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diff --git a/2294-h/2294-h.htm b/2294-h/2294-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f376c13 --- /dev/null +++ b/2294-h/2294-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5354 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Anthology of Massachusetts Poets</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.left {text-align: left; + margin-left: 20%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold;'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Anthology of Massachusetts Poets</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Anthology of Massachusetts Poets</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Various</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Editor: William Stanley Braithwaite</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Release Date: August 18, 2000 [eBook #2294]<br /> +[Most recently updated: March 25, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Susan L. Farley</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em;margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANTHOLOGY OF MASSACHUSETTS POETS ***</div> + +<h1>Anthology of Massachusetts Poets</h1> + +<h2 class="no-break">by<br />WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE</h2> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap01">HOME BOUND</a>—JOSEPH AUSLANDER</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap02">AMERICA THE BEAUTIFUL</a>—KATHERINE LEE BATES</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap03">YELLOW CLOVER</a>—KATHERINE LEE BATES</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap04">THE RETURNING</a>—SYLVESTER BAXTER</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap05">TWO MOODS FROM THE HILL</a>—ERNEST BENSHIMOL</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap06">A BANQUET</a>—ERNEST BENSHIMOL</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap07">SONG</a>—GEORGE CABOT LODGE</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap08">THE WORLDS</a>—MARTHA GILBERT DICKINSON BIANCHI</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap09">THE RIOT</a>—GAMALIEL BRADFORD</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap10">HUNGER</a>—GAMALIEL BRADFORD</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap11">EXIT GOD</a>—GAMALIEL BRADFORD</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap12">ROUSSEAU</a>—GAMALIEL BRADFORD</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap13">JOHN MASEFIELD</a>—AMY BRIDGMAN</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap14">1620-1920</a>—LE BARON RUSSEL BRIGGS</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap15">THE CROSS-CURRENT</a>—ABBIE FARWELL BROWN</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap16">CANDLEMAS</a>—ALICE BROWN</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap17">SUNRISE ON MANSFIELD MOUNTAIN</a>—ALICE BROWN</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap18">BURNT ARE THE PETALS OF LIFE</a>—ELSIE PUMPELLY CABOT</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap19">FOUR FOUNTAINS. AFTER RESPIGHI</a>—JESSICA CARR</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap20">IN THE TROLLEY CAR</a>—RUTH BALDWIN CHENERY</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap21">IN IRISH RAIN</a>—MARTHA HASKELL CLARK</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap22">CRETONNE TROPICS</a>—GRACE HAZARD CONKLING</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap23">TO HILDA OF HER ROSES</a>—GRACE HAZARD CONKLING</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap24">DANDELION</a>—HILDA CONKLING</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap25">RED ROOSTER</a>—HILDA CONKLING</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap26">VELVETS</a>—HILDA CONKLING</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap27">THE MOODS</a>—FANNY STEARNS DAVIS</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap28">HILL-FANTASY</a>—FANNY STEARNS DAVIS</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap29">THE MIRAGE</a>—NATHAN HASKELL DOLE</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap30">THE ROAD BEYOND THE TOWN</a>—MICHAEL EARLS, S.J.</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap31">THE LILAC</a>—WALTER PRICHARD EATON</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap32">GOD, THROUGH HIS OFFSPRING NATURE, GAVE ME LOVE</a>—CHARLES GIBSON</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap33">TO MUSIC</a>—MAUDE GORDON-ROBY</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap34">THE VOICE IN THE SONG</a>—MARY GERTRUDE HAMILTON</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap35">HYMNS AND ANTHEMS SUNG AT WELLESLEY COLLEGE</a>—CAROLINE HAZARD</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap36">REUBEN ROY</a>—HAROLD CRAWFORD STEARNS</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap37">COUNTRY ROAD</a>—MARIE LOUISE HERSEY</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap38">WREATHS</a>—CAROLYN HILLMAN</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap39">MEMPHIS</a>—GORDON MALHERBE HILLMAN</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap40">SAINT COLUMBKILLE</a>—E.J.V. HUIGINN</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap41">MISS DOANE</a>—WINIFRED VIRGINIA JACKSON</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap42">FALLEN FENCES</a>—WINIFRED VIRGINIA JACKSON</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap43">CROSS-CURRENTS</a>—WINIFRED VIRGINIA JACKSON</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap44">THE FAREWELL</a>—WINIFRED VIRGINIA JACKSON</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap45">SONG</a>—OLIVER JENKINS</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap46">LOVE AUTUMNAL</a>—OLIVER JENKINS</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap47">ECHOES</a>—RUTH LAMBERT JONES</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap48">WAR PICTURES</a>—RUTH LAMBERT JONES</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap49">AN OLD SONG</a>—ARTHUR KETCHUM</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap50">ROADSIDE REST</a>—ARTHUR KETCHUM</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap51">OLD LIZETTE ON SLEEP</a>—AGNES LEE</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap52">MOTHERHOOD</a>—AGNES LEE</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap53">ESSEX</a>—GEORGE CABOT LODGE</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap54">THE SONG OF THE WAVE</a>—GEORGE CABOT LODGE</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap55">FRIMAIRE</a>—AMY LOWELL</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap56">PATTERNS</a>—AMY LOWELL</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap57">A BATHER</a>—AMY LOWELL</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap58">LEPRECHAUNS AND CLURICAUNS</a>—DENNIS A. MCCARTHY</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap59">L’ENVOI</a>—DOROTHEA LAWRENCE MANN</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap60">TO IMAGINATION</a>—DOROTHEA LAWRENCE MANN</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap61">DRAGON</a>—JEANETTE MARKS</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap62">GREEN GOLDEN DOOR</a>—JEANETTE MARKS</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap63">SLEEPY HOLLOW, CONCORD</a>—JOHN CLAIR MINOT</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap64">THE SWORD OF ARTHUR</a>—JOHN CLAIR MINOT</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap65">THE DIVINE FOREST</a>—CHARLES R. MURPHY</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap66">MAGIC</a>—EDWARD J. O’BRIEN</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap67">MICHAEL PAT</a>—EDWARD J. O’BRIAN</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap68">SONG</a>—EDWARD J. O’BRIAN</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap69">IN MEMORIAM: FRANCIS LEDWIDGE</a>—NORREYS JEPHSON O’CONNOR</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap70">EVENSONG</a>—NORREYS JEPHSON O’CONNOR</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap71">THE PROPHET</a>—JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap72">HARVEST-MOON: 1914</a>—JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap73">HORSEMAN SPRINGING FROM THE DARK: A DREAM</a>—LILLA CABOT PERRY</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap74">THREE QUATRAINS</a>—LILLA CABOT PERRY</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap75">A VALENTINE UNSENT</a>—MARGARET PERRY</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap76">SHIPBUILDERS</a>—ARTHUR STANWOOD PIER</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap77">UNFADING PICTURES</a>—LOUELLA C. POOLE</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap78">WITH WAVES AND WINGS</a>—CHARLOTTE PORTER</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap79">BLUEBERRIES</a>—FRANK PRENTICE RAND</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap80">NOCTURNE</a>—WILLIAM ROSCOIE THAYER</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap81">ENVOI</a>—WILLIAM ROSCOE THAYER</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap82">THERE WHERE THE SEA</a>—MARIE TUDOR</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap83">MARRIAGE</a>—MARIE TUDOR</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap84">PITY</a>—HAROLD VINAL</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap85">A ROSE TO THE LIVING</a>—NIXON WATERMAN</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap86">THE STORM</a>—G.O. WARREN</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap87">WHERE THEY SLEEP</a>—G.O. WARREN</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap88">BEAUTY</a>—G.O. WARREN</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap89">COMRADES</a>—GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY</td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td><a href="#chap90">THE FLIGHT</a>—GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY</td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>HOME-BOUND</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +The moon is a wavering rim where one fish slips,<br/> +The water makes a quietness of sound;<br/> +Night is an anchoring of many ships<br/> +Home-bound.<br/> +<br/> +There are strange tunnelers in the dark, and whirs<br/> +Of wings that die, and hairy spiders spin<br/> +The silence into nets, and tenanters<br/> +Move softly in.<br/> +<br/>I step on shadows riding through the grass,<br/> +And feel the night lean cool against my face;<br/> +And challenged by the sentinel of space,<br/> +I pass.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +JOSEPH AUSLANDER +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>AMERICA THE BEAUTIFUL</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +O beautiful for spacious skies,<br/> +For amber waves of grain,<br/> +For purple mountain majesties<br/> +Above the fruited plain!<br/> +America! America!<br/> +God shed His grace on thee<br/> +And crown thy good with brotherhood<br/> +From sea to shining sea!<br/> +<br/> +O beautiful for pilgrim feet,<br/> +Those stern, impassioned stress<br/> +A thoroughfare for freedom beat<br/> +Across the wilderness!<br/> +America! America!<br/> +God mend thine every flaw,<br/> +Confirm thy soul in self-control,<br/> +Thy liberty in law!<br/> +<br/> +O beautiful for heroes proved<br/> +In liberating strife<br/> +Who more than self their country loved,<br/> +And mercy more than life!<br/> +America! America!<br/> +May God thy gold refine,<br/> +Till all success be nobleness,<br/> +And every gain divine.<br/> +<br/> +O beautiful for patriot dream<br/> +That sees beyond the years<br/> +Thine alabaster cities gleam<br/> +Undimmed by human tears!<br/> +America! America!<br/> +God shed His grace on thee<br/> +And crown thy good with brotherhood<br/> +From sea to shining sea!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +KATHERINE LEE BATES +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>YELLOW CLOVER</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Must I, who walk alone,<br/> +come on it still,<br/> +This Puck of plants<br/> +The wise would do away with,<br/> +The sunshine slants<br/> +To play with,<br/> +Our wee, gold-dusty flower, the yellow clover,<br/> +Which once in Parting for a time<br/> +That then seemed long,<br/> +Ere time for you was over,<br/> +We sealed our own?<br/> +Do you remember yet,<br/> +O Soul beyond the stars,<br/> +Beyond the uttermost dim bars<br/> +Of space,<br/> +Dear Soul, who found earth sweet,<br/> +Remember by love’s grace,<br/> +In dreamy hushes of the heavenly song,<br/> +How suddenly we halted in our climb,<br/> +Lingering, reluctant, up that farthest hill,<br/> +Stooped for the blossoms closest to our feet,<br/> +And gave them as a token<br/> +Each to Each,<br/> +In lieu of speech,<br/> +In lieu of words too grievous to be spoken,<br/> +Those little, gypsy, wondering blossoms wet<br/> +With a strange dew of tears?<br/> +<br/> +So it began,<br/> +This vagabond, unvalued yellow clover,<br/> +To be our tenderest language. All the years<br/> +It lent a new zest to the summer hours,<br/> +As each of us went scheming to surprise<br/> +The other with our homely, laureate flowers.<br/> +Sonnets and odes<br/> +Fringing our daily roads.<br/> +Can amaranth and asphodel<br/> +Bring merrier laughter to your eyes?<br/> +Oh, if the Blest, in their serene abodes,<br/> +Keep any wistful consciousness of earth,<br/> +Not grandeurs, but the childish ways of love,<br/> +Simplicities of mirth,<br/> +Must follow them above<br/> +With touches of vague homesickness that pass<br/> +Like shadows of swift birds across the grass.<br/> +Beneath some foreign arch of sky,<br/> +How many a time the rover<br/> +You or I,<br/> +For life oft sundered look from look,<br/> +And voice from voice, the transient dearth<br/> +Schooling my soul to brook<br/> +This distance that no messages may span,<br/> +Would chance<br/> +Upon our wilding by a lonely well,<br/> +Or drowsy watermill,<br/> +Or swaying to the chime of convent bell,<br/> +Or where the nightingales of old romance<br/> +With tragical contraltos fill<br/> +Dim solitudes of infinite desire;<br/> +And once I joyed to meet<br/> +Our peasant gadabout<br/> +A trespasser on trim, seigniorial seat,<br/> +Twinkling a saucy eye<br/> +As potentates paced by.<br/> +<br/> +Our golden cord! our soft, pursuing flame<br/> +From friendship’s altar fire!<br/> +How proudly we would pluck and tame<br/> +The dimpling clusters, mutinously gay!<br/> +How swiftly they were sent<br/> +Far, far away<br/> +On journeys wide,<br/> +By sea and continent,<br/> +Green miles and blue leagues over,<br/> +From each of us to each,<br/> +That so our hearts might reach,<br/> +And touch within the yellow clover,<br/> +Love’s letter to be glad about<br/> +Like sunshine when it came!<br/> +<br/> +My sorrow asks no healing; it is love;<br/> +Let love then make me brave<br/> +To bear the keen hurts of<br/> +This careless summertide,<br/> +Ay, of our own poor flower,<br/> +Changed with our fatal hour,<br/> +For all its sunshine vanished when you died;<br/> +Only white clover blossoms on your grave.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +KATHERINE LEE BATES +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>THE RETURNING</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +We long for her, we yearn for her—<br/> +Yes, ardently we yearn<br/> +For her return.<br/> +Recalling those beloved days<br/> +(Days intimate with ways<br/> +Of friends so near to us<br/> +And life so dear to us),<br/> +We yearn unspeakably for her return.<br/> +<br/> +And come she must… Yet while we trust<br/> +We soon may see the passing of this agony<br/> +Which makes intrusive years still seem<br/> +A fearsome dream,<br/> +We know that when she comes<br/> +She really comes not back again.<br/> +<br/> +She’ll come in other guise<br/> +And under fairer skies—<br/> +And yet to bitter pain!<br/> +<br/> +That day she went away<br/> +Our homes with laughing youth were filled.<br/> +Where then was happiness<br/> +Is now distress,<br/> +The laughter stilled;<br/> +For when she left<br/> +Youth followed her—<br/> +We stay bereft.<br/> +<br/> +So all our golden joy<br/> +For what she brings<br/> +Must carry gray alloy:<br/> +The sorrow that she can not lay,<br/> +The mysery that she can not stay—<br/> +While all the gladsome songs she sings<br/> +Must bear for undertones<br/> +Old sighs and echoed moans.<br/> +<br/> +As they who go away<br/> +In flush of youth<br/> +May come quite worn and gray<br/> +And bringing naught but ruth—<br/> +So, when the strife shall cease,<br/> +And when she comes at last,<br/> +When all the armies vast<br/> +Shall at her feet<br/> +Kneel down to greet<br/> +Thrice welcome Peace,<br/> +This world will be so changed<br/> +(So many dear ones dead,<br/> +So many friends estranged,<br/> +So many blessings fled,<br/> +So many wonted ways forever barred,<br/> +So many coming days forever marred)<br/> +That then<br/> +She truly comes not back again—<br/> +She, the Peace we knew.<br/> +<br/> +Yet how we long for her!<br/> +How ardently we yearn<br/> +For her return!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +SYLVESTER BAXTER +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>TWO MOODS FROM THE HILL</h2> + +<h5>I.</h5> + +<h5>YOUTH</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +I love to watch the world from here, for all<br/> +The numberless living portraits that are drawn<br/> +Upon the mind. Far over is the sea,<br/> +Fronting the sand, a few great yellow dunes,<br/> +A salt marsh stumbling after, rank and green,<br/> +With brackish gullies wandering in between,<br/> +All this from the hill.<br/> +And more: a clump of dwarfed and twisted cedars,<br/> +Sentinels over the marsh, and bright with the sun<br/> +A field of daises wandering in the wind<br/> +As though a hidden serpent glided through,<br/> +A broken wall, a new-plowed field, and then<br/> +The dusty road and the abodes of men<br/> +Surrounding the hill.<br/> +How small the enclosure is wherein there lives<br/> +Each phase and passion of life, the distant sail<br/> +Dips in the limpid bosom of the sea,<br/> +From that far place to where in state the turf<br/> +Raises a throne for me upon the hill,<br/> +Each little love and lust of a living thing<br/> +Can thus be compassed in a rainbow ring<br/> +And seen from the hill.<br/> +</p> + +<h5>II.</h5> + +<h5>AGE</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +Why did I build my cottage on a hill<br/> +Facing the sea? +Why did I plan each terraced lawn to slope<br/> +Down to the deep blue billowy breast of hope,<br/> +Surging and sweeping,<br/> +laughing and leaping,<br/> +Tumbling its garments of foam upon the shore,<br/> +Rustling the sands that know my step no more,<br/> +I should have found a valley, deep and still,<br/> +To shelter me.<br/> +<br/> +There flows the river, and it seems asleep<br/> +So far away,<br/> +Yet I remember whip of wave and roar<br/> +Of wind that rose and smote against the oar,<br/> +Smote and retreated,<br/> +Proud but defeated,<br/> +While I rejoiced and rowed into the brine,<br/> +Drawing on wet and heavy-straining line<br/> +The great cod quivering from the deep<br/> +As counterplay.<br/> +<br/> +What is the solace of these hills and vales<br/> +That rise and fall?<br/> +What is there glorious in the greenwood glen,<br/> +Or twittering thrush or wing of darting wren?<br/> +Give me the gusty,<br/> +Raucous and rusty<br/> +Call of the sea gull in the echoing sky,<br/> +The wild shriek of the winds that cannot die,<br/> +Give me the life that follows the bending sails,<br/> +Or none at all!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +ERNEST BENSHIMOL +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>A BANQUET<br/> +ONE MEMORY FROM SOCRATES</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +After the song the love, and after the love the play,<br/> +Flute girl and pretty boy blowing<br/> +Bubbles of sparkling<br/> +Wine into darkling<br/> +Beards of a former austerity, stern even now, but fast growing<br/> +Foolish, with less of a stately<br/> +Reserve that held them sedately.<br/> +Oh Zeus, what a sight! With the wine dripping off it,<br/> +The grin of an ass on a bald-pated prophet.<br/> +<br/> +After the feast the night, and after the night the day,<br/> +Fool and philosopher stirring<br/> +With the day dawning,<br/> +Stretching and yawning,<br/> +While in each wine-throbbing, desolate brain is the wheeling and whirring<br/> +Of thousands of bats, that the slaking<br/> +Of throats will not hinder from aching,<br/> +No wine for the brow that is beating to bursting,<br/> +But water at morning is quench for the thirsting!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +ERNEST BENSHIMOL +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>SONG</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Out of one heart the birds and I together,<br/> +Earth hushed in twilight,<br/> +Low through the live-oaks hung heavy with silver,<br/> +Gemmed with the sky-light,<br/> +Under the great wet star<br/> +Shaking with light, we jar<br/> +Lute-voiced the silence with intervaled music.<br/> +<br/> +While under the margined world the slow sun lingers,<br/> +Flaming earth’s portal,<br/> +Over the lilac dusk spreads his great fingers—<br/> +Earth is immortal!<br/> +While the frail beauty dies.<br/> +Dream in the dreamer’s eyes,<br/> +All the good gladness turns praise for the singers.<br/> +<br/> +Hark, ’tis the breath of life! Hush! and I need it;<br/> +Northern, gigantic,—<br/> +Questing the silences, herding the sudden foam<br/> +Down the Atlantic;<br/> +Leaves from the autumn’s store<br/> +Shrill at my desert door,<br/> +They and I out of one heart that is grieving.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +GEORGE CABOT LODGE +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>THE WORLDS</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +I saw an idler on a summer day<br/> +Piping with Iris by a dancing brook;<br/> +And all his world was rife with Pleasures gay,<br/> +And languid Follies smiled from every nook.<br/> +<br/> +I saw an artist in a world of dreams,<br/> +His rainbow rising from his radiant task,<br/> +To throw its magic prism beams<br/> +O’er Fancy’s changeful masque and counter-masque.<br/> +<br/> +I saw Toil—stooping underneath a world<br/> +Whereon his foster-brothers lighter tread,<br/> +His skyward pinions ever closer furled<br/> +Before the grim necessity of bread!<br/> +<br/> +I saw a sinner working hard to be<br/> +Worthy his death-wage from the mint of time;<br/> +I saw a sailor, unto whom the sea<br/> +Was hearth and hope and love and wedding-chime.<br/> +<br/> +I saw a mother living in her child—<br/> +I saw a saint among his fellow men—<br/> +Brave soldiery before my eyes defiled<br/> +And solemn-hearted scholars—Sudden then<br/> +<br/> +I cried: “The stars are no less neighborly<br/> +In their ethereal remoteness swung,<br/> +Than these near human orbits wherein we<br/> +Live out our lives and speak our chosen tongue!<br/> +<br/> +“Love seek through all—less there be one<br/> +Least soul unlit within the night—<br/> +And over all, the selfsame sun<br/> +Give each creation light!”<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +MARTHA GILBERT DICKINSON BIANCHI +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>THE RIOT</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +You may think my life is quiet.<br/> +I find it full of change,<br/> +An ever-varied diet,<br/> +As piquant as ’tis strange.<br/> +<br/> +Wild thoughts are always flying,<br/> +Like sparks across my brain,<br/> +Now flashing out, now dying,<br/> +To kindle soon again.<br/> +<br/> +Fine fancies set me thrilling,<br/> +And subtle monsters creep<br/> +Before my sight unwilling:<br/> +They even haunt my sleep.<br/> +<br/> +One broad, perpetual riot<br/> +Enfolds me night and day.<br/> +You think my life is quiet?<br/> +You don’t know what you say.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +GAMALIEL BRADFORD +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>HUNGER</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +I’ve been a hopeless sinner, but I understand a saint,<br/> +Their bend of weary knees and their contortions long and faint,<br/> +And the endless pricks of conscience, like a hundred thousand pins,<br/> +A real perpetual penance for imaginary sins.<br/> +<br/> +I love to wander widely, but I understand a cell,<br/> +Where you tell and tell your beads because you’ve nothing else to tell,<br/> +Where the crimson joy of flesh, with all its wild fantastic tricks,<br/> +Is forgotten in the blinding glory of the crucifix.<br/> +<br/> +I cannot speak for others, but my inmost soul is torn<br/> +With a battle of desires making all my life forlorn.<br/> +There are moments when I would untread the paths that I have trod.<br/> +I’m a haunter of the devil, but I hunger after God.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +GAMALIEL BRADFORD +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>EXIT GOD</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Of old our father’s God was real,<br/> +Something they almost saw,<br/> +Which kept them to a stern ideal<br/> +And scourged them into awe.<br/> +<br/> +They walked the narrow path of right<br/> +Most vigilantly well,<br/> +Because they feared eternal night<br/> +And boiling depths of Hell.<br/> +<br/> +Now Hell has wholly boiled away<br/> +And God become a shade.<br/> +There is no place for him to stay<br/> +In all the world He made.<br/> +<br/> +The followers of William James<br/> +Still let the Lord exist,<br/> +And call Him by imposing names,<br/> +A venerable list.<br/> +<br/> +But nerve and muscle only count,<br/> +Gray matter of the brain,<br/> +And an astonishing amount<br/> +Of inconvenient pain.<br/> +<br/> +I sometimes wish that God were back<br/> +In this dark world and wide;<br/> +For though some virtues He might lack,<br/> +He had his pleasant side.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +GAMALIEL BRADFORD +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>ROUSSEAU</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +That odd, fantastic ass, Rousseau,<br/> +Declared himself unique.<br/> +How men persist in doing so,<br/> +Puzzles me more than Greek.<br/> +<br/> +The sins that tarnish whore and thief<br/> +Beset me every day.<br/> +My most ethereal belief<br/> +Inhabits common clay.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +GAMALIEL BRADFORD +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a>JOHN MASEFIELD</h2> + +<h5>I</h5> + +<h5>MASEFIELD (HIMSELF)</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +God said, and frowned, as He looked on Shropshire clay:<br/> +“Alone, ’twont do; composite, would I make<br/> +This man-child rare; ’twere well, methinks, to take<br/> +A handful from the Stratford tomb, and weigh<br/> +A few of Shelley’s ashes; Bunyan may<br/> +Contribute, too, and, for my sweet Son’s sake,<br/> +I’ll visit Avalon; then, let me slake<br/> +The whole with Wyclif-water from the Bay.<br/> +<br/> +A sailor, he! Too godly, though, I fear;<br/> +Offset it with tobacco! Next, I’ll find<br/> +Hedge-roses, star-dust, and a vagrant’s mind;<br/> +His mother’s heart now let me breathe upon;<br/> +When west winds blow, I’ll whisper in her ear:<br/> +“Apocalypse awaits him; call him John!”<br/> +</p> + +<h5>II</h5> + +<h5>HIS PORTRAIT</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +A Man of Sorrows! with such haunted eyes,<br/> +I trow, the Master looked across the lake,—<br/> +Looked from the Judas-heart, so soon to make<br/> +Of Him the world’s historic sacrifice;<br/> +Moreover, as I gaze, do more arise;<br/> +Great souls, great pallid ghosts of pain, who wake<br/> +And wander yet; all, weary men who brake<br/> +<br/> +Their hearts; all hemlock-drunk, with growing wise:<br/> +Hudson adrift; Defoe; the Wandering Jew;<br/> +Tannhauser; Faust; Andrea; phantoms, all,<br/> +In Masefield’s eyes you lodge; and to the wall<br/> +I turn you,—hand a-tremble,—lest you make<br/> +Of mine own stricken eyes a mirror, too.<br/> +Wherein the sad world’s sadder for your sake.<br/> +</p> + +<h5>III</h5> + +<h5>HIS “DAUBER”</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +O Masefield’s “Dauber!” You, who being dead,<br/> +Yet speak: heroic, dauntless, flaming soul,<br/> +Too suddenly snuffed out! Here take fresh toll<br/> +Of cognizance, and, in your ocean bed,<br/> +Serenely rest, assured that who has read<br/> +What you would fain have pictured of the Pole<br/> +Would gladly match your part against the whole<br/> +Of many a modern artist, Paris-bred.<br/> +<br/> +And more than this: if you, indeed, are his,<br/> +Then, by a dual truth, he, too, is yours;<br/> +For, marked and credited by what endures,<br/> +Were it the only thing, which bears his name,<br/> +(O deathless Soul, I speak you true in this!)<br/> +“The Dauber” has brought Masefield to his fame.<br/> +</p> + +<h5>IV</h5> + +<h5>HIS “GALLIPOLI”</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +“Small wonder,” speaks my pensive self, “that he<br/> +Whose passion ’tis to sing of men who fail,—<br/> +(Belabored, broken by The Unseen Flail)<br/> +Small wonder that be makes Gallipoli<br/> +<br/> +His fervent text, for could there be<br/> +A costlier failure in Earth’s shuddering tale?<br/> +Think of heroic Sulva’s bloody swale;<br/> +Of Anzac’s tortured thirst and agony!”<br/> +But as I read, protesting voices cry: “Not we,<br/> +Not we, who fell among the daffodils,<br/> +Who conquered Death among those blistered hills,<br/> +And found our glory after mortal pain;<br/> +Not we, who failed and lost Gallipoli;<br/> +The sad, strange failure theirs who mourn in vain!”<br/> +</p> + +<h5>V</h5> + +<h5>HIS MEAD</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +So, Masefield, have your royal words once more<br/> +Called forth the praise of men, where praise is due;<br/> +Your great elegiac, tragically true,<br/> +Must leave all Britain prouder than before;<br/> +And, in spite of all that breaking hearts deplore,<br/> +And all that anguished consciences must rue,<br/> +One arrowed gladness surely pierces through<br/> +From London’s centre to Canadian shore:<br/> +<br/> +When England, sobbing, mourns Gallipoli,<br/> +When warm tears flow for Rupert Brooke<br/> +And all the splendid Youth her error took<br/> +As hostage from the fields of daffodils,<br/> +Let this a present, living solace be:<br/> +You are not sleeping in those cruel hills!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +AMY BRIDGEMAN +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a>1620-1920</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Before him rolls the dark, relentless ocean;<br/> +Behind him stretch the cold and barren sands;<br/> +Wrapt in the mantle of his deep devotion<br/> +The Pilgrim kneels, and clasps his lifted hands;<br/> +<br/> +“God of our fathers, who hast safely brought us<br/> +Through seas and sorrows, famine, fire, and sword;<br/> +Who, in Thy mercies manifold hast taught us<br/> +To trust in Thee, our leader and our Lord;<br/> +<br/> +“God, who hast send Thy truth to shine before us,<br/> +A fiery pillar, beaconing on the sea;<br/> +God, who hast spread thy wings of mercy o’er us;<br/> +God, who hast set our children’s children free,<br/> +<br/> +“Freedom Thy new-born nation here shall cherish;<br/> +Grant us Thy covenant, changing, sure:<br/> +Earth shall decay; the firmament shall perish;<br/> +Freedom and Truth, immortal shall endure.”<br/> +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="poem"> +Face to the Indian arrows.<br/> +Face to the Prussian guns,<br/> +From then till now the Pilgrim’s vow<br/> +Has held the Pilgrim’s sons.<br/> +<br/> +He braved the red man’s ambush,<br/> +He loosed the black man’s chain;<br/> +His spirit broke King George’s yoke<br/> +And the battleships of Spain.<br/> +<br/> +He crossed the seething ocean;<br/> +He dared the death-strewn track;<br/> +He charged in the hell of Saint Mihiel<br/> +And hurled the tyrant back.<br/> +<br/> +For the voice of the lonely Pilgrim<br/> +Who knelt upon the strand<br/> +A people hears three hundred years<br/> +In the conscience of the land.<br/> +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="poem"> +Daughter of Truth and mother of Courage,<br/> +Conscience, all hail!<br/> +Heart of New England, strength of the Pilgrims,<br/> +Thou shalt prevail.<br/> +Look how the empires rise and fall!<br/> +Athens robed in her learning and beauty,<br/> +Rome in her royal lust for power—<br/> +Each has flourished for her little hour,<br/> +Risen and fallen and ceased to be.<br/> +What of her by the Western Sea,<br/> +Born and bred as the child of Duty,<br/> +Sternest of them all?<br/> +She it is and she alone<br/> +Who built on faith as her corner stone;<br/> +Of all the nations none but she<br/> +Knew that the truth shall make us free.<br/> +Daughter of Courage, mother of heros,<br/> +Freedom divine.<br/> +Light of New England, Star of the Pilgrim,<br/> +Still shalt thou shine. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="poem"> +Yet even as we in our pride rejoice,<br/> +Hark to the prophet’s warning voice:<br/> +“The Pilgrim’s thrift is vanished<br/> +And the Pilgrim’s faith is dead,<br/> +And the Pilgrim’s God is banished,<br/> +And Mammon reigns in his stead;<br/> +And work is damned as an evil,<br/> +And men and women cry,<br/> +In their restless haste, ‘Let us spend and waste,<br/> +And live; for to-morrow we die.’<br/> +<br/> +“And law is trampled under;<br/> +And the nations stand aghast,<br/> +As they hear the distant thunder<br/> +Of the storm that marches fast;<br/> +And we,—whose ocean borders<br/> +Shut off the sound and the sight,<br/> +We will wait for marching orders;<br/> +The world has seen us fight;<br/> +We have earned our days of revel;<br/> +‘On with the dance’! we cry.<br/> +It is pain to think; we will eat and drink!<br/> +And live; for to-morrow we die.”<br/> +<br/> +“We have laughed in the eyes of danger;<br/> +We have given our bravest and best;<br/> +We have succored the starving stranger;<br/> +Others shall heed the rest.’<br/> +And the revel never ceases;<br/> +And the nations hold their breath;<br/> +And our laughter peals, and the mad world reels,<br/> +To a carnival of death.<br/> +<br/> +“Slaves of sloth and the senses,<br/> +Clippers of Freedom’s wings,<br/> +Come back to the Pilgrim’s Army<br/> +And fight for the King of Kings;<br/> +Come back to the Pilgrim’s conscience;<br/> +Be born in the nation’s birth;<br/> +And strive again as simple men<br/> +For the freedom of the earth.<br/> +Freedom a free-born nation still shall cherish,<br/> +Be this our covenant, unchanging, sure:<br/> +Earth shall decay; the firmament shall perish;<br/> +Freedom and Truth immortal shall endure.”<br/> +</p> + +<hr/> + +<p class="poem"> +Land of our fathers, when the tempest rages,<br/> +When the wide earth is racked with war and crime,<br/> +Founded forever on the Rock of Ages,<br/> +Beaten in vain by surging seas of time,<br/> +<br/> +Even as the shallop on the breakers riding,<br/> +Even as the Pilgrim kneeling on the shore,<br/> +Firm in thy faith and fortitude abiding,<br/> +Hold thou thy children free forever more.<br/> +</p> + +<hr/> + +<p class="poem"> +And when we sail as Pilgrims’ sons and daughters<br/> +The spirit’s Mayflower into seas unknown,<br/> +Driving across the waste of wintry waters<br/> +The voyage every soul shall make alone,<br/> +<br/> +The Pilgrim’s faith, the Pilgrim’s courage grant us;<br/> +Still shines the truth that for the Pilgrim shone.<br/> +We are his seed; nor life nor death shall daunt us.<br/> +The port is Freedom! Pilgrim heart, sail on!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +LE BARON RUSSELL BRIGGS +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a>THE CROSS-CURRENT</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Through twelve stout generations<br/> +New England blood I boast;<br/> +The stubborn pastures bred them,<br/> +The grim, uncordial coast,<br/> +<br/> +Sedate and proud old cities,—<br/> +Loved well enough by me,<br/> +Then how should I be yearning<br/> +To scour the earth and sea.<br/> +<br/> +Each of my Yankee forbears<br/> +Wed a New England mate:<br/> +They dwelt and did and died here,<br/> +Nor glimpsed a rosier fate.<br/> +<br/> +My clan endured their kindred;<br/> +But foreigners they loathed,<br/> +And wandering folk, and minstrels,<br/> +And gypsies motley-clothed.<br/> +<br/> +Then why do patches please me,<br/> +Fantastic, wild array?<br/> +Why have I vagrant fancies<br/> +For lads from far away.<br/> +<br/> +My folk were godly Churchmen,—<br/> +Or paced in Elders’ weeds;<br/> +But all were grave and pious<br/> +And hated heathen creeds.<br/> +<br/> +Then why are Thor and Wotan<br/> +To dread forces still?<br/> +Why does my heart go questing<br/> +For Pan beyond the hill?<br/> +<br/> +My people clutched at freedom.—<br/> +Though others’ wills they chained,—<br/> +But made the Law and kept it,—<br/> +And Beauty, they restrained.<br/> +<br/> +Then why am I a rebel<br/> +To laws of rule and square?<br/> +Why would I dream and dally,<br/> +Or, reckless, do and dare?<br/> +<br/> +O righteous, solemn Grandsires,<br/> +O dames, correct and mild,<br/> +Who bred me of your virtues!<br/> +Whence comes this changing child?—<br/> +<br/> +The thirteenth generation,—<br/> +Unlucky number this!—<br/> +My grandma loved a Pirate,<br/> +And all my faults are his!<br/> +<br/> +A gallant, ruffled rover,<br/> +With beauty-loving eye,<br/> +He swept Colonial waters<br/> +Of coarser, bloodier fry.<br/> +<br/> +He waved his hat to danger,<br/> +At Law he shook his fist.<br/> +Ah, merrily he plundered,<br/> +He sang and fought and kissed!<br/> +<br/> +Though none have found his treasure,<br/> +And none his part would take,—<br/> +I bless that thirteenth lady<br/> +Who chose him for my sake!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +ABBIE FARWELL BROWN +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a>CANDLEMAS</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +O hearken, all ye little weeds<br/> +That lie beneath the snow,<br/> +(So low, dear hearts, in poverty so low!)<br/> +The sun hath risen for royal deeds,<br/> +A valiant wind the vanguard leads;<br/> +Now quicken ye, lest unborn seeds<br/> +Before ye rise and blow.<br/> +<br/> +O furry living things, adream<br/> +On winter’s drowsy breast,<br/> +(How rest ye there, how softly, safely rest!)<br/> +Arise and follow where a gleam<br/> +Of wizard gold unbinds the stream,<br/> +And all the woodland windings seem<br/> +With sweet expectance blest.<br/> +<br/> +My birds, come back! the hollow sky<br/> +Is weary for your note.<br/> +(Sweet-throat, come back! O liquid, mellow throat!)<br/> +Ere May’s soft minions hereward fly,<br/> +Shame on ye, Laggards, to deny<br/> +The brooding breast, the sun-bright eye,<br/> +The tawny, shining coat!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +ALICE BROWN +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a>SUNRISE ON MANSFIELD MOUNTAIN</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +O swift forerunners, rosy with the race!<br/> +Spirits of dawn, divinely manifest<br/> +Behind your blushing banners in the sky,<br/> +Daring invaders of Night’s tenting-ground,<br/> +How do ye strain on forward-bending foot,<br/> +Each to be first in heralding of joy!<br/> +<br/> +With silence sandalled, so they weave their way,<br/> +And so they stand, with silence panoplied,<br/> +Chanting, through mystic symbollings of flame,<br/> +Their solemn invocation to the light.<br/> +<br/> +O changeless guardians! O ye wizard first!<br/> +What strenuous philter feeds your potency.<br/> +That thus ye rest, in sweet wood-hardiness,<br/> +Ready to learn of all and utter naught?<br/> +What breath may move ye, or what breeze invite<br/> +To odorous hot lendings of the heart?<br/> +What wind-but all the winds are yet afar,<br/> +And e’en the little tricksy zephyr sprites,<br/> +That fleet before them, like their elfin locks,<br/> +Have lagged in sleep, nor stir nor waken yet<br/> +To pluck the robe of patient majesty.<br/> +<br/> +Too still for dreaming, too divine for sleep,<br/> +So range the firs, the constant, fearless ones.<br/> +Warders of mountain secrets, there they wait,<br/> +Each with his cloak about him, breathless, calm.<br/> +And yet expectant, as who knows the dawn,<br/> +<br/> +And all night thrills with memory and desire,<br/> +Searching in what has been for what shall be:<br/> +The marvel of the ne’er familiar day,<br/> +Sacred investiture of life renewed,<br/> +The chrism of dew, the coronal of flame.<br/> +Low in the valley lies the conquered rout<br/> +Of man’s poor, trivial turmoil, lost and drowned<br/> +Under the mist, in gleaming rivers rolled,<br/> +Where oozy marsh contends with frothing main.<br/> +And rounding all, springs one full, ambient arch,<br/> +One great good limpid world—so still, so still!<br/> +For no sound echoes from its crystal curve<br/> +Save four clear notes, the song of that lone bird<br/> +Who, brave but trembling, tries his morning hymn,<br/> +And has no heart to finish, for the awe<br/> +And wonder of this pearling globe of dawn.<br/> +<br/> +Light, light eternal! veiling-place of stars!<br/> +Light, the revealer of dread beauty’s face!<br/> +Weaving whereof the hills are lambent clad!<br/> +Mighty libation to the Unknown God!<br/> +Cup whereat pine-trees slake their giant thirst<br/> +And little leaves drink sweet delirium!<br/> +Being and breath and potion! living soul<br/> +And all-informing heart of all that lives!<br/> +How can we magnify thine awful name<br/> +Save by its chanting: Light! and Light! and Light!<br/> +An exhalation from far sky retreats,<br/> +It grows in silence, as ’twere self-create,<br/> +Suffusing all the dusky web of night.<br/> +But one lone corner it invades not yet,<br/> +Where low above a black and rimy crag<br/> +Hangs the old moon, thin as a battered shield,<br/> +The holy, useless shield of long-past wars,<br/> +Dinted and frosty, on the crystal dark.<br/> +<br/> +But lo! the east,—let none forget the east,<br/> +Pathway ordained of old where He should tread.<br/> +Through some sweet magic common in the skies,<br/> +The rosy banners are with saffron tinct;<br/> +The saffron grows to gold, the gold is fire,<br/> +And led by silence more majestical<br/> +Than clash of conquering arms, He comes! He comes!<br/> +He holds His spear benignant, sceptrewise,<br/> +And strikes out flame from the adoring hills.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +ALICE BROWN +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap18"></a>BURNT ARE THE PETALS OF LIFE</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Burnt are the petals of life as a rose fallen and crumbled to dust.<br/> +Blackened the heart of the past is, ashes that must<br/> +Forever be sifted, more precious than sunbeams that<br/> +open the budding to-morrow.<br/> +Once was a passion completed,-too perfect, the<br/> +Gods have not broken to borrow—<br/> +Blackened the heart of the past is, ashes that must<br/> +Forever be sifted. O, loving to-morrow<br/> +The rose of the past is, Life-Eternity’s dust.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +ELSIE PUMPELLY CABOT +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap19"></a>FOUR FOUNTAINS AFTER RESPIGHI</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Fresh mists of Roman dawn;<br/> +For water search the cattle;<br/> +Faintly on damp air sounds the shepherd’s horn<br/> +Above fountain Giulia’s prattle.<br/> +<br/> +Triton, joyous and loud<br/> +Of Naiads summons troops;<br/> +A frenziedly leaping and mingling crowd,<br/> +Dancing, pursuing groups.<br/> +<br/> +At high noon the trumpets peal,<br/> +Neptune’s chariot passes by;<br/> +Trains of sirens, tritons, Trevi’s jets heal<br/> +Then trumpets’ echoes sigh.<br/> +<br/> +Tolling bell and sunset,<br/> +Twittering birds and calm;<br/> +Medici’s fountain, shimmering net,<br/> +Into the night brings balm.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +JESSICA CARR +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a>IN THE TROLLEY CAR</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +The swart Italian in the trolley car,<br/> +Hoarded his children in his arms and breast;<br/> +The mother, all unheeding, sat afar,<br/> +Her splendid eyes were vague, her lips compressed.<br/> +<br/> +One Raphael-boy slipped from his father’s knee,<br/> +Climbed to her side, and gently stroked her cheek,<br/> +She turned away, and would not hear his plea,<br/> +She turned away, and would not even speak.<br/> +<br/> +With trembling lips the child crept back again<br/> +To the warm shelter of his father’s breast;<br/> +We looked indignant pity, for till then<br/> +We thought that mother-love bore every test.<br/> +<br/> +We rose to go, the father-mother said,<br/> +In deep, low tones, “Don’t t’inka hard you bet<br/> +The younges’ was too-seeck, and he is dead,<br/> +She will be alla right, when she forget.”<br/> +<br/> +When she forgets! “Great-Heart,” hold closer yet<br/> +Thy precious brood and let it feel no lack!<br/> +Until her soul shall wake, but not forget,<br/> +When the warm tides of love come surging back.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +RUTH BALDWIN CHENERY +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap21"></a>IN IRISH RAIN</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +The great world stretched its arms to me and held me to its breast,<br/> +They say I’ve song-birds in my throat, and give me of their best;<br/> +But sure, not all their gold can buy, can take me back again<br/> +To little Mag o’ Monagan’s a-singing in the rain.<br/> +<br/> +The silver-slanting Irish rain, all warm and sweet that fills<br/> +The little brackened lowland pools, and drifts across the hills;<br/> +That turns the hill-grass cool and wet to dusty childish feet,<br/> +And hangs above the valley-roofs, filmed blue with burning peat.<br/> +<br/> +And oh the kindly neighbor-folk that called the young ones in,<br/> +Down fragrant yellow-tapered paths that thread the prickly whin;<br/> +The hot, sweet smell of oaten-cake, the kettle purring soft,<br/> +The dear-remembered Irish speech—they call to me how oft!<br/> +<br/> +They mind me just a slip o’ girl in tattered kirtle blue,<br/> +But oh they loved me for myself, and not for what I do!<br/> +And never one but had a joy to pass the time of day<br/> +With little Mag o’ Monagan’s a-laughing down the way.<br/> +<br/> +There’s fifty roofs to shelter me where one was set before,<br/> +But make me free to that again—I’ll not be wanting more,<br/> +But sure I know not tears nor gold can turn the years again<br/> +To little Mag o’ Monagan’s a-singing in the rain.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +MARTHA HASKELL CLARK +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap22"></a>CRETONNE TROPICS</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +The cretonne in your willow chair<br/> +Shows through a zone of rosy air,<br/> +A tree of parrots, agate-eyed,<br/> +With blue-green crests and plumes of pride<br/> +And beaks most formidably curved.<br/> +I hear the river, silver-nerved,<br/> +To their shrill protests make reply,<br/> +And the palm forest stir and sigh.<br/> +<br/> +Curious, the spell that colors cast,<br/> +Binding the fancy coweb-fast,<br/> +And you would smile if you could know<br/> +I like your cretonne parrots so!<br/> +But I have seen them sail toward night<br/> +Superbly homeward, the last light<br/> +Lifting them like a purple sea<br/> +Scorned and made use of arrogantly;<br/> +And I have heard them cry aloud<br/> +From out a tall palm’s emerald cloud;<br/> +And I brought home a brilliant feather,<br/> +Lost like a flake of sunset weather.<br/> +<br/> +Here in the north the sea is white<br/> +And mother-of-pearl in morning light,<br/> +Quite lovely, but there is a glare<br/> +That daunts me.<br/> +<br/> +Now the willow chair<br/> +Suggests a more perplexing sea,<br/> +Till my heart aches with memory<br/> +And parrots dye the air around,<br/> +And I forget the pallid Sound.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +GRACE HAZARD +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap23"></a>TO HILDA OF HER ROSES</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Enough has been said about roses<br/> +To fill thirty thick volumes;<br/> +There are as many songs about roses<br/> +As there are roses in the world<br/> +That includes Mexico … the Azores … Oregon…<br/> +<br/> +It is a pity your roses<br/> +Are too late for Omar…<br/> +It is a pity Keats has gone…<br/> +<br/> +Yet there must be something left to say<br/> +Of flowers like these!<br/> +Adventurers,<br/> +They pushed their way<br/> +Through dewy tunnels of the June night<br/> +Now they confer….<br/> +A little tremulous….<br/> +Dazzled by the yellow sea-beach of morning<br/> +<br/> +If Herrick would tiptoe back…<br/> +If Blake were to look this way<br/> +Ledwidge, even!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +GRACE HAZARD CONKLING +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap24"></a>DANDELION</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +O Little soldier with the golden helmet,<br/> +What are you guarding on my lawn?<br/> +You with your green gun<br/> +And your yellow beard,<br/> +Why do you stand so stiff?<br/> +There is only the grass to fight!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +HILDA CONKLING +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap25"></a>RED ROOSTER</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Red rooster in your gray coop,<br/> +O stately creature with tail-feathers red and blue,<br/> +Yellow and black,<br/> +You have a comb gay as a parade<br/> +On your head:<br/> +You have pearl trinkets<br/> +On your feet:<br/> +The short feathers smooth along your back<br/> +Are the dark color of wet rocks,<br/> +Or the rippled green of ships<br/> +When I look at their sides through water.<br/> +I don’t know how you happened to be made<br/> +So proud, so foolish,<br/> +Wearing your coat of many colors,<br/> +Shouting all day long your crooked words,<br/> +Loud… sharp… not beautiful!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +HILDA CONKLING +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap26"></a>VELVETS<br/> +(BY A BED OF PANSIES)</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +This pansy has a thinking face<br/> +Like the yellow moon.<br/> +This one has a face with white blots;<br/> +I call him the clown.<br/> +Here goes one down the grass<br/> +With a pretty look of plumpness;<br/> +She is a little girl going to school<br/> +With her hands in the pockets of her pinafore.<br/> +Her name is Sue.<br/> +I like this one, in a bonnet,<br/> +Waiting,<br/> +Her eyes are so deep!<br/> +But these on the other side,<br/> +These that wear purple and blue,<br/> +They are the Velvets,<br/> +The king with his cloak,<br/> +The queen with her gown,<br/> +The prince with his feather.<br/> +These are dark and quiet<br/> +And stay alone.<br/> +I know you, Velvets,<br/> +Color of Dark,<br/> +Like the pine-tree on the hill<br/> +When stars shine!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +HILDA CONKLING +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap27"></a>THE MOODS</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +The Moods have laid their hands across my hair:<br/> +The Moods have drawn their fingers through my heart;<br/> +My hair shall never more lie smooth and bright,<br/> +But stir like tide-worn sea-weed, and my heart<br/> +Shall never more be glad of small sweet things,—<br/> +A wild rose, or a crescent moon,-a book<br/> +Of little verses, or a dancing child.<br/> +My heart turns crying from the rose and book,<br/> +My heart turns crying from the thin bright moon,<br/> +And weeps with useless sorrow for the child.<br/> +The Moods have loosed a wind to vex my hair,<br/> +And made my heart too wise, that was a child.<br/> +<br/> +Now I shall blow like smitten candle-flame:<br/> +I shall desire all things that may not be:<br/> +The years, the stars, the souls of ancient men,<br/> +All tears that must, and smiles that may not be,—<br/> +Yes, glimmering lights across a windy ford,<br/> +And vagrant voices on a darkened plain,<br/> +And holy things, and outcast things, and things,<br/> +Far too remote, frail-bodied to be plain.<br/> +<br/> +My pity and my joy are grown alike.<br/> +I cannot sweep the strangeness from my heart.<br/> +The Moods have laid swift hands across my hair:<br/> +The Moods have drawn swift fingers through my heart.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +FANNIE STEARNS DAVIS +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap28"></a>HILL-FANTASY</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Sitteth by the red cairn a brown One, a hoofed One,<br/> +High upon the mountain, where the grasses fail.<br/> +Where the ash-trees flourish far their blazing bunches to the sun,<br/> +A brown One, a hoofed One, pipes against the gale.<br/> +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="poem"> +I was on the mountain, wandering, wandering;<br/> +No one but the pine trees and the white birch knew.<br/> +Over rocks I scrambled, looked up and saw that Strange Thing,<br/> +Peakèd ears and sharp horns, pricked against the blue.<br/> +<br/> +Oh, and, how he piped there! piped upon the high reeds<br/> +Till the blue air crackled like a frost-film on a pool!<br/> +Oh, and how he spread himself, like a child whom no one heeds,<br/> +Tumbled chuckling in the brook, all sleek and kind and cool!<br/> +<br/> +He had berries ’twixt his horns, crimson-red as cochineal.,<br/> +Bobbing, wagging wantonly they tickled him, and oh,<br/> +How his deft lips puckered round the reed, and seemed to chase and steal<br/> +Sky-music, earth-music, tree-music low!<br/> +<br/> +I said “Good-day, Thou!” He said, “Good-day, Thou!”<br/> +Wiped his reed against the spotted doe-skin on his back,<br/> +He said, “Come up here, and I will teach thee piping now.<br/> +While the earth is singing so, for tunes we shall not lack.”<br/> +<br/> +Up scrambled I then, furry fingers helping me.<br/> +Up scrambled I. So we sat beside the cairn.<br/> +Broad into my face laughed that hornèd Thing so naughtily.<br/> +Oh, it was a rascal of a woodland Satyr’s bairn!<br/> +<br/> + +So blow, and so, Thou! Move thy fingers faster, look!<br/> +Move them like the little leaves and whirling midges. So!<br/> +Soon ’twill twist like tendrils and out-twinkle like the lost brook.<br/> +Move thy fingers merrily, and blow! Blow! Blow!”<br/> +<br/> +Brown One! Hoofèd One! Beat time to keep me straight.<br/> +Kick it on the red stone, whistle in my ear.<br/> +Brush thy crimson berries in my face, then hold thy breath, for—wait!<br/> +Joy comes bubbling to my lips. I pipe, oh, hear!<br/> +<br/> +Blue sky, art glad of us? Green wood, art glad of us?<br/> +Old hard-heart mountain, dost thou hear me, how I blow?<br/> +Far away the sea-isles swim in sun-haze luminous.<br/> +Each one has a color like the seven-splendored bow.<br/> +<br/> +Wind, wind, wind, dost thou mind me how I pipe, Now?<br/> +Chipmunk chatt’ring in the beech, rabbit in the brake?<br/> +Furry arm around my neck: “Oh, Thou art a brave one, Thou!”<br/> +Satyr, little satyr-friend, my heart with joy doth ache!<br/> +<br/> +Sky-music, earth-music, tree-music tremulous,<br/> +Water over steaming rocks, water in the shade,<br/> +Storm-tune and sun-tune, how they flock up unto us,<br/> +Sitting by the red cairn, gay and unafraid!<br/> +<br/> +Brown One, Hoofèd One, give me nimble hoofs, Thou!<br/> +Give me furry fingers and a secret furry tail!<br/> +Pleasant are thy smooth horns: if their like were on my brow<br/> +Might I not abide here, till the strong sun fail?<br/> +<br/> +Oh, the sorry brown eyes! Oh, the soft kind hand-touch,<br/> +Sudden brush of velvet ears across my wind-cool cheek!<br/> +“Play-mate, Pipe-mate, thou askest one good boon too much.<br/> +I could never find thee horns, though day-long I seek.<br/> +<br/> +“Yet, keep the pipe, Thou: I will cut another one.<br/> +Keep the pipe and play on it for all the world to hear.<br/> +Ah, but it was good once to sit together in the sun!<br/> +Though I have but half a soul, it finds thee very dear!<br/> +<br/> +“Wise Thing, Mortal Thing, yet my half-soul fears thee!<br/> +Take the pipe and go thy ways,—quick now, for the sun<br/> +Reels across the hot west and stumbles dazzled to the sea.<br/> +Take the pipe, and oh-one kiss! then run, run, run! run!”<br/> +<br/> +Silence on the mountain. Lonely stands the high cairn,<br/> +All the leaves a-shivering, all the stones dead-gray.<br/> +O thou cold small pipe, which way is fled that Satyr’s bairn?<br/> +I am lost and all alone, and down drops the day.<br/> +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p class="poem"> +I was on the mountain, wandering, wandering<br/> +There I got this Pipe o’ dreams. Strange, when I blow,<br/> +Something deep as human love starts a-crying, troubling.<br/> +Is it only sky-music, earth-music low?<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +FANNIE STEARNS DAVIS +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap29"></a>THE MIRAGE</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Across the Bay are low-lying cliffs,<br/> +Where stand fishermen’s cottages:<br/> +I can barely distinguish them with the naked eye.<br/> +But to-day the cliffs are lifted, escarpt,<br/> +Perpendicular, mysterious, inaccessible,<br/> +And those sordid dwellings have become<br/> +The magnificent fortified castles of Sea-kings.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +NATHAN HASKELL DOLE +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap30"></a>THE ROAD BEYOND THE TOWN</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +A road goes up a pleasant hill,<br/> +And a little house looks down:<br/> +Ah! but I see the roadway still<br/> +And the day I left the town.<br/> +<br/> +The day I left my father’s home,<br/> +It’s many a year ago,<br/> +And a heart and hope were brave to roam<br/> +the long, long road I know.<br/> +<br/> +The long, long road by hill and plain,<br/> +It’s tired the heart might be:<br/> +But hope stayed bright in sun or rain,<br/> +And a Voice that called to me.<br/> +<br/> +A Voice that called me over the hill<br/> +And out of the little town:<br/> +Ah! but I see the roadway still.<br/> +And the good house looking down.<br/> +<br/> +The house that spake me never a No!<br/> +As I started brave away,<br/> +But said with a blessing, Go!<br/> +And followed me every day.<br/> +<br/> +It followed me down the road of years,<br/> +For a father’s heart is true,<br/> +And joy is sweet in a mother’s tears<br/> +For the deeds her child may do.<br/> +<br/> +The poor little deeds, all powerless<br/> +For the Kingdom of God would be,<br/> +Save in His mercy will He bless<br/> +The road that goes with me:<br/> +<br/> +The road that left a pleasant hill,<br/> +Where a little house looks down:<br/> +Ah! but I bless the roadway still,<br/> +And the land beyond the town.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +MICHAEL EARLS, S.J. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap31"></a>THE LILAC</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +The scent of lilac in the air<br/> +Hath made him drag his steps and pause<br/> +Whence comes this scent within the Square,<br/> +Where endless dusty traffic roars?<br/> +A push-cart stands beside the curb,<br/> +With fragrant blossoms laden high;<br/> +Speak low, nor stare, lest we disturb<br/> +His sudden reverie!<br/> +<br/> +He sees us not, nor heeds the din<br/> +Of clanging car and scuffling throng;<br/> +His eyes see fairer sights within,<br/> +And memory hears the robin’s song<br/> +As once it trilled against the day,<br/> +And shook his slumber in a room<br/> +Where drifted with the breath of May<br/> +The lilac’s sweet perfume.<br/> +<br/> +The heart of boyhood in him stirs;<br/> +The wonder of the morning skies,<br/> +Of sunset gold behind the firs,<br/> +Is kindled in his dreaming eyes:<br/> +How far off is this sordid place,<br/> +As turning from our sight away<br/> +He crushes to his hungry face<br/> +A purple lilac spray.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +WALTER PRICHARD EATON +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap32"></a>GOD, THROUGH HIS OFFSPRING NATURE, GAVE ME LOVE</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +God, through his offspring Nature, gave me love,<br/> +Though man in opposition saith me nay,<br/> +And taketh from my heart its life to-day,<br/> +As through the valley of the world I rove.<br/> +Still unaccompanied, within the grove<br/> +That doth enamored beings hold at play,<br/> +My spirit must pursue its lonely way,<br/> +And strive to pluck some flowers that bloom above.<br/> +Oh, wherefore then doth Nature give desire<br/> +To have that which mankind may not possess,<br/> +And force him to endure on earth hell’s fire,<br/> +And live in one perpetual distress?<br/> +Some evil power must such love inspire,<br/> +And with it masquerade in Cupid’s dress!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +CHARLES GIBSON +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap33"></a>TO MUSIC</h2> + +<p> +“Music, the language, the atmosphere of the Soul.” +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Fly back where Melodies like lilies grow,<br/> +My weary heart is bending low;<br/> +<br/> +Fly higher yet to joyful realms above,<br/> +Where holy Angels dwell in love.<br/> +<br/> +Fly higher still and hear the Angel throng<br/> +And bring to me their Glory-song:<br/> +<br/> +Ah Music, thou and I above the World<br/> +May dwell where heaven with shining song is pearled!<br/> +<br/> +While Sun and Moon and all the planets roll<br/> +I’ll love thee, Music, language of my soul!<br/> +<br/> +Music-lark from on high, song that doth fly,<br/> +Spark of the sky!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +MAUDE GORDON-ROBY +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap34"></a>THE VOICE IN THE SONG</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +High in the apple bough jauntily swinging,<br/> +Hid by the branches in bridal array,<br/> +Straight from his heart, all his life in his singing,<br/> +Chants a wee bird, lures his mate with his lay.<br/> +“Sweet, sweet, my sweet,<br/> +Hear I entreat!<br/> +Say, love, together, this bright sunny weather,<br/> +Gold of the west we shall weave in a nest!<br/> +Have no fear! Trust me, dear!<br/> +Sunshine of May that will gild every day<br/> +Pledge I to thee if thou’lt harken to me.”<br/> +<br/> +Lo! in the light thro’ the gay branches streaming,<br/> +Quivering in answer to all the bird sings,<br/> +Warm on a breath, leaps a soul with love gleaming,<br/> +Speeds to its mate on its glittering wings.<br/> +“Dear, on thy breast<br/> +Earth yields its best!<br/> +Loud in the singing I heard thy call ringing,<br/> +Pleading and strong in the voice of the song,<br/> +Whisper low,—Yes, just so!—<br/> +Softly revealing the depth of thy feeling,<br/> +Words in whose fire glow thy love and desire.”<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +MARY GERTRUDE HAMILTON +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap35"></a>HYMNS AND ANTHEMS SUNG AT +WELLESLEY COLLEGE</h2> + +<h5>I</h5> + +<h5>MOUNT CARMEL</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +Where art Thou, O my Lord?<br/> +Mount Carmel saw the throng<br/> +Of priests and heard the song;<br/> +To Baal was their call—<br/> +From morn till night did fall.<br/> +<br/> +Where art Thou, O my Lord?<br/> +Again Mount Carmel heard<br/> +Not in the spoken word,<br/> +Not in the earthquake’s shock,<br/> +Not in the rending rock<br/> +<br/> +Where art Thou, O my Lord?<br/> +The still voice softly speaks;<br/> +Each soul it swiftly seeks<br/> +Not in the thunder roll,<br/> +But in the inmost soul.<br/> +</p> + +<h5>II</h5> + +<h5>VESPER HYMN</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +Send peaceful sleep, O Lord, this night,<br/> +To keep us till the morning light;<br/> +And let no vision of alarm<br/> +Come near to do Thy children harm<br/> +<br/> +Within Thy circling arms we lie,<br/> +O God, in Thine infinity;<br/> +Our souls in quiet shall abide<br/> +Beset with love on every side.<br/> +</p> + +<h5>III</h5> + +<h5>THIS IS THAT BREAD</h5> + +<p>This is that Bread that came down from Heaven, +he that eateth of this Bread shall live forever.</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Bread on which angels feed,<br/> +Bread for the spirit’s need<br/> +By faith receiving,<br/> +New life do Thou impart,<br/> +New strength to every heart,<br/> +Pure love of God Thou art<br/> +To us believing.<br/> +</p> + +<h5>IV</h5> + +<h5>O SLOW OF HEART</h5> + +<p>O slow of heart to believe! Ought Christ not to +have suffered these things and to enter into His Glory?</p> + +<p class="poem"> +Quicken, Lord, my fainting heart,<br/> +Touch my eyes that they may see,<br/> +Let me know Thee as Thou art.<br/> +Life and Immortality.<br/> +</p> + +<h5>V</h5> + +<h5>ALL HAIL TO THEE, CHILD JESUS</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +All hail to Thee, child Jesus!<br/> +As the brooding darkness flies<br/> +At the swift approach of day,<br/> +Sun of righteousness, arise,<br/> +Chase the gloom of night away.<br/> +Great Prince of Peace, come to thine own,<br/> +And build in every heart Thy throne.<br/> +<br /> +Come to shed Thy healing balm<br/> +On all nations of the earth,<br/> +Child Jesus, come with holy calm,<br/> +How we hail thy wondrous birth.<br/> +Great Prince of Peace, come to Thine own,<br/> +And build in every heart Thy throne.<br/> +All hail to Thee, Child Jesus!<br/> +</p> + +<h5>VI</h5> + +<h5>THE WINE-PRESS</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +Who is this that comes from Edom<br/> +In such glorious array,<br/> +With his festal garments gleaming,<br/> +Travelling on his royal way<br/> +With a face majestic, calm and grave?<br/> +I that speak in righteousness, mighty to save.<br/> +<br /> +Why is thy apparel crimson,<br/> +Why is all thy garments’ pride<br/> +Stained as in the time of vintage<br/> +And with blood-red-color dyed?<br/> +Because of helpers I had none—<br/> +I have trodden the wine-press alone.<br/> +</p> + +<h5>VII</h5> + +<h5>WAKEN, SHEPHERDS!</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +(Angels) Hosanna! Hosanna! Hosanna!<br/> +(Shepherds) Waken, Shepherds, waken;<br/> +Whence this glowing light?<br/> +Ere the dawn of morning,<br/> +Solemn signs of warning<br/> +Portent of affright!<br/> +<br /> +(Angels) Courage, Shepherds, courage!<br/> +Banish your dismay,<br/> +or ye all are saved.<br/> +In the town of David<br/> +Christ is born to-day.<br/> +<br /> +(Shepherds) Harken, Shepherds, harken,<br/> +Hear the angels sing!<br/> +Jehovah sends a token,<br/> +He himself hath spoken<br/> +To proclaim our King.<br/> +<br /> +(Angels) Hasten, Shepherds, hasten,<br/> +This shall be your sign;<br/> +Where the kine are stabled,<br/> +In a manger cradled<br/> +Lies the Child Divine.<br/> +<br /> +(Shepherds and Angels) Angels, Shepherds, People,<br/> +Shout the glad refrain!<br/> +Joy to every nation<br/> +Bringing full salvation,<br/> +Christ has come to reign.<br/> +Hosanna! Hosanna! Hosanna!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +CAROLINE HAZARD +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap36"></a>REUBEN ROY</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Little fellow, brown with wind—<br/> +I saw him in the street<br/> +Peering at numbers on the posts,<br/> +But most discreet:<br/> +<br /> +For when a woman came outdoors,<br/> +Or slyly peeped instead,<br/> +He turned away, took off his hat,<br/> +And scratched his head.<br/> +<br /> +I watched him from my garden-wall<br/> +Perhaps an hour or more,<br/> +For something in his attitude,<br/> +The clothes he wore,<br/> +<br /> +Awoke the dimmest memories<br/> +Of when I was a boy<br/> +And knew the story of a man<br/> +Named Reuben Roy.<br/> +<br /> +It seems that Reuben went to sea<br/> +The night his wife decried<br/> +The fence he built before their house<br/> +And up the side.<br/> +<br /> +He wanted it but she did not,<br/> +Because it hid from view<br/> +The spot in which her mignonette<br/> +And tulips grew.<br/> +<br /> +Nobody saw his face again,<br/> +But each year, unawares,<br/> +He sent a sum for taxes due—<br/> +And fence repairs.<br/> +<br /> +My curiosity aroused,<br /> +I sauntered forth to see<br/> +Whether this individual<br/> +Were really he.<br/> +<br /> +“Who are you looking for?” I asked<br/> +His eyes, like two bright pence,<br/> +Sparkled at mine; and then he said:<br/> +“A fence.”<br/> +<br /> +“Somebody burned it Hallowe’en,<br/> +When people were in bed;<br/> +Before the judge could prosecute,<br/> +The culprit fled.”<br/> +<br /> +Well, Reuben only touched his hat<br/> +And mumbled, “Thank you, Sir,”<br/> +And asked me whereabouts to find<br/> +A carpenter.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +HAROLD CRAWFORD STEARNS +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap37"></a>COUNTRY ROAD</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +I can’t forget a gaunt grey barn<br/> +Like a face without an eye<br/> +That kept recurring by field and tarn<br/> +Under a Cape Cod sky.<br/> +<br /> +I can’t forget a woman’s hand,<br/> +Roughened and scarred by toil<br/> +That beckoned clear-eyed children tanned<br/> +By sun and wind and soil.<br/> +<br /> +Beauty and hardship, bent and bound<br/> +Under the selfsame yoke:<br/> +Babies with bare knees plump and round<br/> +And stooping women folk.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +MARIE LOUISE HERSEY +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap38"></a>WREATHS</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Red wreaths<br/> +Hang in my neighbor’s window,<br/> +Green wreaths in my own.<br/> +On this day I lost my husband.<br/> +On this day you lost your boy.<br/> +On this day<br/> +Christ was born.<br/> +Red wreaths,<br/> +Green wreaths<br/> +Hang in Our Windows<br/> +Red for a bleeding heart,<br/> +Green for grave grass.<br/> +Mary, mother of Jesus,<br/> +Look down and comfort us.<br/> +You too knew passion;<br/> +You too knew pain.<br/> +Comfort us,<br/> +Who are not brides of God,<br/> +Nor bore God.<br/> +On Christmas day<br/> +Hang wreaths,<br/> +Red for new pain.<br/> +Green for spent passion.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +CAROLYN HILLMAN +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap39"></a>MEMPHIS</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Why should I sing of my present? It is nothing to me or you,<br /> +Rather I’d dream of Dixie and tie ships on the old bayou!<br/> +Rather I’d dream of my packets and the lazy river days,<br/> +Rather I’d dream of my levee and the crimson sunset haze,<br/> +<br /> +Rather I’d dream of my triumphs, of the days that are long gone by,<br/> +Rather I’d dream of flame-tipped stacks against a saffron sky,<br/> +Of level lawns of topaz, of level fields of jade,<br/> +Of the rambling pillared mansions that my fathers’ fathers made!<br/> +<br /> +Why should I sing of my present? It is nothing to you or me,<br/> +But the river road, the great road, the high road to the sea!<br/> +Aye, that is worth the dreaming, aye, that was worth the pain.<br/> +Send me back my river, and I shall wake again!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +GORDON MALHERBE HILLMAN +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap40"></a>SAINT COLUMBKILLE</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Columbkille! Saint Columbkille!<br/> +You naughty man, Saint Columbkille!<br/> +Why did you Finnian’s Psalter take<br/> +And secretly a copy make?<br/> +You know ’twas such a naughty thing<br/> +For one descended from a king<br/> +To lock himself into a cell,<br/> +’Twas far from right,-you knew it well,—<br/> +And copy Finnian’s Psalter through,<br/> +Against his will as well you knew.<br/> +And then to think a common bird<br/> +Should feel such shame, that when he heard<br/> +The breathing spy outside your door,<br/> +And felt your sainthood was no more,<br/> +Should through the crack attack the spy,<br/> +And in a rage pluck out his eye,<br/> +As if that saintly Irish crane<br/> +Would hide from all your Saintship’s stain.<br/> +I grieve to think that you did add<br/> +Sin unto sin; it is too bad.<br/> +For Finnian could not you persuade<br/> +To yield the copy that you made,<br/> +Until the King in his behalf<br/> +Ruled-“To each cow belongs her calf”:<br/> +And then you grew so mad you swore<br/> +On Erin’s face you’d look no more.<br/> +And crossed the sea the Picts to save,<br/> +Because you so did misbehave<br/> +To dear Saint Finnian: faith, ’twas ill<br/> +For you to act so, Columbkille!<br/> +A saint you were no doubt, no doubt!<br/> +What pity ’twas you were found out!<br/> +We know an angel (snob or fool?)<br/> +To Kiaran showed a common rule,<br/> +An axe, an auger, and a saw,<br/> +And told that saint it was the law<br/> +Of Heaven that Columbkille should be<br/> +Far, far above such saints as he;<br/> +For Columbkille contemned a crown,<br/> +While he these homely tools laid down,<br/> +To serve the Lord, and that the Lord<br/> +To each would give his due reward.<br/> +I wonder if that angel knew<br/> +That Christ these tools had laid down too.<br/> +O Columbkille! O Columbkille!<br/> +A saint like you must have his will,<br/> +But for myself I’d rather be<br/> +The common sinner that you see<br/> +Than make a crane ashamed of me,<br/> +And angels talk such idiocy.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +E. J. V. HUIGINN +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap41"></a>MISS DOANE</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Miss Doane was sixty, probably;<br/> +She rented third floor room<br/> +That opened on an airshaft full<br/> +Of cooking smells and gloom.<br/> +<br /> +She worked in philanthropic man’s<br/> +Well-known department store;<br/> +Cashiered in basement, hot and close,<br/> +For forty years or more.<br/> +<br /> +Each night when she came home she’d stand<br/> +A moment in the hall,<br/> +Before she went into her room<br/> +With low and tender call.<br/> +<br /> +And often I would hear her voice<br/> +Repeat a childish prayer;<br/> +Or read some old, old fairy tale<br/> +Of Princess, grand and fair.<br/> +<br /> +One night I went to visit her<br/> +And spied, in little chair<br/> +A great wax doll, in dainty dress,<br/> +And curls of flaxen hair.<br/> +<br /> +I praised the doll; its prettiness;<br/> +Miss Doane said, “I’m alone.<br/> +She comforts me. I wanted so<br/> +A child to call my own.”<br/> +<br /> +Each night I heard her softly sing<br/> +A childish lullaby;<br/> +But once, and just before she died,<br/> +I heard her cry and cry!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +WINIFRED VIRGINIA JACKSON +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap42"></a>FALLEN FENCES</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +The woods grew dark; black shadows<br/> +rocked<br/> +And I could scarcely see<br/> +My way along the old tote road,<br/> +That long had seemed to me<br/> +<br /> +To wind on aimlessly; but now<br/> +Came full to life; the rain<br/> +Would soon strike down; ahead I saw<br/> +A clearing, and a lane<br/> +<br /> +Between gray, fallen fences and<br/> +Wide, grayer, grim stone walls;<br/> +So grim and gray I shrank from thought<br/> +Of weary, aching spalles.<br/> +<br /> +On stony knoll great aspens swayed<br/> +And swung in browsing teeth<br/> +Of wind; slim, silvered yearlings shook<br/> +And shivered underneath.<br/> +<br /> +Beyond, some ancient oak trees bent<br/> +And wrangled over roof<br/> +Of weatherbeaten house, and barn<br/> +Whose sag bespoke no hoof.<br/> +<br /> +And ivy crawled up either end<br/> +Of house, to chimney, where<br/> +It lashed in futile anger at<br/> +The wind wolves of the air.<br/> +<br /> +I thought the house abandoned, and<br/> +I ran to get inside,<br/> +When suddenly the old front door<br/> +was opened and flung wide<br/> +<br /> +And she stood there, with hand on knob,<br/> +As I went swiftly in,<br/> +Then closed the door most softly on<br/> +The storm and shrieking din.<br/> +<br /> +A space I stood and looked at her,<br/> +So young; ’twas passing strange<br/> +That fifty years or more had gone<br/> +And brought no new style’s change.<br/> +<br /> +The sweetness, daintiness of her<br/> +In starched and dotted gown<br/> +Of creamy whiteness, over hoops,<br/> +With ruffles winding down!<br/> +<br /> +We had not much to say, and yet<br/> +Of words I felt no lack;<br/> +Her smiles slipped into dimples, stopped<br/> +A moment, then dropped back.<br/> +<br /> +I felt her pride of race; her taste<br/> +In silken rug and chair,<br/> +And quaintly fashioned furniture<br/> +Of patterns old and rare.<br/> +<br /> +On window sill a rose bush stood;<br/> +’Twas bringing rose to bud;<br/> +One full bloomed there but yesterday,<br/> +Dropped petals, red as blood.<br/> +<br /> +Quite soon, she asked to be excused<br/> +For just a moment, and<br/> +Went out, returning with a tray<br/> +In either slender hand.<br/> +<br /> +My glance could not but linger on<br/> +Each thin and lovely cup;<br/> +“This came, dear thing, from home!” she sighed<br/> +The while she raised it up.<br/> +<br /> +And when the storm was done and I<br/> +Arose, reluctantly<br/> +To go, she too was loath to have<br/> +Me go, it seemed to me.<br/> +<br /> +When I reached old Joe Webber’s place,<br/> +Upon the Corner Road,<br/> +I went into the Upper Field<br/> +Where Joe, round-shouldered, hoed<br/> +<br /> +Potatoes, culling them with hoe<br/> +And practised, calloused hand,<br/> +In rounded piles that brownly glowed<br/> +Upon the fresh-turned land.<br/> +<br /> +“Say, Joe,” I said, “who is that girl<br/> +With beauty’s smiling charm,<br/> +That lives beyond that hemlock growth,<br/> +On that old grown-up farm?”<br/> +<br /> +Joe listened, while I told him where<br/> +I’d been that afternoon,<br/> +Then straightened from his hoe, and hummed,<br/> +Before he spoke, a tune<br/> +<br /> +“They cum ter thet old place ter live<br/> +Some sixty years ago;<br/> +Jest where they cum from, who they ware,<br/> +Wy, no one got to know.<br/> +<br /> +“An’ then, one day, he hired Hen’s<br/> +Red racker an’ the gig;<br/> +We never heard from him nor could<br/> +We track the hoss or rig.<br/> +<br /> +“Hen waited ’bout a week, an’ then<br/> +He went ter see the Wife;<br/> +He found her in thet settin’ room:<br/> +She’d taken of her life.<br/> +<br /> +“An’ no one’s lived in thet house sence;<br/> +Some say ’tis haunted,-but<br/> +I ain’t no use fer foolishness,<br/> +So all I say’s tut! tut!”<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +WINIFRED VIRGINIA JACKSON +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap43"></a>CROSS-CURRENTS</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +They wrapped my soul in eiderdown;<br/> +They placed me warm and snug<br/> +In carved chair; set me with care<br/> +Upon an old prayer rug.<br/> +<br /> +They cased my feet in golden shoes<br/> +That hurt at toe and heel;<br/> +My restless feet, with youth all fleet,<br/> +Nor asked how they might feel.<br/> +<br /> +And now they wonder where I am,<br/> +And search with shrill, cold cry;<br/> +But I crouch low where tall reeds grow,<br/> +And smile as they pass by!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +WINIFRED VIRGINIA JACKSON +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap44"></a>THE FAREWELL</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +What is more beautiful<br/> +Than thought, soul-fed,<br/> +That I may be the crimson of a rose<br/> +When dead?<br/> +<br /> +My soul, so light a joy<br/> +And grief will be,<br/> +That it will gently press the brown earth down<br/> +On me.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +WINIFRED VIRGINIA JACKSON +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap45"></a>SONG</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Let me be great, as stars are great,<br/> +Singing of love, not of hate.<br/> +<br /> +Love for sweet and simple things,<br/> +Like clouds and sea-shell whisperings,<br/> +<br /> +Cool autumn winds, pale dew-kissed flowers,<br/> +Thin coils of smoke and granite towers,<br/> +<br /> +Snow-capped mountain peaks that flash<br/> +High above a river’s crash,<br/> +<br /> +Shrill songs of birds and children’s laughter,<br/> +Soft grey shadows trailing after<br/> +<br /> +Sunbeam sprites that seek the woods<br/> +And lose themselves in solitudes.<br/> +<br /> +All these I’ll love, never hate,<br/> +And loving them, I will be great.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +OLIVER JENKINS +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap46"></a>LOVE AUTUMNAL</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +My love will come in autumn-time<br/> +When leaves go spinning to the ground<br/> +And wistful stars in heaven chime<br/> +With the leaves’ sound.<br/> +<br /> +Then, we shall walk through dusty lanes<br/> +And pause beneath low-hanging boughs,<br/> +And there, while soft-hued beauty reigns<br/> +We’ll make our vows.<br/> +<br /> +Let others seek in spring for sighs<br/> +When love flames forth from every seed;<br/> +But love that blooms when nature dies<br/> +Is love indeed!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +OLIVER JENKINS +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap47"></a>ECHOS</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Traveling at dusk the noisy city street,<br/> +I listened to the newsboys’ strident cries<br/> +Of “Extra,” as with flying feet,<br/> +They strove to gain this man or that-their prize.<br/> +But one there was with neither shout nor stride,<br/> +And, having bought from him, I stood nearby,<br/> +Pondering the cruel crutches at his side,<br/> +Blaming the crowd’s neglect, and wondering why—<br/> +<br /> +When suddenly I heard a gruff voice greet<br/> +The cripple with “On time to-night?”<br/> +Then, as he handed out the sheet,<br/> +The Youngster’s answer-“You’re all right.<br/> +My other reg’lars are a little late.<br/> +They’ll find I’m short one paper when they come;<br/> +You see, a strange guy bought one in the wait,<br/> +I tho’t ’twould cheer him up-he looked so glum!”<br/> +<br /> +So, sheepishly I laughed, and went my way<br/> +For I had found a city’s heart that day.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +RUTH LAMBERT JONES +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap48"></a>WAR PICTURES</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“German Retreat From Arras”<br/> +“Official Films”-they came<br/> +After “Corinne and Her Minstrels”<br/> +Had ministered to fame.<br/> +<br /> +After “Corinne and Her Minstrels”<br/> +Had pigeon-toed away,<br/> +We saw where bits of churches<br/> +And bits of horses lay.<br/> +<br /> +We saw bleak desolation;<br/> +We saw no unscathed tree.<br/> +We shivered in our comfort<br/> +And murmured: “Can it be!”<br/> +<br /> +But later, walking homeward,<br/> +Repeating: “Is it true?”<br/> +We brushed a khaki shoulder<br/> +And asked no more. We knew!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +RUTH LAMBERT JONES +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap49"></a>AN OLD SONG</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +When I was but a young lad,<br/> +And that is long ago,<br/> +I thought that luck loved every man,<br/> +And time his only foe,<br/> +And love was like a hawthorn bush<br/> +That blossomed every May,<br/> +And had but to choose his flower,<br/> +For that’s the young lad’s way.<br/> +<br /> +Oh, youth’s a thriftless squanderer,<br/> +It’s easy come and spent,<br/> +And heavy is the going now<br/> +Where once the light foot went.<br/> +The hawthorn bush puts on its white,<br/> +The throstle whistles clear,<br/> +But Spring comes once for every man<br/> +Just once in all the year.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +ARTHUR KETCHUM +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap50"></a>ROADSIDE REST</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Such quiet sleep has come to them!<br/> +The Springs and Autumns pass,<br/> +Nor do they know if it be snow<br/> +Or daisies in the grass.<br/> +<br /> +All day the birches bend to hear<br/> +The river’s undertone;<br/> +Across the hush a fluting thrush<br/> +Sings even-song alone.<br/> +<br /> +But down their dream there drifts no sound,<br/> +The winds may sob and stir:<br/> +On the still breast of Peace they rest<br/> +And they are glad of her.<br/> +<br /> +They ask not any gift—they mind<br/> +Nor any foot that fares,<br/> +Unheededly life passes by—<br/> +Such quiet sleep is theirs.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +ARTHUR KETCHUM +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap51"></a>OLD LIZETTE ON SLEEP</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Bed is the boon for me!<br/> +It’s well to bake and sweep,<br/> +But hear the word of old Lizette:<br/> +It’s better than all to sleep.<br/> +<br /> +Summer and flowers are gay,<br/> +And morning light and dew;<br/> +But aged eyelids love the dark<br/> +Where never a light peeps through.<br/> +<br /> +What!—open-eyed, my dears?<br/> +Thinking your hearts will break.<br/> +There’s nothing, nothing, nothing, I say,<br/> +That’s worth the lying awake!<br/> +<br /> +I learned it in my youth—<br/> +Love I was dreaming of!<br/> +I learned it from the needle-work<br/> +That took the place of love.<br/> +<br /> +I learned it from the years<br/> +And what they brought about;<br/> +From song, and from the hills of joy<br/> +Where sorrow sought me out.<br/> +<br /> +It’s good to dream and turn,<br/> +And turn and dream, or fall<br/> +To comfort with my pack of bones,<br/> +And know of nothing at all!<br/> +<br /> +Yes, never know at all!<br/> +If prowlers mew or bark,<br/> +Nor wonder if it’s three o’clock<br/> +Or four o’clock of the dark.<br/> +<br /> +When the longer shades have fallen<br/> +And the last weariness<br/> +Has brought the sweetest gift of life,<br/> +The last forgetfulness.<br/> +<br /> +If a sound as of old leaves<br/> +Stir the last bed I keep,<br/> +Then say, my dears: “It’s old Lizette—<br/> +She’s turning in her sleep!”<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +AGNES LEE +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap52"></a>MOTHERHOOD</h2> + +<p class="noindent"> +Mary, the Christ long slain, passed silently.<br/> +Following the children joyously astir<br/> +Under the cedrus and the olive tree,<br/> +Pausing to let their laughter float to her.<br/> +Each voice an echo of a voice more dear,<br/> +She saw a little Christ in every face;<br/> +When lo, another woman, gliding near,<br/> +Yearned o’er the tender life that filled the place.<br/> +And Mary sought the woman’s hand, and spoke:<br/> +“I know thee not, yet know thy memory tossed<br/> +With all a thousand dreams their eyes evoke<br/> +Who bring to thee a child beloved and lost.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“I, too, have rocked my little one,<br/> +O, He was fair!<br/> +Yea, fairer than the fairest sun,<br/> +And like its rays through amber spun<br/> +His sun-bright hair.<br/> +Still I can see it shine and shine.”<br/> +“Even so,” the woman said, “was mine.”<br/> +<br /> +“His ways were ever darling ways,”—<br/> +And Mary smiled,—<br/> +“So soft, so clinging! Glad relays<br/> +Of love were all His precious days.<br/> +My little child!<br/> +My infinite star! My music fled!”<br/> +“Even so was mine,” the woman said.<br/> +<br /> +Then whispered Mary: “Tell me, thou,<br/> +Of thine.” And she:<br/> +“O, mine was rosy as a boug<br/> +<br /> +Blooming with roses, sent, somehow,<br/> +To bloom for me!<br/> +His balmy fingers left a thrill<br/> +Within my breast that warms me still.”<br/> +<br /> +Then gazed she down some wilder, darker hour,<br/> +And said, when Mary questioned, knowing not,<br/> +“Who art thou, mother of so sweet a flower?”<br/> +“I am the mother of Iscariot.”<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +AGNES LEE +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap53"></a>ESSEX</h2> + +<h5>I</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +Thy hills are kneeling in the tardy spring,<br/> +And wait, in supplication’s gentleness,<br/> +The certain resurrection that shall bring<br/> +A robe of verdure for their nakedness.<br/> +Thy perfumed valleys where the twilights dwell,<br/> +Thy fields within the sunlight’s living coil<br/> +Now promise, while the veins of nature swell,<br/> +Eternal recompense to human toil.<br/> +And when the sunset’s final shades depart<br/> +The aspiration to completed birth<br/> +Is sweet and silent; as the soft tears start,<br/> +We know how wanton and how little worth<br/> +Are all the passions of our bleeding heart<br/> +That vex the awful patience of the earth.<br/> +</p> + +<h5>II</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +Thine are the large winds and the splendid sun<br/> +Glutting the spread of heaven to the floor<br/> +Of waters rhythmic from far shore to shore,<br/> +And thine the stars, revealing one by one,<br/> +Thine the grave, lucent night’s oblivion,<br/> +The tawny moon that waits below the skies,—<br/> +Strange as the dawn that smote their blistered eyes<br/> +Who watched from Calvary when the Deed was done.<br/> +And thine the good brown earth that bares its breast<br/> +To thy benign October, thine the trees<br/> +Lusty with fruitage in the late year’s rest;<br/> +And thine the men whos@ blood has glorified<br/> +Thy name with Liberty Is divine decrees—<br/> +The men who loved thy soil and fought and died.<br/> +</p> + +<h5>III</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +Toward thine Eastern window when the morn<br/> +Steals through the silver mesh of silent stars,<br/> +I come unlaurelled from the strenuous wars<br/> +Where men have fought and wept and died forlorn.<br/> +But here, across the early fields of corn,<br/> +The living silence dwelleth, and the gray<br/> +Sweet earth-mist, while afar the lisp of spray<br/> +Breathes from the ocean like a Triton’s horn.<br/> +Open thy lattice, for the gage is won<br/> +For which this earth has journeyed though the dust<br/> +Of shattered systems, cold about the sun;<br/> +And proved by sin, by mighty lives impearled,<br/> +A voice cries through the sunrise: “Time is Just!”—<br/> +And falls like dew God’s pity on the world<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +GEORGE CABOT LODGE +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap54"></a>THE SONG OF THE WAVE</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +This is the song of the wave! The mighty one!<br/> +Child of the soul of silence, beating the air to sound:<br/> +White as a live terror, as a drawn sword,<br/> +This is the wave.<br/> +</p> + +<h5>II</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +This is the song of the wave, the white-maned steed of the Tempest<br/> +Whose veins are swollen with life,<br/> +In whose flanks abide the four winds.<br/> +This is the wave.<br/> +</p> + +<h5>III</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +This is the song of the wave! The dawn leaped out of the sea<br/> +And the waters lay smooth as a silver shield,<br/> +And the sun-rays smote on the waters like a golden sword.<br/> +Then a wind blew out of the morning<br/> +And the waters rustled<br/> +And the wave was born!<br/> +</p> + +<h5>IV</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +This is the song of the wave! The wind blew out of the noon<br/> +And the white sea-birds like driven foam<br/> +Winged in from the ocean that lay beyond the sky<br/> +And the face of the waters was barred with white,<br/> +For the wave had many brothers,<br/> +And the wave was strong!<br/> +</p> + +<h5>V</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +This is the song of the wave! The wind blew out of the sunset<br/> +And the west was lurid as Hell.<br/> +The black clouds closed like a tomb, for the sun was dead.<br/> +Then the wind smote full as the breath of God,<br/> +And the wave called to its brothers,<br/> +“This is the crest of life!”<br/> +</p> + +<h5>VI</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +This is the song of the wave, that rises to fall,<br/> +Rises a sheer green wall like a barrier of glass<br/> +That has caught the soul of the moonlight.<br/> +Caught and prisoned the moon-beams;<br/> +Its edge is frittered to foam.<br/> +This is the wave!<br/> +</p> + +<h5>VII</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +This is the song of the wave, of the wave that falls—<br/> +Wild as a burst of day-gold blown through the colours of morning<br/> +It shivers to infinite atoms up the rumbling steep of sand.<br/> +This is the wave.<br/> +</p> + +<h5>VIII</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +This is the song of the wave that died in the fullness of life.<br/> +The prodigal this, that lavished its largess of strength<br/> +In the lust of attainment.<br/> +Aiming at things for Heaven too high,<br/> +Sure in the pride of life, in the richness of strength.<br/> +So tried it the impossible height, till the end was found:<br/> +Where ends the soul that yearns for the fillet of morning stars,<br/> +The soul in the toils of the journeying worlds,<br/> +Whose eye is filled with the Image of God,<br/> +And the end is Death!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +GEORGE CABOT LODGE +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap55"></a>FRIMAIRE</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Dearest, we are like two flowers<br/> +Blooming in the garden,<br/> +A purple aster flower and a red one<br/> +Standing alone in a withered desolation.<br/> +<br /> +The garden plants are shattered and seeded,<br/> +One brittle leaf scrapes against another,<br/> +Fiddling echoes of a rush of petals.<br/> +Now only you and I nodding together.<br/> +<br /> +Many were with us; they have all faded.<br/> +Only we are purple and crimson,<br/> +Only we in the dew-clear mornings,<br/> +Smarten into color as the sun rises.<br/> +<br /> +When I scarcely see you in the flat moonlight,<br/> +And later when my cold roots tighten,<br/> +I am anxious for morning,<br/> +I cannot rest in fear of what may happen.<br/> +<br /> +You or I—and I am a coward.<br/> +Surely frost should take the crimson.<br/> +Purple is a finer color,<br/> +Very splendid in isolation.<br /> +<br /> +So we nod above the broken<br/> +Stems of flowers almost rotted.<br/> +Many mornings there cannot be now<br/> +For us both. Ah, Dear, I love you!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +AMY LOWELL +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap56"></a>PATTERNS</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +I walk down the garden paths,<br/> +And all the daffodils<br/> +Are blowing, and the bright blue squills.<br/> +I walk down the patterned garden paths<br/> +In my stiff, brocaded gown.<br/> +With my powdered hair and jewelled fan,<br/> +I too am a rare<br/> +Pattern. As I wander down<br/> +The garden paths.<br/> +<br /> +My dress is richly figured,<br/> +And the train<br/> +Makes a pink and silver stain<br/> +On the gravel, and the thrift<br/> +Of the borders.<br/> +Just a plate of current fashion,<br/> +Tripping by in high-heeled, ribboned shoes.<br/> +Not a softness anywhere about me,<br/> +Only a whale-bone and brocade.<br/> +And I sink on a seat in the shade<br/> +Of a lime tree. For my passion<br/> +Wars against the stiff brocade.<br/> +The daffodils and squills<br/> +Flutter in the breeze<br/> +As they please.<br/> +And I weep;<br/> +For the lime tree is in blossom<br/> +And one small flower has dropped upon my bosom.<br/> +<br /> +And the splashing of waterdrops<br/> +In the marble fountain<br/> +Comes down the garden paths.<br/> +The dripping never stops.<br/> +Underneath my stiffened gown<br/> +Is the softness of a woman bathing in a marble basin,<br/> +A basin in the midst of hedges grown<br/> +So thick, she cannot see her lover hiding,<br/> +But she guesses he is near,<br/> +And the sliding of the water<br/> +Seems the stroking of a dear<br/> +Hand upon her.<br/> +What is Summer in a fine brocaded gown!<br/> +I should like to see it lying in a heap upon the ground.<br/> +All the pink and silver crumpled up upon the ground.<br/> +<br /> +I would be the pink and silver as I ran along the paths,<br/> +And he would stumble after,<br/> +Bewildered by my laughter.<br/> +I should see the sun flashing from his sword hilt and the buckles on his shoes.<br/> +I would choose<br/> +To lead him in a maze along the patterned paths,<br/> +A bright and laughing maze for my heavy-booted lover,<br/> +Till he caught me in the shade,<br/> +And the buttons of his waistcoat bruised my body as he clasped me,<br/> +Aching, melting, unafraid.<br/> +With the shadows of the leaves and the sundrops,<br/> +And the plopping of the waterdrops,<br/> +All about us in the open afternoon—<br/> +I am very like to swoon<br/> +With the weight of this brocade,<br/> +For the sun sifts through the shade.<br/> +<br /> +Underneath the fallen blossom<br/> +In my bosom,<br/> +Is a letter I have hid.<br/> +It was brought to me this morning by a rider from the Duke.<br/> +“Madam, we regret to inform you that Lord Hartwell<br/> +Died in action Thursday sen’night.”<br/> +As I read it in the white morning sunlight.<br/> +The letters squirmed like snakes.<br/> +“Any answer, Madam,” said my footman.<br/> +“No,” I told him.<br/> +“See that the messenger takes some refreshment.<br/> +No, no answer.”<br/> +And I walked into the garden,<br/> +Up and down the patterned paths,<br/> +In my stiff, correct brocade.<br/> +The blue and yellow flowers stood up proudly in the sun,<br/> +Each one.<br/> +I stood upright too,<br/> +Held rigid to the pattern<br/> +By the stiffness of my gown.<br/> +Up and down I walked,<br/> +Up and down.<br/> +<br /> +In a month he would have been my husband,<br/> +In a month, here, underneath this lime,<br/> +We would have broke the pattern;<br/> +He for me, and I for him,<br/> +He as Colonel, I as lady,<br/> +On this shady seat.<br/> +He had a whim<br/> +That sunlight carried blessing.<br/> +And I answered, “It shall be as you have said.”<br/> +Now he is dead.<br /> +<br /> +In Summer and in Winter I shall walk<br/> +Up and down<br/> +The patterned garden paths<br/> +In my stiff, brocaded gown.<br/> +The squills and the daffodils<br/> +Will give place to pillared roses, and to asters, and to snow.<br/> +<br /> +I shall go<br/> +Up and down,<br/> +In my gown.<br/> +Gorgeously arrayed,<br/> +Boned and stayed.<br/> +And the softness of my body will be guarded from embrace<br/> +By each button, hook and lace.<br/> +For the man who should loose me is dead,<br/> +Fighting with the Duke in Flanders,<br/> +In a pattern called a war.<br/> +Christ! What are patterns for?<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +AMY LOWELL +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap57"></a>A BATHER</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Thick dappled by circles of sunshine and fluttering shade.<br/> +Your bright, naked body advances, blown over by leaves,<br/> +Half-quenched in their various green, just a point of you showing,<br/> +A knee or a thigh, sudden glimpsed, then at once blotted into<br/> +The filmy and flickering forest, to start out again<br/> +Triumphant in smooth, supple roundness, edged sharp as white ivory,<br/> +Cool, perfect, with rose rarely tinting your lips and your breasts,<br/> +Swelling out from the green in the opulent curves of ripe fruit,<br/> +And hidden, like fruit, by the swift intermittence of leaves.<br/> +So, clinging to branches and moss, you advance on the ledges<br/> +Of rock which hang over the stream, with the wood-smells about you,<br/> +The pungence of strawberry plants and of gum-oozing spruces,<br/> +While below runs the water impatient, impatient to take you,<br/> +To splash you, to run down your sides, to sing you of deepness,<br/> +Of pools brown and golden, with brown-and-gold flags on their borders,<br/> +Of blue, lingering skies floating solemnly over your beauty,<br/> +Of undulant waters a-sway in the effort to hold you<br/> +To keep you submerged and quiescent while over you glories<br/> +The summer.<br/> +Oread, Dryad, or Naiad, or just<br/> +Woman, clad only in youth and in gallant perfection,<br/> +Standing up in a great burst of sunshine, you dazzle my eyes<br/> +Like a snow-star, a moon, your effulgence burns up in a halo,<br/> +For you are the chalice which holds all the races of men.<br/> +You slip into the pool and the water folds over your shoulder,<br/> +And over the tree-tops the clouds slowly follow<br/> +your swimming, To behold the way they act.<br/> +And the scent of the woods is sweet on this hot summer morning.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +AMY LOWELL +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap58"></a>LEPRECHAUNS AND CLURICAUNS</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Over where the Irish hedges<br/> +Are with blossoms white as snow,<br/> +Over where the limestone ledges<br/> +Through the soft green grasses show—<br/> +There the fairies may be seen<br/> +In their jackets of red and green,<br/> +Leprechauns and cluricauns,<br/> +And the other ones, I ween.<br/> +<br /> +And, bedad, it is a wonder<br/> +To behold the way they act.<br/> +They’re the lads that seldom blunder,<br/> +Wise and wary, that’s the fact.<br/> +You may hold them with your eye;<br/> +Look away and off they fly;<br/> +Leprechauns and cluricauns,<br/> +Bedad, but they are sly!<br/> +<br /> +They have heaps of golden treasure<br/> +Hid away within the ground,<br/> +Where they spend their days in leisure,<br/> +And where fairy joys abound;<br/> +But to mortals not a guinea<br/> +Will they give-no, not a penny.<br/> +Leprechauns and cluricauns,<br/> +Their gold is seldom found.<br/> +<br /> +Maybe of a morning early<br/> +As you pass a lonely rath,<br/> +You may see a little curly—<br/> +Headed fairy in your path.<br/> +He’ll be working at a shoe,<br/> +But he’ll have his eye on you—<br/> +Leprechauns and cluricauns,<br/> +They know just what to do.<br/> +<br /> +Visions of a life of riches<br/> +Surely will before you flash;<br/> +(You’ll no longer dig the ditches,<br/> +You’ll be well supplied with cash.)<br/> +And you’ll seize the little man,<br/> +And you’ll hold him—if you can;<br/> +Leprechauns and cluricauns,<br/> +’Tis they’re the slipp’ry clan!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +DENIS A. MCCARTHY +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap59"></a>L’ENVOI</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +When the time for parting comes, and the day is on the wane,<br/> +And the silent evening darkens over hill and over plain,<br/> +And earth holds no more sorrow, no more grief, and no more pain,<br/> +Shall we weary for the battle and the strife?<br/> +<br /> +When at last the trail is ending, and the stars are growing near,<br/> +And we breathe the breath of conquest, and the voices that we hear<br/> +Are the great companions’ voices that have hallowed year on year,<br/> +Shall we know an instant’s grieving as we pass?<br/> +<br /> +Shall we pause a fleeting moment ere we grasp the eager hands,<br/> +Take one last long look of wonder at the dimming of the lands,<br/> +Love the earth one glowing moment ere we pass from its demands,<br/> +Cull all beauty in its essence as we gaze?<br/> +<br /> +Or with not one backward longing shall we leap the last abyss,<br/> +Scale the highest crags glad-hearted, fearful only lest the bliss<br/> +Of an earth-remembering instant should delay the great sun’s kiss—<br/> +Consuming us within the flame?<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +DOROTHEA LAWRENCE MANN +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap60"></a>TO IMAGINATION<br/> +SUGGESTED BY MAXFIELD PARRISH’S “AIR CASTLES”</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +O beauteous boy a-dream, what visions sought<br/> +Of pictures magical thy eyes unfold,<br/> +What triumphs of celestial wonders wrought,<br/> +What marvels from a breath of beauty rolled!<br/> +Skyward and seaward on the clouds are scrolled,<br/> +A mystic imagery of castled thought,<br/> +A thousand worlds to lose,—or win and mould—<br/> +A radiant iridescence swiftly caught<br/> +Of ever-changing glory, fancy-fraught.<br/> +<br /> +Blue wonder of the sea and luminous sky,<br/> +A thousand wonders in thy dreamlit face,—<br/> +Eyes that behold afar the turrets high<br/> +Of Ilium, and the transient mortal grace<br/> +Of Deirdre’s sadness, all the conquering race<br/> +Of Athens,—eyes that saw Eden’s beauty lie<br/> +In passionate adoration—visions trace<br/> +Across the tender brooding of the sigh<br/> +That wrecked a city and made chieftains die.<br/> +<br /> +Forward not backward turns the mystic shine<br/> +Of those far-seeing orbs that track the gleam—<br/> +The fleecy marvel of the cloud is line<br/> +On line the wizard tracery of a dream.<br/> +O lad, who buildest not of things that seem,<br/> +Beyond what bounds of visioning divine<br/> +Came that far smile, from what long-strayed sun-beam<br/> +Caught thou the radiance, from what fostering vine<br/> +The power to build and mould the deep design?<br/> +<br /> +Knowest thou the secret that thy brush would tell,<br/> +Is all the dream a bubbled splendor white,<br/> +Beyond those castles cloud-bound, does there dwell<br/> +The eternal silence of the dark—or light?<br/> +Will thy hand hold the pen which shall indict<br/> +The symboled mystery-write the final knell<br/> +Of rainbow fancy-is the distant sight<br/> +A nothingless encircled by a spell<br/> +Of gleaming bubbles wrought of beauty’s shell?<br/> +<br /> +In vain to question, where the mystery<br/> +Of Youth’s short golden dream is lord and king.<br/> +The eyes that farthest gaze in ecstasy,<br/> +Were never meant to paint the immortal thing<br/> +They see, nor understand the joy they bring.<br/> +The misty baubles of the sky and sea<br/> +Sail on. Dream still, bright-visioned boy, and fling<br/> +The glittering mantle of thy thoughts that flee,<br/> +Weaving us evermore thy shining pageantry.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +DORTHEA LAWRENCE MANN +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap61"></a>DRAGON</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Some saw a dragon eating up the light,<br/> +Oho! Oho! Oho, ho, ho!<br/> +Some heard a lost bird riding out the night,<br/> +Oho! Oho! Oho, ho, ho!<br/> +<br /> +But I saw:<br/> +A low dark hill with its twisted back<br/> +Two wings of flame from the green cloud rack,<br/> +A sprawling flank overlaid with leaf<br/> +Glitter and gleam and shine like steel,<br/> +Crackle and lash like a serpent’s tail!<br/> +<br /> +And I heard:<br/> +The wind draw out of the west and wail,<br/> +Dance and stagger and jig and reel!<br/> +With the long low sound of a life in grief!<br/> +<br /> +I saw a life in grief<br/> +Oho! Oho! Oho, ho, ho<br/> +Dance and stagger and jig and reel!<br/> +Oho! Oho! Oho, ho, ho!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +JEANNETTE MARKS<br/> +“THE BOOKMAN.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap62"></a>GREEN GOLDEN DOOR</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Green golden door, swing in, swing in!<br/> +Fanning the life a man must live,<br/> +Echoes and airs and minstrelsies,<br/> +Love and hope that he called his,<br/> +Fear and hurt and a man’s own sin<br/> +Casting them forth and sucking them in,<br/> +Green golden door, swing out, swing out!<br/> +<br /> +Green golden door, swing in, swing in!<br/> +Show me the youth that will not die,<br/> +Tell me the dream that has not waked,<br/> +Seek me the heart that never ached,<br/> +Green golden door, swing out, swing out!<br/> +<br /> +Green golden door, swing in, swing out!<br/> +Long is the wailing of man’s breath,<br/> +Short is the wail of death.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +JEANNETTE MARKS +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap63"></a>SLEEPY HOLLOW, CONCORD</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Four graves there are upon the wooded crest,<br/> +Each one a shrine to pilgrims ever dear.<br/> +Uncovered, mute, are those who tarry here.<br/> +Romance’s dreaming master lies at rest<br/> +Beneath the cedars. Near is one whose breast<br/> +Held Mother Nature’s lore. Beyond, the seer<br/> +And sage. There, one who saw her duty clear,<br/> +Her name by little men and women blessed.<br/> +<br /> +Four friends who walked in Concord’s pleasant ways<br/> +Long years ago. They dwelt and worked apart,<br/> +But now the world has crowned them with its bays,<br/> +And holds them close forever to its heart.<br/> +O, sacred hill! There Genius, guarding stays,<br/> +And from its slopes shall never Love depart!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +JOHN CLAIR MINOT +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap64"></a>THE SWORD OF ARTHUR</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +A castle stands in Yorkshire<br/> +(Oh, the hill is fair and green!)<br/> +And far beneath it lies a cave<br/> +No living man has seen.<br/> +<br /> +It is the cave enchanted<br/> +(Oh, seek it ere ye die!)<br/> +And there King Arthur and his knights<br/> +In dreamless slumber lie.<br/> +<br /> +One time a peasant found it<br/> +(Oh, the years have hurried well!)<br/> +It was the day of fate for him,<br/> +And this is what befell:<br/> +<br /> +Upon a couch of crystal<br/> +(Oh, heart be pure and strong!)<br/> +He saw the King, and, close beside,<br/> +The armored knights athrong.<br/> +<br /> +And all of them were sleeping<br/> +(Praise God, who sendeth rest!)<br/> +The sleep that comes when strife is done<br/> +And ended every quest.<br/> +<br /> +Beside the good King Arthur<br/> +(How high is your desire?)<br/> +His sword within its scabbard lay,<br/> +The sword with blade of fire.<br/> +<br /> +Now had the peasant known it<br/> +(Oh, if we all could know!)<br/> +He should have drawn that wondrous blade<br/> +Before he turned to go.<br/> +<br /> +If but his hand had touched it<br/> +(The sword still lieth there!)<br/> +He would have felt in every vein<br/> +A lofty purpose thrill.<br/> +<br /> +If but his hand had drawn it<br/> +(The sword still lieth there!)<br/> +A kingly way he would have walked,<br/> +Wherever he might fare.<br/> +<br /> +But no; he fled affrighted<br/> +(Oh, pitiful the cost!)<br/> +And then he knew; but lo! the way<br/> +Into the cave was lost.<br/> +<br /> +He searched forever after<br/> +(All this was long ago!)<br/> +But nevermore that crystal cave<br/> +His eager eyes could know.<br/> +<br /> +Pray God ye have the vision<br/> +(Oh, search in every land!)<br/> +To seize the sword that Arthur bore<br/> +When it lies at your hand.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +JOHN CLAIR MINOT +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap65"></a>THE DIVINE FOREST</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +If there be leaves on the forest floor,<br/> +Dead leaves there are and nothing more,<br/> +If trunks of trees seem sentinels,<br/> +For what their vigil no man tells.<br/> +And if you clasp these guardian trees<br/> +Nothing there is to hurt or please;<br/> +Only the dead roof of the forest drops<br/> +Gently down and never stops<br/> +And roofs you in and roofs you under,<br/> +Mute and away from life’s dim thunder;<br/> +And if there come eternal spring<br/> +It is but more disheartening,<br/> +For Autumn takes the Spring and Summer—<br/> +Autumn that is the latest comer—<br/> +With the Springtime’s misty wonder<br/> +And the Summer’s yield of gold,<br/> +Weighs you down and weighs you under<br/> +To where the blackened leaves are mold. . .<br/> +The lone gift of the forest is ever new:<br/> +Eternity where dwell not you.<br/> +The forest, accepting, heeds you not;<br/> +Accepting all-you are forgot.<br/> +If there be leaves on the forest floor,<br/> +Dead leaves there are and nothing more.<br/> +<br /> +Once the forest spoke but now is silent,<br/> +Save in the skyward branches whence no sound<br/> +Seems to touch ear of any man below—<br/> +Or else no longer the man knows how to hear.<br/> +Such men build roofs to keep the forest out,<br/> +Yet all their roofs are built of the forest’s self;<br/> +Only they make the dead tree a shield against the living.<br/> +Such lapsing of the forest then they use<br/> +And turn it into countless lowly dwellings;<br/> +Sometimes they even cut the living down<br/> +To leaven the dead roofs they would erect.<br/> +Though some of these low roofs are lovely there<br/> +Beneath the guardianship of forest trees,<br/> +And some yearn upward as with thought of wings,<br/> +Yet the eyes of the dwellers therein are dark<br/> +To the upper forest and they<br/> +Fearful of the windy freedom of its top.<br/> +They have forgotten<br/> +That the greatest roof is but a banner<br/> +And that it was a tree that made a Cross.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +CHARLES R. MURPHY +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap66"></a>MAGIC</h2> + +<h5>TO W.S.B.</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +I ran into the sunset light<br/> +As hard as I could run:<br/> +The treetops bowed in sheer delight<br/> +As if they loved the sun:<br/> +And all the songs of little birds<br/> +Who laughed and cried in silver words<br/> +Were joined as they were one.<br/> +<br /> +And down the streaming golden sky<br/> +A lark came circling with a cry<br/> +Of wonder-weaving joy:<br/> +And all the arch of heaven rang<br/> +Where meadowlands of dreaming hang<br/> +As when I was a boy.<br/> +<br /> +And through the ringing solitude<br/> +In pulsing lovely amplitude<br/> +A mist hung in a shroud,<br/> +As though the light of loneliness<br/> +Turned pure delight to holiness,<br/> +And bathed it in a cloud.<br/> +<br /> +I stripped my laughing body bare<br/> +And plunged into that holy air<br/> +That washed me like a sea,<br/> +And raced against its silver tide<br/> +That stroked my eager glancing side<br/> +And made my spirit free.<br/> +<br /> +Across the limits of the land<br/> +The wind and I swept hand and hand<br/> +Beyond the golden glow.<br/> +We danced across the ocean plain<br/> +Like thrushes singing in the rain<br/> +A song of long ago.<br/> +<br /> +And on into the silver night<br/> +We strove to win the race with light<br/> +And bring the vision home,<br/> +And bring the wonder home again<br/> +Unto the sleeping eyes of men<br/> +Across the singing foam.<br/> +<br /> +And down the river of the world<br/> +Our glowing, limbs in glory swirled<br/> +As spring within a flower,<br/> +And stars in music of delight<br/> +Streamed gayly down our shoulders white<br/> +Like petals in a shower.<br/> +<br /> +And tears of awful wonder ran<br/> +Adown my cheeks to hear the clan<br/> +Of beauty chaunting white<br/> +The prayer too deep for living word,<br/> +Or sight of man or winging bird,<br/> +Or music over forest heard<br/> +At falling of the night.<br/> +<br /> +And dropping slowly as the dew<br/> +On grasses that the winds renew<br/> +In urge of flooding fire,<br/> +And softly as the hushing boughs<br/> +The gentle airs of dawn arouse<br/> +To cradle morning’s quire.<br/> +<br /> +The murmur of the singing leaves<br/> +Around the secret Flame,<br/> +Like mating swallows ’neath the eaves<br/> +In rustling silence came,<br/> +And flowing through the silent air<br/> +Creation fluttered in a prayer<br/> +Descending on a spiral stair,<br/> +And calling me by name.<br/> +<br /> +It nestled in my dreaming eyes<br/> +Like heaven in a lake,<br/> +And softened hope into surprise<br/> +For very beauty’s sake,<br/> +And silence blossomed into morn,<br/> +Whose fragrant rosy-breasted dawn<br/> +Could scarcely bear to break.<br/> +<br /> +I sang into the morning light<br/> +As loud as I could sing,<br/> +The treetops bowed in sheer delight<br/> +Before the slanting wing.<br/> +And all the songs of little birds<br/> +Who laughed and cried in silver words<br/> +Adored the Risen Spring. +</p> + +<p class="left"> +EDWARD J. O’BRIEN +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap67"></a>MICHAEL PAT</h2> + +<h5>TO ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +Old Michael Pat he said to me<br/> +He saw an angel in a tree.<br/> +He knew I’d never, never doubt him,<br/> +For what would heaven be without them.<br/> +The angel laughed for very glee<br/> +And sang out loud: “Heigh! come with me!”<br/> +Old Michael felt a creeping kind<br/> +Of wonder in his humble mind,<br/> +And, hardly knowing what to say,<br/> +Ran where the angel showed the way.<br/> +The lambs were running on the hills,<br/> +Glad laughter echoed from the rills,<br/> +And many hidden little birds<br/> +Talked pleasant things in singing words.<br/> +He followed up a mountain then<br/> +And saw a crowd of singing men<br/> +Approaching to a Crown of Light<br/> +Wherein they took a fresh delight.<br/> +He danced and sang and whooped and crew<br/> +To see the Lord of all he knew<br/> +Surrounded by the living songs<br/> +Of stars and men in countless throngs,<br/> +And then he died to life again,<br/> +And shovelled with the strength of ten.<br/> +He taught me how to say my letters,<br/> +And take my hat off to my betters,<br/> +And when I asked for fairy stories,<br/> +He told me of angelic glories.<br/> +He was a lovely farmer, he<br/> +Had seen an angel in a tree.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +EDWARD J. O’BRIEN +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap68"></a>SONG</h2> + +<h5>FROM “FLESH: A GEOGORIAN ODE”</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +Ebb on with me across the sunset tide<br/> +And float beyond the waters of the world,<br/> +The light of evening slipping from my side,<br/> +Thy softened voice in waves of silence furled.<br/> +<br /> +Flow on into the flaming morning wine,<br/> +Drowning the land in color. Then on high<br/> +Rise in thy candid innocence and shine<br/> +Like to a poplar straight against the sky.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +EDWARD J. O’BRIEN +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap69"></a>IN MEMORIAM: FRANCIS LEDWIDGE<br/> +(Killed in action, July 31, 1917)<br/> +</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Soldier and singer of Erin,<br/> +What may I fashion for thee?<br/> +What garland of words or of flowers?<br/> +Singer of sunlight and showers,<br/> +The wind on the lea;<br/> +<br /> +Of clouds, and the houses of Erin,<br/> +Wee cabins, white on the plain,<br/> +And bright with the colours of even,<br/> +Beauty of earth and of heaven<br/> +Outspread beyond Slane!<br/> +<br /> +Slane, where the Easter of Patrick<br/> +Flamed on the night of the Gael,<br/> +Guard both the honor and story<br/> +Of him who has died for the glory<br/> +That crowns Innisfail.<br/> +<br /> +Soldier of right and of freedom,<br/> +I offer thee song and not tears.<br/> +With Brian, and Red Hugh O’Donnell,<br/> +The chiefs of Tyrone and Tryconnell,<br/> +Live on through the years!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +NORREYS JEPHSON O’CONOR +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap70"></a>EVENSONG</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +A shepherd piping, herald of the Night<br/> +Who comes with Silence up the coloured vale,<br/> +Treading low gently, clad in greyish white,<br/> +Poignantly piping, sound your reedy wail!<br/> +For Day departed moves in funeral train<br/> +Tended by Twilight and, in deepest rose,<br/> +The splendid Sunset melts beneath the main<br/> +While sweet the Sea-wind with cool softness blows.<br/> +As when a mother gathers to her breast<br/> +The child who frets for Dad’s remembered smart,<br/> +Now Light fades quickly in the ashen west,<br/> +And Night-Peace falls across my troubled heart.<br/> +Flutes, for the night through let my mind be still,<br/> +And God keep safe with Him my stubborn will!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +NORREYS JEPHSON O’CONOR +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap71"></a>THE PROPHET</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +All day long he kept the sheep:—<br/> +Far and early, from the crowd,<br/> +On the hills from steep to steep,<br/> +Where the silence cried aloud;<br/> +And the shadow of the cloud<br/> +Wrapt him in a noonday sleep.<br/> +<br /> +Where he dipped the water’s cool,<br/> +Filling boyish hands from thence,<br/> +Something breathed across the pool<br/> +Stir of sweet enlightenments;<br/> +And he drank, with thirsty sense,<br/> +Till his heart was brimmed and full.<br/> +<br /> +Still, the hovering Voice unshed,<br/> +And the Vision unbeheld,<br/> +And the mute sky overhead,<br/> +And his longing, still withheld!<br/> +—Even when the two tears welled,<br/> +Salt, upon that lonely bread.<br/> +<br /> +Vaguely blessed in the leaves,<br/> +Dim-companioned in the sun,<br/> +Eager mornings, wistful eyes,<br/> +Very hunger drew him on;<br/> +And To-morrow ever shone<br/> +With the glow the sunset weaves.<br/> +<br /> +Even so, to that young heart,<br/> +Words and hands and Men were dear;<br/> +And the stir of lane and mart<br/> +After daylong vigil here.<br/> +Sunset called, and he drew near,<br/> +Still to find his path apart.<br/> +<br /> +When the Bell, with gentle tongue,<br/> +Called the herd-bells home again,<br/> +Through the purple shades he swung,<br/> +Down the mountain, through the glen;<br/> +Towards the sound of fellow-men,—<br/> +Even from the light that clung.<br/> +<br /> +Dimly too, as cloud on cloud,<br/> +Came that silent flock of his:<br/> +Thronging whiteness, in a crowd,<br/> +After homing twos and threes;<br/> +With the longing memories<br/> +Of all white things dreamed and vowed.<br/> +<br /> +Through the fragrances, alone,<br/> +By the sudden-silent brook,<br/> +From the open world unknown,<br/> +To the close of speech and book;<br/> +There to find the foreign look<br/> +In the faces of his own.<br/> +<br /> +Sharing was beyond his skill;<br/> +Shyly yet, he made essay:<br/> +Sought to dip, and share, and fill<br/> +Heart’s-desire, from day to day.<br/> +But their eyes, some foreign way,<br/> +Looked at him; and he was still.<br/> +<br /> +Last, he reached his arms to sleep,<br/> +Where the Vision waited, dim,<br/> +Still beyond some deep-on-deep.<br/> +And the darkness folded him,<br/> +Eager heart and weary limb.—<br/> +All day long, he kept the sheep.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEABODY +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap72"></a>HARVEST-MOON: 1914</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Over the twilight field,<br/> +The overflowing field,—<br/> +Over the glimmering field,<br/> +And bleeding furrows with their sodden yield<br/> +Of sheaves that still did writhe,<br/> +After the scythe;<br/> +The teeming field and darkly overstrewn<br/> +With all the garnered fulness of that noon—<br/> +Two looked upon each other.<br/> +One was a Woman men called their mother;<br/> +And one, the Harvest-Moon.<br/> +<br /> +And one, the Harvest-Moon,<br/> +Who stood, who gazed<br/> +On those unquiet gleanings where they bled;<br/> +Till the lone Woman said:<br/> +“But we were crazed…<br/> +We should laugh now together, I and you,<br/> +We two.<br/> +You, for your dreaming it was worth<br/> +A star’s while to look on and light the Earth;<br/> +And I, forever telling to my mind,<br/> +Glory it was, and gladness, to give birth<br/> +To humankind!<br/> +Yes, I, that ever thought it not amiss<br/> +To give the breath to men,<br/> +For men to slay again:<br/> +Lording it over anguish but to give<br/> +My life that men might live<br/> +For this.<br/> +You will be laughing now, remembering<br/> +I called you once Dead World, and barren thing,<br/> +Yes, so we named you then,<br/> +You, far more wise<br/> +Than to give life to men.”<br/> +<br /> +Over the field, that there<br/> +Gave back the skies<br/> +A shattered upward stare<br/> +From blank white eyes,—<br/> +Striving awhile, through many a bleeding dune<br/> +Of throbbing clay, but dumb and quiet soon,<br/> +She looked; and went her way—<br/> +The Harvest-Moon.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +JOSEPHINE PRESTON PEAODY +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap73"></a>HORSEMAN SPRINGING FROM THE DARK: A DREAM</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +“Horseman, springing from the dark,<br/> +Horseman, flying wild and free,<br/> +Tell me what shall be thy road<br/> +Whither speedest far from me?”<br/> +<br /> +“From the dark into the light,<br/> +From the small unto the great,<br/> +From the valleys dark I ride<br/> +O’er the hills to conquer fate!”<br/> +<br /> +“Take me with thee, horseman mine!<br/> +Let me madly rode with thee!”<br/> +As he turned I met his eyes,<br/> +My own soul looked back at me!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +LILLA CABOT PERRY +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap74"></a>THREE QUATRAINS</h2> + +<h5>THE CUP</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +She said, “Lift high the cup!”<br/> +Of her arm’s weariness she gave no sign,<br/> +But, smiling, raised it up<br/> +That none might see or guess it held no wine.<br/> +</p> + +<h5>FORGIVE ME NOT!</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +Forgive me not! Hate me and I shall know<br/> +Some of Love’s fire still burns within your breast!<br/> +Forgiveness finds its home in hearts at rest,<br/> +On dead volcanoes only lies the snow.<br/> +</p> + +<h5>THE ROSE</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +One deep red rose I dropped into his grave,<br/> +So small a thing to give so great a friend!<br/> +Yet well he knew it was my heart I gave<br/> +And must fare on without it to the end,<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +LILLA CABOT PERRY +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap75"></a>A VALENTINE, UNSENT</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Stay, flaming rose, ’twould grieve her heart<br/> +To see you fade away,<br/> +Unloved, unwelcome and apart<br/> +From every joy to-day.<br/> +<br /> +Once long ago your tale was new,<br/> +Days distant yet so dear;<br/> +Why say her lover still is true,<br/> +When that is all her fear?<br/> +<br /> +Why thus recall another’s pain,<br/> +Her tender heart to fret?<br/> +Best let her think he loves again,<br/> +Who never can forget!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +MARGARET PERRY +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap76"></a>SHIPBUILDERS</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +The German people reared them<br/> +An idol made of wood;<br/> +And Hindenburg before them<br/> +Lifelike and stupid stood.<br/> +<br /> +To clothe him all in iron<br/> +And thus his soul express,<br/> +With nails and spikes they covered<br/> +His wooden nakedness.<br/> +<br /> +And when they, thus had clothed him<br/> +All in a suit of mail,<br/> +Still came they, wild-eyed, looking<br/> +For space to drive a nail.<br/> +<br /> +Whenever Teuton airmen<br/> +Slay boys and girls at play,<br/> +Or U-boats, drowning babies,<br/> +Create a holiday.<br/> +<br /> +Then, gathering round their statue,<br/> +A happy German throng<br/> +Drive nails into the idol<br/> +To make him still more strong.<br/> +<br /> +Avenge the babes, shipbuilders,<br/> +That on the seas have died;<br/> +Avenge the little children<br/> +Murdered for Wilhelm’s pride.<br/> +<br /> +Come, gather at the shipyards,<br/> +And let your hammers ring,<br/> +For more than ships and cargoes<br/> +Waits on your fashioning.<br/> +<br /> +Come, gather at the shipyards;<br/> +With every bolt you drive<br/> +Bethink you ’tis the Kaiser<br/> +Whose brutish head you rive.<br/> +<br /> +Come, gather at the shipyards,<br/> +And swing with might and main;<br/> +’Tis Tirpitz and the Crown Prince<br/> +That you to-day have slain.<br/> +<br /> +Come, gather at the shipyards,<br/> +And heat the metal hot,<br/> +For it is Bethmann Hollweg<br/> +You’re boiling in the pot.<br/> +<br /> +Come, gather at the shipyards,—<br/> +And when the day is done,<br/> +You’ve spent it in driving spikes,<br/> +In Hindernburg the Hun.<br/> +<br /> +Come, gather at the shipyards,<br/> +And toil with healthy hate,<br/> +For only you can save the world,<br/> +The Hun is at the gate.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +ARTHUR STANWOOD PIER +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap77"></a>UNFADING PICTURES</h2> + +<p> +(“The air from the sea came blowing in again, mixed with the perfume of +the flowers…. The old-fashioned furniture brightly rubbed and polished, my +aunt’s inviolable chair and table by the round green fan in the +bow-window, the drugget-covered carpet, the cat, the kettle-holder, the two +canaries, the old china … and, wonderfully out of keeping with the rest, my +dusty self upon the sofa, taking note of everything.”<br/> + —“David Copperfield,” Chapter XIII.)</p> + +<p class="poem">How many are the scenes he limned,<br/> +With artist strokes, clear-cut and free—<br/> +Our Dickens; time shall not efface<br/> +Their charm, and they will ever grace<br/> +The halls of memory.<br/> +<br /> +Oft and again we turn to them,<br/> +To contemplate in pleased review;<br/> +And like some picture on the screen<br/> +Comes now to mind a favorite scene<br/> +His master-pencil drew:—<br/> +<br /> +Upon a sofa, stretched in sleep,<br/> +I see a small lad, spent and worn,<br/> +And by the window, stern and grim,<br/> +A silent figure watching him,<br/> +So dusty, ragged, torn.<br/> +<br /> +Ah, now she rises from behind<br/> +The round green fan beside her chair;<br/> +“Poor fellow!” croons-and pity lends<br/> +Her voice new softness-and she bends<br/> +And brushes back his hair.<br/> +<br /> +Then in his sleep he softly stirs.<br/> +Was that a dream, these murmured words?<br/> +He wakes! There by the casement sat<br/> +Miss Trotwood still; close by, her cat<br/> +And her canary birds.<br/> +<br /> +The peaceful calm of that quaint room,<br/> +Its marks of comfort everywhere—<br/> +Old china and mahogany<br/> +And blowing in, fresh from the sea,<br/> +The perfume-laden air.<br/> +<br /> +Poor little pilgrim so bereft,<br/> +So weary at his journey’s end!<br/> +What joy must then have filled his soul<br/> +To reach at last such happy goal—<br/> +To find—oh, such a friend!…<br/> +<br /> +And then night came, and from his bed<br/> +He saw the sea, moonlit and bright,<br/> +And dreamed there came, to bless her son,<br/> +His mother, with her little one,<br/> +Adown that path of light.<br/> +<br /> +Ah, greater blessing I’d not crave,<br/> +When my life’s pilgrimage is o’er,<br/> +Than such repose, content, and love;<br/> +Some shining path that leads above<br/> +To dear ones gone before!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +LOUELLA C. POOLE +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap78"></a>WITH WAVES AND WINGS</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Waves and Wings and Growing Things!<br/> +As through the gladden sight ye flow<br/> +And flit and glow,<br/> +Ye win me so<br/> +In soul to go,<br/> +I too am waves, I too am wings,<br/> +And kindred motion in me springs.<br/> +<br /> +With thee I pass, glad growing grass!—<br/> +I climb the air with lissome mien;<br/> +Unsheathing keen<br/> +The vivid sheen<br/> +Of springing green,<br/> +I thrill the crude, exalt the crass<br/> +Fine-flex’d and fluent from Earth’s mass.<br/> +<br /> +And impulse craves with thee, Sea Waves!—<br/> +To make all mutable the floor<br/> +Of Earth’s firm shore,<br/> +With flashing pour<br/> +Whose brimming o’er<br/> +Impassion’d motion loves and laves<br/> +And livens sombre slumbering caves.<br/> +<br /> +Then soaring where the wild birds fare,<br/> +My song would sweep the windy lyre<br/> +Of Heaven’s choir,<br/> +Pulsing desire<br/> +For starry fire,<br/> +Abashing chilling vagues of air<br/> +With throbbing of warm breasts that dare!<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +CHARLOTTE PORTER +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap79"></a>BLUEBERRIES</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Upon the hills of Garlingtown<br/> +Beneath the summer sky,<br/> +In many pleasant pastures<br/> +On sunny slopes and high,<br/> +Their skins abloom with dusty blue,<br/> +Asleep, the berries lie.<br/> +<br /> +And all the lads of Garlingtown,<br/> +And all the lasses too,<br/> +Still climb the tranquil hillsides,<br/> +A merry, barefoot crew;<br/> +Still homeward plod with unfilled pails<br/> +And mouths of berry blue.<br/> +<br /> +And all the birds of Garlingtown,<br/> +When flocking back to nest,<br/> +Remember well the patches<br/> +Where berries are the best;<br/> +They pick the ripest ones at dawn<br/> +And leave the lads the rest.<br/> +<br /> +Upon the hills of Garlingtown<br/> +When berry-time was o’er,<br/> +I looked into the sunset,<br/> +And saw an open door,<br/> +And from the hills of Garlingtown<br/> +I went, and came no more.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +FRANK PRENTICE RAND +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap80"></a>NOCTURNE</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Night of infinite power and infinite silence and space,<br/> +From you may mortals infer, if ever, the scope divine!<br/> +The jealous sun conceals all but his arrogant face,<br/> +You bid the Milky Way and a million suns to shine.<br/> +<br /> +Each star to numberless planets gives light and motion and heat,<br/> +But you enmantle them all, the nearest and most remote;<br/> +And the lustres of all the suns are but spangles under your feet,—<br/> +Mere bubbles and beads of noon, they circle and shine and float.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +WILLIAM ROSCOE THAYER +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap81"></a>ENVOI</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +I walked with poets in my youth,<br/> +Because the world they drew<br/> +Was beautiful and glorious<br/> +Beyond the world I knew.<br/> +<br /> +The poets are my comrades still,<br/> +But dearer than in youth,<br/> +For now I know that they alone<br/> +Picture the world of truth.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +WILLIAM ROSCOE THAYER +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap82"></a>THERE WHERE THE SEA</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +There where the sea enwrapt<br/> +A strip of land and wind-swept dune,<br/> +Where nature was quiescent in the glimmering<br/> +Noonday sun of early June,—<br/> +The Placid sea lay shimmering<br/> +In a mist of blue,<br/> +From which the sky now drew<br/> +Its wealth of hue and colour;<br/> +One heard but the deep breathing of the ocean,<br/> +As it breathed along the shore in even motion.<br/> +Among the pines and listless of the scene,<br/> +Atthis and Alcæus lay,<br/> +Within the heart of each a hunger<br/> +For the unknown gift of life.<br/> +Here from day to day<br/> +They met and dreamed away<br/> +The soft unfloding days of spring,—<br/> +Now turning to the summer.<br/> +<br /> +<i>Alcæus:</i><br /> +I am faint with all the fire<br/> +In my blood,<br/> +And I would plunge into the quiet blue<br/> +And lose all sense of time and you.<br/> +<br /> +<i>Atthis:</i><br /> +I, too, would plunge<br/> +And swim with you!<br/> +<br /> +Doffing her robe, the maid stood in her beauty,<br/> +Calm and sure and unafraid,<br/> +The sinuous splendour of her limbs,<br/> +A silent symphony of curving line,<br/> +Which reached its final note<br/> +In breast and rounded throat.<br/> +He had not known that flesh could be so fair;<br/> +Each movement which she made<br/> +Wove o’er his sense a deeper spell,<br/> +Her beauty swept him like a flame<br/> +And caught him unaware.<br/> +She looked into his eyes, then dropping hers<br/> +Before that burning gaze,<br/> +Softly turned and crept with sunlit shoulders<br/> +Down among the boulders,<br/> +To the sea.<br/> +Secure within its covering depth<br/> +She called to him to follow.<br/> +She led him out along the tide,<br/> +With swift unerring stroke,<br/> +Nor paused till he was at her side.<br/> +With conquering arm<br/> +He seized her and from her brow<br/> +Tossed back the dripping locks, and sought her lips—<br/> +Her eyes closed,—<br/> +As all her body yielded to his kiss.<br/> +Then home he bore her to the shore,<br/> +Within his heart a song of triumph;<br/> +In hers, a new-born joy of womanhood.<br/> +So spring for them passed on to summer.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +MARIE TUDOR +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap83"></a>MARRIAGE</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +You, who have given me your name,<br/> +And with your laws have made me wife,<br/> +To share your failures and your fame,<br/> +Whose word has made me yours for life.<br/> +<br /> +What proof have you that you hold me?<br/> +That in reality I’m one<br/> +With you, through all eternity?<br/> +What proof when all is said and done?<br/> +<br /> +In spite of all the laws you’ve made,<br/> +I’m free. I am no part of you.<br/> +But wait-the last word is not said;<br/> +You’re mine, for I’m myself and you.<br/> +<br /> +All through my veins there flows your blood,<br/> +In you there is no part of me.<br/> +By virtue of my motherhood<br/> +Through me you live eternally.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +MARIE TUDOR +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap84"></a>PITY</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Oh do not Pity me because I gave<br/> +My heart when lovely April with a gust,<br/> +Swept down the singing lanes with a cool wave;<br/> +And do not pity me because I thrust<br/> +Aside your love that once burned as a flame.<br/> +I was as thirsty as a windy flower<br/> +That bares its bosom to the summer shower<br/> +And to the unremembered winds that came.<br/> +Pity me most for moments yet to be,<br/> +In the far years, when some day I shall turn<br/> +Toward this strong path up to our little door<br/> +And find it barred to all my ecstasy.<br/> +No sound of your warm voice the winds have borne—<br/> +Only the crying sea upon the shore.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +HAROLD VINAL +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap85"></a>A ROSE TO THE LIVING</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +A rose to the living is more<br/> +Than sumptuous wreaths to the dead;<br/> +In filling love’s infinite store,<br/> +A rose to the living is more,<br/> +If graciously given before<br/> +The hungering spirit is fled,—<br/> +A rose to the living is more<br/> +Than sumptuous wreaths to the dead.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +NIXON WATERMAN +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap86"></a>THE STORM</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +She reached for sunset fires,<br/> +And lived with stars and the sea,<br/> +The mountains for her temple,<br/> +The storm for priest had she.<br/> +<br /> +Together a libation<br/> +They poured to the God she knew,<br/> +Such wine as ageless heavens<br/> +And lonely wisdom brew.<br/> +<br /> +Now she has done with worship,<br/> +For her all rites are the same;<br/> +Yet the storm keeps green forever<br/> +The moss upon her name.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +G. O. WARREN +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap87"></a>WHERE THEY SLEEP</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +The fog inrolling, dark and still<br/> +Lies deep upon the crowded dead<br/> +As flooding sea upon the sands,<br/> +And quenches starlight overhead.<br/> +<br /> +Long have they slept. Their separate dust<br/> +Has mingled with a nameless mould.<br/> +Only the slower-crumbling stones<br/> +Still tell so much as may be told.<br/> +<br /> +And now in shoreless fog adrift<br/> +Like some lone mariner gliding by,<br/> +I lean above the drowning graves<br/> +And wonder when I too shall lie<br/> +<br /> +Where evermore the tides of night<br/> +And earth will hide my lonely rest;<br/> +And Time will bid my love forget<br/> +To read the stone upon my breast.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +G. O. WARREN +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap88"></a>BEAUTY</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Not flesh alone am I, when I can be<br/> +So swiftly caught in Beauty’s shimmering thread<br/> +Whose slender fibres, woven, held by me,<br/> +With their frail strength my following heart have led.<br/> +<br /> +Yea, not all mortal, not all death my mind,<br/> +When, watching by lone twilight waters’ brim<br/> +I tremblingly decipher, as they wind,<br/> +Her deathless hieroglyphs, though strange and dim.<br/> +<br /> +So for this faith, when Thou my dust shalt bring<br/> +To dust, remember well, Great Alchemist,<br/> +Yearly to change my wintry earth to spring,<br/> +That I with Beauty still may keep my tryst.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +G. O. WARREN +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap89"></a>COMRADES</h2> + +<p class="poem"> +Where are the friends that I knew in my Maying,<br/> +In the days of my youth, in the first of my roaming?<br/> +We were dear; we were leal; O, far we went straying;<br/> +Now never a heart to my heart comes homing!—<br/> +Where is he now, the dark boy slender<br/> +Who taught me bare-back, stirrup and reins?<br/> +I love him; he loved me; my beautiful, tender<br/> +Tamer of horses on grass-grown plains.<br/> +<br /> +Where is he now whose eyes swam brighter,<br/> +Softer than love, in his turbulent charms;<br/> +Who taught me to strike, and to fall, dear fighter,<br/> +And gather me up in his boyhood arms;<br/> +Taught me the rifle, and with me went riding,<br/> +Suppled my limbs to the horseman’s war;<br/> +Where is he now, for whom my heart’s biding,<br/> +Biding, biding—but he rides far!<br/> +<br /> +O love that passes the love of woman!<br/> +Who that hath felt it shall ever forget<br/> +When the breath of life with a throb turns human,<br/> +And a lad’s heart is to a lad’s heart set?<br/> +Ever, forever, lover and rover—<br/> +They shall cling, nor each from other shall part<br/> +Till the reign of the stars in the heavens be over,<br/> +And life is dust in each faithful heart.<br/> +<br /> +They are dead, the American grasses under;<br/> +There is no one now who presses my side;<br/> +By the African chotts I am riding asunder,<br/> +And with great joy ride I the last great ride.<br/> +I am fey; I am fein of sudden dying;<br/> +Thousands of miles there is no one near;<br/> +And my heart—all the night it is crying, crying<br/> +In the bosoms of dead lads darling-dear.<br/> +<br /> +Hearts of my music—them dark earth covers;<br/> +Comrades to die, and to die for, were they;<br/> +In the width of the world there were no such rovers—<br/> +Back to back, breast to breast, it was ours to stay;<br/> +And the highest on earth was the vow that we cherished,<br/> +To spur forth from the crowd and come back never more,<br/> +And to ride in the track of great souls perished<br/> +Till the nests of the lark shall roof us o’er.<br/> +<br /> +Yet lingers a horseman on Altai highlands,<br/> +Who hath joy of me, riding the Tartar glissade,<br/> +And one, far faring o’er orient islands<br/> +Whose blood yet glints with my blade’s accolade;<br/> +North, west, east, I fling you my last hallooing,<br/> +Last love to the breasts where my own has bled;<br/> +Through the reach of the desert my soul leaps pursuing<br/> +My star where it rises a Star of the Dead.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap90"></a>THE FLIGHT</h2> + +<h5>I</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +O wild heart, track the land’s perfume,<br/> +Beach-roses and moor-heather!<br/> +All fragrances of herb and bloom<br/> +Fail, out at sea, together.<br/> +O follow where aloft find room<br/> +Lark-song and eagle-feather!<br/> +All ecstasies of throat and plume<br/> +Melt, high on yon blue weather.<br/> +<br /> +O leave on sky and ocean lost<br/> +The flight creation dareth;<br/> +Take wings of love, that mounts the most:<br/> +Find fame, that furthest fareth!<br/> +Thy flight, albeit amid her host<br/> +Thee, too, night star-like beareth,<br/> +Flying, thy breast on heaven’s coast,<br/> +The infinite outweareth.<br/> +</p> + +<h5>II</h5> + +<p class="poem"> +“Dead o’er us roll celestial fires;<br/> +Mute stand Earth’s ancient beaches;<br/> +Old thoughts, old instincts, old desires,<br/> +The passing hour outreaches;<br/> +The soul creative never tires—<br/> +Evokes, adores, beseeches;<br/> +And that heart most the god inspires<br/> +Whom most its wildness teaches.<br/> +<br /> +“For I will course through falling years<br/> +And stars and cities burning;<br/> +And I will march through dying cheers<br/> +Past empires unreturning;<br/> +Ever the world flame reappears<br/> +Where mankind power is earning,<br/> +The nations’ hopes, the people’s tears,<br/> +One with the wild heart yearning.<br/> +</p> + +<p class="left"> +GEORGE EDWARD WOODBERRY +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block;margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ANTHOLOGY OF MASSACHUSETTS POETS ***</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This file should be named 2294-h.htm or 2294-h.zip</div> +<div style='display:block;margin:1em 0;'>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in https://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/9/2294/</div> +<div style='display:block; 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