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