good-day," he said, "this floating's queer
+If I should want to change next year--?"
+
+"Pull out that feather!" the angel said,
+"The one half black and the other half red."
+
+The cripple cried, "Before you're through
+You may get fagged, and if you do,--"
+
+The angel superciliously--
+"My transformed friend, don't think of me.
+
+I shall be happy day and night,
+In doing what I think is right."
+
+"So so," the feathered beggar said,
+"Good-bye, I am just overhead."
+
+          *      *      *      *      *
+
+The angel when he grasped the dish,
+Began to criticize his wish.
+
+The seat was hard as granite rocks,
+His real legs were in the box.
+
+His knees were cramped, his shins were sore,
+The lying pegs stuck out before.
+
+In vain he clinked the dish and whined.
+The passers-by seemed deaf and blind.
+
+As pious looking as Saint Denis,
+An urchin stole his catch-penny.
+
+And even the beggar's drab-fleeced poodle
+Began to know him for a noodle.
+
+"It has an uncelestial scent,
+The clothing of this mendicant;"
+
+He cried, "That trickling down my spine
+Is anything but hyaline.
+
+This day is like a thousand years:
+I'd give an age of sighs and tears
+
+To see with his confectioned grin
+One cherub sitting on his chin.
+
+That cripple was by far too sly--
+I wish he'd tumble from the sky,
+
+That things might be as they were before;
+I really cannot stand much more!"
+
+          *      *      *      *      *
+
+The beggar in the angel's guise,
+Rose far above the smoky skies.
+
+But being a beggar, never saw
+The charm of the compelling law
+
+That turned the swinging universe:
+'Twas gloomy as an empty purse.
+
+Often with heaven in his head,
+He blundered on a planet dead.
+
+And when with an immortal fuss,
+He singed his wings at Sirius.
+
+He plucked the feather with his teeth,
+The charm was potent and beneath,
+
+He saw the turmoil of the way
+Grown wilder at the close of day,
+
+With the sad poodle, can in hand,
+The angel still at the old stand.
+
+"My friend," said the angel, hemming and humming,
+"Truly I thought you were never coming."
+
+"That's an unhandsome thing to say,
+Seeing I've only been gone a day.
+
+But there's nothing in all your brazen sky
+To match the cock of that poodle's eye.
+
+Take your dish and give me my wings,
+'Tis but a fair exchange of things."
+
+          *      *      *      *      *
+
+The beggar felt his garment's rot,
+The horn ridge of each callous spot;
+
+He clinked his can and was content;
+His poverty was permanent.
+
+
+
+
+IMPROVISATION ON AN OLD SONG
+
+(The refrain is quoted by Edward Fitzgerald in
+one of his letters)
+
+
+I
+
+Growing, growing, all the glory going;
+Flashing out of fire and light, burning to a husk,
+All the world's a-dying and failing in the dusk--
+  _Growing, growing, all the glory going._
+
+Rust is on the door-latch, ashes at the root,
+Dry rot in the ridge-pole, canker in the fruit;
+  _Growing, growing, all the glory going._
+
+Plot, ye subtle statesmen,--a trace of melted wax;
+Bind, ye haughty prelates,--a thread of ravelled flax;
+  _Growing, growing, all the glory going._
+
+March, ye mighty captains,--an eddy in the dust;
+Rave, ye furious lovers,--a stain of crimson rust;
+  _Growing, growing, all the glory going._
+
+Pictures, poems, music--their essential soul,
+Idle as dry roses in a silver bowl;
+  _Growing, growing, all the glory going._
+
+London is a hearsay, Paris but a myth,
+Rome a wand of sweet-flag withered to the pith;
+  _Growing, growing, all the glory going._
+
+Palsy shakes the planets, frost has chilled the sun,
+In a crushing silence the All is dead and done.
+  _Growing, growing, all the glory going._
+
+
+II
+
+Going, going, all the glory growing,
+See it stir and flutter; that is singing, hark!
+Singing in the caverns of the primal dark.
+  _Going, going, all the glory growing._
+
+What is in the making, what immortal plan
+Draws to its unfolding? 'Tis the Soul of man.
+  _Going, going, all the glory growing._
+
+See it mount and hover, singing as it goes,
+Battling with the darkness, nourished by its woes;
+  _Going, going, all the glory growing._
+
+The bale-fires of midnight glaring in its eyes,
+Past the phantom shadows see it rush and rise;
+  _Going, going, all the glory growing._
+
+The supernal morning on its dewy wings,
+Soaring and scorning the lust of earthy things;
+  _Going, going, all the glory growing._
+
+The beatific noontide on its eager breast
+Springing and singing to its halcyon rest;
+  _Going, going, all the glory growing._
+
+In its starry vesture not a vestige of the sod,
+Winging still and singing to the heart of God.
+  _Going, going, all the glory growing._
+
+
+
+
+O TURN ONCE MORE
+
+
+O turn once more!
+  The meadows where we mused and strayed together
+Abound and glow yet with the ruby sorrel;
+'Twas there the bluebirds fought and played together,
+Their quarrel was a flying bluebird-quarrel;
+Their nest is firm still in the burnished cherry,
+They will come back there some day and be merry;
+  O turn once more.
+
+O turn once more!
+  The spring we lingered at is ever steeping
+The long, cool grasses where the violets hide,
+Where you awoke the flower-heads from their sleeping
+And plucked them, proud in their inviolate pride;
+You left the roots, the roots will flower again,
+O turn once more and pluck the flower again;
+  O turn once more.
+
+O turn once more!
+  We were the first to find the fairy places
+Where the tall lady-slippers scarf'd and snooded,
+Painted their lovely thoughts upon their faces,
+And then, bewitched by their own beauty brooded;
+This will recur in some enchanted fashion;
+Time will repeat his miracles of passion;
+  O turn once more.
+
+O turn once more!
+  What heart is worth the longing for, the winning,
+That is not moved by currents of surprise;
+Who never breaks the silken thread in spinning,
+Shows a bare spindle when the daylight dies;
+The constant blood will yet flow full and tender;
+The thread will mended be though gossamer-slender;
+  O turn once more.
+
+
+
+
+AT THE GILL-NETS
+
+
+Tug at the net,
+Haul at the net,
+Strip off the quivering fish;
+Hid in the mist
+The winds whist,
+Is like my heart's wish.
+
+What is your wish,
+Your heart's wish?
+Is it for home on the hills?
+Strip off the fish,
+The silver fish,
+Caught by their rosy gills.
+
+How can I know,
+I love you so,
+Each little thought I get
+Is held so,
+It dies you know,
+Caught in your heart's net.
+
+Tug at your net,
+Your heart's net,
+Strip off my silver fancies;
+Keep them in rhyme,
+For a dull time,
+Fragile as frost pansies.
+
+
+
+
+A LOVE SONG
+
+
+I gave her a rose in early June,
+Fed with the sun and the dew,
+Each petal I said is a note in the tune,
+The rose is the whole tune through and through,
+The tune is the whole red-hearted rose,
+Flush and form, honey and hue,
+Lull with the cadence and throb to the close,
+I love you, I love you, I love you.
+
+She gave me a rose in early June,
+Fed with the sun and the dew,
+Each petal she said is a mount in the moon,
+The rose is the whole moon through and through,
+The moon is the whole pale-hearted rose,
+Round and radiance, burnish and blue,
+Break in the flood-tide that murmurs and flows,
+I love you, I love you, I love you.
+
+This is our love in early June,
+Fed with the sun and the dew,
+Moonlight and roses hid in a tune,
+The roses are music through and through,
+The moonlight falls in the breath of the rose,
+Light and cadence, honey and hue,
+Mingle, and murmur, and flow to the close,
+I love you, I love you, I love you.
+
+
+
+
+THREE SONGS
+
+
+I
+
+Where love is life
+The roses blow,
+Though winds be rude
+And cold the snow,
+The roses climb
+Serenely slow,
+They nod in rhyme
+We know--we know
+Where love is life
+The roses blow.
+
+Where life is love
+The roses blow,
+Though care be quick
+And sorrows grow,
+Their roots are twined
+With rose-roots so
+That rosebuds find
+A way to show
+Where life is love
+The roses blow.
+
+
+II
+
+Nothing came here but sunlight,
+  Nothing fell here but rain,
+Nothing blew but the mellow wind,
+  Here are the flowers again!
+
+No one came here but you, dear,
+  You with your magic train
+Of brightness and laughter and lightness,
+  Here is my joy again!
+
+
+III
+
+I have songs of dancing pleasure,
+  I have songs of happy heart,
+Songs are mine that pulse in measure
+  To the throbbing of the mart.
+
+Songs are mine of magic seeming,
+  In a land of love forlorn,
+Where the joys are had for dreaming,
+  At a summons from the horn.
+
+But my sad songs come unbidden,
+  Rising with a wilder zest,
+From the bitter pool that's hidden,
+  Deep--deep--deep within my breast.
+
+
+
+
+THE SAILOR'S SWEETHEART
+
+
+O if love were had for asking,
+  In the markets of the town,
+Hardly a lass would think to wear
+  A fine silken gown:
+But love is had by grieving
+By choosing and by leaving,
+And there's no one now to ask me
+If heavy lies my heart.
+
+O if love were had for a deep wish
+  In the deadness of the night,
+There'd be a truce to longing
+  Between the dusk and the light:
+But love is had for sighing,
+For living and for dying,
+And there's no one now to ask me
+If heavy lies my heart.
+
+O if love were had for taking
+  Like honey from the hive,
+The bees that made the tender stuff
+  Could hardly keep alive:
+But love it is a wounded thing,
+A tremor and a smart,
+And there's no one left to kiss me now
+Over my heavy heart.
+
+
+
+
+FEUILLES D'AUTOMNE
+
+
+Gather the leaves from the forest
+  And blow them over the world,
+The wind of winter follows
+  The wind of autumn furled.
+
+Only the beech tree cherishes
+  A leaf or two for ruth,
+Their stems too tough for the tempest,
+  Like thoughts of love and of youth.
+
+You may sit by the fire and ponder
+  While darkness veils the pane,
+And fear that your memories are rushing away
+  In the wind and the rain.
+
+But you'll find them in the quiet
+  When the clouds race with the moon,
+Making the tender silver sound
+  Of a beech in the month of June.
+
+For you cannot rob the memory
+  Of the leaves it loves the best;
+The wind of time may harry them,
+  It rushes away with the rest.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE HEROIC SOUL
+
+
+I
+
+Nurture thyself, O Soul, from the clear spring
+That wells beneath the secret inner shrine;
+Commune with its deep murmur,--'tis divine;
+Be faithful to the ebb and flow that bring
+The outer tide of Spirit to trouble and swing
+The inlet of thy being. Learn to know
+These powers, and life with all its venom and show
+Shall have no force to dazzle thee or sting:
+
+And when Grief comes thou shalt have suffered more
+Than all the deepest woes of all the world;
+Joy, dancing in, shall find thee nourished with mirth;
+Wisdom shall find her Master at thy door;
+And Love shall find thee crowned with love empearled;
+And death shall touch thee not but a new birth.
+
+
+II
+
+Be strong, O warring soul! For very sooth
+Kings are but wraiths, republics fade like rain,
+Peoples are reaped and garnered as the grain,
+And that alone prevails which is the truth:
+Be strong when all the days of life bear ruth
+And fury, and are hot with toil and strain:
+Hold thy large faith and quell thy mighty pain:
+Dream the great dream that buoys thine age with youth.
+
+Thou art an eagle mewed in a sea-stopped cave:
+He, poised in darkness with victorious wings,
+Keeps night between the granite and the sea,
+Until the tide has drawn the warder-wave:
+Then from the portal where the ripple rings,
+He bursts into the boundless morning,--free!
+
+
+
+
+RETROSPECT
+
+
+This is the mockery of the moving years;
+Youth's colour dies, the fervid morning glow
+Is gone from off the foreland; slow, slow,
+Even slower than the fount of human tears
+To empty, the consuming shadow nears
+That Time is casting on the worldly show
+Of pomp and glory. But falter not;--below
+That thought is based a deeper thought that cheers.
+
+Glean thou thy past; that will alone inure
+To catch thy heart up from a dark distress;
+It were enough to find one deed mature,
+Deep-rooted, mighty 'mid the toil and press;
+To save one memory of the sweet and pure,
+From out life's failure and its bitterness.
+
+
+
+
+FROST MAGIC
+
+
+I
+
+Now, in the moonrise, from a wintry sky,
+The frost has come to charm with elfin might
+This quiet room; to draw with symbols bright
+Faces and forms in fairest charactery
+Upon the casement; all the thoughts that lie
+Deep hidden in my heart's core he would tell,
+How the red shoots of fancy strike and swell,
+How they are watered, what soil nourished by.
+
+With eerie power he piles his atomies,
+Incrusted gems, star-glances overborne
+With lids of sleep pulled from the moth's bright eyes,
+And forests of frail ferns, blanched and forlorn,
+Where Oberon of unimagined size
+Might in the silver silence wind his horn.
+
+
+II
+
+With these alone he draws in magic lines,
+Faces that people dreams, and chiefly one
+Happy and brilliant as the northern sun,
+And by its darling side there gleams and shines
+One of God's children with the laughing signs
+Of dimples, and glad accents, and sweet cries,
+That angels are and heaven's memories:
+The wizard thus my soul's estate divines;
+
+All it holds dear he sets alone apart,
+Etches the past in likeness of dim groves
+Silvered in quiet rime and with rare art,
+In crystal spoils and fairy treasure-troves,
+He draws the picture of the happy heart,
+By those who love it most, whom most it loves.
+
+
+
+
+IN SNOW-TIME
+
+
+I have seen things that charmed the heart to rest:
+Faint moonlight on the towers of ancient towns,
+Flattering the soul to dream of old renowns;
+The first clear silver on the mountain crest
+Where the lone eagle by his chilly nest
+Called the lone soul to brood serenely free;
+Still pools of sunlight shimmering in the sea,
+Calm after storm, wherein the storm seemed blest.
+
+But here a peace deeper than peace is furled,
+Enshrined and chaliced from the changeful hour;
+The snow is still, yet lives in its own light.
+Here is the peace which brooded day and night,
+Before the heart of man with its wild power
+Had ever spurned or trampled the great world.
+
+
+
+
+TO A CANADIAN LAD KILLED IN THE WAR
+
+
+O noble youth that held our honour in keeping,
+And bore it sacred through the battle flame,
+How shall we give full measure of acclaim
+To thy sharp labour, thy immortal reaping?
+For though we sowed with doubtful hands, half sleeping,
+Thou in thy vivid pride hast reaped a nation,
+And brought it in with shouts and exultation,
+With drums and trumpets, with flags flashing and leaping.
+
+Let us bring pungent wreaths of balsam, and tender
+Tendrils of wild-flowers, lovelier for thy daring,
+And deck a sylvan shrine, where the maple parts
+The moonlight, with lilac bloom, and the splendour
+Of suns unwearied; all unwithered, wearing
+Thy valor stainless in our heart of hearts.
+
+
+
+
+THE CLOSED DOOR
+
+
+_The dew falls and the stars fall,
+The sun falls in the west,
+But never more
+Through the closed door,
+Shall the one that I loved best
+Return to me:
+A salt tear is the sea,
+All earth's air is a sigh,
+But they never can mourn for me
+With my heart's cry,
+For the one that I loved best
+Who caressed me with her eyes,
+And every morning came to me,
+With the beauty of sunrise,
+Who was health and wealth and all,
+Who never shall answer my call,
+While the sun falls in the west,
+The dew falls and the stars fall._
+
+
+
+
+BY A CHILD'S BED
+
+
+She breathèd deep,
+  And stepped from out life's stream
+Upon the shore of sleep;
+And parted from the earthly noise,
+Leaving her world of toys,
+To dwell a little in a dell of dream.
+
+Then brooding on the love I hold so free,
+  My fond possessions come to be
+Clouded with grief;
+These fairy kisses,
+This archness innocent,
+Sting me with sorrow and disturbed content:
+I think of what my portion might have been;
+A dearth of blisses,
+A famine of delights,
+If I had never had what now I value most;
+Till all I have seems something I have lost;
+A desert underneath the garden shows,
+And in a mound of cinders roots the rose.
+
+Here then I linger by the little bed,
+  Till all my spirit's sphere,
+Grows one half brightness and the other dead,
+One half all joy, the other vague alarms;
+And, holding each the other half in fee,
+Floats like the growing moon
+That bears implicitly
+Her lessening pearl of shadow
+Clasped in the crescent silver of her arms.
+
+
+
+
+ELIZABETH SPEAKS
+
+(Aetat Six)
+
+
+Now every night we light the grate
+And I sit up till _really_ late;
+My Father sits upon the right,
+My Mother on the left, and I
+Between them on an ancient chair,
+That once belonged to my Great-Gran,
+Before my Father was a man.
+We sit without another light;
+I really, truly never tire
+Watching that space, as black as night,
+That hangs behind the fire;
+For there sometimes, you know,
+The dearest, queerest little sparks,
+Without a sound creep to and fro;
+Sometimes they form in rings
+Or lines that look like many things,
+Like skipping ropes, or hoops, or swings:
+Before you know what you're about,
+They all go out!
+
+My Father says that they are gnomes,
+Beyond the grate they have their homes,
+In a tall, black, and windy town,
+Behind a door we cannot see.
+Often when it's time for bed
+The children run away instead,
+Out through the door to see our fire,
+Then their angry parents come
+With every candle in the town,
+The beadle with his lantern too,
+And search and rummage up and down,
+To catch the children as they play,
+Between the rows of new-mown hay,
+And bring them home;
+(They must be, O, so very small,
+How do they capture them at all?
+But then they must be very _dear_);
+When they can find no more
+They blow a horn we cannot hear,
+And march with the beadle at their head,
+Right through the little open door,
+Then close it tight and go to bed.
+
+My Mother says that may be so;
+(They both agree they're _gnomes_, you know).
+She says, she thinks that every night,
+The gnomes have had a fearful fight;
+Their valiant General has been slain,
+And all the soldiers leave the camp
+To dig his grave upon the plain;
+They drag the General on a gun;
+Every bandsman has a lamp
+And there's a torch for every one,
+They dig his grave with bayonets
+And wrap him grandly in his flag,
+Then they gather in a ring,
+The band plays very soft and low,
+And all the soldiers sing.
+(Of course we cannot hear, you know,)
+Then some one calls "The enemy comes!"
+They muffle up their pipes and drums;
+Every soldier in a fright
+Puts out his light.
+Then hand in hand, and very still,
+They clamber up the dark, dark hill
+And hold their breath tight--tight.
+
+(I'd like to know which tale is right.)
+
+O! there is something I forgot!
+Sometimes one little spark burns on
+Long after the rest have gone.
+
+My Father says that lamp is left
+By a little crooked, crotchety man,
+Who cannot find his wayward son;
+When the horn begins to blow,
+He has to drop his light and run.
+Of course he limps so slow
+He squeezes through the very last,
+When he is gone the naughty scamp
+Jumps up and puff! out goes the lamp.
+
+My Mother says that is the light,
+Borne by the very bravest knight;
+He is so very, very brave,
+He would not leave his General's grave,
+And when the Enemy General tries
+To make him tell where his General lies,
+He answers boldly, "I--will--not!"
+Then they shoot him on the spot,
+And give a horrid, dreadful shout,
+And then of course his light goes out.
+
+I sit and think when they are through,
+Which tale I like best of the two.
+Sometimes I like the _Father_ one;
+It is such fun!
+But then I love the _Mother_ one,
+That dear brave soldier and the rest:--
+  _Now which one do you like the best?_
+
+
+
+
+A LEGEND OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY
+
+
+At Bethlehem upon the hill,
+  The day was done, the night was nigh,
+The dusk was deep and had its will,
+The stars were very small and still,
+  Like unblown tapers, faint and high.
+
+The noises had begun to fall,
+  And quiet stole upon the place,
+The howl of dogs along the wall,
+Voices that from the houstops call
+  And answer, and the grace
+
+Of some low breath of even-song
+  Grew faint apace: between the rocks
+In misty pastures, and along
+The dim hillside with crook and thong
+  The lonely shepherds watched their flocks.
+
+The Inn-master within the Inn
+  Called loudly out after this sort,
+"Draw no more water, cease the din,
+Pile the loose fodder, and begin
+  To turn the mules out of the court.
+
+The time has come to shut the gate,
+  Make way," he cried, and then began
+To sweep and set the litter straight,
+And pile the saddle-bags and freight
+  Of some belated caravan.
+
+The drivers whirled their beasts about,
+  And beat them on with shoutings great;
+The nosebags slipped, the feed flew out,
+The water-buckets reeled, the rout
+  Went jostling onward to the gate.
+
+Came one unto the master then,
+  Hasting to find him through the gloom,
+"Give us a place to rest;" and when
+He spake, the master cried again,
+  "There is no room--there is no room."
+
+"But I have come from Nazareth,
+  Full three days' toil to Bethlehem"--
+"What matters that," the master saith,
+"For here is hardly room for breath;
+  The guests curse me for crowding them."
+
+"Hold, Sir! leave me not so, I pray"--
+  He plucked him sudden by the sleeve,
+"My wife is with me and doth say,
+Her hour hath come, I beg you, stay,
+  And make some plan for her relief."
+
+"Two hours ago you might have had
+  The chamber wherein stands the loom;
+But then to drive me wholly mad,
+Came this great merchant from Baghdad,
+  And thrust himself into the room.
+
+"There is no other shelf to call
+  A bed--But just beyond the gate,
+You may find shelter in a stall,
+If there be shelter left at all,
+  You may be even now too late."
+
+Beyond the gate within the night,
+  A figure rested on the ground,
+About her all the rout took flight,
+The dizzy noise, the flashing light,
+  The mules were tramping all around.
+
+Leaning in mute expectancy,
+  Beneath a stunted sycamore,
+She added darkness utterly,
+To the dim light, the shrouded tree,
+  By her hands held her face before.
+
+And yet to mock her eye's desire,
+  The cavern into which she stared,
+Was lit with disks and lines of fire;
+When triple darkness did conspire,
+  The secret founts of light were bared.
+
+And all the wheeling fire was rife
+  With haunting fears, her broken breath
+Grew short with this prophetic strife;
+What was for one the dawn of life,
+  Would be for one the dawn of death.
+
+Meantime the stranger with a lamp,
+  Which lit the darkness, small and wan,
+Searched where the mules did tramp and stamp,
+Amid the litter and the damp,
+  For some small place to rest upon.
+
+And there against the furthest wall,
+  Where the black shade was dense and deep,
+He found a mean and meager stall,
+But there when the weak light did fall,
+  He found a little lad asleep.
+
+He lifted up his childish head,
+  And smiled serenely at the light,
+"And have you found him, then," he said,
+"My brother who I thought was dead,
+  I lost him in the crowd last night.
+
+"His name is Ezra, and he is
+  So tall and strong that when I try,
+Standing on tiptoe for a kiss
+I could not reach, except for this,
+  He lifts me up so easily.
+
+"I had two little doves to take
+  Up to the booths"--he held his breath,
+"Peace, child! and for your mother's sake,
+Yield me this place--nay, nay! awake!
+  My weary wife is sick to death."
+
+"I will," the little lad replied
+  "I promised never to forget
+My mother, years ago she died,
+I will lie out on the hillside,
+  And I may find dear Ezra yet."
+
+And now she drooped her weary head,
+  Within that comfortless manger,
+It might have been a palace bed,
+With canopy of gold instead,
+  So little did she know or care.
+
+    _Gentle Jesus, slumber mild,
+      Lullaby, lullaby;
+    Succored by a little child,
+      Lull, lullaby._
+
+    _You of children are the king,
+      Lullaby, lullaby;
+    Sovereign to all ministering,
+      Lull, lullaby._
+
+    _Grace you bring them from above,
+      Lullaby, lullaby;
+    They give promise, lisping love,
+      Lull, lullaby._
+
+And out upon the darkened hill,
+  With all the quiet-pastured sheep,
+Charmed by the falling of a rill,
+Where in the pool it cadenced still,
+  The little lad was fallen asleep.
+
+All his young dreams were robed with power.
+  And glad were all his vision folk;
+He wandered on from hour to hour,
+With Ezra, happy as a flower
+  That blooms safe-shadowed by the oak.
+
+But once before his dreams were told,
+  He thought he saw within the deep
+Vault of the sky a rose unfold,
+Made all of fire and lovely gold,
+  Whose petals seemed to glow and leap,
+
+As if each dewy, crystal cell
+  Were a great angel live with light,
+And trembling to the coronal,
+Merging in sheen of pearl and shell,
+  With his great comrade, equal, bright,
+
+Until the petals flashed and sprang,
+  And folded to the central heart:
+Music there was that showered and rang,
+As if each angel harped and sang,
+  Controlled by some celestial art.
+
+The child saw splendor without name,
+  And turned and smiled, and all the noise
+Of strings and singing sank; it came
+Faint and dream-altered, yet the same,
+  Soft-tempered to his mother's voice.
+
+    _Slumber, slumber, gentle child,
+      Lullaby, lullaby;
+    Sweet as henna, dear and mild,
+      Lull, lullaby._
+
+    _You the first of all the race,
+      Lullaby, lullaby;
+    Gave your master early grace,
+      Lull, lullaby._
+
+    _Gave a shelter for his head,
+      Lullaby, lullaby;
+    Took the chilly earth instead,
+      Lull, lullaby._
+
+    _Now take comfort infant earth,
+      Lullaby, lullaby;
+    Jesus Christ is come to birth,
+      Lull, lullaby._
+
+    _For his principality,
+      Lullaby, lullaby;
+    Children cluster at his knee,
+      Lull, lullaby._
+
+    _Hail the heaven-happy age,
+      Lullaby, lullaby;
+    Love begins his pilgrimage,
+      Lull, lullaby._
+
+
+
+
+WILLOW-PIPES
+
+
+So in the shadow by the nimble flood
+He made her whistles of the willow wood,
+Flutes of one note with mellow slender tone;
+(A robin piping in the dusk alone).
+Lively the pleasure was the wand to bruise,
+And notch the light rod for its lyric use,
+Until the stem gave up its tender sheath,
+And showed the white and glistening wood beneath.
+And when the ground was covered with light chips,
+Grey leaves and green, and twigs and tender slips,
+They placed the well-made whistles in a row
+And left them for the careless wind to blow.
+
+
+
+
+ANGEL
+
+
+Come to me when grief is over,
+  When the tired eyes,
+Seek thy cloudy wings to cover
+  Close their burning skies.
+
+Come to me when tears have dwindled
+  Into drops of dew,
+When the sighs like sobs re-kindled
+  Are but deep and few.
+
+Hold me like a crooning mother,
+  Heal me of the smart;
+All mine anguish let me smother
+  In thy brooding heart.
+
+
+
+
+CHRISTMAS FOLK-SONG
+
+
+Those who die on Christmas Day
+(I heard the triumphant Seraph say)
+Will be remembered, for they died
+Upon the Holy Christmastide;
+When they attain to Paradise,
+The Angels with the tranquil Eyes
+Will ask if Jesus rules on Earth
+The Anniversary of His Birth;
+This Question do they ask alway
+Of those who die on Christmas Day.
+
+Those who are born on Christmas Day
+(I heard the triumphant Seraph say)
+Will bring again the Peace on Earth
+That came with gentle Christ His Birth;
+They may be lowly Folk and poor
+Living about the Manger Door,
+They may be Kings of Mighty Line,
+Their Lives alike will be benign;
+To them belongeth Peace alway,
+Those who are born on Christmas Day.
+
+
+
+
+FROM BEYOND
+
+
+Here there is balm for every tender heart
+  Wounded by life;
+Rest for each one who bore a valiant part
+  Crushed in the strife.
+
+I suffered there and held a losing fight
+  Even to the grave;
+And now I know that it was very right
+  To suffer and be brave.
+
+
+
+
+THE LEAF
+
+
+This silver-edged geranium leaf
+Is one sign of a bitter grief
+Whose symbols are a myriad more;
+They cluster round a carven stone
+Where she who sleeps is never alone
+For two hearts at the core,
+
+Bound with her heart make one of three,
+A trinity in unity,
+One sentient heart that grieves;
+And myriad dark-leaved memories keep
+Vigil above the triune sleep,--
+Edged all with silver are the leaves.
+
+
+
+
+A MYSTERY PLAY
+
+
+CHARACTERS
+
+The Father.  The Child.  Death.  Angels.
+            Two Travellers.
+
+          *      *      *      *      *
+
+_The even settles still and deep,
+In the cold sky the last gold burns,
+Across the colour snow flakes creep.
+Each one from grey to glory turns
+Then flutters into nothingness;
+The frost down falls with mighty stress
+Through the swift cloud that parts on high;
+The great stars shrivel into less
+In the hard depth of the iron sky._
+
+          *      *      *      *      *
+
+_The Child:_
+
+What is that light, dear father,
+  That light in the dark, dark sky?
+
+
+_The Father:_
+
+Those are the lights of the city
+  And the villages thereby.
+
+
+_The Child:_
+
+There must be fire in the city
+  To throw that yellow glare;
+And fire in the little villages
+  On all the hearthstones there.
+
+
+_The Father, musing:_
+
+Yea, flames are on the hearthstones;
+  The ovens are full of bread,
+But here the coals are dying
+  And the flames are dead.
+
+
+_The Child:_
+
+What is the cold, dear father?
+  It stings like an angry bee.
+Wherever it stings my hand turns white,
+  See!
+
+
+_The Father:_
+
+The cold is a beast, my dear one,
+  With his paws he tears at the thatch,
+His breath is a curse and a warning,
+  You can see it creep on the latch.
+
+
+_The Child:_
+
+If 'tis a wolf, dear father,
+  That lies with his paw on the floor,
+Let us heat the spade in the embers
+  And drive him away from the door.
+
+
+_Angels:_
+
+God is the power of growth,
+In the snail and the tree,
+God is the power of growth
+In the heart of the man.
+
+
+_The Child:_
+
+Did you not hear the singing,
+  Voices overhead?
+Mother's voice and Ruth's voice,
+  Voices of the dead.
+
+
+_The Father, musing:_
+
+Our Ruth died in the springtime,
+  With the spade I turned the sod,
+We buried her by the brier rose,
+  Her life is hid with God.
+
+
+_The Child:_
+
+All summer long in the garden
+  No roses came to the tree.
+Father, was it for sorrow,
+  Sorrow for thee and me?
+
+
+_The Father:_
+
+Roses grew in the garden,
+  I saw them at morning and even,
+Shadows of earthly roses
+  They bloomed for fingers in heaven.
+
+          *      *      *      *      *
+
+_The air is very clear and still,
+The moonlight falls from half the sphere;
+The shadow from the silver hill
+Fills half the vale, and half is clear
+As the moon's self with cloudless snow;
+By the dead stream the alders throw
+Their shadows, shot with tingling spars;
+On the sheer height the elm trees glow:
+Their tops are tangled with the stars._
+
+          *      *      *      *      *
+
+_The Child:_
+
+Father, the coals are dying,
+  See! I have heated the spade,
+Let me throw the door wide open,
+  I will not be afraid.
+
+
+_The Father:_
+
+Let me kiss you once on the forehead,
+  And once on your darling eyes;
+We may see them both at the dawning,
+  In the dales of Paradise.
+
+
+_The Child:_
+
+And if I only see them,
+  I will tell them how you smiled;
+For the wolf, you know, is angry,
+  And I am a little child.
+
+
+_Death:_
+
+Undaunted spirits,
+I give thee peace,
+For a world of dread--
+Calm.
+For desperate toil--
+Rest.
+Thou who didst say,
+When the waters of poverty
+Waxed deep, deep,
+What we bear is best;
+Just ones,
+I give thee sleep.
+
+
+_First Traveller:_
+
+Keep up your spirits, I know
+There's a cabin under the hill,
+The fellow will make a roaring fire;
+We'll heat our hands and drink our fill
+And go warm to our heart's desire!
+
+
+_Second Traveller:_
+
+The door is open,--Heigho!
+This pair will claim neither crown nor groat,
+The man has gripped his garden spade
+As if he would dig his grave in the snow;
+The boy has the face of a saint, I trow;
+His brow says, "I was not afraid!"
+
+
+_First Traveller:_
+
+Ah well, these things must be, you know!
+Gather your sables around your throat;
+Give us that story about the monk,
+His niece, and the wandering conjurer,
+Just to keep our blood astir.
+
+
+_The Angels:_
+
+The heart of God,
+The worlds and man,
+Are fashioned and moulded,
+In a subtle plan;
+Passion outsurges,
+Sweeps far but converges:
+Nothing is lost,
+Sod or stone,
+But comes to its own;
+Bear well thy joy,
+'Tis mixed with alloy,
+Bear well thy grief,
+'Tis a rich full sheaf:
+Gather the souls that have passed in the night,
+Theirs is the peace and the light.
+
+          *      *      *      *      *
+
+_The moon is gone, the dawning brings
+A deeper dark with silver blent,
+Above the wells where, myriad, springs
+Light from the crimson orient;
+The elms are born, the shadows creep,
+Tremble and melt away--one sweep
+The great soft color floods and flows,
+Where under snow the roses sleep;
+The morn has turned the snow to rose._
+
+
+
+
+LINES IN MEMORY OF EDMUND MORRIS
+
+
+Dear Morris--here is your letter--
+Can my answer reach you now?
+Fate has left me your debtor,
+You will remember how;
+For I went away to Nantucket,
+And you to the Isle of Orleans,
+And when I was dawdling and dreaming
+Over the ways and means
+Of answering, the power was denied me,
+Fate frowned and took her stand;
+I have your unanswered letter
+Here in my hand.
+This--in your famous scribble,
+It was ever a cryptic fist,
+Cuneiform or Chaldaic
+Meanings held in a mist.
+
+Dear Morris, (now I'm inditing
+And poring over your script)
+I gather from the writing,
+The coin that you had flipt,
+Turned tails; and so you compel me
+To meet you at Touchwood Hills:
+Or, mayhap, you are trying to tell me
+The sum of a painter's ills:
+Is that Phimister Proctor
+Or something about a doctor?
+Well, nobody knows, but Eddie,
+Whatever it is I'm ready.
+
+For our friendship was always fortunate
+In its greetings and adieux,
+Nothing flat or importunate,
+Nothing of the misuse
+That comes of the constant grinding
+Of one mind on another.
+So memory has nothing to smother,
+But only a few things captured
+On the wing, as it were, and enraptured.
+Yes, Morris, I am inditing--
+Answering at last it seems,
+How can you read the writing
+In the vacancy of dreams?
+
+I would have you look over my shoulder
+Ere the long, dark year is colder,
+And mark that as memory grows older,
+The brighter it pulses and gleams.
+And if I should try to render
+The tissues of fugitive splendour
+That fled down the wind of living,
+Will they read it some day in the future,
+And be conscious of an awareness
+In our old lives, and the bareness
+Of theirs, with the newest passions
+In the last fad of the fashions?
+
+          *      *      *      *      *
+
+How often have we risen without daylight
+When the day star was hidden in mist,
+When the dragon-fly was heavy with dew and sleep,
+And viewed the miracle pre-eminent, matchless,
+The prelusive light that quickens the morning.
+O crystal dawn, how shall we distill your virginal freshness
+When you steal upon a land that man has not sullied with his
+    intrusion,
+When the aboriginal shy dwellers in the broad solitudes
+Are asleep in their innumerable dens and night haunts
+Amid the dry ferns, in the tender nests
+Pressed into shape by the breasts of the Mother birds?
+How shall we simulate the thrill of announcement
+When lake after lake lingering in the starlight
+Turn their faces towards you,
+And are caressed with the salutation of colour?
+
+How shall we transmit in tendril-like images,
+The tenuous tremor in the tissues of ether,
+Before the round of colour buds like the dome of a shrine,
+The preconscious moment when love has fluttered in the bosom,
+Before it begins to ache?
+
+How often have we seen the even
+Melt into the liquidity of twilight,
+With passages of Titian splendour,
+Pellucid preludes, exquisitely tender,
+Where vanish and revive, thro' veils of the ashes of roses,
+The crystal forms the breathless sky discloses.
+
+The new moon a slender thing,
+In a snood of virgin light,
+She seemed all shy on venturing
+Into the vast night.
+
+Her own land and folk were afar,
+She must have gone astray,
+But the gods had given a silver star,
+To be with her on the way.
+
+          *      *      *      *      *
+
+I can feel the wind on the prairie
+And see the bunch-grass wave,
+And the sunlights ripple and vary
+The hill with Crowfoot's grave,
+Where he "pitched off" for the last time
+In sight of the Blackfoot Crossing,
+Where in the sun for a pastime
+You marked the site of his tepee
+With a circle of stones. Old Napiw
+Gave you credit for that day.
+And well I recall the weirdness
+Of that evening at Qu'Appelle,
+In the wigwam with old Sakimay,
+The keen, acrid smell,
+As the kinnikinick was burning;
+The planets outside were turning,
+And the little splints of poplar
+Flared with a thin, gold flame.
+He showed us his painted robe
+Where in primitive pigments
+He had drawn his feats and his forays,
+And told us the legend
+Of the man without a name,
+The hated Blackfoot,
+How he lured the warriors,
+The young men, to the foray
+And they never returned.
+Only their ghosts
+Goaded by the Blackfoot
+Mounted on stallions:
+In the night time
+He drove the stallions
+Reeking into the camp;
+The women gasped and whispered,
+The children cowered and crept,
+And the old men shuddered
+Where they slept.
+When Sakimay looked forth
+He saw the Blackfoot,
+And the ghosts of the warriors,
+And the black stallions
+Covered by the night wind
+As by a mantle.
+
+          *      *      *      *      *
+
+I remember well a day,
+When the sunlight had free play,
+When you worked in happy stress,
+While grave Ne-Pah-Pee-Ness
+Sat for his portrait there,
+In his beaded coat and his bare
+Head, with his mottled fan
+Of hawk's feathers, A Man!
+Ah Morris, those were the times
+When you sang your inconsequent rhymes
+Sprung from a careless fountain:
+
+"_He met her on the mountain,
+He gave her a horn to blow,
+And the very last words he said to her
+Were, 'Go 'long, Eliza, go.'_"
+
+Foolish,--but life was all,
+And under the skilful fingers
+Contours came at your call--
+Art grows and time lingers;--
+But now the song has a change
+Into something wistful and strange.
+And one asks with a touch of ruth
+What became of the youth
+And where did Eliza go?
+He met her on the mountain,
+He gave her a horn to blow,
+The horn was a silver whorl
+With a mouthpiece of pure pearl,
+And the mountain was all one glow,
+With gulfs of blue and summits of rosy snow.
+The cadence she blew on the silver horn
+Was the meaning of life in one phrase caught,
+And as soon as the magic notes were born,
+She repeated them once in an afterthought.
+They heard in the crystal passes,
+The cadence, calling, calling,
+And faint in the deep crevasses,
+The echoes falling, falling.
+They stood apart and wondered;
+Her lips with a wound were aquiver,
+His heart with a sword was sundered,
+For life was changed forever
+When he gave her the horn to blow:
+But a shadow arose from the valley,
+Desolate, slow and tender,
+It hid the herdsmen's chalet,
+Where it hung in the emerald meadow,
+(Was death driving the shadow?)
+It quenched the tranquil splendour
+Of the colour of life on the glow-peaks,
+Till at the end of the even,
+The last shell-tint on the snow-peaks
+Had passed away from the heaven.
+And yet, when it passed, victorious,
+The stars came out on the mountains,
+And the torrents gusty and glorious,
+Clamoured in a thousand fountains,
+And even far down in the valley,
+A light re-discovered the chalet.
+The scene that was veiled had a meaning,
+So deep that none might know;
+Was it here in the morn on the mountain,
+That he gave her the horn to blow?
+
+          *      *      *      *      *
+
+Tears are the crushed essence of this world,
+The wine of life, and he who treads the press
+Is lofty with imperious disregard
+Of the burst grapes, the red tears and the murk.
+But nay! that is a thought of the old poets,
+Who sullied life with the passional bitterness
+Of their world-weary hearts. We of the sunrise,
+Joined in the breast of God, feel deep the power
+That urges all things onward, not to an end,
+But in an endless flow, mounting and mounting,
+Claiming not overmuch for human life,
+Sharing with our brothers of nerve and leaf
+The urgence of the one creative breath,--
+All in the dim twilight--say of morning,
+Where the florescence of the light and dew
+Haloes and hallows with a crown adorning
+The brows of life with love; herein the clue,
+The love of life--yea, and the peerless love
+Of things not seen, that leads the least of things
+To cherish the green sprout, the hardening seed;
+Here leans all nature with vast Mother-love,
+Above the cradled future with a smile.
+Why are there tears for failure, or sighs for weakness,
+While life's rhythm beats on? Where is the rule
+To measure the distance we have circled and clomb?
+Catch up the sands of the sea and count and count
+The failures hidden in our sum of conquest.
+Persistence is the master of this life;
+The master of these little lives of ours;
+To the end--effort--even beyond the end.
+
+          *      *      *      *      *
+
+Here, Morris, on the plains that we have loved,
+Think of the death of Akoose, fleet of foot,
+Who, in his prime, a herd of antelope
+From sunrise, without rest, a hundred miles
+Drove through rank prairie, loping like a wolf,
+Tired them and slew them, ere the sun went down.
+Akoose, in his old age, blind from the smoke
+Of tepees and the sharp snow light, alone
+With his great grandchildren, withered and spent,
+Crept in the warm sun along a rope
+Stretched for his guidance. Once when sharp autumn
+Made membranes of thin ice upon the sloughs,
+He caught a pony on a quick return
+Of prowess and, all his instincts cleared and quickened,
+He mounted, sensed the north and bore away
+To the Last Mountain Lake where in his youth
+He shot the sand-hill-cranes with his flint arrows.
+And for these hours in all the varied pomp
+Of pagan fancy and free dreams of foray
+And crude adventure, he ranged on entranced,
+Until the sun blazed level with the prairie,
+Then paused, faltered and slid from off his pony.
+In a little bluff of poplars, hid in the bracken,
+He lay down; the populace of leaves
+In the lithe poplars whispered together and trembled,
+Fluttered before a sunset of gold smoke,
+With interspaces, green as sea water,
+And calm as the deep water of the sea.
+
+There Akoose lay, silent amid the bracken,
+Gathered at last with the Algonquin Chieftains.
+Then the tenebrous sunset was blown out,
+And all the smoky gold turned into cloud wrack.
+Akoose slept forever amid the poplars,
+Swathed by the wind from the far-off Red Deer
+Where dinosaurs sleep, clamped in their rocky tombs.
+Who shall count the time that lies between
+The sleep of Akoose and the dinosaurs?
+Innumerable time, that yet is like the breath
+Of the long wind that creeps upon the prairie
+And dies away with the shadows at sundown.
+
+          *      *      *      *      *
+
+What we may think, who brood upon the theme,
+Is, when the old world, tired of spinning, has fallen
+Asleep, and all the forms, that carried the fire
+Of life, are cold upon her marble heart--
+Like ashes on the altar--just as she stops,
+That something will escape of soul or essence,--
+The sum of life, to kindle otherwhere:
+Just as the fruit of a high sunny garden,
+Grown mellow with autumnal sun and rain,
+Shrivelled with ripeness, splits to the rich heart,
+And looses a gold kernel to the mould,
+So the old world, hanging long in the sun,
+And deep enriched with effort and with love,
+Shall, in the motions of maturity,
+Wither and part, and the kernel of it all
+Escape, a lovely wraith of spirit, to latitudes
+Where the appearance, throated like a bird,
+Winged with fire and bodied all with passion,
+Shall flame with presage, not of tears, but joy.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Lundy's Lane and Other Poems, by 
+Duncan Campbell Scott
+
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+	.poem p.i8 {margin-left: 4em;}
+	.poem p.i10 {margin-left: 5em;}
+	.poem p.i12 {margin-left: 6em;}
+	.poem p.i14 {margin-left: 8em;}
+	.poem p.i16 {margin-left: 9em;}
+	.poem p.i18 {margin-left: 12em;}
+	.poem p.i20 {margin-left: 14em;}
+	.poem p.i22 {margin-left: 16em;}
+
+	a:link {color: #33C;
+		background-color: inherit;
+		text-decoration: underline}
+	link {color: #33C;
+		background-color: inherit;
+		text-decoration: none}
+	a:visited {color:#33C;
+		background-color: inherit;
+		text-decoration: none}
+	a:hover {color:#F00;
+		background-color: inherit}
+
+</style>
+</head>
+<body>
+
+
+<pre>
+
+Project Gutenberg's Lundy's Lane and Other Poems, by Duncan Campbell Scott
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Lundy's Lane and Other Poems
+
+Author: Duncan Campbell Scott
+
+Release Date: September 22, 2007 [EBook #22717]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LUNDY'S LANE AND OTHER POEMS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+<p class="img">
+<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Book cover" width="302" height="458">
+</p>
+<p class="img">
+<img src="images/001.jpg" alt="Photo of Duncan Campbell Scott" width="276" height="440">
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<h1>
+<i>
+Lundy's Lane
+</i>
+</h1>
+<h2>
+<i>
+and Other Poems
+</i>
+</h2>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<h3>
+<i>
+By
+</i>
+</h3>
+<h2>
+<i>
+Duncan Campbell Scott
+</i>
+</h2>
+<p class="ctr">
+<i>
+Author of &#34;The Magic House,&#34; &#34;In the Village of Viger,&#34; etc., etc.
+</i>
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<h4>
+<i>
+McClelland, Goodchild &#38; Stewart
+<br>
+Publishers
+</i>
+:: :: :: ::
+<i>
+Toronto
+</i>
+</h4>
+<h4>
+Copyright, 1916,
+<br>
+By GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
+</h4>
+<h4>
+Printed in the United States of America
+</h4>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<hr class="short">
+<p class="dedication">
+To the Memory of My Daughter
+<br>
+ELIZABETH DUNCAN SCOTT
+<br>
+1895-1907
+</p>
+<hr class="med">
+<p class="ctr">
+<big>
+CONTENTS
+</big>
+</p>
+<p class="page">
+Page
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<ul class="toc">
+<li>
+THE BATTLE OF LUNDY'S LANE<a href="#13"><span class="right">13</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+&nbsp;
+</li>
+<li>
+VIA BOREALIS&#8212;
+<ul class="list">
+<li>
+Spring on Mattagami<a href="#25"><span class="right">25</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+An Impromptu<a href="#36"><span class="right">36</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+The Half-Breed Girl<a href="#38"><span class="right">38</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+Night Burial in the Forest<a href="#41"><span class="right">41</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+Dream Voyageurs<a href="#44"><span class="right">44</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+Song: Creep into My Heart<a href="#45"><span class="right">45</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+Ecstasy<a href="#46"><span class="right">46</span></a>
+</li>
+</ul>
+</li>
+<li>
+&nbsp;
+</li>
+<li>
+LYRICS, SONGS AND SONNETS&#8212;
+<ul class="list">
+<li>
+Meditation at Perugia<a href="#49"><span class="right">49</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+At William MacLennan's Grave. Near Florence<a href="#53"><span class="right">53</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+The Wood-Spring to the Poet<a href="#56"><span class="right">56</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+The November Pansy<a href="#63"><span class="right">63</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+The Height of Land<a href="#68"><span class="right">68</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+New Year's Night, 1916<a href="#77"><span class="right">77</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+Fragment of an Ode to Canada<a href="#79"><span class="right">79</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+Fantasia<a href="#84"><span class="right">84</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+The Lover to His Lass<a href="#86"><span class="right">86</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+The Ghost's Story<a href="#90"><span class="right">90</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+Night<a href="#92"><span class="right">92</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+The Apparition<a href="#94"><span class="right">94</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+At Sea<a href="#96"><span class="right">96</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+Madonna with Two Angels<a href="#98"><span class="right">98</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+Mid-August<a href="#100"><span class="right">100</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+Mist and Frost<a href="#105"><span class="right">105</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+The Beggar and the Angel<a href="#110"><span class="right">110</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+Improvisation on an Old Song<a href="#117"><span class="right">117</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+O Turn Once More<a href="#121"><span class="right">121</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+At the Gill-Nets<a href="#124"><span class="right">124</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+A Love Song<a href="#126"><span class="right">126</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+Three Songs:
+<ul class="number">
+<li>
+Where love is life<a href="#128"><span class="right">128</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+Nothing came here but sunlight<a href="#129_1"><span class="right">129</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+I have songs of dancing pleasure<a href="#129_2"><span class="right">129</span></a>
+</li>
+</ul>
+</li>
+<li>
+The Sailor's Sweetheart<a href="#131"><span class="right">131</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+Feuilles d'Automne<a href="#133"><span class="right">133</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+To the Heroic Soul:
+<ul class="number">
+<li>
+Nurture thyself, O Soul!<a href="#135"><span class="right">135</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+Be strong, O Warring Soul!<a href="#136"><span class="right">136</span></a>
+</li>
+</ul>
+</li>
+<li>
+Retrospect<a href="#138"><span class="right">138</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+Frost Magic:
+<ul class="number">
+<li>
+Now in the moonrise, from a wintry sky<a href="#139"><span class="right">139</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+With these alone he draws in magic lines<a href="#140"><span class="right">140</span></a>
+</li>
+</ul>
+</li>
+<li>
+In Snow-Time<a href="#142"><span class="right">142</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+To a Canadian Lad Killed in the War<a href="#143"><span class="right">143</span></a>
+</li>
+</ul>
+</li>
+<li>
+&nbsp;
+</li>
+<li>
+THE CLOSED DOOR&#8212;
+<ul class="list">
+<li>
+By a Child's Bed<a href="#147"><span class="right">147</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+Elizabeth Speaks<a href="#149"><span class="right">149</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+A Legend of Christ's Nativity<a href="#154"><span class="right">154</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+Willow-Pipes<a href="#163"><span class="right">163</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+Angel<a href="#164"><span class="right">164</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+Christmas Folk-Song<a href="#165"><span class="right">165</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+From Beyond<a href="#166"><span class="right">166</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+The Leaf<a href="#167"><span class="right">167</span></a>
+</li>
+<li>
+A Mystery Play<a href="#168"><span class="right">168</span></a>
+</li>
+</ul>
+</li>
+<li>
+&nbsp;
+</li>
+<li>
+LINES IN MEMORY OF EDMUND MORRIS<a href="#179"><span class="right">179</span></a>
+</li>
+</ul>
+<hr class="long">
+<p class="section">
+THE BATTLE OF LUNDY'S LANE
+</p>
+<a name="13">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+THE BATTLE OF LUNDY'S LANE
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+Rufus Gale speaks&#8212;1852
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Yes,&#8212;in the Lincoln Militia,&#8212;in the war of eighteen-twelve;
+</p>
+<p>
+Many's the day I've had since then to dig and delve&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+But those are the years I remember as the brightest years of all,
+</p>
+<p>
+When we left the plow in the furrow to follow the bugle's call.
+</p>
+<p>
+Why, even our son Abner wanted to fight with the men!
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Don't you go, d'ye hear, sir!&#34;&#8212;I was angry with him then.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Stay with your mother!&#34; I said, and he looked so old and grim&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+He was just sixteen that April&#8212;I couldn't believe it was him;
+</p>
+<p>
+But I didn't think&#8212;I was off&#8212;and we met the foe again,
+</p>
+<p>
+Five thousand strong and ready, at the hill by Lundy's Lane.
+</p>
+<p>
+There as the night came on we fought them from six to nine,
+</p>
+<p>
+Whenever they broke our line we broke their line,
+</p>
+<p>
+They took our guns and we won them again, and around the levels
+</p>
+<p>
+Where the hill sloped up&#8212;with the Eighty-ninth,&#8212;we fought like devils
+</p>
+<p>
+Around the flag;&#8212;and on they came and we drove them back,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Until with its very fierceness the fight grew slack.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+It was then about nine and dark as a miser's pocket,
+</p>
+<p>
+When up came Hercules Scott's brigade swift as a rocket,
+</p>
+<p>
+And charged,&#8212;and the flashes sprang in the dark like a lion's eyes;
+</p>
+<p>
+The night was full of fire&#8212;groans, and cheers, and cries;
+</p>
+<p>
+Then through the sound and the fury another sound broke in&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+The roar of a great old duck-gun shattered the rest of the din;
+</p>
+<p>
+It took two minutes to charge it and another to set it free.
+</p>
+<p>
+Every time I heard it an angel spoke to me;
+</p>
+<p>
+Yes, the minute I heard it I felt the strangest tide
+</p>
+<p>
+Flow in my veins like lightning, as if, there, by my side,
+</p>
+<p>
+Was the very spirit of Valor. But 'twas dark&#8212;you couldn't see&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+And the one who was firing the duck-gun fell against me
+</p>
+<p>
+And slid down to the clover, and lay there still;
+</p>
+<p>
+Something went through me&#8212;piercing&#8212;with a strange, swift thrill;
+</p>
+<p>
+The noise fell away into silence, and I heard as clear as thunder
+</p>
+<p>
+The long, slow roar of Niagara: O the wonder
+</p>
+<p>
+Of that deep sound. But again the battle broke
+</p>
+<p>
+And the foe, driven before us desperately&#8212;stroke upon stroke,
+</p>
+<p>
+Left the field to his master, and sullenly down the road
+</p>
+<p>
+Sounded the boom of his guns, trailing the heavy load
+</p>
+<p>
+Of his wounded men and his shattered flags, sullen and slow,
+</p>
+<p>
+Setting fire in his rage to Bridgewater mills and the glow
+</p>
+<p>
+Flared in the distant forest. We rested as we could,
+</p>
+<p>
+And for a while I slept in the dark of a maple wood:
+</p>
+<p>
+But when the clouds in the east were red all over,
+</p>
+<p>
+I came back there to the place we made the stand in the clover;
+</p>
+<p>
+For my heart was heavy then with a strange deep pain,
+</p>
+<p>
+As I thought of the glorious fight, and again and again
+</p>
+<p>
+I remembered the valiant spirit and the piercing thrill;
+</p>
+<p>
+But I knew it all when I reached the top of the hill,&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+For there, there with the blood on his dear, brave head,
+</p>
+<p>
+There on the hill in the clover lay our Abner&#8212;dead!&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+No&#8212;thank you&#8212;no, I don't need it; I'm solid as granite rock,
+</p>
+<p>
+But every time that I tell it I feel the old, cold shock,
+</p>
+<p>
+I'm eighty-one my next birthday&#8212;do you breed such fellows now?
+</p>
+<p>
+There he lay with the dawn cooling his broad fair brow,
+</p>
+<p>
+That was no dawn for him; and there was the old duck-gun
+</p>
+<p>
+That many and many's the time,&#8212;just for the fun,
+</p>
+<p>
+We together, alone, would take to the hickory rise,
+</p>
+<p>
+And bring home more wild pigeons than ever you saw with your eyes.
+</p>
+<p>
+Up with Hercules Scott's brigade, just as it came on night&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+He was the angel beside me in the thickest of the fight&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+Wrote a note to his mother&#8212;He said, &#34;I've got to go;
+</p>
+<p>
+Mother what would home be under the heel of the foe!&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Oh! she never slept a wink, she would rise and walk the floor;
+</p>
+<p>
+She'd say this over and over, &#34;I knew it all before!&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+I'd try to speak of the glory to give her a little joy.
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;What is the glory to me when I want my boy, my boy!&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+She'd say, and she'd wring her hands; her hair grew white as snow&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+And I'd argue with her up and down, to and fro,
+</p>
+<p>
+Of how she had mothered a hero, and his was a glorious fate,
+</p>
+<p>
+Better than years of grubbing to gather an estate.
+</p>
+<p>
+Sometimes I'd put it this way: &#34;If God was to say to me now
+</p>
+<p>
+'Take him back as he once was helping you with the plow,'
+</p>
+<p>
+I'd say, 'No, God, thank You kindly; 'twas You that he obeyed;
+</p>
+<p>
+You told him to fight and he fought, and he wasn't afraid;
+</p>
+<p>
+You wanted to prove him in battle, You sent him to Lundy's Lane,
+</p>
+<p>
+'Tis well!&#34; But she only would answer over and over again,
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Give me back my Abner&#8212;give me back my son!&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+It was so all through the winter until the spring had begun,
+</p>
+<p>
+And the crocus was up in the dooryard, and the drift by the fence was thinned,
+</p>
+<p>
+And the sap drip-dropped from the branches wounded by the wind,
+</p>
+<p>
+And the whole earth smelled like a flower,&#8212;then she came to me one night&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Rufus!&#34; she said, with a sob in her throat,&#8212;&#34;Rufus, you're right.&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+I hadn't cried till then, not a tear&#8212;but then I was torn in two&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+There, it's all right&#8212;my eyes don't see as they used to do!
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+But O the joy of that battle&#8212;it was worth the whole of life,
+</p>
+<p>
+You felt immortal in action with the rapture of the strife,
+</p>
+<p>
+There in the dark by the river, with the flashes of fire before,
+</p>
+<p>
+Running and crashing along, there in the dark, and the roar
+</p>
+<p>
+Of the guns, and the shrilling cheers, and the knowledge that filled your heart
+</p>
+<p>
+That there was a victory making and you must do your part,
+</p>
+<p>
+But&#8212;there's his grave in the orchard where the headstone glimmers white:
+</p>
+<p>
+We could see it, we thought, from our window even on the darkest night;
+</p>
+<p>
+It is set there for a sign that what one lad could do
+</p>
+<p>
+Would be done by a hundred hundred lads whose hearts were stout and true.
+</p>
+<p>
+And when in the time of trial you hear the recreant say,
+</p>
+<p>
+Shooting his coward lips at us, &#34;You shall have had your day:
+</p>
+<p>
+For all your state and glory shall pass like a cloudy wrack,
+</p>
+<p>
+And here some other flag shall fly where flew the Union Jack,&#34;&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+Why tell him a hundred thousand men would spring from these sleepy farms,
+</p>
+<p>
+To tie that flag in its ancient place with the sinews of their arms;
+</p>
+<p>
+And if they doubt you and put you to scorn, why you can make it plain,
+</p>
+<p>
+With the tale of the gallant Lincoln men and the fight at Lundy's Lane.=
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+1908.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p class="section">
+VIA BOREALIS
+</p>
+<p class="ctr">
+TO
+<br>
+<i>
+Pelham Edgar
+</i>
+</p>
+<a name="25">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+SPRING ON MATTAGAMI
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Far in the east the rain-clouds sweep and harry,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Down the long haggard hills, formless and low,
+</p>
+<p>
+Far in the west the shell-tints meet and marry,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Piled gray and tender blue and roseate snow;
+</p>
+<p>
+East&#8212;like a fiend, the bolt-breasted, streaming
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Storm strikes the world with lightning and with hail;
+</p>
+<p>
+West&#8212;like the thought of a seraph that is dreaming,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Venus leads the young moon down the vale.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Through the lake furrow between the gloom and bright'ning
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Firm runs our long canoe with a whistling rush,
+</p>
+<p>
+While Pot&#224;n the wise and the cunning Silver Lightning
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Break with their slender blades the long clear hush;
+</p>
+<p>
+Soon shall I pitch my tent amid the birches,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Wise Pot&#224;n shall gather boughs of balsam fir,
+</p>
+<p>
+While for bark and dry wood Silver Lightning searches;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Soon the smoke shall hang and lapse in the moist air.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Soon shall I sleep&#8212;if I may not remember
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+One who lives far away where the storm-cloud went;
+</p>
+<p>
+May it part and starshine burn in many a quiet ember,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Over her towered city crowned with large content;
+</p>
+<p>
+Dear God, let me sleep, here where deep peace is,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Let me own a dreamless sleep once for all the years,
+</p>
+<p>
+Let me know a quiet mind and what heart ease is,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Lost to light and life and hope, to longing and to tears.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Here in the solitude less her memory presses,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Yet I see her lingering where the birches shine,
+</p>
+<p>
+All the dark cedars are sleep-laden like her tresses,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+The gold-moted wood-pools pellucid as her eyen;
+</p>
+<p>
+Memories and ghost-forms of the days departed
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+People all the forest lone in the dead of night;
+</p>
+<p>
+While Pot&#224;n and Silver Lightning sleep, the happy-hearted,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Troop they from their fastnesses upon my sight.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Once when the tide came straining from the Lido,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+In a sea of flame our gondola flickered like a sword,
+</p>
+<p>
+Venice lay abroad builded like beauty's credo,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Smouldering like a gorget on the breast of the Lord:
+</p>
+<p>
+Did she mourn for fame foredoomed or passion shattered
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+That with a sudden impulse she gathered at my side?
+</p>
+<p>
+But when I spoke the ancient fates were flattered,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Chill there crept between us the imperceptible tide.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Once I well remember in her twilight garden,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+She pulled a half-blown rose, I thought it meant for me,
+</p>
+<p>
+But poising in the act, and with half a sigh for pardon,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+She hid it in her bosom where none may dare to see:
+</p>
+<p>
+Had she a subtle meaning?&#8212;would to God I knew it,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Where'er I am I always feel the rose leaves nestling there,
+</p>
+<p>
+If I might know her mind and the thought which then flashed through it,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+My soul might look to heaven not commissioned to despair.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Though she denied at parting the gift that I besought her,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Just a bit of ribbon or a strand of her hair;
+</p>
+<p>
+Though she would not keep the token that I brought her,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Proud she stood and calm and marvellously fair;
+</p>
+<p>
+Yet I saw her spirit&#8212;truth cannot dissemble&#8212;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Saw her pure as gold, staunch and keen and brave,
+</p>
+<p>
+For she knows my worth and her heart was all atremble,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Lest her will should weaken and make her heart a slave.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+If she could be here where all the world is eager
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+For dear love with the primal Eden sway,
+</p>
+<p>
+Where the blood is fire and no pulse is thin or meagre,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+All the heart of all the world beats one way!
+</p>
+<p>
+There is the land of fraud and fame and fashion,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Joy is but a gaud and withers in an hour,
+</p>
+<p>
+Here is the land of quintessential passion,
+</p>
+<p>
+Where in a wild throb Spring wells up with power.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+She would hear the partridge drumming in the distance,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Rolling out his mimic thunder in the sultry noons;
+</p>
+<p>
+Hear beyond the silver reach in ringing wild persistence
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Reel remote the ululating laughter of the loons;
+</p>
+<p>
+See the shy moose fawn nestling by its mother,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+In a cool marsh pool where the sedges meet;
+</p>
+<p>
+Rest by a moss-mound where the twin-flowers smother
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+With a drowse of orient perfume drenched in light and heat:
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+She would see the dawn rise behind the smoky mountain,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+In a jet of colour curving up to break,
+</p>
+<p>
+While like spray from the iridescent fountain,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Opal fires weave over all the oval of the lake:
+</p>
+<p>
+She would see like fireflies the stars alight and spangle
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+All the heaven meadows thick with growing dusk,
+</p>
+<p>
+Feel the gipsy airs that gather up and tangle
+</p>
+<p>
+The woodsy odours in a maze of myrrh and musk:
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+There in the forest all the birds are nesting,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Tells the hermit thrush the song he cannot tell,
+</p>
+<p>
+While the white-throat sparrow never resting,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Even in the deepest night rings his crystal bell:
+</p>
+<p>
+O, she would love me then with a wild elation,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Then she must love me and leave her lonely state,
+</p>
+<p>
+Give me love yet keep her soul's imperial reservation,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Large as her deep nature and fathomless as fate:
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Then, if she would lie beside me in the even,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+On my deep couch heaped of balsam fir,
+</p>
+<p>
+Fragrant with sleep as nothing under heaven,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Let the past and future mingle in one blur;
+</p>
+<p>
+While all the stars were watchful and thereunder
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Earth breathed not but took their silent light,
+</p>
+<p>
+All life withdrew and wrapt in a wild wonder
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Peace fell tranquil on the odorous night:
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+She would let me steal,&#8212;not consenting or denying&#8212;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+One strong arm beneath her dusky hair,
+</p>
+<p>
+She would let me bare, not resisting or complying,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+One sweet breast so sweet and firm and fair;
+</p>
+<p>
+Then with the quick sob of passion's shy endeavour,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+She would gather close and shudder and swoon away,
+</p>
+<p>
+She would be mine for ever and for ever,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Mine for all time and beyond the judgment day.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Vain is the dream, and deep with all derision&#8212;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Fate is stern and hard&#8212;fair and false and vain&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+But what would life be worth without the vision,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Dark with sordid passion, pale with wringing pain?
+</p>
+<p>
+What I dream is mine, mine beyond all cavil,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Pure and fair and sweet, and mine for evermore,
+</p>
+<p>
+And when I will my life I may unravel,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+And find my passion dream deep at the red core.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Venus sinks first lost in ruby splendour,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Stars like wood-daffodils grow golden in the night,
+</p>
+<p>
+Far, far above, in a space entranced and tender,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Floats the growing moon pale with virgin light.
+</p>
+<p>
+Vaster than the world or life or death my trust is
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Based in the unseen and towering far above;
+</p>
+<p>
+Hold me, O Law, that deeper lies than Justice,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Guide me, O Light, that stronger burns than Love.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="36">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+AN IMPROMPTU
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Here in the pungent gloom
+</p>
+<p>
+Where the tamarac roses glow
+</p>
+<p>
+And the balsam burns its perfume,
+</p>
+<p>
+A vireo turns his slow
+</p>
+<p>
+Cadence, as if he gloated
+</p>
+<p>
+Over the last phrase he floated;
+</p>
+<p>
+Each one he moulds and mellows
+</p>
+<p>
+Matching it with its fellows:
+</p>
+<p>
+So have you noted
+</p>
+<p>
+How the oboe croons,
+</p>
+<p>
+The canary-throated,
+</p>
+<p>
+In the gloom of the violoncellos
+</p>
+<p>
+And bassoons.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+But afar in the thickset forest
+</p>
+<p>
+I hear a sound go free,
+</p>
+<p>
+Crashing the stately neighbours
+</p>
+<p>
+The pine and the cedar tree,
+</p>
+<p>
+Horns and harps and tabors,
+</p>
+<p>
+Drumming and harping and horning
+</p>
+<p>
+In savage minstrelsy&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+It wakes in my soul a warning
+</p>
+<p>
+Of the wind of destiny.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+My life is soaring and swinging
+</p>
+<p>
+In triple walls of quiet,
+</p>
+<p>
+In my heart there is rippling and ringing
+</p>
+<p>
+A song with melodious riot,
+</p>
+<p>
+When a fateful thing comes nigh it
+</p>
+<p>
+A hush falls, and then
+</p>
+<p>
+I hear in the thickset world
+</p>
+<p>
+The wind of destiny hurled
+</p>
+<p>
+On the lives of men.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="38">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+THE HALF-BREED GIRL
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+She is free of the trap and the paddle,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+The portage and the trail,
+</p>
+<p>
+But something behind her savage life
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Shines like a fragile veil.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Her dreams are undiscovered,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Shadows trouble her breast,
+</p>
+<p>
+When the time for resting cometh
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Then least is she at rest.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Oft in the morns of winter,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+When she visits the rabbit snares,
+</p>
+<p>
+An appearance floats in the crystal air
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Beyond the balsam firs.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Oft in the summer mornings
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+When she strips the nets of fish,
+</p>
+<p>
+The smell of the dripping net-twine
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Gives to her heart a wish.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+But she cannot learn the meaning
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Of the shadows in her soul,
+</p>
+<p>
+The lights that break and gather,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+The clouds that part and roll,
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The reek of rock-built cities,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Where her fathers dwelt of yore,
+</p>
+<p>
+The gleam of loch and shealing,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+The mist on the moor,
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Frail traces of kindred kindness,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Of feud by hill and strand,
+</p>
+<p>
+The heritage of an age-long life
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+In a legendary land.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+She wakes in the stifling wigwam,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Where the air is heavy and wild,
+</p>
+<p>
+She fears for something or nothing
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+With the heart of a frightened child.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+She sees the stars turn slowly
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Past the tangle of the poles,
+</p>
+<p>
+Through the smoke of the dying embers,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Like the eyes of dead souls.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Her heart is shaken with longing
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+For the strange, still years,
+</p>
+<p>
+For what she knows and knows not,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+For the wells of ancient tears.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+A voice calls from the rapids,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Deep, careless and free,
+</p>
+<p>
+A voice that is larger than her life
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Or than her death shall be.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+She covers her face with her blanket,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Her fierce soul hates her breath,
+</p>
+<p>
+As it cries with a sudden passion
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+For life or death.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="41">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+NIGHT BURIAL IN THE FOREST
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Lay him down where the fern is thick and fair.
+</p>
+<p>
+Fain was he for life, here lies he low:
+</p>
+<p>
+With the blood washed clean from his brow and his beautiful hair,
+</p>
+<p>
+Lay him here in the dell where the orchids grow.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Let the birch-bark torches roar in the gloom,
+</p>
+<p>
+And the trees crowd up in a quiet startled ring
+</p>
+<p>
+So lone is the land that in this lonely room
+</p>
+<p>
+Never before has breathed a human thing.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Cover him well in his canvas shroud, and the moss
+</p>
+<p>
+Part and heap again on his quiet breast,
+</p>
+<p>
+What recks he now of gain, or love, or loss
+</p>
+<p>
+Who for love gained rest?
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+While she who caused it all hides her insolent eyes
+</p>
+<p>
+Or braids her hair with the ribbons of lust and of lies,
+</p>
+<p>
+And he who did the deed fares out like a hunted beast
+</p>
+<p>
+To lurk where the musk-ox tramples the barren ground
+</p>
+<p>
+Where the stroke of his coward heart is the only sound.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Haunting the tamarac shade,
+</p>
+<p>
+Hear them up-thronging
+</p>
+<p>
+Memories foredoomed
+</p>
+<p>
+Of strife and of longing:
+</p>
+<p>
+Haggard or bright
+</p>
+<p>
+By the tamaracs and birches,
+</p>
+<p>
+Where the red torch light
+</p>
+<p>
+Trembles and searches,
+</p>
+<p>
+The wilderness teems
+</p>
+<p>
+With inscrutable eyes
+</p>
+<p>
+Of ghosts that are dreams
+</p>
+<p>
+Commingled with memories.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Leave him here in his secret ferny tomb,
+</p>
+<p>
+Withdraw the little light from the ocean of gloom,
+</p>
+<p>
+He who feared nought will fear aught never,
+</p>
+<p>
+Left alone in the forest forever and ever.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Then, as we fare on our way to the shore
+</p>
+<p>
+Sudden the torches cease to roar:
+</p>
+<p>
+For cleaving the darkness remote and still
+</p>
+<p>
+Comes a wind with a rushing, harp-like thrill,
+</p>
+<p>
+The sound of wings hurled and furled and unfurled,
+</p>
+<p>
+The wings of the Angel who gathers the souls from the wastes of the world.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="44">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+DREAM VOYAGEURS
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+To ports of balm through isles of musk
+</p>
+<p>
+The gentle airs are leading us;
+</p>
+<p>
+To curtained calm and tents of dusk,
+</p>
+<p>
+The wood-wild things unheeding us
+</p>
+<p>
+Will share their hoards of hardihood,
+</p>
+<p>
+Cool dew and roots of fern for food,
+</p>
+<p>
+Frail berries full of the sun's blood.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+To planets bland with dales of dream
+</p>
+<p>
+A tranquil life is leading us,
+</p>
+<p>
+We shall land from the languid stream,
+</p>
+<p>
+The musing shades, unheeding us,
+</p>
+<p>
+Will share their veils of angelhood,
+</p>
+<p>
+Thoughts that are tranced with mystic food,
+</p>
+<p>
+Still broodings tinct with a seraph's blood.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="45">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+SONG
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Creep into my heart, creep in, creep in,
+</p>
+<p>
+Afar from the fret, the toil and the din,
+</p>
+<p>
+Where the spring of love forever flows,
+</p>
+<p>
+As clear as light and as sweet as the rose;
+</p>
+<p>
+(Creep into my heart),
+</p>
+<p>
+Where the dreams never wilt but their tints refine,
+</p>
+<p>
+Rooted in beautiful thoughts of thine;
+</p>
+<p>
+Where morn falls cool on the soul, like sleep,
+</p>
+<p>
+And the nights are tranquil and tranced and deep;
+</p>
+<p>
+Where the fairest thing of all the fair
+</p>
+<p>
+Thou art, who hast somehow crept in there,
+</p>
+<p>
+Deep into my heart,
+</p>
+<p>
+Deep into my heart.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="46">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+ECSTASY
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The shore-lark soars to his topmost flight,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Sings at the height where morning springs,
+</p>
+<p>
+What though his voice be lost in the light,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+The light comes dropping from his wings.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Mount, my soul, and sing at the height
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Of thy clear flight in the light and the air,
+</p>
+<p>
+Heard or unheard in the night in the light
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Sing there! Sing there!
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p class="section">
+LYRICS, SONGS AND SONNETS
+</p>
+<a name="49">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+MEDITATION AT PERUGIA
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The sunset colours mingle in the sky,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+And over all the Umbrian valleys flow;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Trevi is touched with wonder, and the glow
+</p>
+<p>
+Finds high Perugia crimson with renown;
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Spello is bright;
+</p>
+<p>
+And, ah! St. Francis, thy deep-treasured town,
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Enshrined Assisi, fully fronts the light.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+This valley knew thee many a year ago;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Thy shrine was built by simpleness of heart;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+And from the wound called life thou drew'st the smart:
+</p>
+<p>
+Unquiet kings came to thee and the sad poor&#8212;
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Thou gavest them peace;
+</p>
+<p>
+Far as the Sultan and the Iberian shore
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Thy faith and abnegation gave release.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Deeper our faith, but not so sweet as thine;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Wider our view, but not so sanely sure;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+For we are troubled by the witching lure
+</p>
+<p>
+Of Science, with her lightning on the mist;
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Science that clears,
+</p>
+<p>
+Yet never quite discloses what she wist,
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+And leaves us half with doubts and half with fears.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+We act her dreams that shadow forth the truth,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+That somehow here the very nerves of God
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Thrill the old fires, the rocks, the primal sod;
+</p>
+<p>
+We throw our speech upon the open air,
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+And it is caught
+</p>
+<p>
+Far down the world, to sing and murmur there;
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Our common words are with deep wonder fraught.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Shall not the subtle spirit of man contrive
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+To charm the tremulous ether of the soul,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Wherein it breathes?&#8212;until, from pole to pole,
+</p>
+<p>
+Those who are kin shall speak, as face to face,
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+From star to star,
+</p>
+<p>
+Even from earth to the most secret place,
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Where God and the supreme archangels are.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Shall we not prove, what thou hast faintly taught,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+That all the powers of earth and air are one,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+That one deep law persists from mole to sun?
+</p>
+<p>
+Shall we not search the heart of God and find
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+That law empearled,
+</p>
+<p>
+Until all things that are in matter and mind
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Throb with the secret that began the world?
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Yea, we have journeyed since thou trod'st the road,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Yet still we keep the foreappointed quest;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+While the last sunset smoulders in the West,
+</p>
+<p>
+Still the great faith with the undying hope
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Upsprings and flows,
+</p>
+<p>
+While dim Assisi fades on the wide slope
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+And the deep Umbrian valleys fill with rose.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="53">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+AT WILLIAM MACLENNAN'S GRAVE
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Here where the cypress tall
+</p>
+<p>
+Shadows the stucco wall,
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Bronze and deep,
+</p>
+<p>
+Where the chrysanthemums blow,
+</p>
+<p>
+And the roses&#8212;blood and snow&#8212;
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+He lies asleep.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Florence dreameth afar;
+</p>
+<p>
+Memories of foray and war,
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Murmur still;
+</p>
+<p>
+The Certosa crowns with a cold
+</p>
+<p>
+Cloud of snow and gold
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+The olive hill.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+What has he now for the streams
+</p>
+<p>
+Born sweet and deep with dreams
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+From the cedar meres?
+</p>
+<p>
+Only the Arno's flow,
+</p>
+<p>
+Turbid, and weary, and slow
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+With wrath and tears.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+What has he now for the song
+</p>
+<p>
+Of the boatmen, joyous and long,
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Where the rapids shine?
+</p>
+<p>
+Only the sound of toil,
+</p>
+<p>
+Where the peasants press the soil
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+For the oil and wine.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Spirit-fellow in sooth
+</p>
+<p>
+With bold La Salle and Duluth,
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+And La V&#233;randrye,&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+Nothing he has but rest,
+</p>
+<p>
+Deep in his cypress nest
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+With memory.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Hearts of steel and of fire,
+</p>
+<p>
+Why do ye love and aspire,
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+When follows
+</p>
+<p>
+Death&#8212;all your passionate deeds,
+</p>
+<p>
+Garnered with rust and with weeds
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+In the hollows?
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+God that hardened the steel,
+</p>
+<p>
+Bid the flame leap and reel,
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Gave us unrest;
+</p>
+<p>
+We act in the dusk afar,
+</p>
+<p>
+In a star beyond your star,
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+His behest.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+&#34;We leave you dreams and names
+</p>
+<p>
+Still we are iron and flames,
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Biting and bright;
+</p>
+<p>
+Into some virgin world,
+</p>
+<p>
+Champions, we are hurled,
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Of venture and fight.&#34;
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Here where the shadows fall,
+</p>
+<p>
+From the cypress by the wall,
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Where the roses are&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+Here is a dream and a name,
+</p>
+<p>
+There, like a rose of flame,
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Rises&#8212;a star.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="56">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+THE WOOD-SPRING TO THE POET
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Dawn-cool, dew-cool
+</p>
+<p>
+Gleams the surface of my pool
+</p>
+<p>
+Bird haunted, fern enchanted,
+</p>
+<p>
+Where but tempered spirits rule;
+</p>
+<p>
+Stars do not trace their mystic lines
+</p>
+<p>
+In my confines;
+</p>
+<p>
+I take a double night within my breast
+</p>
+<p>
+A night of darkened heavens, a night of leaves,
+</p>
+<p>
+And in the two-fold dark I hear the owl
+</p>
+<p>
+Puff at his velvet horn
+</p>
+<p>
+And the wolves howl.
+</p>
+<p>
+Even daylight comes with a touch of gold
+</p>
+<p>
+Not overbold,
+</p>
+<p>
+And shows dwarf-cornel and the twin-flowers,
+</p>
+<p>
+Below the balsam bowers,
+</p>
+<p>
+Their tints enamelled in my dew-drop shield.
+</p>
+<p>
+Too small even for a thirsty fawn
+</p>
+<p>
+To quench upon,
+</p>
+<p>
+I hold my crystal at one level
+</p>
+<p>
+There where you see the liquid bevel
+</p>
+<p>
+Break in silver and go free
+</p>
+<p>
+Singing to its destiny.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Give, Poet, give!
+</p>
+<p>
+Thus only shalt thou live.
+</p>
+<p>
+Give! for 'tis thy joyous doom
+</p>
+<p>
+To charm, to comfort, to illume.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Speak to the maiden and the child
+</p>
+<p>
+With accents deep and mild,
+</p>
+<p>
+Tell them of the world so wide
+</p>
+<p>
+In words of wonder and pure pride,
+</p>
+<p>
+Touched with the rapture of surprise
+</p>
+<p>
+That dwells in a child angel's eyes,
+</p>
+<p>
+Awed with the strangeness of new-birth,
+</p>
+<p>
+When the flaming seraph sent
+</p>
+<p>
+To lead him into Paradise,
+</p>
+<p>
+Calls his name with the mother's voice
+</p>
+<p>
+He has just ceased to hear on earth.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Give to the youth his heart's content,
+</p>
+<p>
+But power with prudence blent,
+</p>
+<p>
+Thicken his sinews with love,
+</p>
+<p>
+With courage his heart prove,
+</p>
+<p>
+Till over his spirit shall roll
+</p>
+<p>
+The vast wave of control.
+</p>
+<p>
+In the cages and dens of strife,
+</p>
+<p>
+Where men draw breath
+</p>
+<p>
+Thick with a curse at the dear thing called life,
+</p>
+<p>
+Give them courage to bear,
+</p>
+<p>
+Strength to aspire and dare;
+</p>
+<p>
+Give them hopes rooted in stone,
+</p>
+<p>
+That the loveliest flowers take on,
+</p>
+<p>
+Bind on their brows with a gesture free
+</p>
+<p>
+The palm green bays of liberty.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Give to the mothers of men
+</p>
+<p>
+The knowledge of joy in pain,
+</p>
+<p>
+Give them the sense of reward
+</p>
+<p>
+That grew in the breast of the Lord
+</p>
+<p>
+On the dawn of the seventh morn;
+</p>
+<p>
+For 'tis they who re-create the world
+</p>
+<p>
+Whenever a child is born.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Give, Poet, give!
+</p>
+<p>
+Give them songs that charm and fill
+</p>
+<p>
+The soul with an alluring pleasure,
+</p>
+<p>
+Prelusive to a deeper thrill,
+</p>
+<p>
+A richer tone, a fuller measure;
+</p>
+<p>
+Like voices, veiled with hidden treasure,
+</p>
+<p>
+Of angels on a windy morning,
+</p>
+<p>
+That first far off, then all together,
+</p>
+<p>
+Come with a glorious clarion calling;
+</p>
+<p>
+And when they swoon beneath the spell
+</p>
+<p>
+Recapture them to hear the echoes
+</p>
+<p>
+Falling&#8212;falling&#8212;falling.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+To those stoned for the truth
+</p>
+<p>
+Give ruth;
+</p>
+<p>
+Give manna for the mourner's mouth
+</p>
+<p>
+Sovereign as air;
+</p>
+<p>
+For his heart's drouth
+</p>
+<p>
+A prayer.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Give to dead souls that mock at life
+</p>
+<p>
+Aweary of their cankered hearts,
+</p>
+<p>
+Weary of sleep and weary of strife,
+</p>
+<p>
+Weary of markets and of arts,&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+Helve them a song of life,
+</p>
+<p>
+Two-edged with joyous life,
+</p>
+<p>
+Tempered trusty with life,
+</p>
+<p>
+Proud pointed with wild life,
+</p>
+<p>
+Plunge it as lightning plunges,
+</p>
+<p>
+Stab them to life!
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Give to those who grieve in secret,
+</p>
+<p>
+Those who bear the sorrows of earth,
+</p>
+<p>
+The deep unappeasable longings
+</p>
+<p>
+Which beset them with throngings and throngings,
+</p>
+<p>
+(As, on a windless night,
+</p>
+<p>
+Through the fold of a dark mantle furled,
+</p>
+<p>
+Gleams on our world, world after unknown world)
+</p>
+<p>
+Give them peace,
+</p>
+<p>
+Wide as the veil that hides God's face,
+</p>
+<p>
+The pure plenitude of space,
+</p>
+<p>
+In which our universe is but a glittering crease,&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+Give them such peace.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Give, Poet, give!
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Thus only shalt thou live:
+</p>
+<p>
+Give as we give who are hidden
+</p>
+<p>
+In myriad dimples of rock and fern;
+</p>
+<p>
+Give as we give unbidden
+</p>
+<p>
+To tarn and rillet and burn,
+</p>
+<p>
+Where the lake dreams,
+</p>
+<p>
+Where the fall is hurled,
+</p>
+<p>
+Striving to sweeten
+</p>
+<p>
+The oceans of the world.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Should my song for a moment cease,
+</p>
+<p>
+Silence fall in the woodland peace;
+</p>
+<p>
+Should I wilfully check the flow
+</p>
+<p>
+Bubbling and dancing up from below;
+</p>
+<p>
+Say to my heart be still&#8212;be still,
+</p>
+<p>
+Let the murmur die with the rill;
+</p>
+<p>
+Then should the glittering, grey sea-things
+</p>
+<p>
+Sigh as they wallow the under springs;
+</p>
+<p>
+Where the deep brine-pools used to lie
+</p>
+<p>
+Deserts vast would stare at the sky,
+</p>
+<p>
+And even thy rich heart
+</p>
+<p>
+(O Poet, Poet!)
+</p>
+<p>
+Even thy rich heart run dry.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="63">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+THE NOVEMBER PANSY
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+This is not June,&#8212;by Autumn's stratagem
+</p>
+<p>
+Thou hast been ambushed in the chilly air;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Upon thy fragile crest virginal fair
+</p>
+<p>
+The rime has clustered in a diadem;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+The early frost
+</p>
+<p>
+Has nipped thy roots and tried thy tender stem,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Seared thy gold petals, all thy charm is lost.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Thyself the only sunshine: in obeying
+</p>
+<p>
+The law that bids thee blossom in the world
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Thy little flag of courage is unfurled;
+</p>
+<p>
+Inherent pansy-memories are saying
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+That there is sun,
+</p>
+<p>
+That there is dew and colour and warmth repaying
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+The rain, the starlight when the light is done.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+These are the gaunt forms of the hollyhocks
+</p>
+<p>
+That shower the seeds from out their withered purses;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Here were the pinks; there the nasturtium nurses
+</p>
+<p>
+The last of colour in her gaudy smocks;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+The ruins yonder
+</p>
+<p>
+Show but a vestige of the flaming phlox;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+The poppies on their faded glory ponder.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Here visited the vagrant humming-bird,
+</p>
+<p>
+The nebulous darting green, the ruby-throated;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+The warm fans of the butterfly here floated;
+</p>
+<p>
+Those two nests reared the robins, and the third
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Was left forlorn
+</p>
+<p>
+Muffled in lilacs, whence the perfume stirred
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+The tremulous eyelids of the dewy morn.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Thy sisters of the early summer-time
+</p>
+<p>
+Were masquers in this carnival of pleasure;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Each in her turn unrolled her golden treasure,
+</p>
+<p>
+And thou hast but the ashes of the prime;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+'Tis life's own malice
+</p>
+<p>
+That brings the peasant of a race sublime
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+To feed her flock around her ruined palace.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Yet for withstanding thus the autumn's dart
+</p>
+<p>
+Some deeper pansy-insight will atone;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+It comes to souls neglected and alone,
+</p>
+<p>
+Something that prodigals in pleasure's mart
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Lose in the whirl;
+</p>
+<p>
+The peasant child will have a purer heart
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Than the vain favourite of the vanished earl.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+And far above this tragic world of ours
+</p>
+<p>
+There is a world of a diviner fashion,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+A mystic world, a world of dreams and passion
+</p>
+<p>
+That each aspiring thing creates and dowers
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+With its own light;
+</p>
+<p>
+Where even the frail spirits of trees and flowers
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Pause, and reach out, and pass from height to height.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Here will we claim for thee another fief,
+</p>
+<p>
+An upland where a glamour haunts the meadows,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Snow peaks arise enrobed in rosy shadows,
+</p>
+<p>
+Fairer the under slopes with vine and sheaf
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+And shimmering lea;
+</p>
+<p>
+The paradise of a simple old belief,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+That flourished in the Islands of the Sea.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+A snow-cool cistern in the fairy hills
+</p>
+<p>
+Shall feed thy roots with moisture clear as dew;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+A ferny shield to temper the warm blue
+</p>
+<p>
+That heaven is; a thrush that thrills
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+To answer his mate,
+</p>
+<p>
+And when above the ferns the shadow fills,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Fireflies to render darkness consolate.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Here muse and brood, moulding thy seed and die
+</p>
+<p>
+And re-create thy form a thousand fold,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Mellowing thy petals to more lucent gold,
+</p>
+<p>
+Till they expand, tissues of amber sky;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Till the full hour,
+</p>
+<p>
+And the full light and the fulfilling eye
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Shall find amid the ferns the perfect flower.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="68">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+THE HEIGHT OF LAND
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Here is the height of land:
+</p>
+<p>
+The watershed on either hand
+</p>
+<p>
+Goes down to Hudson Bay
+</p>
+<p>
+Or Lake Superior;
+</p>
+<p>
+The stars are up, and far away
+</p>
+<p>
+The wind sounds in the wood, wearier
+</p>
+<p>
+Than the long Ojibway cadence
+</p>
+<p>
+In which Pot&#224;n the Wise
+</p>
+<p>
+Declares the ills of life
+</p>
+<p>
+And Chees-que-ne-ne makes a mournful sound
+</p>
+<p>
+Of acquiescence. The fires burn low
+</p>
+<p>
+With just sufficient glow
+</p>
+<p>
+To light the flakes of ash that play
+</p>
+<p>
+At being moths, and flutter away
+</p>
+<p>
+To fall in the dark and die as ashes:
+</p>
+<p>
+Here there is peace in the lofty air,
+</p>
+<p>
+And Something comes by flashes
+</p>
+<p>
+Deeper than peace;&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+The spruces have retired a little space
+</p>
+<p>
+And left a field of sky in violet shadow
+</p>
+<p>
+With stars like marigolds in a water-meadow.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Now the Indian guides are dead asleep;
+</p>
+<p>
+There is no sound unless the soul can hear
+</p>
+<p>
+The gathering of the waters in their sources.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+We have come up through the spreading lakes
+</p>
+<p>
+From level to level,&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+Pitching our tents sometimes over a revel
+</p>
+<p>
+Of roses that nodded all night,
+</p>
+<p>
+Dreaming within our dreams,
+</p>
+<p>
+To wake at dawn and find that they were captured
+</p>
+<p>
+With no dew on their leaves;
+</p>
+<p>
+Sometimes mid sheaves
+</p>
+<p>
+Of braken and dwarf-cornel, and again
+</p>
+<p>
+On a wide blue-berry plain
+</p>
+<p>
+Brushed with the shimmer of a bluebird's wing;
+</p>
+<p>
+A rocky islet followed
+</p>
+<p>
+With one lone poplar and a single nest
+</p>
+<p>
+Of white-throat-sparrows that took no rest
+</p>
+<p>
+But sang in dreams or woke to sing,&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+To the last portage and the height of land&#8212;:
+</p>
+<p>
+Upon one hand
+</p>
+<p>
+The lonely north enlaced with lakes and streams,
+</p>
+<p>
+And the enormous targe of Hudson Bay,
+</p>
+<p>
+Glimmering all night
+</p>
+<p>
+In the cold arctic light;
+</p>
+<p>
+On the other hand
+</p>
+<p>
+The crowded southern land
+</p>
+<p>
+With all the welter of the lives of men.
+</p>
+<p>
+But here is peace, and again
+</p>
+<p>
+That Something comes by flashes
+</p>
+<p>
+Deeper than peace,&#8212;a spell
+</p>
+<p>
+Golden and inappellable
+</p>
+<p>
+That gives the inarticulate part
+</p>
+<p>
+Of our strange being one moment of release
+</p>
+<p>
+That seems more native than the touch of time,
+</p>
+<p>
+And we must answer in chime;
+</p>
+<p>
+Though yet no man may tell
+</p>
+<p>
+The secret of that spell
+</p>
+<p>
+Golden and inappellable.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Now are there sounds walking in the wood,
+</p>
+<p>
+And all the spruces shiver and tremble,
+</p>
+<p>
+And the stars move a little in their courses.
+</p>
+<p>
+The ancient disturber of solitude
+</p>
+<p>
+Breathes a pervasive sigh,
+</p>
+<p>
+And the soul seems to hear
+</p>
+<p>
+The gathering of the waters at their sources;
+</p>
+<p>
+Then quiet ensues and pure starlight and dark;
+</p>
+<p>
+The region-spirit murmurs in meditation,
+</p>
+<p>
+The heart replies in exaltation
+</p>
+<p>
+And echoes faintly like an inland shell
+</p>
+<p>
+Ghost tremors of the spell;
+</p>
+<p>
+Thought reawakens and is linked again
+</p>
+<p>
+With all the welter of the lives of men.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Here on the uplands where the air is clear
+</p>
+<p>
+We think of life as of a stormy scene,&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+Of tempest, of revolt and desperate shock;
+</p>
+<p>
+And here, where we can think, on the bright uplands
+</p>
+<p>
+Where the air is clear, we deeply brood on life
+</p>
+<p>
+Until the tempest parts, and it appears
+</p>
+<p>
+As simple as to the shepherd seems his flock:
+</p>
+<p>
+A Something to be guided by ideals&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+That in themselves are simple and serene&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+Of noble deed to foster noble thought,
+</p>
+<p>
+And noble thought to image noble deed,
+</p>
+<p>
+Till deed and thought shall interpenetrate,
+</p>
+<p>
+Making life lovelier, till we come to doubt
+</p>
+<p>
+Whether the perfect beauty that escapes
+</p>
+<p>
+Is beauty of deed or thought or some high thing
+</p>
+<p>
+Mingled of both, a greater boon than either:
+</p>
+<p>
+Thus we have seen in the retreating tempest
+</p>
+<p>
+The victor-sunlight merge with the ruined rain,
+</p>
+<p>
+And from the rain and sunlight spring the rainbow.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The ancient disturber of solitude
+</p>
+<p>
+Stirs his ancestral potion in the gloom,
+</p>
+<p>
+And the dark wood
+</p>
+<p>
+Is stifled with the pungent fume
+</p>
+<p>
+Of charred earth burnt to the bone
+</p>
+<p>
+That takes the place of air.
+</p>
+<p>
+Then sudden I remember when and where,&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+The last weird lakelet foul with weedy growths
+</p>
+<p>
+And slimy viscid things the spirit loathes,
+</p>
+<p>
+Skin of vile water over viler mud
+</p>
+<p>
+Where the paddle stirred unutterable stenches,
+</p>
+<p>
+And the canoes seemed heavy with fear,
+</p>
+<p>
+Not to be urged toward the fatal shore
+</p>
+<p>
+Where a bush fire, smouldering, with sudden roar
+</p>
+<p>
+Leaped on a cedar and smothered it with light
+</p>
+<p>
+And terror. It had left the portage-height
+</p>
+<p>
+A tangle of slanted spruces burned to the roots,
+</p>
+<p>
+Covered still with patches of bright fire
+</p>
+<p>
+Smoking with incense of the fragrant resin
+</p>
+<p>
+That even then began to thin and lessen
+</p>
+<p>
+Into the gloom and glimmer of ruin.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+'Tis overpast. How strange the stars have grown;
+</p>
+<p>
+The presage of extinction glows on their crests
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+And they are beautied with impermanence;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+They shall be after the race of men
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+And mourn for them who snared their fiery pinions,
+</p>
+<p>
+Entangled in the meshes of bright words.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+A lemming stirs the fern and in the mosses
+</p>
+<p>
+Eft-minded things feel the air change, and dawn
+</p>
+<p>
+Tolls out from the dark belfries of the spruces.
+</p>
+<p>
+How often in the autumn of the world
+</p>
+<p>
+Shall the crystal shrine of dawning be rebuilt
+</p>
+<p>
+With deeper meaning! Shall the poet then,
+</p>
+<p>
+Wrapped in his mantle on the height of land,
+</p>
+<p>
+Brood on the welter of the lives of men
+</p>
+<p>
+And dream of his ideal hope and promise
+</p>
+<p>
+In the blush sunrise? Shall he base his flight
+</p>
+<p>
+Upon a more compelling law than Love
+</p>
+<p>
+As Life's atonement; shall the vision
+</p>
+<p>
+Of noble deed and noble thought immingled
+</p>
+<p>
+Seem as uncouth to him as the pictograph
+</p>
+<p>
+Scratched on the cave side by the cave-dweller
+</p>
+<p>
+To us of the Christ-time? Shall he stand
+</p>
+<p>
+With deeper joy, with more complex emotion,
+</p>
+<p>
+In closer commune with divinity,
+</p>
+<p>
+With the deep fathomed, with the firmament charted,
+</p>
+<p>
+With life as simple as a sheep-boy's song,
+</p>
+<p>
+What lies beyond a romaunt that was read
+</p>
+<p>
+Once on a morn of storm and laid aside
+</p>
+<p>
+Memorious with strange immortal memories?
+</p>
+<p>
+Or shall he see the sunrise as I see it
+</p>
+<p>
+In shoals of misty fire the deluge-light
+</p>
+<p>
+Dashes upon and whelms with purer radiance,
+</p>
+<p>
+And feel the lulled earth, older in pulse and motion,
+</p>
+<p>
+Turn the rich lands and the inundant oceans
+</p>
+<p>
+To the flushed color, and hear as now I hear
+</p>
+<p>
+The thrill of life beat up the planet's margin
+</p>
+<p>
+And break in the clear susurrus of deep joy
+</p>
+<p>
+That echoes and re&#235;choes in my being?
+</p>
+<p>
+O Life is intuition the measure of knowledge
+</p>
+<p>
+And do I stand with heart entranced and burning
+</p>
+<p>
+At the zenith of our wisdom when I feel
+</p>
+<p>
+The long light flow, the long wind pause, the deep
+</p>
+<p>
+Influx of spirit, of which no man may tell
+</p>
+<p>
+The Secret, golden and inappellable?
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="77">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+NEW YEAR'S NIGHT, 1916
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The Earth moans in her sleep
+</p>
+<p>
+Like an old mother
+</p>
+<p>
+Whose sons have gone to the war,
+</p>
+<p>
+Who weeps silently in her heart
+</p>
+<p>
+Till dreams comfort her.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The Earth tosses
+</p>
+<p>
+As if she would shake off humanity,
+</p>
+<p>
+A burden too heavy to be borne,
+</p>
+<p>
+And free of the pest of intolerable men,
+</p>
+<p>
+Spin with woods and waters
+</p>
+<p>
+Joyously in the clear heavens
+</p>
+<p>
+In the beautiful cool rains,
+</p>
+<p>
+Bearing gladly the dumb animals,
+</p>
+<p>
+And sleep when the time comes
+</p>
+<p>
+Glistening in the remains of sunlight
+</p>
+<p>
+With marmoreal innocency.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Be comforted, old mother,
+</p>
+<p>
+Whose sons have gone to the war;
+</p>
+<p>
+And be assured, O Earth,
+</p>
+<p>
+Of your burden of passionate men,
+</p>
+<p>
+For without them who would dream the dreams
+</p>
+<p>
+That encompass you with glory,
+</p>
+<p>
+Who would gather your youth
+</p>
+<p>
+And store it in the jar of remembrance,
+</p>
+<p>
+Who would comfort your old heart
+</p>
+<p>
+With tales told of the heroes,
+</p>
+<p>
+Who would cover your face with the cerecloth
+</p>
+<p>
+All rustling with stars,
+</p>
+<p>
+And mourn in the ashes of sunlight,
+</p>
+<p>
+Mourn your marmoreal innocency?
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="79">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+FRAGMENT OF AN ODE TO CANADA
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i16">
+This is the land!
+</p>
+<p>
+It lies outstretched a vision of delight,
+</p>
+<p>
+Bent like a shield between the silver seas
+</p>
+<p>
+It flashes back the hauteur of the sun;
+</p>
+<p>
+Yet teems with humblest beauties, still a part
+</p>
+<p>
+Of its Titanic and ebullient heart.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Land of the glacial, lonely mountain ranges,
+</p>
+<p>
+Where nothing haps save vast &#198;onian changes,
+</p>
+<p>
+The slow moraine, the avalanche's wings,
+</p>
+<p>
+Summer and Sun,&#8212;the elemental things,
+</p>
+<p>
+Pulses of Awe,&#8212;Winter and Night and the lightnings.
+</p>
+<p>
+Land of the pines that rear their dusky spars
+</p>
+<p>
+A ready midnight for the earliest stars.
+</p>
+<p>
+The land of rivers, rivulets, and rills,
+</p>
+<p>
+Straining incessant everyway to the sea
+</p>
+<p>
+With their white thunder harnessed in the mills,
+</p>
+<p>
+Turning one wealth to another wealth perpetually;
+</p>
+<p>
+Spinning the lightning with dynamic spindles,
+</p>
+<p>
+Till some far city dowered with fire enkindles.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The land of fruit, fine-flavoured with the frost,
+</p>
+<p>
+Land of the cattle, the deep-chested host,
+</p>
+<p>
+The happy-souled, that contemplate the hours,
+</p>
+<p>
+Their dew-laps buried in the grass and flowers.
+</p>
+<p>
+And, O! the myriad-miracle of the grain
+</p>
+<p>
+Cresting the hill, brimming the level plain,
+</p>
+<p>
+The miracle of the flower and milk and kernel,
+</p>
+<p>
+Nurtured by sun-fire and frost-fire supernal,
+</p>
+<p>
+Until the farmer turns it in his hand,
+</p>
+<p>
+The million-millioned miracle of the land.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+And yet with all these pastoral and heroic graces,
+</p>
+<p>
+Our simplest flowers wear the loveliest faces;
+</p>
+<p>
+The sparrows are our most enraptured singers,
+</p>
+<p>
+And round their songs the fondest memory lingers;
+</p>
+<p>
+Our forests tower and tremble, star-enchanted,
+</p>
+<p>
+Their roots are by the timid spirits haunted
+</p>
+<p>
+Of hermit thrushes,&#8212;tranc&#232;d is the air,
+</p>
+<p>
+Ever in doubt when they shall sing or where;
+</p>
+<p>
+The mountains may with ice and avalanche wrestle,
+</p>
+<p>
+Far down their rugged steeps dimple and nestle
+</p>
+<p>
+The still, translucent, turquoise-hearted tarns.
+</p>
+</div>
+<hr class="div">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+And Thou, O Power, that 'stablishest the Nation,
+</p>
+<p>
+Give wisdom in the midst of our elation;
+</p>
+<p>
+Who are so free that we forget we are&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+That freedom brings the deepest obligation:
+</p>
+<p>
+Grant us this presage for a guiding star,
+</p>
+<p>
+To lead the van of Peace, not with a craven spirit,
+</p>
+<p>
+But with the consciousness that we inherit
+</p>
+<p>
+What built the Empire out of blood and fire,
+</p>
+<p>
+And can smite, too, in passion and with ire.
+</p>
+<p>
+Purge us of Pride, who are so quick in vaunting
+</p>
+<p>
+Thy gift, this land, that is in nothing wanting;
+</p>
+<p>
+Give Mind to match the glory of the gift,
+</p>
+<p>
+Give great Ideals to bridge the sordid rift
+</p>
+<p>
+Between our heritage and our use of it.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Then in some day of terror for the world,
+</p>
+<p>
+When all the flags of the Furies are unfurled,
+</p>
+<p>
+When Truth and Justice, wildered and unknit,
+</p>
+<p>
+Shall turn for help to this young, radiant land,
+</p>
+<p>
+We shall be quick to see and understand:
+</p>
+<p>
+What shall we answer in that stricken hour?
+</p>
+<p>
+Shall the deep thought be pregnant then with power?
+</p>
+<p>
+Shall the few words spring swift and grave and clear?
+</p>
+<p>
+Use well the present moment. They shall hear.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+August, 1911.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="84">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+FANTASIA
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Here in Samarcand they offer emeralds,
+</p>
+<p>
+Pure as frozen drops of sea-water,
+</p>
+<p>
+Rubies, pale as dew-ponds stained with slaughter,
+</p>
+<p>
+Where the fairies fought for a king's daughter
+</p>
+<p>
+In the elfin upland.
+</p>
+<p>
+Here they sell you jade and calcedony,
+</p>
+<p>
+And the matrix of the turquoise,
+</p>
+<p>
+Spheres of onyx held in eagles' claws,
+</p>
+<p>
+But they keep the gems as far asunder
+</p>
+<p>
+From the dull stones as the lightning from the thunder;
+</p>
+<p>
+They can never come together
+</p>
+<p>
+On the mats of Turkish leather
+</p>
+<p>
+In the booths of Samarcand.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Here they sell you balls of nard and honey,
+</p>
+<p>
+And squat jars of clarid butter,
+</p>
+<p>
+And the cheese from Kurdistan.
+</p>
+<p>
+When you offer Frankish money,
+</p>
+<p>
+Then they scowl and curse and mutter,
+</p>
+<p>
+Deep in Kurdish or Persan
+</p>
+<p>
+For they want your heart out and my hand
+</p>
+<p>
+In the booths of Samarcand.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+They would sell your heart's blood separate,
+</p>
+<p>
+In a jar with a gold brim,
+</p>
+<p>
+With a text of burning hatred
+</p>
+<p>
+Coiled around the rim;
+</p>
+<p>
+They would sell my hand upon a beam of teak wood,
+</p>
+<p>
+In the other scale a feather curled;
+</p>
+<p>
+They would sell your heart upon a silver balance
+</p>
+<p>
+Weighed against the world.
+</p>
+<p>
+But your heart could never touch my hand,
+</p>
+<p>
+They could never come together
+</p>
+<p>
+On the mats of Turkish leather
+</p>
+<p>
+In the booths of Samarcand.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="86">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+THE LOVER TO HIS LASS
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Crown her with stars, this angel of our planet,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Cover her with morning, this thing of pure delight,
+</p>
+<p>
+Mantle her with midnight till a mortal cannot
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+See her for the garments of the light and the night.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+How far I wandered, worlds away and far away,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Heard a voice but knew it not in the clear cold,
+</p>
+<p>
+Many a wide circle and many a wan star away,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Dwelling in the chambers where the worlds were growing old.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Saw them growing old and heard them falling
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Like ripe fruit when a tree is in the wind;
+</p>
+<p>
+Saw the seraphs gather them, their clarion voices calling
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+In rounds of cheering labour till the orchard floor was thinned.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Saw a whole universe turn to its setting,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Old and cold and weary, gray and cold as death,
+</p>
+<p>
+But before mine eyes were veiled in forgetting,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Something always caught my soul and held its breath.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Caught it up and held it, now I know the reason;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Governed it and soothed it, now I know why;
+</p>
+<p>
+Nurtured it and trained it and kept it for the season
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+When new worlds should blossom in the springtime sky.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+How have they blossomed, see the sky is like a garden!
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Ah! how fresh the worlds look hanging on the slope!
+</p>
+<p>
+Pluck one and wear it, Love, and ask the Gardener's pardon,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Pluck out the Pleiads like a spray of heliotrope.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+See Aldebaran like a red rose clamber,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+See brave Betelgeux pranked with poppy light;
+</p>
+<p>
+This young earth must float in floods of amber
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Glowing with a crocus flame in the dells of night.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+O you cannot cheat the soul of an inborn ambition,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+'Tis a naked viewless thing living in its thought,
+</p>
+<p>
+But it mounts through errors and by valleys of contrition
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Till it conquers destiny and finds the thing it sought.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Crown her with stars, this angel of our planet,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Cover her with morning, this thing of pure delight,
+</p>
+<p>
+Mantle her with midnight till a mortal cannot
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+See her for the garments of the light and the night.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="90">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+THE GHOST'S STORY
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+All my life long I heard the step
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Of some one I would know,
+</p>
+<p>
+Break softly in upon my days
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+And lightly come and go.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+A foot so brisk I said must bear
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+A heart that's clean and clear;
+</p>
+<p>
+If that companion blithe would come,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+I should be happy here.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+But though I waited long and well,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+He never came at all,
+</p>
+<p>
+I grew aweary of the void,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Even of the light foot-fall.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+From loneliness to loneliness
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+I felt my spirit grope&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+At last I knew the uttermost,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+The loneliness of hope.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+And just upon the border land,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Where flesh and spirit part,
+</p>
+<p>
+I knew the secret foot-fall was
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+The beating of my heart.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="92">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+NIGHT
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The night is old, and all the world
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Is wearied out with strife;
+</p>
+<p>
+A long gray mist lies heavy and wan
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Above the house of life.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Four stars burn up and are unquelled
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+By the low, shrunken moon;
+</p>
+<p>
+Her spirit draws her down and down&#8212;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+She shall be buried soon.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+There is a sound that is no sound,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Yet fine it falls and clear,
+</p>
+<p>
+The whisper of the spinning earth
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+To the tranced atmosphere.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+An odour lives where once was air,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+A strange, unearthly scent,
+</p>
+<p>
+From the burning of the four great stars
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Within the firmament.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The universe, deathless and old,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Breathes, yet is void of breath:
+</p>
+<p>
+As still as death that seems to move
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+And yet is still as death.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="94">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+THE APPARITION
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Gentle angel with your mantle,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+All of tender green,
+</p>
+<p>
+I was yearning for a vision
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Of the life unseen.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+When you hovered in the sunset,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Just as rain was done;
+</p>
+<p>
+Where the dropping from the poplars
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Seemed like rain begun.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+There you gathered forming slowly
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Rounding into view:
+</p>
+<p>
+All your vesture glowed like verdure
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+When the sap is new.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Then you mutely gave your warning
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+And I felt the stress
+</p>
+<p>
+Of its passion and its presage
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+And its utterness.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+There you swayed one tranquil moment,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Mystically fair,
+</p>
+<p>
+Then you were not of the sunset,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Were not in the air.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="96">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+AT SEA
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Three are emerald pools in the sea,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+And wing-like flashes of light;
+</p>
+<p>
+The sea is bound with the heavens
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+In a large delight.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Night comes out of the east
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+And rushes down on the sun;
+</p>
+<p>
+The emerald pools and the light pools
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Are darkened and done.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Our boat dips and cleaves onward,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Careless of night or of light,
+</p>
+<p>
+Following the line of her compass
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+By her engines' might.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Through the desert of air and of water;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Like the lonely soul of man,
+</p>
+<p>
+Following her fate to the ending,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Unaware of the hidden plan.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Sure only of battle and longing,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Of the pain and the quest,
+</p>
+<p>
+And beyond in the darkness somewhere
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Sure of her rest.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="98">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+MADONNA WITH TWO ANGELS
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Under the sky without a stain
+</p>
+<p>
+The long, ripe, rippling of the grain;
+</p>
+<p>
+Light, broadcast from the golden oats
+</p>
+<p>
+Over the blackberry fences floats.
+</p>
+<p>
+Madonna sits in a cedar chair
+</p>
+<p>
+Tranquillized by the warm, still air;
+</p>
+<p>
+One of the angels asleep on her knee
+</p>
+<p>
+Under the shade of an apple tree.
+</p>
+<p>
+The other angel holds a doll,
+</p>
+<p>
+Covered warm in a tiny shawl;
+</p>
+<p>
+The toy is supposed to be fast asleep
+</p>
+<p>
+As the sister angel: in dimples deep
+</p>
+<p>
+The grave, sweet charm on the baby face
+</p>
+<p>
+Repeats the look of maturer grace
+</p>
+<p>
+That hovers about Madonna's eyes,
+</p>
+<p>
+One of the heavenly mysteries
+</p>
+<p>
+From far ethereal latitudes
+</p>
+<p>
+Where neither doubt nor trouble intrudes.
+</p>
+<p>
+Ponder here in the orchard nest
+</p>
+<p>
+On the truth of life made manifest:
+</p>
+<p>
+The struggle and effort was all to prove
+</p>
+<p>
+That the best of the world is home and love.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="100">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+MID-AUGUST
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+From the upland hidden,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Where the hill is sunny
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Tawny like pure honey
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+In the August heat,
+</p>
+<p>
+Memories float unbidden
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Where the thicket serries
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Fragrant with ripe berries
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+And the milk-weed sweet.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Like a prayer-mat holy
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Are the patterned mosses
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Which the twin-flower crosses
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+With her flowerless vine;
+</p>
+<p>
+In fragile melancholy
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+The pallid ghost flowers hover
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+As if to guard and cover
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+The shadow of a shrine.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Where the pine-linnet lingered
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+The pale water searches,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+The roots of gleaming birches
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Draw silver from the lake;
+</p>
+<p>
+The ripples, liquid-fingered,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Plucking the root-layers,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Fairy like lute players
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Lulling music make.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+O to lie here brooding
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Where the pine-tree column
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Rises dark and solemn
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+To the airy lair,
+</p>
+<p>
+Where, the day eluding,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Night is couched dream laden,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Like a deep witch-maiden
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Hidden in her hair.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+In filmy evanescence
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Wraithlike scents assemble,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Then dissolve and tremble
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+A little until they die;
+</p>
+<p>
+Spirits of the florescence
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Where the bees searched and tarried
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Till the blossoms all were married
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+In the days before July.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Light has lost its splendour,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Light refined and sifted,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Cool light and dream drifted
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Ventures even where,
+</p>
+<p>
+(Seeping silver tender)
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+In the dim recesses,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Trembling mid her tresses,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Hides the maiden hair.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Covered with the shy-light,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Filling in the hushes,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Slide the tawny thrushes
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Calling to their broods,
+</p>
+<p>
+Hoarding till the twilight
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+The song that made for noon-days
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Of the amorous June days
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Preludes and interludes.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The joy that I am feeling
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Is there something in it
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Unlike the warble the linnet
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Phrases and intones?
+</p>
+<p>
+Or is a like thought stealing
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+With a rapture fine, free
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Through the happy pine tree
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Ripening her cones?
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+In some high existence
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+In another planet
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Where their poets cannot
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Know our birds and flowers,
+</p>
+<p>
+Does the same persistence
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Give the dreams they issue
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Something like the tissue
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Of these dreams of ours?
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+O to lie athinking&#8212;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Moods and whims! I fancy
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Only necromancy
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Could the web unroll,
+</p>
+<p>
+Only somehow linking
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Beauties that meet and mingle
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+In this quiet dingle
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+With the beauty of the whole.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="105">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+MIST AND FROST
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Veil-like and beautiful
+</p>
+<p>
+Gathered the dutiful
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Mist in the night,
+</p>
+<p>
+True to the messaging,
+</p>
+<p>
+Dreamful and presaging
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Vapour and light.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Ghostly and chill it is,
+</p>
+<p>
+Pallid and still it is,
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Sudden uprist;
+</p>
+<p>
+What is there tragical,
+</p>
+<p>
+Moving or magical,
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Hid in the mist?
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Millions of essences,
+</p>
+<p>
+Fairy-like presences
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Formless as yet;
+</p>
+<p>
+Light-riven spangles,
+</p>
+<p>
+Crystalline tangles
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Floating unset.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Frost will come shepherding
+</p>
+<p>
+Nowise enjeoparding
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Frondage or flower;
+</p>
+<p>
+Just a degree of it,
+</p>
+<p>
+Nought can we see of it
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Only its power.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Earth like a Swimmer
+</p>
+<p>
+Plunged into the dimmer
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Wave of the night,
+</p>
+<p>
+Now is uprisen,
+</p>
+<p>
+An Elysian vision
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Of spray and of light.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+'Tis the intangible
+</p>
+<p>
+Delicate frangible
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Secret of mist,
+</p>
+<p>
+Breathing may banish it,
+</p>
+<p>
+Thought may evanish it,&#8212;
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Ponder and whist!
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Passionless purity,
+</p>
+<p>
+Calmness in surety
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Dwells everywhere,
+</p>
+<p>
+A winnowed whiteness,
+</p>
+<p>
+A lunar lightness
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Glows in the air.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+But in the heart of it
+</p>
+<p>
+Every least part of it
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Blooms with the charm,
+</p>
+<p>
+Star-shape and frondage
+</p>
+<p>
+Broken from bondage
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Forged into form.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Crystals encrusted,
+</p>
+<p>
+Diamonds dusted
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Line everything,
+</p>
+<p>
+Tiny the stencillings
+</p>
+<p>
+Are as the pencillings
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+On a moth's wing.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+And O, what a wonder!
+</p>
+<p>
+No farther asunder
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Than atoms are laid,
+</p>
+<p>
+The arches and angles
+</p>
+<p>
+Of star-froth and spangles
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Cast their own shade.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Out from the chalices,
+</p>
+<p>
+The pigmy palaces
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Where the tint hides,
+</p>
+<p>
+Opal and sapphire
+</p>
+<p>
+Half-pearl and half-fire
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+The colour slides;
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Till the frail miracle
+</p>
+<p>
+Rapturous lyrical
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Flushes and glows
+</p>
+<p>
+With a wraith of florescence
+</p>
+<p>
+That tempers or lessens
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+The light of the snows.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Held all aquiver,&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+But now with a shiver
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+The power of the sun
+</p>
+<p>
+Dissolves the laces
+</p>
+<p>
+Of the tender mazes,
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+All is undone.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+But the old Earth brooding,
+</p>
+<p>
+All wisdom including,
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Affirms and assures
+</p>
+<p>
+That above the material,
+</p>
+<p>
+Triumphal imperial
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+Beauty endures.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="110">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+THE BEGGAR AND THE ANGEL
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+An angel burdened with self-pity
+</p>
+<p>
+Came out of heaven to a modern city.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+He saw a beggar on the street,
+</p>
+<p>
+Where the tides of traffic meet.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+A pair of brass-bound hickory pegs
+</p>
+<p>
+Brought him his pence instead of legs.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+A murky dog by him did lie,
+</p>
+<p>
+Poodle, in part, his ancestry.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The angel stood and thought upon
+</p>
+<p>
+This poodle-haunted beggar man.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+&#34;My life is grown a bore,&#34; said he,
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;One long round of sciamachy;
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+I think I'll do a little good,
+</p>
+<p>
+By way of change from angelhood.&#34;
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+He drew near to the beggar grim,
+</p>
+<p>
+And gravely thus accosted him:
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+&#34;How would you like, my friend, to fly
+</p>
+<p>
+All day through the translucent sky;
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+To knock at the door of the red leaven,
+</p>
+<p>
+And even to enter the orthodox heaven?
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+If you would care to know this joy,
+</p>
+<p>
+I will surrender my employ,
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+And take your ills, collect your pelf,
+</p>
+<p>
+An humble beggar like yourself.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+For ages you these joys may know,
+</p>
+<p>
+While I shall suffer here below;
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+And in the end we both may gain
+</p>
+<p>
+Access of pleasure from my pain.&#34;
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The stationary vagrant said,
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;I do not mind, so go ahead.&#34;
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The angel told the heavenly charm,
+</p>
+<p>
+He felt a wing on either arm;
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+&#34;Good-day,&#34; he said, &#34;this floating's queer
+</p>
+<p>
+If I should want to change next year&#8212;?&#34;
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+&#34;Pull out that feather!&#34; the angel said,
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;The one half black and the other half red.&#34;
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The cripple cried, &#34;Before you're through
+</p>
+<p>
+You may get fagged, and if you do,&#8212;&#34;
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The angel superciliously&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;My transformed friend, don't think of me.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+I shall be happy day and night,
+</p>
+<p>
+In doing what I think is right.&#34;
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+&#34;So so,&#34; the feathered beggar said,
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Good-bye, I am just overhead.&#34;
+</p>
+</div>
+<hr class="div">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The angel when he grasped the dish,
+</p>
+<p>
+Began to criticize his wish.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The seat was hard as granite rocks,
+</p>
+<p>
+His real legs were in the box.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+His knees were cramped, his shins were sore,
+</p>
+<p>
+The lying pegs stuck out before.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+In vain he clinked the dish and whined.
+</p>
+<p>
+The passers-by seemed deaf and blind.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+As pious looking as Saint Denis,
+</p>
+<p>
+An urchin stole his catch-penny.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+And even the beggar's drab-fleeced poodle
+</p>
+<p>
+Began to know him for a noodle.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+&#34;It has an uncelestial scent,
+</p>
+<p>
+The clothing of this mendicant;&#34;
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+He cried, &#34;That trickling down my spine
+</p>
+<p>
+Is anything but hyaline.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+This day is like a thousand years:
+</p>
+<p>
+I'd give an age of sighs and tears
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+To see with his confectioned grin
+</p>
+<p>
+One cherub sitting on his chin.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+That cripple was by far too sly&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+I wish he'd tumble from the sky,
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+That things might be as they were before;
+</p>
+<p>
+I really cannot stand much more!&#34;
+</p>
+</div>
+<hr class="div">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The beggar in the angel's guise,
+</p>
+<p>
+Rose far above the smoky skies.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+But being a beggar, never saw
+</p>
+<p>
+The charm of the compelling law
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+That turned the swinging universe:
+</p>
+<p>
+'Twas gloomy as an empty purse.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Often with heaven in his head,
+</p>
+<p>
+He blundered on a planet dead.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+And when with an immortal fuss,
+</p>
+<p>
+He singed his wings at Sirius.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+He plucked the feather with his teeth,
+</p>
+<p>
+The charm was potent and beneath,
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+He saw the turmoil of the way
+</p>
+<p>
+Grown wilder at the close of day,
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+With the sad poodle, can in hand,
+</p>
+<p>
+The angel still at the old stand.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+&#34;My friend,&#34; said the angel, hemming and humming,
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Truly I thought you were never coming.&#34;
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+&#34;That's an unhandsome thing to say,
+</p>
+<p>
+Seeing I've only been gone a day.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+But there's nothing in all your brazen sky
+</p>
+<p>
+To match the cock of that poodle's eye.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Take your dish and give me my wings,
+</p>
+<p>
+'Tis but a fair exchange of things.&#34;
+</p>
+</div>
+<hr class="div">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The beggar felt his garment's rot,
+</p>
+<p>
+The horn ridge of each callous spot;
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+He clinked his can and was content;
+</p>
+<p>
+His poverty was permanent.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="117">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+IMPROVISATION ON AN OLD SONG
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+(The refrain is quoted by Edward Fitzgerald in one of his letters)
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+<strong>
+I</strong>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Growing, growing, all the glory going;
+</p>
+<p>
+Flashing out of fire and light, burning to a husk,
+</p>
+<p>
+All the world's a-dying and failing in the dusk&#8212;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+<i>
+Growing, growing, all the glory going.</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Rust is on the door-latch, ashes at the root,
+</p>
+<p>
+Dry rot in the ridge-pole, canker in the fruit;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+<i>
+Growing, growing, all the glory going.</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Plot, ye subtle statesmen,&#8212;a trace of melted wax;
+</p>
+<p>
+Bind, ye haughty prelates,&#8212;a thread of ravelled flax;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+<i>
+Growing, growing, all the glory going.</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+March, ye mighty captains,&#8212;an eddy in the dust;
+</p>
+<p>
+Rave, ye furious lovers,&#8212;a stain of crimson rust;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+<i>
+Growing, growing, all the glory going.</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Pictures, poems, music&#8212;their essential soul,
+</p>
+<p>
+Idle as dry roses in a silver bowl;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+<i>
+Growing, growing, all the glory going.</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+London is a hearsay, Paris but a myth,
+</p>
+<p>
+Rome a wand of sweet-flag withered to the pith;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+<i>
+Growing, growing, all the glory going.</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Palsy shakes the planets, frost has chilled the sun,
+</p>
+<p>
+In a crushing silence the All is dead and done.
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+<i>
+Growing, growing, all the glory going.</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+<strong>
+II</strong>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Going, going, all the glory growing,
+</p>
+<p>
+See it stir and flutter; that is singing, hark!
+</p>
+<p>
+Singing in the caverns of the primal dark.
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+<i>
+Going, going, all the glory growing.</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+What is in the making, what immortal plan
+</p>
+<p>
+Draws to its unfolding? 'Tis the Soul of man.
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+<i>
+Going, going, all the glory growing.</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+See it mount and hover, singing as it goes,
+</p>
+<p>
+Battling with the darkness, nourished by its woes;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+<i>
+Going, going, all the glory growing.</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The bale-fires of midnight glaring in its eyes,
+</p>
+<p>
+Past the phantom shadows see it rush and rise;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+<i>
+Going, going, all the glory growing.</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The supernal morning on its dewy wings,
+</p>
+<p>
+Soaring and scorning the lust of earthy things;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+<i>
+Going, going, all the glory growing.</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The beatific noontide on its eager breast
+</p>
+<p>
+Springing and singing to its halcyon rest;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+<i>
+Going, going, all the glory growing.</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+In its starry vesture not a vestige of the sod,
+</p>
+<p>
+Winging still and singing to the heart of God.
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+<i>
+Going, going, all the glory growing.</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="121">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+O TURN ONCE MORE
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+O turn once more!
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+The meadows where we mused and strayed together
+</p>
+<p>
+Abound and glow yet with the ruby sorrel;
+</p>
+<p>
+'Twas there the bluebirds fought and played together,
+</p>
+<p>
+Their quarrel was a flying bluebird-quarrel;
+</p>
+<p>
+Their nest is firm still in the burnished cherry,
+</p>
+<p>
+They will come back there some day and be merry;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+O turn once more.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+O turn once more!
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+The spring we lingered at is ever steeping
+</p>
+<p>
+The long, cool grasses where the violets hide,
+</p>
+<p>
+Where you awoke the flower-heads from their sleeping
+</p>
+<p>
+And plucked them, proud in their inviolate pride;
+</p>
+<p>
+You left the roots, the roots will flower again,
+</p>
+<p>
+O turn once more and pluck the flower again;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+O turn once more.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+O turn once more!
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+We were the first to find the fairy places
+</p>
+<p>
+Where the tall lady-slippers scarf'd and snooded,
+</p>
+<p>
+Painted their lovely thoughts upon their faces,
+</p>
+<p>
+And then, bewitched by their own beauty brooded;
+</p>
+<p>
+This will recur in some enchanted fashion;
+</p>
+<p>
+Time will repeat his miracles of passion;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+O turn once more.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+O turn once more!
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+What heart is worth the longing for, the winning,
+</p>
+<p>
+That is not moved by currents of surprise;
+</p>
+<p>
+Who never breaks the silken thread in spinning,
+</p>
+<p>
+Shows a bare spindle when the daylight dies;
+</p>
+<p>
+The constant blood will yet flow full and tender;
+</p>
+<p>
+The thread will mended be though gossamer-slender;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+O turn once more.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="124">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+AT THE GILL-NETS
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Tug at the net,
+</p>
+<p>
+Haul at the net,
+</p>
+<p>
+Strip off the quivering fish;
+</p>
+<p>
+Hid in the mist
+</p>
+<p>
+The winds whist,
+</p>
+<p>
+Is like my heart's wish.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+What is your wish,
+</p>
+<p>
+Your heart's wish?
+</p>
+<p>
+Is it for home on the hills?
+</p>
+<p>
+Strip off the fish,
+</p>
+<p>
+The silver fish,
+</p>
+<p>
+Caught by their rosy gills.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+How can I know,
+</p>
+<p>
+I love you so,
+</p>
+<p>
+Each little thought I get
+</p>
+<p>
+Is held so,
+</p>
+<p>
+It dies you know,
+</p>
+<p>
+Caught in your heart's net.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Tug at your net,
+</p>
+<p>
+Your heart's net,
+</p>
+<p>
+Strip off my silver fancies;
+</p>
+<p>
+Keep them in rhyme,
+</p>
+<p>
+For a dull time,
+</p>
+<p>
+Fragile as frost pansies.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="126">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+A LOVE SONG
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+I gave her a rose in early June,
+</p>
+<p>
+Fed with the sun and the dew,
+</p>
+<p>
+Each petal I said is a note in the tune,
+</p>
+<p>
+The rose is the whole tune through and through,
+</p>
+<p>
+The tune is the whole red-hearted rose,
+</p>
+<p>
+Flush and form, honey and hue,
+</p>
+<p>
+Lull with the cadence and throb to the close,
+</p>
+<p>
+I love you, I love you, I love you.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+She gave me a rose in early June,
+</p>
+<p>
+Fed with the sun and the dew,
+</p>
+<p>
+Each petal she said is a mount in the moon,
+</p>
+<p>
+The rose is the whole moon through and through,
+</p>
+<p>
+The moon is the whole pale-hearted rose,
+</p>
+<p>
+Round and radiance, burnish and blue,
+</p>
+<p>
+Break in the flood-tide that murmurs and flows,
+</p>
+<p>
+I love you, I love you, I love you.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+This is our love in early June,
+</p>
+<p>
+Fed with the sun and the dew,
+</p>
+<p>
+Moonlight and roses hid in a tune,
+</p>
+<p>
+The roses are music through and through,
+</p>
+<p>
+The moonlight falls in the breath of the rose,
+</p>
+<p>
+Light and cadence, honey and hue,
+</p>
+<p>
+Mingle, and murmur, and flow to the close,
+</p>
+<p>
+I love you, I love you, I love you.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+THREE SONGS
+</p>
+</div>
+<a name="128">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+<strong>
+I</strong>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Where love is life
+</p>
+<p>
+The roses blow,
+</p>
+<p>
+Though winds be rude
+</p>
+<p>
+And cold the snow,
+</p>
+<p>
+The roses climb
+</p>
+<p>
+Serenely slow,
+</p>
+<p>
+They nod in rhyme
+</p>
+<p>
+We know&#8212;we know
+</p>
+<p>
+Where love is life
+</p>
+<p>
+The roses blow.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Where life is love
+</p>
+<p>
+The roses blow,
+</p>
+<p>
+Though care be quick
+</p>
+<p>
+And sorrows grow,
+</p>
+<p>
+Their roots are twined
+</p>
+<p>
+With rose-roots so
+</p>
+<p>
+That rosebuds find
+</p>
+<p>
+A way to show
+</p>
+<p>
+Where life is love
+</p>
+<p>
+The roses blow.
+</p>
+</div>
+<a name="129_1">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+<strong>
+II</strong>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Nothing came here but sunlight,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Nothing fell here but rain,
+</p>
+<p>
+Nothing blew but the mellow wind,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Here are the flowers again!
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+No one came here but you, dear,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+You with your magic train
+</p>
+<p>
+Of brightness and laughter and lightness,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Here is my joy again!
+</p>
+</div>
+<a name="129_2">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+<strong>
+III</strong>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+I have songs of dancing pleasure,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+I have songs of happy heart,
+</p>
+<p>
+Songs are mine that pulse in measure
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+To the throbbing of the mart.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Songs are mine of magic seeming,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+In a land of love forlorn,
+</p>
+<p>
+Where the joys are had for dreaming,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+At a summons from the horn.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+But my sad songs come unbidden,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Rising with a wilder zest,
+</p>
+<p>
+From the bitter pool that's hidden,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Deep&#8212;deep&#8212;deep within my breast.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="131">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+THE SAILOR'S SWEETHEART
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+O if love were had for asking,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+In the markets of the town,
+</p>
+<p>
+Hardly a lass would think to wear
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+A fine silken gown:
+</p>
+<p>
+But love is had by grieving
+</p>
+<p>
+By choosing and by leaving,
+</p>
+<p>
+And there's no one now to ask me
+</p>
+<p>
+If heavy lies my heart.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+O if love were had for a deep wish
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+In the deadness of the night,
+</p>
+<p>
+There'd be a truce to longing
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Between the dusk and the light:
+</p>
+<p>
+But love is had for sighing,
+</p>
+<p>
+For living and for dying,
+</p>
+<p>
+And there's no one now to ask me
+</p>
+<p>
+If heavy lies my heart.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+O if love were had for taking
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Like honey from the hive,
+</p>
+<p>
+The bees that made the tender stuff
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Could hardly keep alive:
+</p>
+<p>
+But love it is a wounded thing,
+</p>
+<p>
+A tremor and a smart,
+</p>
+<p>
+And there's no one left to kiss me now
+</p>
+<p>
+Over my heavy heart.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="133">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+FEUILLES D'AUTOMNE
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Gather the leaves from the forest
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+And blow them over the world,
+</p>
+<p>
+The wind of winter follows
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+The wind of autumn furled.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Only the beech tree cherishes
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+A leaf or two for ruth,
+</p>
+<p>
+Their stems too tough for the tempest,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Like thoughts of love and of youth.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+You may sit by the fire and ponder
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+While darkness veils the pane,
+</p>
+<p>
+And fear that your memories are rushing away
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+In the wind and the rain.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+But you'll find them in the quiet
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+When the clouds race with the moon,
+</p>
+<p>
+Making the tender silver sound
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Of a beech in the month of June.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+For you cannot rob the memory
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Of the leaves it loves the best;
+</p>
+<p>
+The wind of time may harry them,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+It rushes away with the rest.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+TO THE HEROIC SOUL
+</p>
+</div>
+<a name="135">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+<strong>
+I</strong>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Nurture thyself, O Soul, from the clear spring
+</p>
+<p>
+That wells beneath the secret inner shrine;
+</p>
+<p>
+Commune with its deep murmur,&#8212;'tis divine;
+</p>
+<p>
+Be faithful to the ebb and flow that bring
+</p>
+<p>
+The outer tide of Spirit to trouble and swing
+</p>
+<p>
+The inlet of thy being. Learn to know
+</p>
+<p>
+These powers, and life with all its venom and show
+</p>
+<p>
+Shall have no force to dazzle thee or sting:
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+And when Grief comes thou shalt have suffered more
+</p>
+<p>
+Than all the deepest woes of all the world;
+</p>
+<p>
+Joy, dancing in, shall find thee nourished with mirth;
+</p>
+<p>
+Wisdom shall find her Master at thy door;
+</p>
+<p>
+And Love shall find thee crowned with love empearled;
+</p>
+<p>
+And death shall touch thee not but a new birth.
+</p>
+</div>
+<a name="136">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+<strong>
+II</strong>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Be strong, O warring soul! For very sooth
+</p>
+<p>
+Kings are but wraiths, republics fade like rain,
+</p>
+<p>
+Peoples are reaped and garnered as the grain,
+</p>
+<p>
+And that alone prevails which is the truth:
+</p>
+<p>
+Be strong when all the days of life bear ruth
+</p>
+<p>
+And fury, and are hot with toil and strain:
+</p>
+<p>
+Hold thy large faith and quell thy mighty pain:
+</p>
+<p>
+Dream the great dream that buoys thine age with youth.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Thou art an eagle mewed in a sea-stopped cave:
+</p>
+<p>
+He, poised in darkness with victorious wings,
+</p>
+<p>
+Keeps night between the granite and the sea,
+</p>
+<p>
+Until the tide has drawn the warder-wave:
+</p>
+<p>
+Then from the portal where the ripple rings,
+</p>
+<p>
+He bursts into the boundless morning,&#8212;free!
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="138">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+RETROSPECT
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+This is the mockery of the moving years;
+</p>
+<p>
+Youth's colour dies, the fervid morning glow
+</p>
+<p>
+Is gone from off the foreland; slow, slow,
+</p>
+<p>
+Even slower than the fount of human tears
+</p>
+<p>
+To empty, the consuming shadow nears
+</p>
+<p>
+That Time is casting on the worldly show
+</p>
+<p>
+Of pomp and glory. But falter not;&#8212;below
+</p>
+<p>
+That thought is based a deeper thought that cheers.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Glean thou thy past; that will alone inure
+</p>
+<p>
+To catch thy heart up from a dark distress;
+</p>
+<p>
+It were enough to find one deed mature,
+</p>
+<p>
+Deep-rooted, mighty 'mid the toil and press;
+</p>
+<p>
+To save one memory of the sweet and pure,
+</p>
+<p>
+From out life's failure and its bitterness.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+FROST MAGIC
+</p>
+</div>
+<a name="139">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+<strong>
+I</strong>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Now, in the moonrise, from a wintry sky,
+</p>
+<p>
+The frost has come to charm with elfin might
+</p>
+<p>
+This quiet room; to draw with symbols bright
+</p>
+<p>
+Faces and forms in fairest charactery
+</p>
+<p>
+Upon the casement; all the thoughts that lie
+</p>
+<p>
+Deep hidden in my heart's core he would tell,
+</p>
+<p>
+How the red shoots of fancy strike and swell,
+</p>
+<p>
+How they are watered, what soil nourished by.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+With eerie power he piles his atomies,
+</p>
+<p>
+Incrusted gems, star-glances overborne
+</p>
+<p>
+With lids of sleep pulled from the moth's bright eyes,
+</p>
+<p>
+And forests of frail ferns, blanched and forlorn,
+</p>
+<p>
+Where Oberon of unimagined size
+</p>
+<p>
+Might in the silver silence wind his horn.
+</p>
+</div>
+<a name="140">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+<strong>
+II</strong>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+With these alone he draws in magic lines,
+</p>
+<p>
+Faces that people dreams, and chiefly one
+</p>
+<p>
+Happy and brilliant as the northern sun,
+</p>
+<p>
+And by its darling side there gleams and shines
+</p>
+<p>
+One of God's children with the laughing signs
+</p>
+<p>
+Of dimples, and glad accents, and sweet cries,
+</p>
+<p>
+That angels are and heaven's memories:
+</p>
+<p>
+The wizard thus my soul's estate divines;
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+All it holds dear he sets alone apart,
+</p>
+<p>
+Etches the past in likeness of dim groves
+</p>
+<p>
+Silvered in quiet rime and with rare art,
+</p>
+<p>
+In crystal spoils and fairy treasure-troves,
+</p>
+<p>
+He draws the picture of the happy heart,
+</p>
+<p>
+By those who love it most, whom most it loves.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="142">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+IN SNOW-TIME
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+I have seen things that charmed the heart to rest:
+</p>
+<p>
+Faint moonlight on the towers of ancient towns,
+</p>
+<p>
+Flattering the soul to dream of old renowns;
+</p>
+<p>
+The first clear silver on the mountain crest
+</p>
+<p>
+Where the lone eagle by his chilly nest
+</p>
+<p>
+Called the lone soul to brood serenely free;
+</p>
+<p>
+Still pools of sunlight shimmering in the sea,
+</p>
+<p>
+Calm after storm, wherein the storm seemed blest.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+But here a peace deeper than peace is furled,
+</p>
+<p>
+Enshrined and chaliced from the changeful hour;
+</p>
+<p>
+The snow is still, yet lives in its own light.
+</p>
+<p>
+Here is the peace which brooded day and night,
+</p>
+<p>
+Before the heart of man with its wild power
+</p>
+<p>
+Had ever spurned or trampled the great world.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="143">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+TO A CANADIAN LAD KILLED IN THE WAR
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+O noble youth that held our honour in keeping,
+</p>
+<p>
+And bore it sacred through the battle flame,
+</p>
+<p>
+How shall we give full measure of acclaim
+</p>
+<p>
+To thy sharp labour, thy immortal reaping?
+</p>
+<p>
+For though we sowed with doubtful hands, half sleeping,
+</p>
+<p>
+Thou in thy vivid pride hast reaped a nation,
+</p>
+<p>
+And brought it in with shouts and exultation,
+</p>
+<p>
+With drums and trumpets, with flags flashing and leaping.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Let us bring pungent wreaths of balsam, and tender
+</p>
+<p>
+Tendrils of wild-flowers, lovelier for thy daring,
+</p>
+<p>
+And deck a sylvan shrine, where the maple parts
+</p>
+<p>
+The moonlight, with lilac bloom, and the splendour
+</p>
+<p>
+Of suns unwearied; all unwithered, wearing
+</p>
+<p>
+Thy valor stainless in our heart of hearts.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p class="section">
+THE CLOSED DOOR
+</p>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i16">
+<i>
+The dew falls and the stars fall,</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i16">
+<i>
+The sun falls in the west,</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i16">
+<i>
+But never more</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i16">
+<i>
+Through the closed door,</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i16">
+<i>
+Shall the one that I loved best</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i16">
+<i>
+Return to me:</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i16">
+<i>
+A salt tear is the sea,</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i16">
+<i>
+All earth's air is a sigh,</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i16">
+<i>
+But they never can mourn for me</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i16">
+<i>
+With my heart's cry,</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i16">
+<i>
+For the one that I loved best</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i16">
+<i>
+Who caressed me with her eyes,</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i16">
+<i>
+And every morning came to me,</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i16">
+<i>
+With the beauty of sunrise,</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i16">
+<i>
+Who was health and wealth and all,</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i16">
+<i>
+Who never shall answer my call,</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i16">
+<i>
+While the sun falls in the west,</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i16">
+<i>
+The dew falls and the stars fall.</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="147">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+BY A CHILD'S BED
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+She breath&#232;d deep,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+And stepped from out life's stream
+</p>
+<p>
+Upon the shore of sleep;
+</p>
+<p>
+And parted from the earthly noise,
+</p>
+<p>
+Leaving her world of toys,
+</p>
+<p>
+To dwell a little in a dell of dream.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Then brooding on the love I hold so free,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+My fond possessions come to be
+</p>
+<p>
+Clouded with grief;
+</p>
+<p>
+These fairy kisses,
+</p>
+<p>
+This archness innocent,
+</p>
+<p>
+Sting me with sorrow and disturbed content:
+</p>
+<p>
+I think of what my portion might have been;
+</p>
+<p>
+A dearth of blisses,
+</p>
+<p>
+A famine of delights,
+</p>
+<p>
+If I had never had what now I value most;
+</p>
+<p>
+Till all I have seems something I have lost;
+</p>
+<p>
+A desert underneath the garden shows,
+</p>
+<p>
+And in a mound of cinders roots the rose.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Here then I linger by the little bed,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Till all my spirit's sphere,
+</p>
+<p>
+Grows one half brightness and the other dead,
+</p>
+<p>
+One half all joy, the other vague alarms;
+</p>
+<p>
+And, holding each the other half in fee,
+</p>
+<p>
+Floats like the growing moon
+</p>
+<p>
+That bears implicitly
+</p>
+<p>
+Her lessening pearl of shadow
+</p>
+<p>
+Clasped in the crescent silver of her arms.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="149">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+ELIZABETH SPEAKS
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+(Aetat Six)
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Now every night we light the grate
+</p>
+<p>
+And I sit up till
+<i>
+really
+</i>
+late;
+</p>
+<p>
+My Father sits upon the right,
+</p>
+<p>
+My Mother on the left, and I
+</p>
+<p>
+Between them on an ancient chair,
+</p>
+<p>
+That once belonged to my Great-Gran,
+</p>
+<p>
+Before my Father was a man.
+</p>
+<p>
+We sit without another light;
+</p>
+<p>
+I really, truly never tire
+</p>
+<p>
+Watching that space, as black as night,
+</p>
+<p>
+That hangs behind the fire;
+</p>
+<p>
+For there sometimes, you know,
+</p>
+<p>
+The dearest, queerest little sparks,
+</p>
+<p>
+Without a sound creep to and fro;
+</p>
+<p>
+Sometimes they form in rings
+</p>
+<p>
+Or lines that look like many things,
+</p>
+<p>
+Like skipping ropes, or hoops, or swings:
+</p>
+<p>
+Before you know what you're about,
+</p>
+<p>
+They all go out!
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+My Father says that they are gnomes,
+</p>
+<p>
+Beyond the grate they have their homes,
+</p>
+<p>
+In a tall, black, and windy town,
+</p>
+<p>
+Behind a door we cannot see.
+</p>
+<p>
+Often when it's time for bed
+</p>
+<p>
+The children run away instead,
+</p>
+<p>
+Out through the door to see our fire,
+</p>
+<p>
+Then their angry parents come
+</p>
+<p>
+With every candle in the town,
+</p>
+<p>
+The beadle with his lantern too,
+</p>
+<p>
+And search and rummage up and down,
+</p>
+<p>
+To catch the children as they play,
+</p>
+<p>
+Between the rows of new-mown hay,
+</p>
+<p>
+And bring them home;
+</p>
+<p>
+(They must be, O, so very small,
+</p>
+<p>
+How do they capture them at all?
+</p>
+<p>
+But then they must be very
+<i>
+dear</i>);
+</p>
+<p>
+When they can find no more
+</p>
+<p>
+They blow a horn we cannot hear,
+</p>
+<p>
+And march with the beadle at their head,
+</p>
+<p>
+Right through the little open door,
+</p>
+<p>
+Then close it tight and go to bed.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+My Mother says that may be so;
+</p>
+<p>
+(They both agree they're
+<i>
+gnomes</i>, you know).
+</p>
+<p>
+She says, she thinks that every night,
+</p>
+<p>
+The gnomes have had a fearful fight;
+</p>
+<p>
+Their valiant General has been slain,
+</p>
+<p>
+And all the soldiers leave the camp
+</p>
+<p>
+To dig his grave upon the plain;
+</p>
+<p>
+They drag the General on a gun;
+</p>
+<p>
+Every bandsman has a lamp
+</p>
+<p>
+And there's a torch for every one,
+</p>
+<p>
+They dig his grave with bayonets
+</p>
+<p>
+And wrap him grandly in his flag,
+</p>
+<p>
+Then they gather in a ring,
+</p>
+<p>
+The band plays very soft and low,
+</p>
+<p>
+And all the soldiers sing.
+</p>
+<p>
+(Of course we cannot hear, you know,)
+</p>
+<p>
+Then some one calls &#34;The enemy comes!&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+They muffle up their pipes and drums;
+</p>
+<p>
+Every soldier in a fright
+</p>
+<p>
+Puts out his light.
+</p>
+<p>
+Then hand in hand, and very still,
+</p>
+<p>
+They clamber up the dark, dark hill
+</p>
+<p>
+And hold their breath tight&#8212;tight.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+(I'd like to know which tale is right.)
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+O! there is something I forgot!
+</p>
+<p>
+Sometimes one little spark burns on
+</p>
+<p>
+Long after the rest have gone.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+My Father says that lamp is left
+</p>
+<p>
+By a little crooked, crotchety man,
+</p>
+<p>
+Who cannot find his wayward son;
+</p>
+<p>
+When the horn begins to blow,
+</p>
+<p>
+He has to drop his light and run.
+</p>
+<p>
+Of course he limps so slow
+</p>
+<p>
+He squeezes through the very last,
+</p>
+<p>
+When he is gone the naughty scamp
+</p>
+<p>
+Jumps up and puff! out goes the lamp.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+My Mother says that is the light,
+</p>
+<p>
+Borne by the very bravest knight;
+</p>
+<p>
+He is so very, very brave,
+</p>
+<p>
+He would not leave his General's grave,
+</p>
+<p>
+And when the Enemy General tries
+</p>
+<p>
+To make him tell where his General lies,
+</p>
+<p>
+He answers boldly, &#34;I&#8212;will&#8212;not!&#34;
+</p>
+<p>
+Then they shoot him on the spot,
+</p>
+<p>
+And give a horrid, dreadful shout,
+</p>
+<p>
+And then of course his light goes out.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+I sit and think when they are through,
+</p>
+<p>
+Which tale I like best of the two.
+</p>
+<p>
+Sometimes I like the
+<i>
+Father
+</i>
+one;
+</p>
+<p>
+It is such fun!
+</p>
+<p>
+But then I love the
+<i>
+Mother
+</i>
+one,
+</p>
+<p>
+That dear brave soldier and the rest:&#8212;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+<i>
+Now which one do you like the best?</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="154">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+A LEGEND OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+At Bethlehem upon the hill,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+The day was done, the night was nigh,
+</p>
+<p>
+The dusk was deep and had its will,
+</p>
+<p>
+The stars were very small and still,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Like unblown tapers, faint and high.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The noises had begun to fall,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+And quiet stole upon the place,
+</p>
+<p>
+The howl of dogs along the wall,
+</p>
+<p>
+Voices that from the houstops call
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+And answer, and the grace
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Of some low breath of even-song
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Grew faint apace: between the rocks
+</p>
+<p>
+In misty pastures, and along
+</p>
+<p>
+The dim hillside with crook and thong
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+The lonely shepherds watched their flocks.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The Inn-master within the Inn
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Called loudly out after this sort,
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Draw no more water, cease the din,
+</p>
+<p>
+Pile the loose fodder, and begin
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+To turn the mules out of the court.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The time has come to shut the gate,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Make way,&#34; he cried, and then began
+</p>
+<p>
+To sweep and set the litter straight,
+</p>
+<p>
+And pile the saddle-bags and freight
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Of some belated caravan.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The drivers whirled their beasts about,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+And beat them on with shoutings great;
+</p>
+<p>
+The nosebags slipped, the feed flew out,
+</p>
+<p>
+The water-buckets reeled, the rout
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Went jostling onward to the gate.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Came one unto the master then,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Hasting to find him through the gloom,
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Give us a place to rest;&#34; and when
+</p>
+<p>
+He spake, the master cried again,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+&#34;There is no room&#8212;there is no room.&#34;
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+&#34;But I have come from Nazareth,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Full three days' toil to Bethlehem&#34;&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;What matters that,&#34; the master saith,
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;For here is hardly room for breath;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+The guests curse me for crowding them.&#34;
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+&#34;Hold, Sir! leave me not so, I pray&#34;&#8212;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+He plucked him sudden by the sleeve,
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;My wife is with me and doth say,
+</p>
+<p>
+Her hour hath come, I beg you, stay,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+And make some plan for her relief.&#34;
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+&#34;Two hours ago you might have had
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+The chamber wherein stands the loom;
+</p>
+<p>
+But then to drive me wholly mad,
+</p>
+<p>
+Came this great merchant from Baghdad,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+And thrust himself into the room.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+&#34;There is no other shelf to call
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+A bed&#8212;But just beyond the gate,
+</p>
+<p>
+You may find shelter in a stall,
+</p>
+<p>
+If there be shelter left at all,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+You may be even now too late.&#34;
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Beyond the gate within the night,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+A figure rested on the ground,
+</p>
+<p>
+About her all the rout took flight,
+</p>
+<p>
+The dizzy noise, the flashing light,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+The mules were tramping all around.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Leaning in mute expectancy,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Beneath a stunted sycamore,
+</p>
+<p>
+She added darkness utterly,
+</p>
+<p>
+To the dim light, the shrouded tree,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+By her hands held her face before.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+And yet to mock her eye's desire,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+The cavern into which she stared,
+</p>
+<p>
+Was lit with disks and lines of fire;
+</p>
+<p>
+When triple darkness did conspire,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+The secret founts of light were bared.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+And all the wheeling fire was rife
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+With haunting fears, her broken breath
+</p>
+<p>
+Grew short with this prophetic strife;
+</p>
+<p>
+What was for one the dawn of life,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Would be for one the dawn of death.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Meantime the stranger with a lamp,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Which lit the darkness, small and wan,
+</p>
+<p>
+Searched where the mules did tramp and stamp,
+</p>
+<p>
+Amid the litter and the damp,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+For some small place to rest upon.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+And there against the furthest wall,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Where the black shade was dense and deep,
+</p>
+<p>
+He found a mean and meager stall,
+</p>
+<p>
+But there when the weak light did fall,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+He found a little lad asleep.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+He lifted up his childish head,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+And smiled serenely at the light,
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;And have you found him, then,&#34; he said,
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;My brother who I thought was dead,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+I lost him in the crowd last night.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+&#34;His name is Ezra, and he is
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+So tall and strong that when I try,
+</p>
+<p>
+Standing on tiptoe for a kiss
+</p>
+<p>
+I could not reach, except for this,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+He lifts me up so easily.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+&#34;I had two little doves to take
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Up to the booths&#34;&#8212;he held his breath,
+</p>
+<p>
+&#34;Peace, child! and for your mother's sake,
+</p>
+<p>
+Yield me this place&#8212;nay, nay! awake!
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+My weary wife is sick to death.&#34;
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+&#34;I will,&#34; the little lad replied
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+&#34;I promised never to forget
+</p>
+<p>
+My mother, years ago she died,
+</p>
+<p>
+I will lie out on the hillside,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+And I may find dear Ezra yet.&#34;
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+And now she drooped her weary head,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Within that comfortless manger,
+</p>
+<p>
+It might have been a palace bed,
+</p>
+<p>
+With canopy of gold instead,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+So little did she know or care.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i4">
+<i>
+Gentle Jesus, slumber mild,</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+Lullaby, lullaby;</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+<i>
+Succored by a little child,</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+Lull, lullaby.</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i4">
+<i>
+You of children are the king,</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+Lullaby, lullaby;</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+<i>
+Sovereign to all ministering,</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+Lull, lullaby.</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i4">
+<i>
+Grace you bring them from above,</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+Lullaby, lullaby;</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+<i>
+They give promise, lisping love,</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+Lull, lullaby.</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+And out upon the darkened hill,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+With all the quiet-pastured sheep,
+</p>
+<p>
+Charmed by the falling of a rill,
+</p>
+<p>
+Where in the pool it cadenced still,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+The little lad was fallen asleep.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+All his young dreams were robed with power.
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+And glad were all his vision folk;
+</p>
+<p>
+He wandered on from hour to hour,
+</p>
+<p>
+With Ezra, happy as a flower
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+That blooms safe-shadowed by the oak.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+But once before his dreams were told,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+He thought he saw within the deep
+</p>
+<p>
+Vault of the sky a rose unfold,
+</p>
+<p>
+Made all of fire and lovely gold,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Whose petals seemed to glow and leap,
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+As if each dewy, crystal cell
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Were a great angel live with light,
+</p>
+<p>
+And trembling to the coronal,
+</p>
+<p>
+Merging in sheen of pearl and shell,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+With his great comrade, equal, bright,
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Until the petals flashed and sprang,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+And folded to the central heart:
+</p>
+<p>
+Music there was that showered and rang,
+</p>
+<p>
+As if each angel harped and sang,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Controlled by some celestial art.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The child saw splendor without name,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+And turned and smiled, and all the noise
+</p>
+<p>
+Of strings and singing sank; it came
+</p>
+<p>
+Faint and dream-altered, yet the same,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Soft-tempered to his mother's voice.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i4">
+<i>
+Slumber, slumber, gentle child,</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+Lullaby, lullaby;</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+<i>
+Sweet as henna, dear and mild,</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+Lull, lullaby.</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i4">
+<i>
+You the first of all the race,</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+Lullaby, lullaby;</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+<i>
+Gave your master early grace,</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+Lull, lullaby.</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i4">
+<i>
+Gave a shelter for his head,</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+Lullaby, lullaby;</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+<i>
+Took the chilly earth instead,</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+Lull, lullaby.</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i4">
+<i>
+Now take comfort infant earth,</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+Lullaby, lullaby;</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+<i>
+Jesus Christ is come to birth,</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+Lull, lullaby.</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i4">
+<i>
+For his principality,</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+Lullaby, lullaby;</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+<i>
+Children cluster at his knee,</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+Lull, lullaby.</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i4">
+<i>
+Hail the heaven-happy age,</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+Lullaby, lullaby;</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i4">
+<i>
+Love begins his pilgrimage,</i>
+</p>
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+Lull, lullaby.</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="163">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+WILLOW-PIPES
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+So in the shadow by the nimble flood
+</p>
+<p>
+He made her whistles of the willow wood,
+</p>
+<p>
+Flutes of one note with mellow slender tone;
+</p>
+<p>
+(A robin piping in the dusk alone).
+</p>
+<p>
+Lively the pleasure was the wand to bruise,
+</p>
+<p>
+And notch the light rod for its lyric use,
+</p>
+<p>
+Until the stem gave up its tender sheath,
+</p>
+<p>
+And showed the white and glistening wood beneath.
+</p>
+<p>
+And when the ground was covered with light chips,
+</p>
+<p>
+Grey leaves and green, and twigs and tender slips,
+</p>
+<p>
+They placed the well-made whistles in a row
+</p>
+<p>
+And left them for the careless wind to blow.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="164">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+ANGEL
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Come to me when grief is over,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+When the tired eyes,
+</p>
+<p>
+Seek thy cloudy wings to cover
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Close their burning skies.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Come to me when tears have dwindled
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Into drops of dew,
+</p>
+<p>
+When the sighs like sobs re-kindled
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Are but deep and few.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Hold me like a crooning mother,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Heal me of the smart;
+</p>
+<p>
+All mine anguish let me smother
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+In thy brooding heart.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="165">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+CHRISTMAS FOLK-SONG
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Those who die on Christmas Day
+</p>
+<p>
+(I heard the triumphant Seraph say)
+</p>
+<p>
+Will be remembered, for they died
+</p>
+<p>
+Upon the Holy Christmastide;
+</p>
+<p>
+When they attain to Paradise,
+</p>
+<p>
+The Angels with the tranquil Eyes
+</p>
+<p>
+Will ask if Jesus rules on Earth
+</p>
+<p>
+The Anniversary of His Birth;
+</p>
+<p>
+This Question do they ask alway
+</p>
+<p>
+Of those who die on Christmas Day.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Those who are born on Christmas Day
+</p>
+<p>
+(I heard the triumphant Seraph say)
+</p>
+<p>
+Will bring again the Peace on Earth
+</p>
+<p>
+That came with gentle Christ His Birth;
+</p>
+<p>
+They may be lowly Folk and poor
+</p>
+<p>
+Living about the Manger Door,
+</p>
+<p>
+They may be Kings of Mighty Line,
+</p>
+<p>
+Their Lives alike will be benign;
+</p>
+<p>
+To them belongeth Peace alway,
+</p>
+<p>
+Those who are born on Christmas Day.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="166">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+FROM BEYOND
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Here there is balm for every tender heart
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Wounded by life;
+</p>
+<p>
+Rest for each one who bore a valiant part
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Crushed in the strife.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+I suffered there and held a losing fight
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Even to the grave;
+</p>
+<p>
+And now I know that it was very right
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+To suffer and be brave.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="167">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+THE LEAF
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+This silver-edged geranium leaf
+</p>
+<p>
+Is one sign of a bitter grief
+</p>
+<p>
+Whose symbols are a myriad more;
+</p>
+<p>
+They cluster round a carven stone
+</p>
+<p>
+Where she who sleeps is never alone
+</p>
+<p>
+For two hearts at the core,
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Bound with her heart make one of three,
+</p>
+<p>
+A trinity in unity,
+</p>
+<p>
+One sentient heart that grieves;
+</p>
+<p>
+And myriad dark-leaved memories keep
+</p>
+<p>
+Vigil above the triune sleep,&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+Edged all with silver are the leaves.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="168">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+A MYSTERY PLAY
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+CHARACTERS
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The Father. The Child. Death. Angels.
+</p>
+<p class="i8">
+Two Travellers.
+</p>
+</div>
+<hr class="div">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+<i>
+The even settles still and deep,</i>
+</p>
+<p>
+<i>
+In the cold sky the last gold burns,</i>
+</p>
+<p>
+<i>
+Across the colour snow flakes creep.</i>
+</p>
+<p>
+<i>
+Each one from grey to glory turns</i>
+</p>
+<p>
+<i>
+Then flutters into nothingness;</i>
+</p>
+<p>
+<i>
+The frost down falls with mighty stress</i>
+</p>
+<p>
+<i>
+Through the swift cloud that parts on high;</i>
+</p>
+<p>
+<i>
+The great stars shrivel into less</i>
+</p>
+<p>
+<i>
+In the hard depth of the iron sky.</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<hr class="div">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+The Child:</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+What is that light, dear father,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+That light in the dark, dark sky?
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+The Father:</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Those are the lights of the city
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+And the villages thereby.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+The Child:</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+There must be fire in the city
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+To throw that yellow glare;
+</p>
+<p>
+And fire in the little villages
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+On all the hearthstones there.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+The Father, musing:</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Yea, flames are on the hearthstones;
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+The ovens are full of bread,
+</p>
+<p>
+But here the coals are dying
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+And the flames are dead.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+The Child:</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+What is the cold, dear father?
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+It stings like an angry bee.
+</p>
+<p>
+Wherever it stings my hand turns white,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+See!
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+The Father:</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The cold is a beast, my dear one,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+With his paws he tears at the thatch,
+</p>
+<p>
+His breath is a curse and a warning,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+You can see it creep on the latch.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+The Child:</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+If 'tis a wolf, dear father,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+That lies with his paw on the floor,
+</p>
+<p>
+Let us heat the spade in the embers
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+And drive him away from the door.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+Angels:</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+God is the power of growth,
+</p>
+<p>
+In the snail and the tree,
+</p>
+<p>
+God is the power of growth
+</p>
+<p>
+In the heart of the man.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+The Child:</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Did you not hear the singing,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Voices overhead?
+</p>
+<p>
+Mother's voice and Ruth's voice,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Voices of the dead.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+The Father, musing:</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Our Ruth died in the springtime,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+With the spade I turned the sod,
+</p>
+<p>
+We buried her by the brier rose,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Her life is hid with God.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+The Child:</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+All summer long in the garden
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+No roses came to the tree.
+</p>
+<p>
+Father, was it for sorrow,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+Sorrow for thee and me?
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+The Father:</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Roses grew in the garden,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+I saw them at morning and even,
+</p>
+<p>
+Shadows of earthly roses
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+They bloomed for fingers in heaven.
+</p>
+</div>
+<hr class="div">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+<i>
+The air is very clear and still,</i>
+</p>
+<p>
+<i>
+The moonlight falls from half the sphere;</i>
+</p>
+<p>
+<i>
+The shadow from the silver hill</i>
+</p>
+<p>
+<i>
+Fills half the vale, and half is clear</i>
+</p>
+<p>
+<i>
+As the moon's self with cloudless snow;</i>
+</p>
+<p>
+<i>
+By the dead stream the alders throw</i>
+</p>
+<p>
+<i>
+Their shadows, shot with tingling spars;</i>
+</p>
+<p>
+<i>
+On the sheer height the elm trees glow:</i>
+</p>
+<p>
+<i>
+Their tops are tangled with the stars.</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<hr class="div">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+The Child:</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Father, the coals are dying,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+See! I have heated the spade,
+</p>
+<p>
+Let me throw the door wide open,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+I will not be afraid.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+The Father:</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Let me kiss you once on the forehead,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+And once on your darling eyes;
+</p>
+<p>
+We may see them both at the dawning,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+In the dales of Paradise.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+The Child:</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+And if I only see them,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+I will tell them how you smiled;
+</p>
+<p>
+For the wolf, you know, is angry,
+</p>
+<p class="i2">
+And I am a little child.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+Death:</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Undaunted spirits,
+</p>
+<p>
+I give thee peace,
+</p>
+<p>
+For a world of dread&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+Calm.
+</p>
+<p>
+For desperate toil&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+Rest.
+</p>
+<p>
+Thou who didst say,
+</p>
+<p>
+When the waters of poverty
+</p>
+<p>
+Waxed deep, deep,
+</p>
+<p>
+What we bear is best;
+</p>
+<p>
+Just ones,
+</p>
+<p>
+I give thee sleep.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+First Traveller:</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Keep up your spirits, I know
+</p>
+<p>
+There's a cabin under the hill,
+</p>
+<p>
+The fellow will make a roaring fire;
+</p>
+<p>
+We'll heat our hands and drink our fill
+</p>
+<p>
+And go warm to our heart's desire!
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+Second Traveller:</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The door is open,&#8212;Heigho!
+</p>
+<p>
+This pair will claim neither crown nor groat,
+</p>
+<p>
+The man has gripped his garden spade
+</p>
+<p>
+As if he would dig his grave in the snow;
+</p>
+<p>
+The boy has the face of a saint, I trow;
+</p>
+<p>
+His brow says, &#34;I was not afraid!&#34;
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+First Traveller:</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Ah well, these things must be, you know!
+</p>
+<p>
+Gather your sables around your throat;
+</p>
+<p>
+Give us that story about the monk,
+</p>
+<p>
+His niece, and the wandering conjurer,
+</p>
+<p>
+Just to keep our blood astir.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="i6">
+<i>
+The Angels:</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The heart of God,
+</p>
+<p>
+The worlds and man,
+</p>
+<p>
+Are fashioned and moulded,
+</p>
+<p>
+In a subtle plan;
+</p>
+<p>
+Passion outsurges,
+</p>
+<p>
+Sweeps far but converges:
+</p>
+<p>
+Nothing is lost,
+</p>
+<p>
+Sod or stone,
+</p>
+<p>
+But comes to its own;
+</p>
+<p>
+Bear well thy joy,
+</p>
+<p>
+'Tis mixed with alloy,
+</p>
+<p>
+Bear well thy grief,
+</p>
+<p>
+'Tis a rich full sheaf:
+</p>
+<p>
+Gather the souls that have passed in the night,
+</p>
+<p>
+Theirs is the peace and the light.
+</p>
+</div>
+<hr class="div">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+<i>
+The moon is gone, the dawning brings</i>
+</p>
+<p>
+<i>
+A deeper dark with silver blent,</i>
+</p>
+<p>
+<i>
+Above the wells where, myriad, springs</i>
+</p>
+<p>
+<i>
+Light from the crimson orient;</i>
+</p>
+<p>
+<i>
+The elms are born, the shadows creep,</i>
+</p>
+<p>
+<i>
+Tremble and melt away&#8212;one sweep</i>
+</p>
+<p>
+<i>
+The great soft color floods and flows,</i>
+</p>
+<p>
+<i>
+Where under snow the roses sleep;</i>
+</p>
+<p>
+<i>
+The morn has turned the snow to rose.</i>
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<p>
+&nbsp;
+</p>
+<a name="179">
+&nbsp;
+</a>
+<div class="poem">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p class="title">
+LINES IN MEMORY OF EDMUND MORRIS
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Dear Morris&#8212;here is your letter&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+Can my answer reach you now?
+</p>
+<p>
+Fate has left me your debtor,
+</p>
+<p>
+You will remember how;
+</p>
+<p>
+For I went away to Nantucket,
+</p>
+<p>
+And you to the Isle of Orleans,
+</p>
+<p>
+And when I was dawdling and dreaming
+</p>
+<p>
+Over the ways and means
+</p>
+<p>
+Of answering, the power was denied me,
+</p>
+<p>
+Fate frowned and took her stand;
+</p>
+<p>
+I have your unanswered letter
+</p>
+<p>
+Here in my hand.
+</p>
+<p>
+This&#8212;in your famous scribble,
+</p>
+<p>
+It was ever a cryptic fist,
+</p>
+<p>
+Cuneiform or Chaldaic
+</p>
+<p>
+Meanings held in a mist.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Dear Morris, (now I'm inditing
+</p>
+<p>
+And poring over your script)
+</p>
+<p>
+I gather from the writing,
+</p>
+<p>
+The coin that you had flipt,
+</p>
+<p>
+Turned tails; and so you compel me
+</p>
+<p>
+To meet you at Touchwood Hills:
+</p>
+<p>
+Or, mayhap, you are trying to tell me
+</p>
+<p>
+The sum of a painter's ills:
+</p>
+<p>
+Is that Phimister Proctor
+</p>
+<p>
+Or something about a doctor?
+</p>
+<p>
+Well, nobody knows, but Eddie,
+</p>
+<p>
+Whatever it is I'm ready.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+For our friendship was always fortunate
+</p>
+<p>
+In its greetings and adieux,
+</p>
+<p>
+Nothing flat or importunate,
+</p>
+<p>
+Nothing of the misuse
+</p>
+<p>
+That comes of the constant grinding
+</p>
+<p>
+Of one mind on another.
+</p>
+<p>
+So memory has nothing to smother,
+</p>
+<p>
+But only a few things captured
+</p>
+<p>
+On the wing, as it were, and enraptured.
+</p>
+<p>
+Yes, Morris, I am inditing&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+Answering at last it seems,
+</p>
+<p>
+How can you read the writing
+</p>
+<p>
+In the vacancy of dreams?
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+I would have you look over my shoulder
+</p>
+<p>
+Ere the long, dark year is colder,
+</p>
+<p>
+And mark that as memory grows older,
+</p>
+<p>
+The brighter it pulses and gleams.
+</p>
+<p>
+And if I should try to render
+</p>
+<p>
+The tissues of fugitive splendour
+</p>
+<p>
+That fled down the wind of living,
+</p>
+<p>
+Will they read it some day in the future,
+</p>
+<p>
+And be conscious of an awareness
+</p>
+<p>
+In our old lives, and the bareness
+</p>
+<p>
+Of theirs, with the newest passions
+</p>
+<p>
+In the last fad of the fashions?
+</p>
+</div>
+<hr class="div">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+How often have we risen without daylight
+</p>
+<p>
+When the day star was hidden in mist,
+</p>
+<p>
+When the dragon-fly was heavy with dew and sleep,
+</p>
+<p>
+And viewed the miracle pre-eminent, matchless,
+</p>
+<p>
+The prelusive light that quickens the morning.
+</p>
+<p>
+O crystal dawn, how shall we distill your virginal freshness
+</p>
+<p>
+When you steal upon a land that man has not sullied with his intrusion,
+</p>
+<p>
+When the aboriginal shy dwellers in the broad solitudes
+</p>
+<p>
+Are asleep in their innumerable dens and night haunts
+</p>
+<p>
+Amid the dry ferns, in the tender nests
+</p>
+<p>
+Pressed into shape by the breasts of the Mother birds?
+</p>
+<p>
+How shall we simulate the thrill of announcement
+</p>
+<p>
+When lake after lake lingering in the starlight
+</p>
+<p>
+Turn their faces towards you,
+</p>
+<p>
+And are caressed with the salutation of colour?
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+How shall we transmit in tendril-like images,
+</p>
+<p>
+The tenuous tremor in the tissues of ether,
+</p>
+<p>
+Before the round of colour buds like the dome of a shrine,
+</p>
+<p>
+The preconscious moment when love has fluttered in the bosom,
+</p>
+<p>
+Before it begins to ache?
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+How often have we seen the even
+</p>
+<p>
+Melt into the liquidity of twilight,
+</p>
+<p>
+With passages of Titian splendour,
+</p>
+<p>
+Pellucid preludes, exquisitely tender,
+</p>
+<p>
+Where vanish and revive, thro' veils of the ashes of roses,
+</p>
+<p>
+The crystal forms the breathless sky discloses.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+The new moon a slender thing,
+</p>
+<p>
+In a snood of virgin light,
+</p>
+<p>
+She seemed all shy on venturing
+</p>
+<p>
+Into the vast night.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Her own land and folk were afar,
+</p>
+<p>
+She must have gone astray,
+</p>
+<p>
+But the gods had given a silver star,
+</p>
+<p>
+To be with her on the way.
+</p>
+</div>
+<hr class="div">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+I can feel the wind on the prairie
+</p>
+<p>
+And see the bunch-grass wave,
+</p>
+<p>
+And the sunlights ripple and vary
+</p>
+<p>
+The hill with Crowfoot's grave,
+</p>
+<p>
+Where he &#34;pitched off&#34; for the last time
+</p>
+<p>
+In sight of the Blackfoot Crossing,
+</p>
+<p>
+Where in the sun for a pastime
+</p>
+<p>
+You marked the site of his tepee
+</p>
+<p>
+With a circle of stones. Old Napiw
+</p>
+<p>
+Gave you credit for that day.
+</p>
+<p>
+And well I recall the weirdness
+</p>
+<p>
+Of that evening at Qu'Appelle,
+</p>
+<p>
+In the wigwam with old Sakimay,
+</p>
+<p>
+The keen, acrid smell,
+</p>
+<p>
+As the kinnikinick was burning;
+</p>
+<p>
+The planets outside were turning,
+</p>
+<p>
+And the little splints of poplar
+</p>
+<p>
+Flared with a thin, gold flame.
+</p>
+<p>
+He showed us his painted robe
+</p>
+<p>
+Where in primitive pigments
+</p>
+<p>
+He had drawn his feats and his forays,
+</p>
+<p>
+And told us the legend
+</p>
+<p>
+Of the man without a name,
+</p>
+<p>
+The hated Blackfoot,
+</p>
+<p>
+How he lured the warriors,
+</p>
+<p>
+The young men, to the foray
+</p>
+<p>
+And they never returned.
+</p>
+<p>
+Only their ghosts
+</p>
+<p>
+Goaded by the Blackfoot
+</p>
+<p>
+Mounted on stallions:
+</p>
+<p>
+In the night time
+</p>
+<p>
+He drove the stallions
+</p>
+<p>
+Reeking into the camp;
+</p>
+<p>
+The women gasped and whispered,
+</p>
+<p>
+The children cowered and crept,
+</p>
+<p>
+And the old men shuddered
+</p>
+<p>
+Where they slept.
+</p>
+<p>
+When Sakimay looked forth
+</p>
+<p>
+He saw the Blackfoot,
+</p>
+<p>
+And the ghosts of the warriors,
+</p>
+<p>
+And the black stallions
+</p>
+<p>
+Covered by the night wind
+</p>
+<p>
+As by a mantle.
+</p>
+</div>
+<hr class="div">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+I remember well a day,
+</p>
+<p>
+When the sunlight had free play,
+</p>
+<p>
+When you worked in happy stress,
+</p>
+<p>
+While grave Ne-Pah-Pee-Ness
+</p>
+<p>
+Sat for his portrait there,
+</p>
+<p>
+In his beaded coat and his bare
+</p>
+<p>
+Head, with his mottled fan
+</p>
+<p>
+Of hawk's feathers, A Man!
+</p>
+<p>
+Ah Morris, those were the times
+</p>
+<p>
+When you sang your inconsequent rhymes
+</p>
+<p>
+Sprung from a careless fountain:
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+&#34;<i>He met her on the mountain,</i>
+</p>
+<p>
+<i>
+He gave her a horn to blow,</i>
+</p>
+<p>
+<i>
+And the very last words he said to her</i>
+</p>
+<p>
+<i>
+Were, 'Go 'long, Eliza, go.'</i>&#34;
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Foolish,&#8212;but life was all,
+</p>
+<p>
+And under the skilful fingers
+</p>
+<p>
+Contours came at your call&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+Art grows and time lingers;&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+But now the song has a change
+</p>
+<p>
+Into something wistful and strange.
+</p>
+<p>
+And one asks with a touch of ruth
+</p>
+<p>
+What became of the youth
+</p>
+<p>
+And where did Eliza go?
+</p>
+<p>
+He met her on the mountain,
+</p>
+<p>
+He gave her a horn to blow,
+</p>
+<p>
+The horn was a silver whorl
+</p>
+<p>
+With a mouthpiece of pure pearl,
+</p>
+<p>
+And the mountain was all one glow,
+</p>
+<p>
+With gulfs of blue and summits of rosy snow.
+</p>
+<p>
+The cadence she blew on the silver horn
+</p>
+<p>
+Was the meaning of life in one phrase caught,
+</p>
+<p>
+And as soon as the magic notes were born,
+</p>
+<p>
+She repeated them once in an afterthought.
+</p>
+<p>
+They heard in the crystal passes,
+</p>
+<p>
+The cadence, calling, calling,
+</p>
+<p>
+And faint in the deep crevasses,
+</p>
+<p>
+The echoes falling, falling.
+</p>
+<p>
+They stood apart and wondered;
+</p>
+<p>
+Her lips with a wound were aquiver,
+</p>
+<p>
+His heart with a sword was sundered,
+</p>
+<p>
+For life was changed forever
+</p>
+<p>
+When he gave her the horn to blow:
+</p>
+<p>
+But a shadow arose from the valley,
+</p>
+<p>
+Desolate, slow and tender,
+</p>
+<p>
+It hid the herdsmen's chalet,
+</p>
+<p>
+Where it hung in the emerald meadow,
+</p>
+<p>
+(Was death driving the shadow?)
+</p>
+<p>
+It quenched the tranquil splendour
+</p>
+<p>
+Of the colour of life on the glow-peaks,
+</p>
+<p>
+Till at the end of the even,
+</p>
+<p>
+The last shell-tint on the snow-peaks
+</p>
+<p>
+Had passed away from the heaven.
+</p>
+<p>
+And yet, when it passed, victorious,
+</p>
+<p>
+The stars came out on the mountains,
+</p>
+<p>
+And the torrents gusty and glorious,
+</p>
+<p>
+Clamoured in a thousand fountains,
+</p>
+<p>
+And even far down in the valley,
+</p>
+<p>
+A light re-discovered the chalet.
+</p>
+<p>
+The scene that was veiled had a meaning,
+</p>
+<p>
+So deep that none might know;
+</p>
+<p>
+Was it here in the morn on the mountain,
+</p>
+<p>
+That he gave her the horn to blow?
+</p>
+</div>
+<hr class="div">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Tears are the crushed essence of this world,
+</p>
+<p>
+The wine of life, and he who treads the press
+</p>
+<p>
+Is lofty with imperious disregard
+</p>
+<p>
+Of the burst grapes, the red tears and the murk.
+</p>
+<p>
+But nay! that is a thought of the old poets,
+</p>
+<p>
+Who sullied life with the passional bitterness
+</p>
+<p>
+Of their world-weary hearts. We of the sunrise,
+</p>
+<p>
+Joined in the breast of God, feel deep the power
+</p>
+<p>
+That urges all things onward, not to an end,
+</p>
+<p>
+But in an endless flow, mounting and mounting,
+</p>
+<p>
+Claiming not overmuch for human life,
+</p>
+<p>
+Sharing with our brothers of nerve and leaf
+</p>
+<p>
+The urgence of the one creative breath,&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+All in the dim twilight&#8212;say of morning,
+</p>
+<p>
+Where the florescence of the light and dew
+</p>
+<p>
+Haloes and hallows with a crown adorning
+</p>
+<p>
+The brows of life with love; herein the clue,
+</p>
+<p>
+The love of life&#8212;yea, and the peerless love
+</p>
+<p>
+Of things not seen, that leads the least of things
+</p>
+<p>
+To cherish the green sprout, the hardening seed;
+</p>
+<p>
+Here leans all nature with vast Mother-love,
+</p>
+<p>
+Above the cradled future with a smile.
+</p>
+<p>
+Why are there tears for failure, or sighs for weakness,
+</p>
+<p>
+While life's rhythm beats on? Where is the rule
+</p>
+<p>
+To measure the distance we have circled and clomb?
+</p>
+<p>
+Catch up the sands of the sea and count and count
+</p>
+<p>
+The failures hidden in our sum of conquest.
+</p>
+<p>
+Persistence is the master of this life;
+</p>
+<p>
+The master of these little lives of ours;
+</p>
+<p>
+To the end&#8212;effort&#8212;even beyond the end.
+</p>
+</div>
+<hr class="div">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+Here, Morris, on the plains that we have loved,
+</p>
+<p>
+Think of the death of Akoose, fleet of foot,
+</p>
+<p>
+Who, in his prime, a herd of antelope
+</p>
+<p>
+From sunrise, without rest, a hundred miles
+</p>
+<p>
+Drove through rank prairie, loping like a wolf,
+</p>
+<p>
+Tired them and slew them, ere the sun went down.
+</p>
+<p>
+Akoose, in his old age, blind from the smoke
+</p>
+<p>
+Of tepees and the sharp snow light, alone
+</p>
+<p>
+With his great grandchildren, withered and spent,
+</p>
+<p>
+Crept in the warm sun along a rope
+</p>
+<p>
+Stretched for his guidance. Once when sharp autumn
+</p>
+<p>
+Made membranes of thin ice upon the sloughs,
+</p>
+<p>
+He caught a pony on a quick return
+</p>
+<p>
+Of prowess and, all his instincts cleared and quickened,
+</p>
+<p>
+He mounted, sensed the north and bore away
+</p>
+<p>
+To the Last Mountain Lake where in his youth
+</p>
+<p>
+He shot the sand-hill-cranes with his flint arrows.
+</p>
+<p>
+And for these hours in all the varied pomp
+</p>
+<p>
+Of pagan fancy and free dreams of foray
+</p>
+<p>
+And crude adventure, he ranged on entranced,
+</p>
+<p>
+Until the sun blazed level with the prairie,
+</p>
+<p>
+Then paused, faltered and slid from off his pony.
+</p>
+<p>
+In a little bluff of poplars, hid in the bracken,
+</p>
+<p>
+He lay down; the populace of leaves
+</p>
+<p>
+In the lithe poplars whispered together and trembled,
+</p>
+<p>
+Fluttered before a sunset of gold smoke,
+</p>
+<p>
+With interspaces, green as sea water,
+</p>
+<p>
+And calm as the deep water of the sea.
+</p>
+</div>
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+There Akoose lay, silent amid the bracken,
+</p>
+<p>
+Gathered at last with the Algonquin Chieftains.
+</p>
+<p>
+Then the tenebrous sunset was blown out,
+</p>
+<p>
+And all the smoky gold turned into cloud wrack.
+</p>
+<p>
+Akoose slept forever amid the poplars,
+</p>
+<p>
+Swathed by the wind from the far-off Red Deer
+</p>
+<p>
+Where dinosaurs sleep, clamped in their rocky tombs.
+</p>
+<p>
+Who shall count the time that lies between
+</p>
+<p>
+The sleep of Akoose and the dinosaurs?
+</p>
+<p>
+Innumerable time, that yet is like the breath
+</p>
+<p>
+Of the long wind that creeps upon the prairie
+</p>
+<p>
+And dies away with the shadows at sundown.
+</p>
+</div>
+<hr class="div">
+<div class="stanza">
+<p>
+What we may think, who brood upon the theme,
+</p>
+<p>
+Is, when the old world, tired of spinning, has fallen
+</p>
+<p>
+Asleep, and all the forms, that carried the fire
+</p>
+<p>
+Of life, are cold upon her marble heart&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+Like ashes on the altar&#8212;just as she stops,
+</p>
+<p>
+That something will escape of soul or essence,&#8212;
+</p>
+<p>
+The sum of life, to kindle otherwhere:
+</p>
+<p>
+Just as the fruit of a high sunny garden,
+</p>
+<p>
+Grown mellow with autumnal sun and rain,
+</p>
+<p>
+Shrivelled with ripeness, splits to the rich heart,
+</p>
+<p>
+And looses a gold kernel to the mould,
+</p>
+<p>
+So the old world, hanging long in the sun,
+</p>
+<p>
+And deep enriched with effort and with love,
+</p>
+<p>
+Shall, in the motions of maturity,
+</p>
+<p>
+Wither and part, and the kernel of it all
+</p>
+<p>
+Escape, a lovely wraith of spirit, to latitudes
+</p>
+<p>
+Where the appearance, throated like a bird,
+</p>
+<p>
+Winged with fire and bodied all with passion,
+</p>
+<p>
+Shall flame with presage, not of tears, but joy.
+</p>
+</div>
+</div>
+<p class="ctr">
+THE END
+</p>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Lundy's Lane and Other Poems, by 
+Duncan Campbell Scott
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LUNDY'S LANE AND OTHER POEMS ***
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+</body>
+</html>
+
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+Project Gutenberg's Lundy's Lane and Other Poems, by Duncan Campbell Scott
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Lundy's Lane and Other Poems
+
+Author: Duncan Campbell Scott
+
+Release Date: September 22, 2007 [EBook #22717]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LUNDY'S LANE AND OTHER POEMS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+_Lundy's Lane
+
+and Other Poems_
+
+
+
+
+_By_
+
+_Duncan Campbell Scott_
+
+
+_Author of "The Magic House,"
+"In the Village of Viger," etc., etc._
+
+
+
+_McClelland, Goodchild & Stewart_
+_Publishers_ :: :: :: :: _Toronto_
+
+Copyright, 1916,
+By GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
+
+Printed in the United States of America
+
+
+
+
+To the Memory of My Daughter
+
+ELIZABETH DUNCAN SCOTT
+
+1895-1907
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+                                                  Page
+
+THE BATTLE OF LUNDY'S LANE                         13
+
+VIA BOREALIS--
+  Spring on Mattagami                              25
+  An Impromptu                                     36
+  The Half-Breed Girl                              38
+  Night Burial in the Forest                       41
+  Dream Voyageurs                                  44
+  Song: Creep into My Heart                        45
+  Ecstasy                                          46
+
+LYRICS, SONGS AND SONNETS--
+  Meditation at Perugia                            49
+  At William MacLennan's Grave. Near Florence      53
+  The Wood-Spring to the Poet                      56
+  The November Pansy                               63
+  The Height of Land                               68
+  New Year's Night, 1916                           77
+  Fragment of an Ode to Canada                     79
+  Fantasia                                         84
+  The Lover to His Lass                            86
+  The Ghost's Story                                90
+  Night                                            92
+  The Apparition                                   94
+  At Sea                                           96
+  Madonna with Two Angels                          98
+  Mid-August                                      100
+  Mist and Frost                                  105
+  The Beggar and the Angel                        110
+  Improvisation on an Old Song                    117
+  O Turn Once More                                121
+  At the Gill-Nets                                124
+  A Love Song                                     126
+  Three Songs:
+      I Where love is life                        128
+     II Nothing came here but sunlight            129
+    III I have songs of dancing pleasure          129
+  The Sailor's Sweetheart                         131
+  Feuilles d'Automne                              133
+  To the Heroic Soul:
+     I Nurture thyself, O Soul!                   135
+    II Be strong, O Warring Soul!                 136
+  Retrospect                                      138
+  Frost Magic:
+     I Now in the moonrise, from a wintry sky     139
+    II With these alone he draws in magic lines   140
+  In Snow-Time                                    142
+  To a Canadian Lad Killed in the War             143
+
+THE CLOSED DOOR--
+  By a Child's Bed                                147
+  Elizabeth Speaks                                149
+  A Legend of Christ's Nativity                   154
+  Willow-Pipes                                    163
+  Angel                                           164
+  Christmas Folk-Song                             165
+  From Beyond                                     166
+  The Leaf                                        167
+  A Mystery Play                                  168
+
+LINES IN MEMORY OF EDMUND MORRIS                  179
+
+
+
+
+THE BATTLE OF LUNDY'S LANE
+
+
+
+
+THE BATTLE OF LUNDY'S LANE
+
+Rufus Gale speaks--1852
+
+
+Yes,--in the Lincoln Militia,--in the war of eighteen-twelve;
+Many's the day I've had since then to dig and delve--
+But those are the years I remember as the brightest years of all,
+When we left the plow in the furrow to follow the bugle's call.
+Why, even our son Abner wanted to fight with the men!
+"Don't you go, d'ye hear, sir!"--I was angry with him then.
+"Stay with your mother!" I said, and he looked so old and grim--
+He was just sixteen that April--I couldn't believe it was him;
+But I didn't think--I was off--and we met the foe again,
+Five thousand strong and ready, at the hill by Lundy's Lane.
+There as the night came on we fought them from six to nine,
+Whenever they broke our line we broke their line,
+They took our guns and we won them again, and around the levels
+Where the hill sloped up--with the Eighty-ninth,--we fought like devils
+Around the flag;--and on they came and we drove them back,
+  Until with its very fierceness the fight grew slack.
+
+It was then about nine and dark as a miser's pocket,
+When up came Hercules Scott's brigade swift as a rocket,
+And charged,--and the flashes sprang in the dark like a lion's eyes;
+The night was full of fire--groans, and cheers, and cries;
+Then through the sound and the fury another sound broke in--
+The roar of a great old duck-gun shattered the rest of the din;
+It took two minutes to charge it and another to set it free.
+Every time I heard it an angel spoke to me;
+Yes, the minute I heard it I felt the strangest tide
+Flow in my veins like lightning, as if, there, by my side,
+Was the very spirit of Valor. But 'twas dark--you couldn't see--
+And the one who was firing the duck-gun fell against me
+And slid down to the clover, and lay there still;
+Something went through me--piercing--with a strange, swift thrill;
+The noise fell away into silence, and I heard as clear as thunder
+The long, slow roar of Niagara: O the wonder
+Of that deep sound. But again the battle broke
+And the foe, driven before us desperately--stroke upon stroke,
+Left the field to his master, and sullenly down the road
+Sounded the boom of his guns, trailing the heavy load
+Of his wounded men and his shattered flags, sullen and slow,
+Setting fire in his rage to Bridgewater mills and the glow
+Flared in the distant forest. We rested as we could,
+And for a while I slept in the dark of a maple wood:
+But when the clouds in the east were red all over,
+I came back there to the place we made the stand in the clover;
+For my heart was heavy then with a strange deep pain,
+As I thought of the glorious fight, and again and again
+I remembered the valiant spirit and the piercing thrill;
+But I knew it all when I reached the top of the hill,--
+For there, there with the blood on his dear, brave head,
+There on the hill in the clover lay our Abner--dead!--
+No--thank you--no, I don't need it; I'm solid as granite rock,
+But every time that I tell it I feel the old, cold shock,
+I'm eighty-one my next birthday--do you breed such fellows now?
+There he lay with the dawn cooling his broad fair brow,
+That was no dawn for him; and there was the old duck-gun
+That many and many's the time,--just for the fun,
+We together, alone, would take to the hickory rise,
+And bring home more wild pigeons than ever you saw with your eyes.
+Up with Hercules Scott's brigade, just as it came on night--
+He was the angel beside me in the thickest of the fight--
+Wrote a note to his mother--He said, "I've got to go;
+Mother what would home be under the heel of the foe!"
+Oh! she never slept a wink, she would rise and walk the floor;
+She'd say this over and over, "I knew it all before!"
+I'd try to speak of the glory to give her a little joy.
+"What is the glory to me when I want my boy, my boy!"
+She'd say, and she'd wring her hands; her hair grew white as snow--
+And I'd argue with her up and down, to and fro,
+Of how she had mothered a hero, and his was a glorious fate,
+Better than years of grubbing to gather an estate.
+Sometimes I'd put it this way: "If God was to say to me now
+'Take him back as he once was helping you with the plow,'
+I'd say, 'No, God, thank You kindly; 'twas You that he obeyed;
+You told him to fight and he fought, and he wasn't afraid;
+You wanted to prove him in battle, You sent him to Lundy's Lane,
+'Tis well!" But she only would answer over and over again,
+"Give me back my Abner--give me back my son!"
+It was so all through the winter until the spring had begun,
+And the crocus was up in the dooryard, and the drift by the fence
+    was thinned,
+And the sap drip-dropped from the branches wounded by the wind,
+And the whole earth smelled like a flower,--then she came to me one
+    night--
+"Rufus!" she said, with a sob in her throat,--"Rufus, you're right."
+I hadn't cried till then, not a tear--but then I was torn in two--
+There, it's all right--my eyes don't see as they used to do!
+
+But O the joy of that battle--it was worth the whole of life,
+You felt immortal in action with the rapture of the strife,
+There in the dark by the river, with the flashes of fire before,
+Running and crashing along, there in the dark, and the roar
+Of the guns, and the shrilling cheers, and the knowledge that filled
+    your heart
+That there was a victory making and you must do your part,
+But--there's his grave in the orchard where the headstone glimmers
+    white:
+We could see it, we thought, from our window even on the darkest
+    night;
+It is set there for a sign that what one lad could do
+Would be done by a hundred hundred lads whose hearts were stout and
+    true.
+And when in the time of trial you hear the recreant say,
+Shooting his coward lips at us, "You shall have had your day:
+For all your state and glory shall pass like a cloudy wrack,
+And here some other flag shall fly where flew the Union Jack,"--
+Why tell him a hundred thousand men would spring from these sleepy
+    farms,
+To tie that flag in its ancient place with the sinews of their arms;
+And if they doubt you and put you to scorn, why you can make it plain,
+With the tale of the gallant Lincoln men and the fight at Lundy's Lane.
+
+1908.
+
+
+
+
+VIA BOREALIS
+
+TO
+
+_Pelham Edgar_
+
+
+
+
+SPRING ON MATTAGAMI
+
+
+Far in the east the rain-clouds sweep and harry,
+  Down the long haggard hills, formless and low,
+Far in the west the shell-tints meet and marry,
+  Piled gray and tender blue and roseate snow;
+East--like a fiend, the bolt-breasted, streaming
+  Storm strikes the world with lightning and with hail;
+West--like the thought of a seraph that is dreaming,
+  Venus leads the young moon down the vale.
+
+Through the lake furrow between the gloom and bright'ning
+  Firm runs our long canoe with a whistling rush,
+While Potan the wise and the cunning Silver Lightning
+  Break with their slender blades the long clear hush;
+Soon shall I pitch my tent amid the birches,
+  Wise Potan shall gather boughs of balsam fir,
+While for bark and dry wood Silver Lightning searches;
+  Soon the smoke shall hang and lapse in the moist air.
+
+Soon shall I sleep--if I may not remember
+  One who lives far away where the storm-cloud went;
+May it part and starshine burn in many a quiet ember,
+  Over her towered city crowned with large content;
+Dear God, let me sleep, here where deep peace is,
+  Let me own a dreamless sleep once for all the years,
+Let me know a quiet mind and what heart ease is,
+  Lost to light and life and hope, to longing and to tears.
+
+Here in the solitude less her memory presses,
+  Yet I see her lingering where the birches shine,
+All the dark cedars are sleep-laden like her tresses,
+  The gold-moted wood-pools pellucid as her eyen;
+Memories and ghost-forms of the days departed
+  People all the forest lone in the dead of night;
+While Potan and Silver Lightning sleep, the happy-hearted,
+  Troop they from their fastnesses upon my sight.
+
+Once when the tide came straining from the Lido,
+  In a sea of flame our gondola flickered like a sword,
+Venice lay abroad builded like beauty's credo,
+  Smouldering like a gorget on the breast of the Lord:
+Did she mourn for fame foredoomed or passion shattered
+  That with a sudden impulse she gathered at my side?
+But when I spoke the ancient fates were flattered,
+  Chill there crept between us the imperceptible tide.
+
+Once I well remember in her twilight garden,
+  She pulled a half-blown rose, I thought it meant for me,
+But poising in the act, and with half a sigh for pardon,
+  She hid it in her bosom where none may dare to see:
+Had she a subtle meaning?--would to God I knew it,
+  Where'er I am I always feel the rose leaves nestling there,
+If I might know her mind and the thought which then flashed through it,
+  My soul might look to heaven not commissioned to despair.
+
+Though she denied at parting the gift that I besought her,
+  Just a bit of ribbon or a strand of her hair;
+Though she would not keep the token that I brought her,
+  Proud she stood and calm and marvellously fair;
+Yet I saw her spirit--truth cannot dissemble--
+  Saw her pure as gold, staunch and keen and brave,
+For she knows my worth and her heart was all atremble,
+  Lest her will should weaken and make her heart a slave.
+
+If she could be here where all the world is eager
+  For dear love with the primal Eden sway,
+Where the blood is fire and no pulse is thin or meagre,
+  All the heart of all the world beats one way!
+There is the land of fraud and fame and fashion,
+  Joy is but a gaud and withers in an hour,
+Here is the land of quintessential passion,
+Where in a wild throb Spring wells up with power.
+
+She would hear the partridge drumming in the distance,
+  Rolling out his mimic thunder in the sultry noons;
+Hear beyond the silver reach in ringing wild persistence
+  Reel remote the ululating laughter of the loons;
+See the shy moose fawn nestling by its mother,
+  In a cool marsh pool where the sedges meet;
+Rest by a moss-mound where the twin-flowers smother
+  With a drowse of orient perfume drenched in light and heat:
+
+She would see the dawn rise behind the smoky mountain,
+  In a jet of colour curving up to break,
+While like spray from the iridescent fountain,
+  Opal fires weave over all the oval of the lake:
+She would see like fireflies the stars alight and spangle
+  All the heaven meadows thick with growing dusk,
+Feel the gipsy airs that gather up and tangle
+The woodsy odours in a maze of myrrh and musk:
+
+There in the forest all the birds are nesting,
+  Tells the hermit thrush the song he cannot tell,
+While the white-throat sparrow never resting,
+  Even in the deepest night rings his crystal bell:
+O, she would love me then with a wild elation,
+  Then she must love me and leave her lonely state,
+Give me love yet keep her soul's imperial reservation,
+  Large as her deep nature and fathomless as fate:
+
+Then, if she would lie beside me in the even,
+  On my deep couch heaped of balsam fir,
+Fragrant with sleep as nothing under heaven,
+  Let the past and future mingle in one blur;
+While all the stars were watchful and thereunder
+  Earth breathed not but took their silent light,
+All life withdrew and wrapt in a wild wonder
+  Peace fell tranquil on the odorous night:
+
+She would let me steal,--not consenting or denying--
+  One strong arm beneath her dusky hair,
+She would let me bare, not resisting or complying,
+  One sweet breast so sweet and firm and fair;
+Then with the quick sob of passion's shy endeavour,
+  She would gather close and shudder and swoon away,
+She would be mine for ever and for ever,
+  Mine for all time and beyond the judgment day.
+
+Vain is the dream, and deep with all derision--
+  Fate is stern and hard--fair and false and vain--
+But what would life be worth without the vision,
+  Dark with sordid passion, pale with wringing pain?
+What I dream is mine, mine beyond all cavil,
+  Pure and fair and sweet, and mine for evermore,
+And when I will my life I may unravel,
+  And find my passion dream deep at the red core.
+
+Venus sinks first lost in ruby splendour,
+  Stars like wood-daffodils grow golden in the night,
+Far, far above, in a space entranced and tender,
+  Floats the growing moon pale with virgin light.
+Vaster than the world or life or death my trust is
+  Based in the unseen and towering far above;
+Hold me, O Law, that deeper lies than Justice,
+  Guide me, O Light, that stronger burns than Love.
+
+
+
+
+AN IMPROMPTU
+
+
+Here in the pungent gloom
+Where the tamarac roses glow
+And the balsam burns its perfume,
+A vireo turns his slow
+Cadence, as if he gloated
+Over the last phrase he floated;
+Each one he moulds and mellows
+Matching it with its fellows:
+So have you noted
+How the oboe croons,
+The canary-throated,
+In the gloom of the violoncellos
+And bassoons.
+
+But afar in the thickset forest
+I hear a sound go free,
+Crashing the stately neighbours
+The pine and the cedar tree,
+Horns and harps and tabors,
+Drumming and harping and horning
+In savage minstrelsy--
+It wakes in my soul a warning
+Of the wind of destiny.
+
+My life is soaring and swinging
+In triple walls of quiet,
+In my heart there is rippling and ringing
+A song with melodious riot,
+When a fateful thing comes nigh it
+A hush falls, and then
+I hear in the thickset world
+The wind of destiny hurled
+On the lives of men.
+
+
+
+
+THE HALF-BREED GIRL
+
+
+She is free of the trap and the paddle,
+  The portage and the trail,
+But something behind her savage life
+  Shines like a fragile veil.
+
+Her dreams are undiscovered,
+  Shadows trouble her breast,
+When the time for resting cometh
+  Then least is she at rest.
+
+Oft in the morns of winter,
+  When she visits the rabbit snares,
+An appearance floats in the crystal air
+  Beyond the balsam firs.
+
+Oft in the summer mornings
+  When she strips the nets of fish,
+The smell of the dripping net-twine
+  Gives to her heart a wish.
+
+But she cannot learn the meaning
+  Of the shadows in her soul,
+The lights that break and gather,
+  The clouds that part and roll,
+
+The reek of rock-built cities,
+  Where her fathers dwelt of yore,
+The gleam of loch and shealing,
+  The mist on the moor,
+
+Frail traces of kindred kindness,
+  Of feud by hill and strand,
+The heritage of an age-long life
+  In a legendary land.
+
+She wakes in the stifling wigwam,
+  Where the air is heavy and wild,
+She fears for something or nothing
+  With the heart of a frightened child.
+
+She sees the stars turn slowly
+  Past the tangle of the poles,
+Through the smoke of the dying embers,
+  Like the eyes of dead souls.
+
+Her heart is shaken with longing
+  For the strange, still years,
+For what she knows and knows not,
+  For the wells of ancient tears.
+
+A voice calls from the rapids,
+  Deep, careless and free,
+A voice that is larger than her life
+  Or than her death shall be.
+
+She covers her face with her blanket,
+  Her fierce soul hates her breath,
+As it cries with a sudden passion
+  For life or death.
+
+
+
+
+NIGHT BURIAL IN THE FOREST
+
+
+Lay him down where the fern is thick and fair.
+Fain was he for life, here lies he low:
+With the blood washed clean from his brow and his beautiful hair,
+Lay him here in the dell where the orchids grow.
+
+Let the birch-bark torches roar in the gloom,
+And the trees crowd up in a quiet startled ring
+So lone is the land that in this lonely room
+Never before has breathed a human thing.
+
+Cover him well in his canvas shroud, and the moss
+Part and heap again on his quiet breast,
+What recks he now of gain, or love, or loss
+Who for love gained rest?
+
+While she who caused it all hides her insolent eyes
+Or braids her hair with the ribbons of lust and of lies,
+And he who did the deed fares out like a hunted beast
+To lurk where the musk-ox tramples the barren ground
+Where the stroke of his coward heart is the only sound.
+
+Haunting the tamarac shade,
+Hear them up-thronging
+Memories foredoomed
+Of strife and of longing:
+Haggard or bright
+By the tamaracs and birches,
+Where the red torch light
+Trembles and searches,
+The wilderness teems
+With inscrutable eyes
+Of ghosts that are dreams
+Commingled with memories.
+
+Leave him here in his secret ferny tomb,
+Withdraw the little light from the ocean of gloom,
+He who feared nought will fear aught never,
+Left alone in the forest forever and ever.
+
+Then, as we fare on our way to the shore
+Sudden the torches cease to roar:
+For cleaving the darkness remote and still
+Comes a wind with a rushing, harp-like thrill,
+The sound of wings hurled and furled and unfurled,
+The wings of the Angel who gathers the souls from the wastes of
+    the world.
+
+
+
+
+DREAM VOYAGEURS
+
+
+To ports of balm through isles of musk
+The gentle airs are leading us;
+To curtained calm and tents of dusk,
+The wood-wild things unheeding us
+Will share their hoards of hardihood,
+Cool dew and roots of fern for food,
+Frail berries full of the sun's blood.
+
+To planets bland with dales of dream
+A tranquil life is leading us,
+We shall land from the languid stream,
+The musing shades, unheeding us,
+Will share their veils of angelhood,
+Thoughts that are tranced with mystic food,
+Still broodings tinct with a seraph's blood.
+
+
+
+
+SONG
+
+
+Creep into my heart, creep in, creep in,
+Afar from the fret, the toil and the din,
+Where the spring of love forever flows,
+As clear as light and as sweet as the rose;
+(Creep into my heart),
+Where the dreams never wilt but their tints refine,
+Rooted in beautiful thoughts of thine;
+Where morn falls cool on the soul, like sleep,
+And the nights are tranquil and tranced and deep;
+Where the fairest thing of all the fair
+Thou art, who hast somehow crept in there,
+Deep into my heart,
+Deep into my heart.
+
+
+
+
+ECSTASY
+
+
+The shore-lark soars to his topmost flight,
+  Sings at the height where morning springs,
+What though his voice be lost in the light,
+  The light comes dropping from his wings.
+
+Mount, my soul, and sing at the height
+  Of thy clear flight in the light and the air,
+Heard or unheard in the night in the light
+  Sing there! Sing there!
+
+
+
+
+LYRICS, SONGS AND SONNETS
+
+
+
+
+MEDITATION AT PERUGIA
+
+
+The sunset colours mingle in the sky,
+  And over all the Umbrian valleys flow;
+  Trevi is touched with wonder, and the glow
+Finds high Perugia crimson with renown;
+    Spello is bright;
+And, ah! St. Francis, thy deep-treasured town,
+    Enshrined Assisi, fully fronts the light.
+
+This valley knew thee many a year ago;
+  Thy shrine was built by simpleness of heart;
+  And from the wound called life thou drew'st the smart:
+Unquiet kings came to thee and the sad poor--
+    Thou gavest them peace;
+Far as the Sultan and the Iberian shore
+    Thy faith and abnegation gave release.
+
+Deeper our faith, but not so sweet as thine;
+  Wider our view, but not so sanely sure;
+  For we are troubled by the witching lure
+Of Science, with her lightning on the mist;
+    Science that clears,
+Yet never quite discloses what she wist,
+    And leaves us half with doubts and half with fears.
+
+We act her dreams that shadow forth the truth,
+  That somehow here the very nerves of God
+  Thrill the old fires, the rocks, the primal sod;
+We throw our speech upon the open air,
+    And it is caught
+Far down the world, to sing and murmur there;
+    Our common words are with deep wonder fraught.
+
+Shall not the subtle spirit of man contrive
+  To charm the tremulous ether of the soul,
+  Wherein it breathes?--until, from pole to pole,
+Those who are kin shall speak, as face to face,
+    From star to star,
+Even from earth to the most secret place,
+    Where God and the supreme archangels are.
+
+Shall we not prove, what thou hast faintly taught,
+  That all the powers of earth and air are one,
+  That one deep law persists from mole to sun?
+Shall we not search the heart of God and find
+    That law empearled,
+Until all things that are in matter and mind
+    Throb with the secret that began the world?
+
+Yea, we have journeyed since thou trod'st the road,
+  Yet still we keep the foreappointed quest;
+  While the last sunset smoulders in the West,
+Still the great faith with the undying hope
+    Upsprings and flows,
+While dim Assisi fades on the wide slope
+    And the deep Umbrian valleys fill with rose.
+
+
+
+
+AT WILLIAM MACLENNAN'S GRAVE
+
+
+Here where the cypress tall
+Shadows the stucco wall,
+    Bronze and deep,
+Where the chrysanthemums blow,
+And the roses--blood and snow--
+    He lies asleep.
+
+Florence dreameth afar;
+Memories of foray and war,
+    Murmur still;
+The Certosa crowns with a cold
+Cloud of snow and gold
+    The olive hill.
+
+What has he now for the streams
+Born sweet and deep with dreams
+    From the cedar meres?
+Only the Arno's flow,
+Turbid, and weary, and slow
+    With wrath and tears.
+
+What has he now for the song
+Of the boatmen, joyous and long,
+    Where the rapids shine?
+Only the sound of toil,
+Where the peasants press the soil
+    For the oil and wine.
+
+Spirit-fellow in sooth
+With bold La Salle and Duluth,
+    And La Verandrye,--
+Nothing he has but rest,
+Deep in his cypress nest
+    With memory.
+
+Hearts of steel and of fire,
+Why do ye love and aspire,
+    When follows
+Death--all your passionate deeds,
+Garnered with rust and with weeds
+    In the hollows?
+
+God that hardened the steel,
+Bid the flame leap and reel,
+    Gave us unrest;
+We act in the dusk afar,
+In a star beyond your star,
+    His behest.
+
+"We leave you dreams and names
+Still we are iron and flames,
+    Biting and bright;
+Into some virgin world,
+Champions, we are hurled,
+    Of venture and fight."
+
+Here where the shadows fall,
+From the cypress by the wall,
+    Where the roses are--
+Here is a dream and a name,
+There, like a rose of flame,
+    Rises--a star.
+
+
+
+
+THE WOOD-SPRING TO THE POET
+
+
+Dawn-cool, dew-cool
+Gleams the surface of my pool
+Bird haunted, fern enchanted,
+Where but tempered spirits rule;
+Stars do not trace their mystic lines
+In my confines;
+I take a double night within my breast
+A night of darkened heavens, a night of leaves,
+And in the two-fold dark I hear the owl
+Puff at his velvet horn
+And the wolves howl.
+Even daylight comes with a touch of gold
+Not overbold,
+And shows dwarf-cornel and the twin-flowers,
+Below the balsam bowers,
+Their tints enamelled in my dew-drop shield.
+Too small even for a thirsty fawn
+To quench upon,
+I hold my crystal at one level
+There where you see the liquid bevel
+Break in silver and go free
+Singing to its destiny.
+
+Give, Poet, give!
+Thus only shalt thou live.
+Give! for 'tis thy joyous doom
+To charm, to comfort, to illume.
+
+Speak to the maiden and the child
+With accents deep and mild,
+Tell them of the world so wide
+In words of wonder and pure pride,
+Touched with the rapture of surprise
+That dwells in a child angel's eyes,
+Awed with the strangeness of new-birth,
+When the flaming seraph sent
+To lead him into Paradise,
+Calls his name with the mother's voice
+He has just ceased to hear on earth.
+
+Give to the youth his heart's content,
+But power with prudence blent,
+Thicken his sinews with love,
+With courage his heart prove,
+Till over his spirit shall roll
+The vast wave of control.
+In the cages and dens of strife,
+Where men draw breath
+Thick with a curse at the dear thing called life,
+Give them courage to bear,
+Strength to aspire and dare;
+Give them hopes rooted in stone,
+That the loveliest flowers take on,
+Bind on their brows with a gesture free
+The palm green bays of liberty.
+
+Give to the mothers of men
+  The knowledge of joy in pain,
+Give them the sense of reward
+That grew in the breast of the Lord
+On the dawn of the seventh morn;
+For 'tis they who re-create the world
+Whenever a child is born.
+
+Give, Poet, give!
+Give them songs that charm and fill
+The soul with an alluring pleasure,
+Prelusive to a deeper thrill,
+A richer tone, a fuller measure;
+Like voices, veiled with hidden treasure,
+Of angels on a windy morning,
+That first far off, then all together,
+Come with a glorious clarion calling;
+And when they swoon beneath the spell
+Recapture them to hear the echoes
+Falling--falling--falling.
+
+To those stoned for the truth
+Give ruth;
+Give manna for the mourner's mouth
+Sovereign as air;
+For his heart's drouth
+A prayer.
+
+Give to dead souls that mock at life
+Aweary of their cankered hearts,
+Weary of sleep and weary of strife,
+Weary of markets and of arts,--
+Helve them a song of life,
+Two-edged with joyous life,
+Tempered trusty with life,
+Proud pointed with wild life,
+Plunge it as lightning plunges,
+Stab them to life!
+
+Give to those who grieve in secret,
+Those who bear the sorrows of earth,
+The deep unappeasable longings
+Which beset them with throngings and throngings,
+(As, on a windless night,
+Through the fold of a dark mantle furled,
+Gleams on our world, world after unknown world)
+Give them peace,
+Wide as the veil that hides God's face,
+The pure plenitude of space,
+In which our universe is but a glittering crease,--
+Give them such peace.
+
+Give, Poet, give!
+Thus only shalt thou live:
+Give as we give who are hidden
+In myriad dimples of rock and fern;
+Give as we give unbidden
+To tarn and rillet and burn,
+Where the lake dreams,
+Where the fall is hurled,
+Striving to sweeten
+The oceans of the world.
+
+Should my song for a moment cease,
+Silence fall in the woodland peace;
+Should I wilfully check the flow
+Bubbling and dancing up from below;
+Say to my heart be still--be still,
+Let the murmur die with the rill;
+Then should the glittering, grey sea-things
+Sigh as they wallow the under springs;
+Where the deep brine-pools used to lie
+Deserts vast would stare at the sky,
+And even thy rich heart
+(O Poet, Poet!)
+Even thy rich heart run dry.
+
+
+
+
+THE NOVEMBER PANSY
+
+
+This is not June,--by Autumn's stratagem
+Thou hast been ambushed in the chilly air;
+  Upon thy fragile crest virginal fair
+The rime has clustered in a diadem;
+  The early frost
+Has nipped thy roots and tried thy tender stem,
+  Seared thy gold petals, all thy charm is lost.
+
+Thyself the only sunshine: in obeying
+The law that bids thee blossom in the world
+  Thy little flag of courage is unfurled;
+Inherent pansy-memories are saying
+  That there is sun,
+That there is dew and colour and warmth repaying
+  The rain, the starlight when the light is done.
+
+These are the gaunt forms of the hollyhocks
+That shower the seeds from out their withered purses;
+  Here were the pinks; there the nasturtium nurses
+The last of colour in her gaudy smocks;
+  The ruins yonder
+Show but a vestige of the flaming phlox;
+  The poppies on their faded glory ponder.
+
+Here visited the vagrant humming-bird,
+The nebulous darting green, the ruby-throated;
+  The warm fans of the butterfly here floated;
+Those two nests reared the robins, and the third
+  Was left forlorn
+Muffled in lilacs, whence the perfume stirred
+  The tremulous eyelids of the dewy morn.
+
+Thy sisters of the early summer-time
+Were masquers in this carnival of pleasure;
+  Each in her turn unrolled her golden treasure,
+And thou hast but the ashes of the prime;
+  'Tis life's own malice
+That brings the peasant of a race sublime
+  To feed her flock around her ruined palace.
+
+Yet for withstanding thus the autumn's dart
+Some deeper pansy-insight will atone;
+  It comes to souls neglected and alone,
+Something that prodigals in pleasure's mart
+  Lose in the whirl;
+The peasant child will have a purer heart
+  Than the vain favourite of the vanished earl.
+
+And far above this tragic world of ours
+There is a world of a diviner fashion,
+  A mystic world, a world of dreams and passion
+That each aspiring thing creates and dowers
+  With its own light;
+Where even the frail spirits of trees and flowers
+  Pause, and reach out, and pass from height to height.
+
+Here will we claim for thee another fief,
+An upland where a glamour haunts the meadows,
+  Snow peaks arise enrobed in rosy shadows,
+Fairer the under slopes with vine and sheaf
+  And shimmering lea;
+The paradise of a simple old belief,
+  That flourished in the Islands of the Sea.
+
+A snow-cool cistern in the fairy hills
+Shall feed thy roots with moisture clear as dew;
+  A ferny shield to temper the warm blue
+That heaven is; a thrush that thrills
+  To answer his mate,
+And when above the ferns the shadow fills,
+  Fireflies to render darkness consolate.
+
+Here muse and brood, moulding thy seed and die
+And re-create thy form a thousand fold,
+  Mellowing thy petals to more lucent gold,
+Till they expand, tissues of amber sky;
+  Till the full hour,
+And the full light and the fulfilling eye
+  Shall find amid the ferns the perfect flower.
+
+
+
+
+THE HEIGHT OF LAND
+
+
+Here is the height of land:
+The watershed on either hand
+Goes down to Hudson Bay
+Or Lake Superior;
+The stars are up, and far away
+The wind sounds in the wood, wearier
+Than the long Ojibway cadence
+In which Potan the Wise
+Declares the ills of life
+And Chees-que-ne-ne makes a mournful sound
+Of acquiescence. The fires burn low
+With just sufficient glow
+To light the flakes of ash that play
+At being moths, and flutter away
+To fall in the dark and die as ashes:
+Here there is peace in the lofty air,
+And Something comes by flashes
+Deeper than peace;--
+The spruces have retired a little space
+And left a field of sky in violet shadow
+With stars like marigolds in a water-meadow.
+
+Now the Indian guides are dead asleep;
+There is no sound unless the soul can hear
+The gathering of the waters in their sources.
+
+We have come up through the spreading lakes
+From level to level,--
+Pitching our tents sometimes over a revel
+Of roses that nodded all night,
+Dreaming within our dreams,
+To wake at dawn and find that they were captured
+With no dew on their leaves;
+Sometimes mid sheaves
+Of braken and dwarf-cornel, and again
+On a wide blue-berry plain
+Brushed with the shimmer of a bluebird's wing;
+A rocky islet followed
+With one lone poplar and a single nest
+Of white-throat-sparrows that took no rest
+But sang in dreams or woke to sing,--
+To the last portage and the height of land--:
+Upon one hand
+The lonely north enlaced with lakes and streams,
+And the enormous targe of Hudson Bay,
+Glimmering all night
+In the cold arctic light;
+On the other hand
+The crowded southern land
+With all the welter of the lives of men.
+But here is peace, and again
+That Something comes by flashes
+Deeper than peace,--a spell
+Golden and inappellable
+That gives the inarticulate part
+Of our strange being one moment of release
+That seems more native than the touch of time,
+And we must answer in chime;
+Though yet no man may tell
+The secret of that spell
+Golden and inappellable.
+
+Now are there sounds walking in the wood,
+And all the spruces shiver and tremble,
+And the stars move a little in their courses.
+The ancient disturber of solitude
+Breathes a pervasive sigh,
+And the soul seems to hear
+The gathering of the waters at their sources;
+Then quiet ensues and pure starlight and dark;
+The region-spirit murmurs in meditation,
+The heart replies in exaltation
+And echoes faintly like an inland shell
+Ghost tremors of the spell;
+Thought reawakens and is linked again
+With all the welter of the lives of men.
+
+Here on the uplands where the air is clear
+We think of life as of a stormy scene,--
+Of tempest, of revolt and desperate shock;
+And here, where we can think, on the bright uplands
+Where the air is clear, we deeply brood on life
+Until the tempest parts, and it appears
+As simple as to the shepherd seems his flock:
+A Something to be guided by ideals--
+That in themselves are simple and serene--
+Of noble deed to foster noble thought,
+And noble thought to image noble deed,
+Till deed and thought shall interpenetrate,
+Making life lovelier, till we come to doubt
+Whether the perfect beauty that escapes
+Is beauty of deed or thought or some high thing
+Mingled of both, a greater boon than either:
+Thus we have seen in the retreating tempest
+The victor-sunlight merge with the ruined rain,
+And from the rain and sunlight spring the rainbow.
+
+The ancient disturber of solitude
+Stirs his ancestral potion in the gloom,
+And the dark wood
+Is stifled with the pungent fume
+Of charred earth burnt to the bone
+That takes the place of air.
+Then sudden I remember when and where,--
+The last weird lakelet foul with weedy growths
+And slimy viscid things the spirit loathes,
+Skin of vile water over viler mud
+Where the paddle stirred unutterable stenches,
+And the canoes seemed heavy with fear,
+Not to be urged toward the fatal shore
+Where a bush fire, smouldering, with sudden roar
+Leaped on a cedar and smothered it with light
+And terror. It had left the portage-height
+A tangle of slanted spruces burned to the roots,
+Covered still with patches of bright fire
+Smoking with incense of the fragrant resin
+That even then began to thin and lessen
+Into the gloom and glimmer of ruin.
+
+'Tis overpast. How strange the stars have grown;
+The presage of extinction glows on their crests
+  And they are beautied with impermanence;
+  They shall be after the race of men
+  And mourn for them who snared their fiery pinions,
+Entangled in the meshes of bright words.
+
+A lemming stirs the fern and in the mosses
+Eft-minded things feel the air change, and dawn
+Tolls out from the dark belfries of the spruces.
+How often in the autumn of the world
+Shall the crystal shrine of dawning be rebuilt
+With deeper meaning! Shall the poet then,
+Wrapped in his mantle on the height of land,
+Brood on the welter of the lives of men
+And dream of his ideal hope and promise
+In the blush sunrise? Shall he base his flight
+Upon a more compelling law than Love
+As Life's atonement; shall the vision
+Of noble deed and noble thought immingled
+Seem as uncouth to him as the pictograph
+Scratched on the cave side by the cave-dweller
+To us of the Christ-time? Shall he stand
+With deeper joy, with more complex emotion,
+In closer commune with divinity,
+With the deep fathomed, with the firmament charted,
+With life as simple as a sheep-boy's song,
+What lies beyond a romaunt that was read
+Once on a morn of storm and laid aside
+Memorious with strange immortal memories?
+Or shall he see the sunrise as I see it
+In shoals of misty fire the deluge-light
+Dashes upon and whelms with purer radiance,
+And feel the lulled earth, older in pulse and motion,
+Turn the rich lands and the inundant oceans
+To the flushed color, and hear as now I hear
+The thrill of life beat up the planet's margin
+And break in the clear susurrus of deep joy
+That echoes and reechoes in my being?
+O Life is intuition the measure of knowledge
+And do I stand with heart entranced and burning
+At the zenith of our wisdom when I feel
+The long light flow, the long wind pause, the deep
+Influx of spirit, of which no man may tell
+The Secret, golden and inappellable?
+
+
+
+
+NEW YEAR'S NIGHT, 1916
+
+
+The Earth moans in her sleep
+Like an old mother
+Whose sons have gone to the war,
+Who weeps silently in her heart
+Till dreams comfort her.
+
+The Earth tosses
+As if she would shake off humanity,
+A burden too heavy to be borne,
+And free of the pest of intolerable men,
+Spin with woods and waters
+Joyously in the clear heavens
+In the beautiful cool rains,
+Bearing gladly the dumb animals,
+And sleep when the time comes
+Glistening in the remains of sunlight
+With marmoreal innocency.
+
+Be comforted, old mother,
+Whose sons have gone to the war;
+And be assured, O Earth,
+Of your burden of passionate men,
+For without them who would dream the dreams
+That encompass you with glory,
+Who would gather your youth
+And store it in the jar of remembrance,
+Who would comfort your old heart
+With tales told of the heroes,
+Who would cover your face with the cerecloth
+All rustling with stars,
+And mourn in the ashes of sunlight,
+Mourn your marmoreal innocency?
+
+
+
+
+FRAGMENT OF AN ODE TO CANADA
+
+
+                               This is the land!
+It lies outstretched a vision of delight,
+Bent like a shield between the silver seas
+It flashes back the hauteur of the sun;
+Yet teems with humblest beauties, still a part
+Of its Titanic and ebullient heart.
+
+Land of the glacial, lonely mountain ranges,
+Where nothing haps save vast AEonian changes,
+The slow moraine, the avalanche's wings,
+Summer and Sun,--the elemental things,
+Pulses of Awe,--Winter and Night and the lightnings.
+Land of the pines that rear their dusky spars
+A ready midnight for the earliest stars.
+The land of rivers, rivulets, and rills,
+Straining incessant everyway to the sea
+With their white thunder harnessed in the mills,
+Turning one wealth to another wealth perpetually;
+Spinning the lightning with dynamic spindles,
+Till some far city dowered with fire enkindles.
+
+The land of fruit, fine-flavoured with the frost,
+Land of the cattle, the deep-chested host,
+The happy-souled, that contemplate the hours,
+Their dew-laps buried in the grass and flowers.
+And, O! the myriad-miracle of the grain
+Cresting the hill, brimming the level plain,
+The miracle of the flower and milk and kernel,
+Nurtured by sun-fire and frost-fire supernal,
+Until the farmer turns it in his hand,
+The million-millioned miracle of the land.
+
+And yet with all these pastoral and heroic graces,
+Our simplest flowers wear the loveliest faces;
+The sparrows are our most enraptured singers,
+And round their songs the fondest memory lingers;
+Our forests tower and tremble, star-enchanted,
+Their roots are by the timid spirits haunted
+Of hermit thrushes,--tranced is the air,
+Ever in doubt when they shall sing or where;
+The mountains may with ice and avalanche wrestle,
+Far down their rugged steeps dimple and nestle
+The still, translucent, turquoise-hearted tarns.
+
+          *      *      *      *      *
+
+And Thou, O Power, that 'stablishest the Nation,
+Give wisdom in the midst of our elation;
+Who are so free that we forget we are--
+That freedom brings the deepest obligation:
+Grant us this presage for a guiding star,
+To lead the van of Peace, not with a craven spirit,
+But with the consciousness that we inherit
+What built the Empire out of blood and fire,
+And can smite, too, in passion and with ire.
+Purge us of Pride, who are so quick in vaunting
+Thy gift, this land, that is in nothing wanting;
+Give Mind to match the glory of the gift,
+Give great Ideals to bridge the sordid rift
+Between our heritage and our use of it.
+
+Then in some day of terror for the world,
+When all the flags of the Furies are unfurled,
+When Truth and Justice, wildered and unknit,
+Shall turn for help to this young, radiant land,
+We shall be quick to see and understand:
+What shall we answer in that stricken hour?
+Shall the deep thought be pregnant then with power?
+Shall the few words spring swift and grave and clear?
+Use well the present moment. They shall hear.
+
+August, 1911.
+
+
+
+
+FANTASIA
+
+
+Here in Samarcand they offer emeralds,
+Pure as frozen drops of sea-water,
+Rubies, pale as dew-ponds stained with slaughter,
+Where the fairies fought for a king's daughter
+In the elfin upland.
+Here they sell you jade and calcedony,
+And the matrix of the turquoise,
+Spheres of onyx held in eagles' claws,
+But they keep the gems as far asunder
+From the dull stones as the lightning from the thunder;
+They can never come together
+On the mats of Turkish leather
+In the booths of Samarcand.
+
+Here they sell you balls of nard and honey,
+And squat jars of clarid butter,
+And the cheese from Kurdistan.
+When you offer Frankish money,
+Then they scowl and curse and mutter,
+Deep in Kurdish or Persan
+For they want your heart out and my hand
+In the booths of Samarcand.
+
+They would sell your heart's blood separate,
+In a jar with a gold brim,
+With a text of burning hatred
+Coiled around the rim;
+They would sell my hand upon a beam of teak wood,
+In the other scale a feather curled;
+They would sell your heart upon a silver balance
+Weighed against the world.
+But your heart could never touch my hand,
+They could never come together
+On the mats of Turkish leather
+In the booths of Samarcand.
+
+
+
+
+THE LOVER TO HIS LASS
+
+
+Crown her with stars, this angel of our planet,
+  Cover her with morning, this thing of pure delight,
+Mantle her with midnight till a mortal cannot
+  See her for the garments of the light and the night.
+
+How far I wandered, worlds away and far away,
+  Heard a voice but knew it not in the clear cold,
+Many a wide circle and many a wan star away,
+  Dwelling in the chambers where the worlds were growing old.
+
+Saw them growing old and heard them falling
+  Like ripe fruit when a tree is in the wind;
+Saw the seraphs gather them, their clarion voices calling
+  In rounds of cheering labour till the orchard floor was thinned.
+
+Saw a whole universe turn to its setting,
+  Old and cold and weary, gray and cold as death,
+But before mine eyes were veiled in forgetting,
+  Something always caught my soul and held its breath.
+
+Caught it up and held it, now I know the reason;
+  Governed it and soothed it, now I know why;
+Nurtured it and trained it and kept it for the season
+  When new worlds should blossom in the springtime sky.
+
+How have they blossomed, see the sky is like a garden!
+  Ah! how fresh the worlds look hanging on the slope!
+Pluck one and wear it, Love, and ask the Gardener's pardon,
+  Pluck out the Pleiads like a spray of heliotrope.
+
+See Aldebaran like a red rose clamber,
+  See brave Betelgeux pranked with poppy light;
+This young earth must float in floods of amber
+  Glowing with a crocus flame in the dells of night.
+
+O you cannot cheat the soul of an inborn ambition,
+  'Tis a naked viewless thing living in its thought,
+But it mounts through errors and by valleys of contrition
+  Till it conquers destiny and finds the thing it sought.
+
+Crown her with stars, this angel of our planet,
+  Cover her with morning, this thing of pure delight,
+Mantle her with midnight till a mortal cannot
+  See her for the garments of the light and the night.
+
+
+
+
+THE GHOST'S STORY
+
+
+All my life long I heard the step
+  Of some one I would know,
+Break softly in upon my days
+  And lightly come and go.
+
+A foot so brisk I said must bear
+  A heart that's clean and clear;
+If that companion blithe would come,
+  I should be happy here.
+
+But though I waited long and well,
+  He never came at all,
+I grew aweary of the void,
+  Even of the light foot-fall.
+
+From loneliness to loneliness
+  I felt my spirit grope--
+At last I knew the uttermost,
+  The loneliness of hope.
+
+And just upon the border land,
+  Where flesh and spirit part,
+I knew the secret foot-fall was
+  The beating of my heart.
+
+
+
+
+NIGHT
+
+
+The night is old, and all the world
+  Is wearied out with strife;
+A long gray mist lies heavy and wan
+  Above the house of life.
+
+Four stars burn up and are unquelled
+  By the low, shrunken moon;
+Her spirit draws her down and down--
+  She shall be buried soon.
+
+There is a sound that is no sound,
+  Yet fine it falls and clear,
+The whisper of the spinning earth
+  To the tranced atmosphere.
+
+An odour lives where once was air,
+  A strange, unearthly scent,
+From the burning of the four great stars
+  Within the firmament.
+
+The universe, deathless and old,
+  Breathes, yet is void of breath:
+As still as death that seems to move
+  And yet is still as death.
+
+
+
+
+THE APPARITION
+
+
+Gentle angel with your mantle,
+  All of tender green,
+I was yearning for a vision
+  Of the life unseen.
+
+When you hovered in the sunset,
+  Just as rain was done;
+Where the dropping from the poplars
+  Seemed like rain begun.
+
+There you gathered forming slowly
+  Rounding into view:
+All your vesture glowed like verdure
+  When the sap is new.
+
+Then you mutely gave your warning
+  And I felt the stress
+Of its passion and its presage
+  And its utterness.
+
+There you swayed one tranquil moment,
+  Mystically fair,
+Then you were not of the sunset,
+  Were not in the air.
+
+
+
+
+AT SEA
+
+
+Three are emerald pools in the sea,
+  And wing-like flashes of light;
+The sea is bound with the heavens
+  In a large delight.
+
+Night comes out of the east
+  And rushes down on the sun;
+The emerald pools and the light pools
+  Are darkened and done.
+
+Our boat dips and cleaves onward,
+  Careless of night or of light,
+Following the line of her compass
+  By her engines' might.
+
+Through the desert of air and of water;
+  Like the lonely soul of man,
+Following her fate to the ending,
+  Unaware of the hidden plan.
+
+Sure only of battle and longing,
+  Of the pain and the quest,
+And beyond in the darkness somewhere
+  Sure of her rest.
+
+
+
+
+MADONNA WITH TWO ANGELS
+
+
+Under the sky without a stain
+The long, ripe, rippling of the grain;
+Light, broadcast from the golden oats
+Over the blackberry fences floats.
+Madonna sits in a cedar chair
+Tranquillized by the warm, still air;
+One of the angels asleep on her knee
+Under the shade of an apple tree.
+The other angel holds a doll,
+Covered warm in a tiny shawl;
+The toy is supposed to be fast asleep
+As the sister angel: in dimples deep
+The grave, sweet charm on the baby face
+Repeats the look of maturer grace
+That hovers about Madonna's eyes,
+One of the heavenly mysteries
+From far ethereal latitudes
+Where neither doubt nor trouble intrudes.
+Ponder here in the orchard nest
+On the truth of life made manifest:
+The struggle and effort was all to prove
+That the best of the world is home and love.
+
+
+
+
+MID-AUGUST
+
+
+From the upland hidden,
+  Where the hill is sunny
+  Tawny like pure honey
+  In the August heat,
+Memories float unbidden
+  Where the thicket serries
+  Fragrant with ripe berries
+  And the milk-weed sweet.
+
+Like a prayer-mat holy
+  Are the patterned mosses
+  Which the twin-flower crosses
+  With her flowerless vine;
+In fragile melancholy
+  The pallid ghost flowers hover
+  As if to guard and cover
+  The shadow of a shrine.
+
+Where the pine-linnet lingered
+  The pale water searches,
+  The roots of gleaming birches
+  Draw silver from the lake;
+The ripples, liquid-fingered,
+  Plucking the root-layers,
+  Fairy like lute players
+  Lulling music make.
+
+O to lie here brooding
+  Where the pine-tree column
+  Rises dark and solemn
+  To the airy lair,
+Where, the day eluding,
+  Night is couched dream laden,
+  Like a deep witch-maiden
+  Hidden in her hair.
+
+In filmy evanescence
+  Wraithlike scents assemble,
+  Then dissolve and tremble
+  A little until they die;
+Spirits of the florescence
+  Where the bees searched and tarried
+  Till the blossoms all were married
+  In the days before July.
+
+Light has lost its splendour,
+  Light refined and sifted,
+  Cool light and dream drifted
+  Ventures even where,
+(Seeping silver tender)
+  In the dim recesses,
+  Trembling mid her tresses,
+  Hides the maiden hair.
+
+Covered with the shy-light,
+  Filling in the hushes,
+  Slide the tawny thrushes
+  Calling to their broods,
+Hoarding till the twilight
+  The song that made for noon-days
+  Of the amorous June days
+  Preludes and interludes.
+
+The joy that I am feeling
+  Is there something in it
+  Unlike the warble the linnet
+  Phrases and intones?
+Or is a like thought stealing
+  With a rapture fine, free
+  Through the happy pine tree
+  Ripening her cones?
+
+In some high existence
+  In another planet
+  Where their poets cannot
+  Know our birds and flowers,
+Does the same persistence
+  Give the dreams they issue
+  Something like the tissue
+  Of these dreams of ours?
+
+O to lie athinking--
+  Moods and whims! I fancy
+  Only necromancy
+  Could the web unroll,
+Only somehow linking
+  Beauties that meet and mingle
+  In this quiet dingle
+  With the beauty of the whole.
+
+
+
+
+MIST AND FROST
+
+
+Veil-like and beautiful
+Gathered the dutiful
+    Mist in the night,
+True to the messaging,
+Dreamful and presaging
+    Vapour and light.
+
+Ghostly and chill it is,
+Pallid and still it is,
+    Sudden uprist;
+What is there tragical,
+Moving or magical,
+    Hid in the mist?
+
+Millions of essences,
+Fairy-like presences
+    Formless as yet;
+Light-riven spangles,
+Crystalline tangles
+    Floating unset.
+
+Frost will come shepherding
+Nowise enjeoparding
+    Frondage or flower;
+Just a degree of it,
+Nought can we see of it
+    Only its power.
+
+Earth like a Swimmer
+Plunged into the dimmer
+    Wave of the night,
+Now is uprisen,
+An Elysian vision
+    Of spray and of light.
+
+'Tis the intangible
+Delicate frangible
+    Secret of mist,
+Breathing may banish it,
+Thought may evanish it,--
+    Ponder and whist!
+
+Passionless purity,
+Calmness in surety
+    Dwells everywhere,
+A winnowed whiteness,
+A lunar lightness
+    Glows in the air.
+
+But in the heart of it
+Every least part of it
+    Blooms with the charm,
+Star-shape and frondage
+Broken from bondage
+    Forged into form.
+
+Crystals encrusted,
+Diamonds dusted
+    Line everything,
+Tiny the stencillings
+Are as the pencillings
+    On a moth's wing.
+
+And O, what a wonder!
+No farther asunder
+    Than atoms are laid,
+The arches and angles
+Of star-froth and spangles
+    Cast their own shade.
+
+Out from the chalices,
+The pigmy palaces
+    Where the tint hides,
+Opal and sapphire
+Half-pearl and half-fire
+    The colour slides;
+
+Till the frail miracle
+Rapturous lyrical
+    Flushes and glows
+With a wraith of florescence
+That tempers or lessens
+    The light of the snows.
+
+Held all aquiver,--
+But now with a shiver
+    The power of the sun
+Dissolves the laces
+Of the tender mazes,
+    All is undone.
+
+But the old Earth brooding,
+All wisdom including,
+    Affirms and assures
+That above the material,
+Triumphal imperial
+    Beauty endures.
+
+
+
+
+THE BEGGAR AND THE ANGEL
+
+
+An angel burdened with self-pity
+Came out of heaven to a modern city.
+
+He saw a beggar on the street,
+Where the tides of traffic meet.
+
+A pair of brass-bound hickory pegs
+Brought him his pence instead of legs.
+
+A murky dog by him did lie,
+Poodle, in part, his ancestry.
+
+The angel stood and thought upon
+This poodle-haunted beggar man.
+
+"My life is grown a bore," said he,
+"One long round of sciamachy;
+
+I think I'll do a little good,
+By way of change from angelhood."
+
+He drew near to the beggar grim,
+And gravely thus accosted him:
+
+"How would you like, my friend, to fly
+All day through the translucent sky;
+
+To knock at the door of the red leaven,
+And even to enter the orthodox heaven?
+
+If you would care to know this joy,
+I will surrender my employ,
+
+And take your ills, collect your pelf,
+An humble beggar like yourself.
+
+For ages you these joys may know,
+While I shall suffer here below;
+
+And in the end we both may gain
+Access of pleasure from my pain."
+
+The stationary vagrant said,
+"I do not mind, so go ahead."
+
+The angel told the heavenly charm,
+He felt a wing on either arm;
+
+"Good-day," he said, "this floating's queer
+If I should want to change next year--?"
+
+"Pull out that feather!" the angel said,
+"The one half black and the other half red."
+
+The cripple cried, "Before you're through
+You may get fagged, and if you do,--"
+
+The angel superciliously--
+"My transformed friend, don't think of me.
+
+I shall be happy day and night,
+In doing what I think is right."
+
+"So so," the feathered beggar said,
+"Good-bye, I am just overhead."
+
+          *      *      *      *      *
+
+The angel when he grasped the dish,
+Began to criticize his wish.
+
+The seat was hard as granite rocks,
+His real legs were in the box.
+
+His knees were cramped, his shins were sore,
+The lying pegs stuck out before.
+
+In vain he clinked the dish and whined.
+The passers-by seemed deaf and blind.
+
+As pious looking as Saint Denis,
+An urchin stole his catch-penny.
+
+And even the beggar's drab-fleeced poodle
+Began to know him for a noodle.
+
+"It has an uncelestial scent,
+The clothing of this mendicant;"
+
+He cried, "That trickling down my spine
+Is anything but hyaline.
+
+This day is like a thousand years:
+I'd give an age of sighs and tears
+
+To see with his confectioned grin
+One cherub sitting on his chin.
+
+That cripple was by far too sly--
+I wish he'd tumble from the sky,
+
+That things might be as they were before;
+I really cannot stand much more!"
+
+          *      *      *      *      *
+
+The beggar in the angel's guise,
+Rose far above the smoky skies.
+
+But being a beggar, never saw
+The charm of the compelling law
+
+That turned the swinging universe:
+'Twas gloomy as an empty purse.
+
+Often with heaven in his head,
+He blundered on a planet dead.
+
+And when with an immortal fuss,
+He singed his wings at Sirius.
+
+He plucked the feather with his teeth,
+The charm was potent and beneath,
+
+He saw the turmoil of the way
+Grown wilder at the close of day,
+
+With the sad poodle, can in hand,
+The angel still at the old stand.
+
+"My friend," said the angel, hemming and humming,
+"Truly I thought you were never coming."
+
+"That's an unhandsome thing to say,
+Seeing I've only been gone a day.
+
+But there's nothing in all your brazen sky
+To match the cock of that poodle's eye.
+
+Take your dish and give me my wings,
+'Tis but a fair exchange of things."
+
+          *      *      *      *      *
+
+The beggar felt his garment's rot,
+The horn ridge of each callous spot;
+
+He clinked his can and was content;
+His poverty was permanent.
+
+
+
+
+IMPROVISATION ON AN OLD SONG
+
+(The refrain is quoted by Edward Fitzgerald in
+one of his letters)
+
+
+I
+
+Growing, growing, all the glory going;
+Flashing out of fire and light, burning to a husk,
+All the world's a-dying and failing in the dusk--
+  _Growing, growing, all the glory going._
+
+Rust is on the door-latch, ashes at the root,
+Dry rot in the ridge-pole, canker in the fruit;
+  _Growing, growing, all the glory going._
+
+Plot, ye subtle statesmen,--a trace of melted wax;
+Bind, ye haughty prelates,--a thread of ravelled flax;
+  _Growing, growing, all the glory going._
+
+March, ye mighty captains,--an eddy in the dust;
+Rave, ye furious lovers,--a stain of crimson rust;
+  _Growing, growing, all the glory going._
+
+Pictures, poems, music--their essential soul,
+Idle as dry roses in a silver bowl;
+  _Growing, growing, all the glory going._
+
+London is a hearsay, Paris but a myth,
+Rome a wand of sweet-flag withered to the pith;
+  _Growing, growing, all the glory going._
+
+Palsy shakes the planets, frost has chilled the sun,
+In a crushing silence the All is dead and done.
+  _Growing, growing, all the glory going._
+
+
+II
+
+Going, going, all the glory growing,
+See it stir and flutter; that is singing, hark!
+Singing in the caverns of the primal dark.
+  _Going, going, all the glory growing._
+
+What is in the making, what immortal plan
+Draws to its unfolding? 'Tis the Soul of man.
+  _Going, going, all the glory growing._
+
+See it mount and hover, singing as it goes,
+Battling with the darkness, nourished by its woes;
+  _Going, going, all the glory growing._
+
+The bale-fires of midnight glaring in its eyes,
+Past the phantom shadows see it rush and rise;
+  _Going, going, all the glory growing._
+
+The supernal morning on its dewy wings,
+Soaring and scorning the lust of earthy things;
+  _Going, going, all the glory growing._
+
+The beatific noontide on its eager breast
+Springing and singing to its halcyon rest;
+  _Going, going, all the glory growing._
+
+In its starry vesture not a vestige of the sod,
+Winging still and singing to the heart of God.
+  _Going, going, all the glory growing._
+
+
+
+
+O TURN ONCE MORE
+
+
+O turn once more!
+  The meadows where we mused and strayed together
+Abound and glow yet with the ruby sorrel;
+'Twas there the bluebirds fought and played together,
+Their quarrel was a flying bluebird-quarrel;
+Their nest is firm still in the burnished cherry,
+They will come back there some day and be merry;
+  O turn once more.
+
+O turn once more!
+  The spring we lingered at is ever steeping
+The long, cool grasses where the violets hide,
+Where you awoke the flower-heads from their sleeping
+And plucked them, proud in their inviolate pride;
+You left the roots, the roots will flower again,
+O turn once more and pluck the flower again;
+  O turn once more.
+
+O turn once more!
+  We were the first to find the fairy places
+Where the tall lady-slippers scarf'd and snooded,
+Painted their lovely thoughts upon their faces,
+And then, bewitched by their own beauty brooded;
+This will recur in some enchanted fashion;
+Time will repeat his miracles of passion;
+  O turn once more.
+
+O turn once more!
+  What heart is worth the longing for, the winning,
+That is not moved by currents of surprise;
+Who never breaks the silken thread in spinning,
+Shows a bare spindle when the daylight dies;
+The constant blood will yet flow full and tender;
+The thread will mended be though gossamer-slender;
+  O turn once more.
+
+
+
+
+AT THE GILL-NETS
+
+
+Tug at the net,
+Haul at the net,
+Strip off the quivering fish;
+Hid in the mist
+The winds whist,
+Is like my heart's wish.
+
+What is your wish,
+Your heart's wish?
+Is it for home on the hills?
+Strip off the fish,
+The silver fish,
+Caught by their rosy gills.
+
+How can I know,
+I love you so,
+Each little thought I get
+Is held so,
+It dies you know,
+Caught in your heart's net.
+
+Tug at your net,
+Your heart's net,
+Strip off my silver fancies;
+Keep them in rhyme,
+For a dull time,
+Fragile as frost pansies.
+
+
+
+
+A LOVE SONG
+
+
+I gave her a rose in early June,
+Fed with the sun and the dew,
+Each petal I said is a note in the tune,
+The rose is the whole tune through and through,
+The tune is the whole red-hearted rose,
+Flush and form, honey and hue,
+Lull with the cadence and throb to the close,
+I love you, I love you, I love you.
+
+She gave me a rose in early June,
+Fed with the sun and the dew,
+Each petal she said is a mount in the moon,
+The rose is the whole moon through and through,
+The moon is the whole pale-hearted rose,
+Round and radiance, burnish and blue,
+Break in the flood-tide that murmurs and flows,
+I love you, I love you, I love you.
+
+This is our love in early June,
+Fed with the sun and the dew,
+Moonlight and roses hid in a tune,
+The roses are music through and through,
+The moonlight falls in the breath of the rose,
+Light and cadence, honey and hue,
+Mingle, and murmur, and flow to the close,
+I love you, I love you, I love you.
+
+
+
+
+THREE SONGS
+
+
+I
+
+Where love is life
+The roses blow,
+Though winds be rude
+And cold the snow,
+The roses climb
+Serenely slow,
+They nod in rhyme
+We know--we know
+Where love is life
+The roses blow.
+
+Where life is love
+The roses blow,
+Though care be quick
+And sorrows grow,
+Their roots are twined
+With rose-roots so
+That rosebuds find
+A way to show
+Where life is love
+The roses blow.
+
+
+II
+
+Nothing came here but sunlight,
+  Nothing fell here but rain,
+Nothing blew but the mellow wind,
+  Here are the flowers again!
+
+No one came here but you, dear,
+  You with your magic train
+Of brightness and laughter and lightness,
+  Here is my joy again!
+
+
+III
+
+I have songs of dancing pleasure,
+  I have songs of happy heart,
+Songs are mine that pulse in measure
+  To the throbbing of the mart.
+
+Songs are mine of magic seeming,
+  In a land of love forlorn,
+Where the joys are had for dreaming,
+  At a summons from the horn.
+
+But my sad songs come unbidden,
+  Rising with a wilder zest,
+From the bitter pool that's hidden,
+  Deep--deep--deep within my breast.
+
+
+
+
+THE SAILOR'S SWEETHEART
+
+
+O if love were had for asking,
+  In the markets of the town,
+Hardly a lass would think to wear
+  A fine silken gown:
+But love is had by grieving
+By choosing and by leaving,
+And there's no one now to ask me
+If heavy lies my heart.
+
+O if love were had for a deep wish
+  In the deadness of the night,
+There'd be a truce to longing
+  Between the dusk and the light:
+But love is had for sighing,
+For living and for dying,
+And there's no one now to ask me
+If heavy lies my heart.
+
+O if love were had for taking
+  Like honey from the hive,
+The bees that made the tender stuff
+  Could hardly keep alive:
+But love it is a wounded thing,
+A tremor and a smart,
+And there's no one left to kiss me now
+Over my heavy heart.
+
+
+
+
+FEUILLES D'AUTOMNE
+
+
+Gather the leaves from the forest
+  And blow them over the world,
+The wind of winter follows
+  The wind of autumn furled.
+
+Only the beech tree cherishes
+  A leaf or two for ruth,
+Their stems too tough for the tempest,
+  Like thoughts of love and of youth.
+
+You may sit by the fire and ponder
+  While darkness veils the pane,
+And fear that your memories are rushing away
+  In the wind and the rain.
+
+But you'll find them in the quiet
+  When the clouds race with the moon,
+Making the tender silver sound
+  Of a beech in the month of June.
+
+For you cannot rob the memory
+  Of the leaves it loves the best;
+The wind of time may harry them,
+  It rushes away with the rest.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE HEROIC SOUL
+
+
+I
+
+Nurture thyself, O Soul, from the clear spring
+That wells beneath the secret inner shrine;
+Commune with its deep murmur,--'tis divine;
+Be faithful to the ebb and flow that bring
+The outer tide of Spirit to trouble and swing
+The inlet of thy being. Learn to know
+These powers, and life with all its venom and show
+Shall have no force to dazzle thee or sting:
+
+And when Grief comes thou shalt have suffered more
+Than all the deepest woes of all the world;
+Joy, dancing in, shall find thee nourished with mirth;
+Wisdom shall find her Master at thy door;
+And Love shall find thee crowned with love empearled;
+And death shall touch thee not but a new birth.
+
+
+II
+
+Be strong, O warring soul! For very sooth
+Kings are but wraiths, republics fade like rain,
+Peoples are reaped and garnered as the grain,
+And that alone prevails which is the truth:
+Be strong when all the days of life bear ruth
+And fury, and are hot with toil and strain:
+Hold thy large faith and quell thy mighty pain:
+Dream the great dream that buoys thine age with youth.
+
+Thou art an eagle mewed in a sea-stopped cave:
+He, poised in darkness with victorious wings,
+Keeps night between the granite and the sea,
+Until the tide has drawn the warder-wave:
+Then from the portal where the ripple rings,
+He bursts into the boundless morning,--free!
+
+
+
+
+RETROSPECT
+
+
+This is the mockery of the moving years;
+Youth's colour dies, the fervid morning glow
+Is gone from off the foreland; slow, slow,
+Even slower than the fount of human tears
+To empty, the consuming shadow nears
+That Time is casting on the worldly show
+Of pomp and glory. But falter not;--below
+That thought is based a deeper thought that cheers.
+
+Glean thou thy past; that will alone inure
+To catch thy heart up from a dark distress;
+It were enough to find one deed mature,
+Deep-rooted, mighty 'mid the toil and press;
+To save one memory of the sweet and pure,
+From out life's failure and its bitterness.
+
+
+
+
+FROST MAGIC
+
+
+I
+
+Now, in the moonrise, from a wintry sky,
+The frost has come to charm with elfin might
+This quiet room; to draw with symbols bright
+Faces and forms in fairest charactery
+Upon the casement; all the thoughts that lie
+Deep hidden in my heart's core he would tell,
+How the red shoots of fancy strike and swell,
+How they are watered, what soil nourished by.
+
+With eerie power he piles his atomies,
+Incrusted gems, star-glances overborne
+With lids of sleep pulled from the moth's bright eyes,
+And forests of frail ferns, blanched and forlorn,
+Where Oberon of unimagined size
+Might in the silver silence wind his horn.
+
+
+II
+
+With these alone he draws in magic lines,
+Faces that people dreams, and chiefly one
+Happy and brilliant as the northern sun,
+And by its darling side there gleams and shines
+One of God's children with the laughing signs
+Of dimples, and glad accents, and sweet cries,
+That angels are and heaven's memories:
+The wizard thus my soul's estate divines;
+
+All it holds dear he sets alone apart,
+Etches the past in likeness of dim groves
+Silvered in quiet rime and with rare art,
+In crystal spoils and fairy treasure-troves,
+He draws the picture of the happy heart,
+By those who love it most, whom most it loves.
+
+
+
+
+IN SNOW-TIME
+
+
+I have seen things that charmed the heart to rest:
+Faint moonlight on the towers of ancient towns,
+Flattering the soul to dream of old renowns;
+The first clear silver on the mountain crest
+Where the lone eagle by his chilly nest
+Called the lone soul to brood serenely free;
+Still pools of sunlight shimmering in the sea,
+Calm after storm, wherein the storm seemed blest.
+
+But here a peace deeper than peace is furled,
+Enshrined and chaliced from the changeful hour;
+The snow is still, yet lives in its own light.
+Here is the peace which brooded day and night,
+Before the heart of man with its wild power
+Had ever spurned or trampled the great world.
+
+
+
+
+TO A CANADIAN LAD KILLED IN THE WAR
+
+
+O noble youth that held our honour in keeping,
+And bore it sacred through the battle flame,
+How shall we give full measure of acclaim
+To thy sharp labour, thy immortal reaping?
+For though we sowed with doubtful hands, half sleeping,
+Thou in thy vivid pride hast reaped a nation,
+And brought it in with shouts and exultation,
+With drums and trumpets, with flags flashing and leaping.
+
+Let us bring pungent wreaths of balsam, and tender
+Tendrils of wild-flowers, lovelier for thy daring,
+And deck a sylvan shrine, where the maple parts
+The moonlight, with lilac bloom, and the splendour
+Of suns unwearied; all unwithered, wearing
+Thy valor stainless in our heart of hearts.
+
+
+
+
+THE CLOSED DOOR
+
+
+_The dew falls and the stars fall,
+The sun falls in the west,
+But never more
+Through the closed door,
+Shall the one that I loved best
+Return to me:
+A salt tear is the sea,
+All earth's air is a sigh,
+But they never can mourn for me
+With my heart's cry,
+For the one that I loved best
+Who caressed me with her eyes,
+And every morning came to me,
+With the beauty of sunrise,
+Who was health and wealth and all,
+Who never shall answer my call,
+While the sun falls in the west,
+The dew falls and the stars fall._
+
+
+
+
+BY A CHILD'S BED
+
+
+She breathed deep,
+  And stepped from out life's stream
+Upon the shore of sleep;
+And parted from the earthly noise,
+Leaving her world of toys,
+To dwell a little in a dell of dream.
+
+Then brooding on the love I hold so free,
+  My fond possessions come to be
+Clouded with grief;
+These fairy kisses,
+This archness innocent,
+Sting me with sorrow and disturbed content:
+I think of what my portion might have been;
+A dearth of blisses,
+A famine of delights,
+If I had never had what now I value most;
+Till all I have seems something I have lost;
+A desert underneath the garden shows,
+And in a mound of cinders roots the rose.
+
+Here then I linger by the little bed,
+  Till all my spirit's sphere,
+Grows one half brightness and the other dead,
+One half all joy, the other vague alarms;
+And, holding each the other half in fee,
+Floats like the growing moon
+That bears implicitly
+Her lessening pearl of shadow
+Clasped in the crescent silver of her arms.
+
+
+
+
+ELIZABETH SPEAKS
+
+(Aetat Six)
+
+
+Now every night we light the grate
+And I sit up till _really_ late;
+My Father sits upon the right,
+My Mother on the left, and I
+Between them on an ancient chair,
+That once belonged to my Great-Gran,
+Before my Father was a man.
+We sit without another light;
+I really, truly never tire
+Watching that space, as black as night,
+That hangs behind the fire;
+For there sometimes, you know,
+The dearest, queerest little sparks,
+Without a sound creep to and fro;
+Sometimes they form in rings
+Or lines that look like many things,
+Like skipping ropes, or hoops, or swings:
+Before you know what you're about,
+They all go out!
+
+My Father says that they are gnomes,
+Beyond the grate they have their homes,
+In a tall, black, and windy town,
+Behind a door we cannot see.
+Often when it's time for bed
+The children run away instead,
+Out through the door to see our fire,
+Then their angry parents come
+With every candle in the town,
+The beadle with his lantern too,
+And search and rummage up and down,
+To catch the children as they play,
+Between the rows of new-mown hay,
+And bring them home;
+(They must be, O, so very small,
+How do they capture them at all?
+But then they must be very _dear_);
+When they can find no more
+They blow a horn we cannot hear,
+And march with the beadle at their head,
+Right through the little open door,
+Then close it tight and go to bed.
+
+My Mother says that may be so;
+(They both agree they're _gnomes_, you know).
+She says, she thinks that every night,
+The gnomes have had a fearful fight;
+Their valiant General has been slain,
+And all the soldiers leave the camp
+To dig his grave upon the plain;
+They drag the General on a gun;
+Every bandsman has a lamp
+And there's a torch for every one,
+They dig his grave with bayonets
+And wrap him grandly in his flag,
+Then they gather in a ring,
+The band plays very soft and low,
+And all the soldiers sing.
+(Of course we cannot hear, you know,)
+Then some one calls "The enemy comes!"
+They muffle up their pipes and drums;
+Every soldier in a fright
+Puts out his light.
+Then hand in hand, and very still,
+They clamber up the dark, dark hill
+And hold their breath tight--tight.
+
+(I'd like to know which tale is right.)
+
+O! there is something I forgot!
+Sometimes one little spark burns on
+Long after the rest have gone.
+
+My Father says that lamp is left
+By a little crooked, crotchety man,
+Who cannot find his wayward son;
+When the horn begins to blow,
+He has to drop his light and run.
+Of course he limps so slow
+He squeezes through the very last,
+When he is gone the naughty scamp
+Jumps up and puff! out goes the lamp.
+
+My Mother says that is the light,
+Borne by the very bravest knight;
+He is so very, very brave,
+He would not leave his General's grave,
+And when the Enemy General tries
+To make him tell where his General lies,
+He answers boldly, "I--will--not!"
+Then they shoot him on the spot,
+And give a horrid, dreadful shout,
+And then of course his light goes out.
+
+I sit and think when they are through,
+Which tale I like best of the two.
+Sometimes I like the _Father_ one;
+It is such fun!
+But then I love the _Mother_ one,
+That dear brave soldier and the rest:--
+  _Now which one do you like the best?_
+
+
+
+
+A LEGEND OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY
+
+
+At Bethlehem upon the hill,
+  The day was done, the night was nigh,
+The dusk was deep and had its will,
+The stars were very small and still,
+  Like unblown tapers, faint and high.
+
+The noises had begun to fall,
+  And quiet stole upon the place,
+The howl of dogs along the wall,
+Voices that from the houstops call
+  And answer, and the grace
+
+Of some low breath of even-song
+  Grew faint apace: between the rocks
+In misty pastures, and along
+The dim hillside with crook and thong
+  The lonely shepherds watched their flocks.
+
+The Inn-master within the Inn
+  Called loudly out after this sort,
+"Draw no more water, cease the din,
+Pile the loose fodder, and begin
+  To turn the mules out of the court.
+
+The time has come to shut the gate,
+  Make way," he cried, and then began
+To sweep and set the litter straight,
+And pile the saddle-bags and freight
+  Of some belated caravan.
+
+The drivers whirled their beasts about,
+  And beat them on with shoutings great;
+The nosebags slipped, the feed flew out,
+The water-buckets reeled, the rout
+  Went jostling onward to the gate.
+
+Came one unto the master then,
+  Hasting to find him through the gloom,
+"Give us a place to rest;" and when
+He spake, the master cried again,
+  "There is no room--there is no room."
+
+"But I have come from Nazareth,
+  Full three days' toil to Bethlehem"--
+"What matters that," the master saith,
+"For here is hardly room for breath;
+  The guests curse me for crowding them."
+
+"Hold, Sir! leave me not so, I pray"--
+  He plucked him sudden by the sleeve,
+"My wife is with me and doth say,
+Her hour hath come, I beg you, stay,
+  And make some plan for her relief."
+
+"Two hours ago you might have had
+  The chamber wherein stands the loom;
+But then to drive me wholly mad,
+Came this great merchant from Baghdad,
+  And thrust himself into the room.
+
+"There is no other shelf to call
+  A bed--But just beyond the gate,
+You may find shelter in a stall,
+If there be shelter left at all,
+  You may be even now too late."
+
+Beyond the gate within the night,
+  A figure rested on the ground,
+About her all the rout took flight,
+The dizzy noise, the flashing light,
+  The mules were tramping all around.
+
+Leaning in mute expectancy,
+  Beneath a stunted sycamore,
+She added darkness utterly,
+To the dim light, the shrouded tree,
+  By her hands held her face before.
+
+And yet to mock her eye's desire,
+  The cavern into which she stared,
+Was lit with disks and lines of fire;
+When triple darkness did conspire,
+  The secret founts of light were bared.
+
+And all the wheeling fire was rife
+  With haunting fears, her broken breath
+Grew short with this prophetic strife;
+What was for one the dawn of life,
+  Would be for one the dawn of death.
+
+Meantime the stranger with a lamp,
+  Which lit the darkness, small and wan,
+Searched where the mules did tramp and stamp,
+Amid the litter and the damp,
+  For some small place to rest upon.
+
+And there against the furthest wall,
+  Where the black shade was dense and deep,
+He found a mean and meager stall,
+But there when the weak light did fall,
+  He found a little lad asleep.
+
+He lifted up his childish head,
+  And smiled serenely at the light,
+"And have you found him, then," he said,
+"My brother who I thought was dead,
+  I lost him in the crowd last night.
+
+"His name is Ezra, and he is
+  So tall and strong that when I try,
+Standing on tiptoe for a kiss
+I could not reach, except for this,
+  He lifts me up so easily.
+
+"I had two little doves to take
+  Up to the booths"--he held his breath,
+"Peace, child! and for your mother's sake,
+Yield me this place--nay, nay! awake!
+  My weary wife is sick to death."
+
+"I will," the little lad replied
+  "I promised never to forget
+My mother, years ago she died,
+I will lie out on the hillside,
+  And I may find dear Ezra yet."
+
+And now she drooped her weary head,
+  Within that comfortless manger,
+It might have been a palace bed,
+With canopy of gold instead,
+  So little did she know or care.
+
+    _Gentle Jesus, slumber mild,
+      Lullaby, lullaby;
+    Succored by a little child,
+      Lull, lullaby._
+
+    _You of children are the king,
+      Lullaby, lullaby;
+    Sovereign to all ministering,
+      Lull, lullaby._
+
+    _Grace you bring them from above,
+      Lullaby, lullaby;
+    They give promise, lisping love,
+      Lull, lullaby._
+
+And out upon the darkened hill,
+  With all the quiet-pastured sheep,
+Charmed by the falling of a rill,
+Where in the pool it cadenced still,
+  The little lad was fallen asleep.
+
+All his young dreams were robed with power.
+  And glad were all his vision folk;
+He wandered on from hour to hour,
+With Ezra, happy as a flower
+  That blooms safe-shadowed by the oak.
+
+But once before his dreams were told,
+  He thought he saw within the deep
+Vault of the sky a rose unfold,
+Made all of fire and lovely gold,
+  Whose petals seemed to glow and leap,
+
+As if each dewy, crystal cell
+  Were a great angel live with light,
+And trembling to the coronal,
+Merging in sheen of pearl and shell,
+  With his great comrade, equal, bright,
+
+Until the petals flashed and sprang,
+  And folded to the central heart:
+Music there was that showered and rang,
+As if each angel harped and sang,
+  Controlled by some celestial art.
+
+The child saw splendor without name,
+  And turned and smiled, and all the noise
+Of strings and singing sank; it came
+Faint and dream-altered, yet the same,
+  Soft-tempered to his mother's voice.
+
+    _Slumber, slumber, gentle child,
+      Lullaby, lullaby;
+    Sweet as henna, dear and mild,
+      Lull, lullaby._
+
+    _You the first of all the race,
+      Lullaby, lullaby;
+    Gave your master early grace,
+      Lull, lullaby._
+
+    _Gave a shelter for his head,
+      Lullaby, lullaby;
+    Took the chilly earth instead,
+      Lull, lullaby._
+
+    _Now take comfort infant earth,
+      Lullaby, lullaby;
+    Jesus Christ is come to birth,
+      Lull, lullaby._
+
+    _For his principality,
+      Lullaby, lullaby;
+    Children cluster at his knee,
+      Lull, lullaby._
+
+    _Hail the heaven-happy age,
+      Lullaby, lullaby;
+    Love begins his pilgrimage,
+      Lull, lullaby._
+
+
+
+
+WILLOW-PIPES
+
+
+So in the shadow by the nimble flood
+He made her whistles of the willow wood,
+Flutes of one note with mellow slender tone;
+(A robin piping in the dusk alone).
+Lively the pleasure was the wand to bruise,
+And notch the light rod for its lyric use,
+Until the stem gave up its tender sheath,
+And showed the white and glistening wood beneath.
+And when the ground was covered with light chips,
+Grey leaves and green, and twigs and tender slips,
+They placed the well-made whistles in a row
+And left them for the careless wind to blow.
+
+
+
+
+ANGEL
+
+
+Come to me when grief is over,
+  When the tired eyes,
+Seek thy cloudy wings to cover
+  Close their burning skies.
+
+Come to me when tears have dwindled
+  Into drops of dew,
+When the sighs like sobs re-kindled
+  Are but deep and few.
+
+Hold me like a crooning mother,
+  Heal me of the smart;
+All mine anguish let me smother
+  In thy brooding heart.
+
+
+
+
+CHRISTMAS FOLK-SONG
+
+
+Those who die on Christmas Day
+(I heard the triumphant Seraph say)
+Will be remembered, for they died
+Upon the Holy Christmastide;
+When they attain to Paradise,
+The Angels with the tranquil Eyes
+Will ask if Jesus rules on Earth
+The Anniversary of His Birth;
+This Question do they ask alway
+Of those who die on Christmas Day.
+
+Those who are born on Christmas Day
+(I heard the triumphant Seraph say)
+Will bring again the Peace on Earth
+That came with gentle Christ His Birth;
+They may be lowly Folk and poor
+Living about the Manger Door,
+They may be Kings of Mighty Line,
+Their Lives alike will be benign;
+To them belongeth Peace alway,
+Those who are born on Christmas Day.
+
+
+
+
+FROM BEYOND
+
+
+Here there is balm for every tender heart
+  Wounded by life;
+Rest for each one who bore a valiant part
+  Crushed in the strife.
+
+I suffered there and held a losing fight
+  Even to the grave;
+And now I know that it was very right
+  To suffer and be brave.
+
+
+
+
+THE LEAF
+
+
+This silver-edged geranium leaf
+Is one sign of a bitter grief
+Whose symbols are a myriad more;
+They cluster round a carven stone
+Where she who sleeps is never alone
+For two hearts at the core,
+
+Bound with her heart make one of three,
+A trinity in unity,
+One sentient heart that grieves;
+And myriad dark-leaved memories keep
+Vigil above the triune sleep,--
+Edged all with silver are the leaves.
+
+
+
+
+A MYSTERY PLAY
+
+
+CHARACTERS
+
+The Father.  The Child.  Death.  Angels.
+            Two Travellers.
+
+          *      *      *      *      *
+
+_The even settles still and deep,
+In the cold sky the last gold burns,
+Across the colour snow flakes creep.
+Each one from grey to glory turns
+Then flutters into nothingness;
+The frost down falls with mighty stress
+Through the swift cloud that parts on high;
+The great stars shrivel into less
+In the hard depth of the iron sky._
+
+          *      *      *      *      *
+
+_The Child:_
+
+What is that light, dear father,
+  That light in the dark, dark sky?
+
+
+_The Father:_
+
+Those are the lights of the city
+  And the villages thereby.
+
+
+_The Child:_
+
+There must be fire in the city
+  To throw that yellow glare;
+And fire in the little villages
+  On all the hearthstones there.
+
+
+_The Father, musing:_
+
+Yea, flames are on the hearthstones;
+  The ovens are full of bread,
+But here the coals are dying
+  And the flames are dead.
+
+
+_The Child:_
+
+What is the cold, dear father?
+  It stings like an angry bee.
+Wherever it stings my hand turns white,
+  See!
+
+
+_The Father:_
+
+The cold is a beast, my dear one,
+  With his paws he tears at the thatch,
+His breath is a curse and a warning,
+  You can see it creep on the latch.
+
+
+_The Child:_
+
+If 'tis a wolf, dear father,
+  That lies with his paw on the floor,
+Let us heat the spade in the embers
+  And drive him away from the door.
+
+
+_Angels:_
+
+God is the power of growth,
+In the snail and the tree,
+God is the power of growth
+In the heart of the man.
+
+
+_The Child:_
+
+Did you not hear the singing,
+  Voices overhead?
+Mother's voice and Ruth's voice,
+  Voices of the dead.
+
+
+_The Father, musing:_
+
+Our Ruth died in the springtime,
+  With the spade I turned the sod,
+We buried her by the brier rose,
+  Her life is hid with God.
+
+
+_The Child:_
+
+All summer long in the garden
+  No roses came to the tree.
+Father, was it for sorrow,
+  Sorrow for thee and me?
+
+
+_The Father:_
+
+Roses grew in the garden,
+  I saw them at morning and even,
+Shadows of earthly roses
+  They bloomed for fingers in heaven.
+
+          *      *      *      *      *
+
+_The air is very clear and still,
+The moonlight falls from half the sphere;
+The shadow from the silver hill
+Fills half the vale, and half is clear
+As the moon's self with cloudless snow;
+By the dead stream the alders throw
+Their shadows, shot with tingling spars;
+On the sheer height the elm trees glow:
+Their tops are tangled with the stars._
+
+          *      *      *      *      *
+
+_The Child:_
+
+Father, the coals are dying,
+  See! I have heated the spade,
+Let me throw the door wide open,
+  I will not be afraid.
+
+
+_The Father:_
+
+Let me kiss you once on the forehead,
+  And once on your darling eyes;
+We may see them both at the dawning,
+  In the dales of Paradise.
+
+
+_The Child:_
+
+And if I only see them,
+  I will tell them how you smiled;
+For the wolf, you know, is angry,
+  And I am a little child.
+
+
+_Death:_
+
+Undaunted spirits,
+I give thee peace,
+For a world of dread--
+Calm.
+For desperate toil--
+Rest.
+Thou who didst say,
+When the waters of poverty
+Waxed deep, deep,
+What we bear is best;
+Just ones,
+I give thee sleep.
+
+
+_First Traveller:_
+
+Keep up your spirits, I know
+There's a cabin under the hill,
+The fellow will make a roaring fire;
+We'll heat our hands and drink our fill
+And go warm to our heart's desire!
+
+
+_Second Traveller:_
+
+The door is open,--Heigho!
+This pair will claim neither crown nor groat,
+The man has gripped his garden spade
+As if he would dig his grave in the snow;
+The boy has the face of a saint, I trow;
+His brow says, "I was not afraid!"
+
+
+_First Traveller:_
+
+Ah well, these things must be, you know!
+Gather your sables around your throat;
+Give us that story about the monk,
+His niece, and the wandering conjurer,
+Just to keep our blood astir.
+
+
+_The Angels:_
+
+The heart of God,
+The worlds and man,
+Are fashioned and moulded,
+In a subtle plan;
+Passion outsurges,
+Sweeps far but converges:
+Nothing is lost,
+Sod or stone,
+But comes to its own;
+Bear well thy joy,
+'Tis mixed with alloy,
+Bear well thy grief,
+'Tis a rich full sheaf:
+Gather the souls that have passed in the night,
+Theirs is the peace and the light.
+
+          *      *      *      *      *
+
+_The moon is gone, the dawning brings
+A deeper dark with silver blent,
+Above the wells where, myriad, springs
+Light from the crimson orient;
+The elms are born, the shadows creep,
+Tremble and melt away--one sweep
+The great soft color floods and flows,
+Where under snow the roses sleep;
+The morn has turned the snow to rose._
+
+
+
+
+LINES IN MEMORY OF EDMUND MORRIS
+
+
+Dear Morris--here is your letter--
+Can my answer reach you now?
+Fate has left me your debtor,
+You will remember how;
+For I went away to Nantucket,
+And you to the Isle of Orleans,
+And when I was dawdling and dreaming
+Over the ways and means
+Of answering, the power was denied me,
+Fate frowned and took her stand;
+I have your unanswered letter
+Here in my hand.
+This--in your famous scribble,
+It was ever a cryptic fist,
+Cuneiform or Chaldaic
+Meanings held in a mist.
+
+Dear Morris, (now I'm inditing
+And poring over your script)
+I gather from the writing,
+The coin that you had flipt,
+Turned tails; and so you compel me
+To meet you at Touchwood Hills:
+Or, mayhap, you are trying to tell me
+The sum of a painter's ills:
+Is that Phimister Proctor
+Or something about a doctor?
+Well, nobody knows, but Eddie,
+Whatever it is I'm ready.
+
+For our friendship was always fortunate
+In its greetings and adieux,
+Nothing flat or importunate,
+Nothing of the misuse
+That comes of the constant grinding
+Of one mind on another.
+So memory has nothing to smother,
+But only a few things captured
+On the wing, as it were, and enraptured.
+Yes, Morris, I am inditing--
+Answering at last it seems,
+How can you read the writing
+In the vacancy of dreams?
+
+I would have you look over my shoulder
+Ere the long, dark year is colder,
+And mark that as memory grows older,
+The brighter it pulses and gleams.
+And if I should try to render
+The tissues of fugitive splendour
+That fled down the wind of living,
+Will they read it some day in the future,
+And be conscious of an awareness
+In our old lives, and the bareness
+Of theirs, with the newest passions
+In the last fad of the fashions?
+
+          *      *      *      *      *
+
+How often have we risen without daylight
+When the day star was hidden in mist,
+When the dragon-fly was heavy with dew and sleep,
+And viewed the miracle pre-eminent, matchless,
+The prelusive light that quickens the morning.
+O crystal dawn, how shall we distill your virginal freshness
+When you steal upon a land that man has not sullied with his
+    intrusion,
+When the aboriginal shy dwellers in the broad solitudes
+Are asleep in their innumerable dens and night haunts
+Amid the dry ferns, in the tender nests
+Pressed into shape by the breasts of the Mother birds?
+How shall we simulate the thrill of announcement
+When lake after lake lingering in the starlight
+Turn their faces towards you,
+And are caressed with the salutation of colour?
+
+How shall we transmit in tendril-like images,
+The tenuous tremor in the tissues of ether,
+Before the round of colour buds like the dome of a shrine,
+The preconscious moment when love has fluttered in the bosom,
+Before it begins to ache?
+
+How often have we seen the even
+Melt into the liquidity of twilight,
+With passages of Titian splendour,
+Pellucid preludes, exquisitely tender,
+Where vanish and revive, thro' veils of the ashes of roses,
+The crystal forms the breathless sky discloses.
+
+The new moon a slender thing,
+In a snood of virgin light,
+She seemed all shy on venturing
+Into the vast night.
+
+Her own land and folk were afar,
+She must have gone astray,
+But the gods had given a silver star,
+To be with her on the way.
+
+          *      *      *      *      *
+
+I can feel the wind on the prairie
+And see the bunch-grass wave,
+And the sunlights ripple and vary
+The hill with Crowfoot's grave,
+Where he "pitched off" for the last time
+In sight of the Blackfoot Crossing,
+Where in the sun for a pastime
+You marked the site of his tepee
+With a circle of stones. Old Napiw
+Gave you credit for that day.
+And well I recall the weirdness
+Of that evening at Qu'Appelle,
+In the wigwam with old Sakimay,
+The keen, acrid smell,
+As the kinnikinick was burning;
+The planets outside were turning,
+And the little splints of poplar
+Flared with a thin, gold flame.
+He showed us his painted robe
+Where in primitive pigments
+He had drawn his feats and his forays,
+And told us the legend
+Of the man without a name,
+The hated Blackfoot,
+How he lured the warriors,
+The young men, to the foray
+And they never returned.
+Only their ghosts
+Goaded by the Blackfoot
+Mounted on stallions:
+In the night time
+He drove the stallions
+Reeking into the camp;
+The women gasped and whispered,
+The children cowered and crept,
+And the old men shuddered
+Where they slept.
+When Sakimay looked forth
+He saw the Blackfoot,
+And the ghosts of the warriors,
+And the black stallions
+Covered by the night wind
+As by a mantle.
+
+          *      *      *      *      *
+
+I remember well a day,
+When the sunlight had free play,
+When you worked in happy stress,
+While grave Ne-Pah-Pee-Ness
+Sat for his portrait there,
+In his beaded coat and his bare
+Head, with his mottled fan
+Of hawk's feathers, A Man!
+Ah Morris, those were the times
+When you sang your inconsequent rhymes
+Sprung from a careless fountain:
+
+"_He met her on the mountain,
+He gave her a horn to blow,
+And the very last words he said to her
+Were, 'Go 'long, Eliza, go.'_"
+
+Foolish,--but life was all,
+And under the skilful fingers
+Contours came at your call--
+Art grows and time lingers;--
+But now the song has a change
+Into something wistful and strange.
+And one asks with a touch of ruth
+What became of the youth
+And where did Eliza go?
+He met her on the mountain,
+He gave her a horn to blow,
+The horn was a silver whorl
+With a mouthpiece of pure pearl,
+And the mountain was all one glow,
+With gulfs of blue and summits of rosy snow.
+The cadence she blew on the silver horn
+Was the meaning of life in one phrase caught,
+And as soon as the magic notes were born,
+She repeated them once in an afterthought.
+They heard in the crystal passes,
+The cadence, calling, calling,
+And faint in the deep crevasses,
+The echoes falling, falling.
+They stood apart and wondered;
+Her lips with a wound were aquiver,
+His heart with a sword was sundered,
+For life was changed forever
+When he gave her the horn to blow:
+But a shadow arose from the valley,
+Desolate, slow and tender,
+It hid the herdsmen's chalet,
+Where it hung in the emerald meadow,
+(Was death driving the shadow?)
+It quenched the tranquil splendour
+Of the colour of life on the glow-peaks,
+Till at the end of the even,
+The last shell-tint on the snow-peaks
+Had passed away from the heaven.
+And yet, when it passed, victorious,
+The stars came out on the mountains,
+And the torrents gusty and glorious,
+Clamoured in a thousand fountains,
+And even far down in the valley,
+A light re-discovered the chalet.
+The scene that was veiled had a meaning,
+So deep that none might know;
+Was it here in the morn on the mountain,
+That he gave her the horn to blow?
+
+          *      *      *      *      *
+
+Tears are the crushed essence of this world,
+The wine of life, and he who treads the press
+Is lofty with imperious disregard
+Of the burst grapes, the red tears and the murk.
+But nay! that is a thought of the old poets,
+Who sullied life with the passional bitterness
+Of their world-weary hearts. We of the sunrise,
+Joined in the breast of God, feel deep the power
+That urges all things onward, not to an end,
+But in an endless flow, mounting and mounting,
+Claiming not overmuch for human life,
+Sharing with our brothers of nerve and leaf
+The urgence of the one creative breath,--
+All in the dim twilight--say of morning,
+Where the florescence of the light and dew
+Haloes and hallows with a crown adorning
+The brows of life with love; herein the clue,
+The love of life--yea, and the peerless love
+Of things not seen, that leads the least of things
+To cherish the green sprout, the hardening seed;
+Here leans all nature with vast Mother-love,
+Above the cradled future with a smile.
+Why are there tears for failure, or sighs for weakness,
+While life's rhythm beats on? Where is the rule
+To measure the distance we have circled and clomb?
+Catch up the sands of the sea and count and count
+The failures hidden in our sum of conquest.
+Persistence is the master of this life;
+The master of these little lives of ours;
+To the end--effort--even beyond the end.
+
+          *      *      *      *      *
+
+Here, Morris, on the plains that we have loved,
+Think of the death of Akoose, fleet of foot,
+Who, in his prime, a herd of antelope
+From sunrise, without rest, a hundred miles
+Drove through rank prairie, loping like a wolf,
+Tired them and slew them, ere the sun went down.
+Akoose, in his old age, blind from the smoke
+Of tepees and the sharp snow light, alone
+With his great grandchildren, withered and spent,
+Crept in the warm sun along a rope
+Stretched for his guidance. Once when sharp autumn
+Made membranes of thin ice upon the sloughs,
+He caught a pony on a quick return
+Of prowess and, all his instincts cleared and quickened,
+He mounted, sensed the north and bore away
+To the Last Mountain Lake where in his youth
+He shot the sand-hill-cranes with his flint arrows.
+And for these hours in all the varied pomp
+Of pagan fancy and free dreams of foray
+And crude adventure, he ranged on entranced,
+Until the sun blazed level with the prairie,
+Then paused, faltered and slid from off his pony.
+In a little bluff of poplars, hid in the bracken,
+He lay down; the populace of leaves
+In the lithe poplars whispered together and trembled,
+Fluttered before a sunset of gold smoke,
+With interspaces, green as sea water,
+And calm as the deep water of the sea.
+
+There Akoose lay, silent amid the bracken,
+Gathered at last with the Algonquin Chieftains.
+Then the tenebrous sunset was blown out,
+And all the smoky gold turned into cloud wrack.
+Akoose slept forever amid the poplars,
+Swathed by the wind from the far-off Red Deer
+Where dinosaurs sleep, clamped in their rocky tombs.
+Who shall count the time that lies between
+The sleep of Akoose and the dinosaurs?
+Innumerable time, that yet is like the breath
+Of the long wind that creeps upon the prairie
+And dies away with the shadows at sundown.
+
+          *      *      *      *      *
+
+What we may think, who brood upon the theme,
+Is, when the old world, tired of spinning, has fallen
+Asleep, and all the forms, that carried the fire
+Of life, are cold upon her marble heart--
+Like ashes on the altar--just as she stops,
+That something will escape of soul or essence,--
+The sum of life, to kindle otherwhere:
+Just as the fruit of a high sunny garden,
+Grown mellow with autumnal sun and rain,
+Shrivelled with ripeness, splits to the rich heart,
+And looses a gold kernel to the mould,
+So the old world, hanging long in the sun,
+And deep enriched with effort and with love,
+Shall, in the motions of maturity,
+Wither and part, and the kernel of it all
+Escape, a lovely wraith of spirit, to latitudes
+Where the appearance, throated like a bird,
+Winged with fire and bodied all with passion,
+Shall flame with presage, not of tears, but joy.
+
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Lundy's Lane and Other Poems, by
+Duncan Campbell Scott
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