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diff --git a/2487-h/2487-h.htm b/2487-h/2487-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..62eee1d --- /dev/null +++ b/2487-h/2487-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5541 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="us-ascii"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Cross Roads, by Margaret E. Sangster + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Cross Roads, by Margaret E. Sangster + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Cross Roads + +Author: Margaret E. Sangster + +Release Date: December 11, 2008 [EBook #2487] +Last Updated: February 6, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CROSS ROADS *** + + + + +Produced by Judy Boss, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + CROSS ROADS + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Margaret E. Sangster + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <h4> + <br /> <br /> To My Father <br /><br /> + </h4> + <div class="mynote"> + NOTE + <p> + Some of the verses in this book have been printed by The Christian + Herald, Good Housekeeping, Pictorial Review, New Fiction Publishing + Company and the <i>C. H. Young Publishing Company</i>. I wish to + acknowledge, with thanks, permission to reprint them. + </p> + <br /> + </div> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PREF"> PREFACE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> WOOD MAGIC </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> WATERIN' TH' HORSES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> AT DAWN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> II. THE PIONEER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> III. THE FARMER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> THE HAUNTED HOUSE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> TO A PAIR OF GLOVES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> PEAKS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> LIL' FELLER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> TO AN OLD SCHOOLHOUSE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> THE OLD SAILOR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> THE RIVER AND THE TREE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> AUTUMN SONG </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> SCARLET FLOWERS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> ON FIFTH AVENUE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> FROM A CITY WINDOW </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> THE LADY ACROSS THE COURT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> TO A PORCELAIN PUPPY DOG </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> COLORS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> LIGHTS OF THE CITY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> STEEL </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> <b>MUSIC OF THE SLUMS</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> I. THE VIOLIN-MAKER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> II. THE PARK BAND </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> III. THE ORGAN MAN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> "BE OF GOOD CHEER!" </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> FROM MY ROOM </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> THE BALCONY SCENES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> A BOWERY PAWN-SHOP </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> SPRING IN THE CITY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> LI'L EMPTY CLOSET </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> TWO LULLABYS </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> II. POPPY LAND </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> I DREAMED YOUR FACE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> ANSWER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> A BABY'S HANDS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> ALL ALONG THE BROAD HIGHWAY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0039"> MY MOTHER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> HEREDITY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> APRIL </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> THE DESERT PATH—SEVEN SONNETS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> SUMMER SONG </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> COMPREHENSION—A MOTHER'S SONG </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0045"> SINGING ON THE MARCH </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0046"> EASTER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0047"> RESURRECTION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0048"> THE QUEEN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0049"> FRAGMENTS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0050"> IT'S LOTS OF FUN— </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0051"> VALENTINE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0052"> THE SACRIFICE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0053"> TO A CERTAIN ROOM </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0054"> OTHER DAYS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0055"> AT TWILIGHT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0056"> THERE ARE SUCH WEARY LITTLE LINES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0057"> THREE SONGS OF AWAKENING </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0058"> IN A CANOE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0059"> CAPTIVE-HEART </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0060"> EVENING SONG </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0061"> AFTER A DAY OF WAITING </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0062"> INTANGIBLE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0063"> AT FIRST SIGHT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0064"> FIVE SONNETS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0065"> III. THE RAIN OUTSIDE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0066"> IV. I USED TO WRITE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0067"> V. MOON-GLOW </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0068"> FORGIVEN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0069"> THE WRITING </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0070"> AT PARTING </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0071"> THE REFUGE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0072"> TO DREAM ALONE.... </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0073"> NOW I MAY SING OF SADNESS.... </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0074"> WHEN WAR CAME </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0075"> WHEN YOU WENT BY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0076"> IN MEMORIAM </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0077"> TOGETHER </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0078"> JIM-DOG </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0079"> SIX SONNETS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0080"> FROM THE DECK OF A TRANSPORT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0081"> TIM—MY BUNKIE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0082"> A PRAYER FOR OUR BOYS RETURNING </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0083"> <b>PARIS</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0084"> II. THE RUE DE LA PAIX—(A STREET OF + JEWELS) </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0085"> III. THE FLOWER WAGONS </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0086"> <b>SONGS FROM FRANCE</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0087"> FROM PARIS TO CHATEAU THIERRY </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0088"> A RUINED CHURCH </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0089"> CHILD FACES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0090"> RETURN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0091"> THE PHOENIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0092"> INDEPENDENCE DAY—1919 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0093"> SHADOWS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0094"> L'ENVOI </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_PREF" id="link2H_PREF"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + PREFACE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The candlelight sweeps softly through the room, + Filling dim surfaces with golden laughter, + Touching with mystery each high hung rafter, + Cutting a path of promise through the gloom. + + Slim little elves dance gently on each taper, + Wistful, small ghosts steal out of shrouded + corners— + And, like a line of vague enchanted mourners, + Great shadows sway like wind-blown sheets of paper. + + Gently as fingers drawn across your hair, + I see the yellow flicker of it creep— + And in a silence that is kin to sleep, + I feel a world away from pain and care. + + Roads stretch like arms across the world outside, + Roads reach to strife, to happiness, to fame— + Here, in the candlelight, I speak your name, + Here we are at life's cross way, side by side! + + OH, THERE ARE BROOKS THERE, AND FIELDS THERE AND NOOKS + THERE— + NOOKS WHERE A SEEKER MAY FIND FOREST FLOWERS; + BLUE IS THE SKY THERE, AND SOFT WINDS CREEP BY THERE, + SINGING A SONG THROUGH THE LONG SUMMER HOURS. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WOOD MAGIC + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The woods lay dreaming in a topaz dream, + And we, who silently roamed hand in hand, + Were pilgrims in a strange, enchanted land, + Where life was love, and love was all a-gleam. + + And old remembered songs came back to greet + Our ears, from other worlds of long ago, + The worlds that we of earth may seldom know— + And to those songs we timed our vagrant feet. + + We did not speak, we did not need to say + The thought that lay so buried in our hearts— + The thoughts as sweet as springtime rain, that + starts + The buds to blossoming in wistful May. + + We did not need to speak, we could not speak, + The wonder words that we in silence knew— + We walked, as very little children do, + Who feel, but cannot tell, the thing they seek. + + Beyond a screen of bushes, bending low, + We knew that fair Titania lay at rest, + Her pillowed head upon her lover's breast, + Her kisses swift as birds that come and go! + + And underneath a wall of mottled stone, + We knew the sleeping beauty lay in state, + Entangled in a mist of tears, to wait + The prince whose kiss would raise her to a throne. + + Perhaps a witch with single flaming eye, + Was watching from beneath the hemlock tree; + And fairies that our gaze might never see, + Laughed at us as we, hand in hand, crept by. + + Laughed at us? No, I somehow think they knew + That you and I were kin to them that day! + I think they knew that we were years away + From everything but make-believe, come true. + + I think they knew that, singing through the air, + There thrilled a vague, insistent, harp-like call— + And that, where woodbine blazed against the wall, + You held me close and kissed my wind-tossed hair! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WATERIN' TH' HORSES + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I took th' horses to th' brook—to water 'em you know, + Th' air was cold with just a touch o' frost; + And as we went a-joggin' down I couldn't help but + think, + O' city folk an' all the things they lost. + + O' cause they have their lighted streets—their Great + White Way an' such, + O' course they have their buildings large an' tall; + But, my! they never know th' joy o' ridin' ter th' + brook, + An' somehow I don't envy 'em at all! + + Perhaps I'd like it—for awhile—to hear th' songs an' + laughter, + But somehow, I don't know exactly why; + I'd feel th' country callin' me; I'd long again fer + silence, + An' fer God's mountains, blue against the sky. + + I took th' horses to th' brook—to water 'em you know, + Th' day was pretty as a day can be; + An' as we went a-joggin' down I couldn't help but + think, + O' city folk an' all they never see! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AT DAWN + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. THE CAVEMAN + + I live! And the scarlet sunrise is climbing the + mountain steep, + I live... And below, in the caverns, the rest + of my clansmen sleep; + But I—I am here, and chanting, I could slay a + beast with my hand, + And I thrill as the mist of the morning creeps up + from the rock-strewn land! + + I live, I have strength for fighting—and courage to + rend and slay, + I live! And my eyes are lifting to gaze at the new- + born day; + And I pause, on the way to my hewn-out cave, + though I know that she waits me there, + My mate, with her eyes on the scarlet dawn, and the + wind in her flame-like hair. + + I live—and the joy of living leaps up in my searching + eyes, + I live, and my soul starts forward, to challenge the + waking skies! + Far down are the torrents roaring, far up are the + clouds, unfurled; + And I stand on the cliff, exultant, akin to the waking + world. + + The mists are gone, and an eagle sweeps down from + the mountain high, + And I wish that my arms were feathered and strong, + that I, too, might fly; + I live! I am one with the morning! Ah, I am a + MAN, and free! + And I shout aloud, and the scarlet dawn shouts back, + on the gale, to me! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. THE PIONEER + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I creep along, but silently, + For, oh, the dawn is coming; + I creep along, for I have heard + A flint-tipped arrow, humming; + And I have heard a snapping twig, + Above the wind's low laughter; + And I have known—and thrilled to know, + That swift THEY followed after! + + The forest turns from black to grey, + The leaves are silver-shining; + But I have heard a far-off call— + The war-whoop's sullen whining. + And I have been a naked form, + Among the tree trunks prowling; + And I have glimpsed a savage face, + That faded from me, scowling. + + A rosy color sweeps the sky, + A vagrant lark is singing, + But, as I steal along the trail, + I know that day is bringing + A host of red-skins in its train, + Their tommy-hawks are gleaming— + I SEE THEM NOW; or can it be + The first pale sunlight beaming? + + I creep along, but stealthily, + For, oh, the dawn is coming! + I creep along—but I have heard + A flint-tipped arrow, humming.... + And yet, my heart is light, inside, + My soul, itself, is flying + To greet the dawn! I AM ALIVE— + AND WHAT IS DEATH—BUT DYING? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. THE FARMER + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The dawn is here! I climb the hill; + The earth is young and strangely still; + A tender green is showing where + But yesterday my fields were bare.... + I climb and, as I climb, I sing; + The dawn is here, and with it—spring! + + My oxen stamp the ground, and they + Seem glad, with me, that soon the day + Will bring new work for us to do! + The light above is clear and blue; + And one great cloud that swirls on high, + Seems sent from earth to kiss the sky. + + The birds are coming back again, + They know that soon the golden grain + Will wave above this fragrant loam; + The birds, with singing, hasten home; + And I, who watch them, feel their song + Deep in my soul, and nothing wrong, + Or mean or small, can touch my heart.... + Down in the vale the smoke-wreaths start, + To softly curl above the trees; + The fingers of a vagrant breeze + Steal tenderly across my hair, + And toil is fled, and want, and care! + + The dawn is here! + I climb the hill; + My very oxen seem to thrill— + To feel the mystery of day. + The sun creeps out, and far away + From man-made law I worship God, + Who made the light, the cloud, the sod; + I worship smilingly, and sing! + * * * + The dawn is here, and with it—spring! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE HAUNTED HOUSE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + It stands neglected, silent, far from the ways of men, + A lonely little cottage beside a lonely glen; + And, dreaming there, I saw it when sunset's golden + rays + Had touched it with the glory of other, sweeter days. + + They say the house is haunted, and—well, it is, I + guess, + For every empty window just aches with loneliness; + With loneliness that tortures and memory that flays; + Ah, yes, the house is haunted with ghosts of other + days. + + The ghost of childish laughter rings on the narrow + stair, + And, from a silent corner, the murmur of a prayer + Steals out, and then a love song, and then a bugle + call, + And steps that do not falter along the quiet hall. + + The story of the old house that stands beside the + glen? + That story is forgotten by every one; but when + The house is touched and softened by sunset's golden + rays, + I know that ghosts must haunt it, the ghosts of + sweeter days. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TO A PAIR OF GLOVES + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Jus' a little pair o' gloves, + Sorter thin an' worn; + With th' fingers neatly darned, + Like they had been torn. + Jus' a little pair o' gloves, + Not s' much ter see.... + Not a soul on earth can guess + What they mean ter me! + + Jus' a little pair o' gloves, + Sorter tossed aside; + Limp an' quiet, folded up, + Like their soul had died. + Every finger seems ter look + Lonely, an' my hand + Trembles as it touches them— + Who can understand? + + Jus' a little pair o' gloves, + Ah, she tossed 'em there.... + Singin'-like, she turned ter go, + Didn't have a care! + Kissin' them? A prayer, a tear? + God, my head WILL bow— + Jus' a little pair o' gloves, + .... Empty, now! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PEAKS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A storm may rage in the world below, + It may tear great trees apart; + But here on the mountain top, I know + That it cannot touch my heart. + + I have struggled up through the lightning's glare, + I have walked where the cliffs fell sheer + To a gorge below, but I breathed a prayer, + And my soul passed doubt and fear! + + Here on the mountain top the air + Is clear as a silver song; + And the sun is warm on my unbound hair; + AND WHAT THOUGH THE WAY WAS LONG? + + What though the way was steep and bleak, + And what though the road was hard? + I stand at last on the mountain peak, + With my eyes upraised to God! + + A storm may sweep through the world below, + It may rend great rocks apart; + But here on the crest of the world I know + That it cannot touch my heart. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LIL' FELLER + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + When th.' sunshine's golden-yeller + Like th' curls upon his head, + Then he wakes—th' lil' feller— + An' he jumps up, outen bed; + An' he scrambles fer his knickers + Flung, perhaps, upon th' floor, + An' he takes his hat (my old 'un), + An' he races through th' door— + An' I hear his voice, a-singin', + In his odd, ole-fashioned way, + 'Cause he's glad—th' lil' feller— + In th' mornin' o' the day. + + Kinder makes me feel, well, lazy, + So I hurry up, outside, + Where th' mountains smile down, friendly— + And th' earth looks sorter wide; + An' I hear his voice a-callin', + Sayin', "Daddy, come an' see!" + An' I find him makin' gardens + Where a rock pile uster be— + An' I shout, "How goes it, sonny?" + An' my heart feels light an' gay, + Fer he's singin'—lil' feller— + In th' mornin' o' th' day. + + Lil' feller, an' his gardens! + It don't matter much ter him, + If th' hoein's hard an' tedgious, + An' th' crop he grows is slim; + Fer he loves ter be a-workin', + An' he loves ter see things start + Outer nothin'.... There's a garden + In th' rock-bed o' my heart + That he's planted, just by singin' + In his odd, ole-fashioned way— + 'Cause he's glad, MY LIL' FELLER, + In th' mornin' o' th' day! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TO AN OLD SCHOOLHOUSE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Down by the end of the lane it stands, + Where the sumac grows in a crimson thatch, + Down where the sweet wild berry patch, + Holds out a lure for eager hands. + Down at the end of the lane, who knows + The ghosts that sit at the well-scarred seats, + When the moon is dark, and the gray sky meets + With the dawn time light, and a chill wind blows? + + Ghosts—well not ghosts, perhaps, but dreams— + Rather like wistful shades, that stand + Waiting a look or an outstretched hand, + To call them back where the morning gleams— + Dreams of the hopes we had, that died, + Dreams of the vivid youth we sold; + Dreams of a pot of rainbow gold— + Gold that we sought for, eager-eyed! + + Dreams of the plans we made, that sleep + With the lesson books on the dusty rack, + Of the joyous years that will not come back— + That are drowned in the tears we have learned to + weep. + Ghosts did I call them! Sweet they are + As a plant that grows in a desert place, + Sweet as a dear remembered face— + Sweet as a pale, courageous star. + + Where the sumac grows in a flaming wall, + It stands, at the end of a little lane, + And there do the children come again, + Answering, still, the bell's shrill call, + Just as we came, with their songs unsung, + And their hopes all new, and their dreams dew + kissed, + Brave as the sun in a land of mist— + JUST AS WE CAME WHEN THE WORLD WAS YOUNG! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE OLD SAILOR + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I've crossed the bar at last, mates, + My longest voyage is done; + And I can sit here, peaceful, + And watch th' setting sun + A-smilin' kind of glad like + Upon the waves so free. + My longest voyage is done, mates, + But oh, the heart of me, + Is out where sea meets skyline! + My longest voyage is done.... + But—can I sit, in peace, mates, + And watch the settin' sun? + + For what's a peaceful life, mates, + When every breeze so free, + When every gale a-blowin', + Brings messages to me? + And is the sky so shinin', + For all it's golden sun, + To one who loves the sea, mates, + And knows his voyage is done? + And, can a year on land, mates, + Match with one day—at sea? + Ah, every wind a-singin' + Brings memory to me! + + I've crossed the bar at last, mates, + My longest voyage is past, + And I must watch the sunset, + Must see it fade, at last. + My steps are not so light, mates, + As they were, years ago; + And sometimes, when I'm tired, + My head droops kind of low— + Yet, though I'm old and—weary, + The waves that dance so free, + Keep callin' to my soul, mates, + And thrill the heart of me! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE RIVER AND THE TREE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "You are white and tall and swaying," sang the river + to the tree, + "And your leaves are touched with silver—but you + never smile on me; + For your branches murmur love songs to the sun- + kissed turquoise sky, + And you seem so far above me that I always hurry + by!" + + "You are laughing in your shallows, you are somber + in your deeps, + And below your shining surface there's a heart that + never sleeps; + But all day you pass me, dancing, and at evening + time you dream, + And I didn't think you liked me," sang the birch- + tree to the stream. + + So they got a bit acquainted on a glowing summer + day, + And they found they liked each other (which is often + times the way); + And the river got so friendly, and it ran so very slow, + That the birch-tree shone reflected in the water down + below! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AUTUMN SONG + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Let's go down the road together, you and I, + Let's go down the road together, + Through the vivid autumn weather; + Let's go down the road together when the red leaves + fly. + Let's go searching, searching after + Joy and mirth and love and laughter— + Let's go down the road together, you and I. + + Let's go hunting for adventure, you and I, + For the romance we are knowing + Waits for us, alive and glowing, + For the romance that has always passed us by. + Let's have done with tears and sighing, + What if summer-time IS dying? + Let's go hunting for adventure, you and I. + + Let's go down the road together, you and I— + And if you are frightened lest you + Weary grow, my arms will rest you, + As we take the road together when the red leaves fly. + Springtime is the time for mating? + Ah, a deeper love is waiting + Down the autumn road that calls us, you and I! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +THE CITY— + TOWERS AND CANYONS, AND SLUMS, + MAN BUILT.... + + AND SOULS, + GOD BUILT! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SCARLET FLOWERS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The window box across the street + Is filled with scarlet flowers; + They glow, like bits of sunset cloud, + Across the dragging hours. + What though the mist be like a shroud + What though the day be dreary? + The window box across the street + Is warm, and gay, and cheery! + + The window box across the street + Is filled with scarlet flowers; + I almost catch their perfume sweet.... + Above the sound of tramping feet, + They sing of country bowers. + Against the house that looms so gray, + They smile in—well, a friendly way. + + A tired shop girl hurries by; + Their color seems to catch her eye; + She pauses, starts, and wistfully + She gazes up. It seems to me + That I can hear her longing sigh.... + A little shop girl hurries by. + + A newsboy stops to sell his wares; + The crowds brush by him; no one cares + To buy his papers. But above + The scarlet flowers bravely grow + In token of the Father's love.... + The crowds brush coldly by below. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A blind man stumbles, groping past; + He cannot see their scarlet shine; + And yet some memory seems to twine + About his soul. + For, oh, he turns + As trusting as a child who yearns + For some vague dream, and smilingly + He lifts the eyes that cannot see.... + A blind man stumbles, groping past. + + The window box across the street + Is filled with scarlet flowers; + They tell a secret, tender, sweet, + Through all the dreary hours. + And folk who hurry on their way + Dream of some other brighter day.... + The window box across the street + Is filled with scarlet flowers. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ON FIFTH AVENUE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I walked down Fifth Avenue the other day + (In the languid summertime everybody strolls down + Fifth Avenue); + And I passed women, dainty in their filmy frocks, + And much bespatted men with canes. + And great green busses lumbered past me, + And impressive limousines, and brisk little 'lectrics. + + I walked down Fifth Avenue the other day, + And the sunshine smiled at me, + And something, deep in my heart, burst into song. + And then, all at once, I saw her— + A woman with painted lips and rouge-touched + cheeks— + Standing in front of a jeweler's window. + She was looking at diamonds— + A tray of great blue-white diamonds— + And I saw a flame leap out of her eyes to meet them + (Greedy eyes they were, and cold, like too-perfect + jewels); + And I realized, for the first time, + That diamonds weren't always pretty. + + And then I SAW THE OTHER ONE: + A thin little girl looking into a florist's shop + At a fragrant mass of violets, dew-purple and fresh. + She carried a huge box on her arm, + And a man, passing, said loudly, + "I guess somebody's hat'll be late today!" + And the thin little girl flushed and hurried on, + But not before I had seen the tenderness in her eyes— + The tenderness that real women show + When they look at vast rolling hills, or flowers, or + very small pink babies. + + I walked down Fifth Avenue the other day. + (All the world walks, leisurely, down Fifth Avenue + in the summertime.) +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FROM A CITY WINDOW + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The dust is thick on the city street, + The smoke on the city sky + Hangs dense and gray at the close of day— + And the city crowds surge by + With heavy feet through the summer heat + Like a sluggish sullen tide;... + But hand in hand through a magic land + We are wandering side by side. + + For somewhere, dear, there's a magic land + On the shores of a silver sea; + And there is a boat with turquoise sails— + With sails that are wide and free; + A boat that is whirling through the spray, + That is coming for you and me! + + Somewhere, dear, there's a singing breeze + That creeps through the laughing air + To the wide-flung boughs of a blue-black tree— + It touches your joyous hair; + And the touch of it is as soft and light + As a baby's lisping prayer. + + Somewhere, dear, there's a bit of beach + Where the sand is warm and white; + Where the sky seems close and the drifting clouds + Are tenderly, warmly bright. + And there is a ship with turquoise sails, + With sails like a living light! + + Ah, the ship is bringing us dreams come true, + And hopes that are all dew-kissed; + It is bringing us days that are all aglow + With scarlet and amethyst;... + Bringing us faith to find our way + Through a world that is wrapped in mist. + + Our window looks on the city street, + We can glimpse the city sky; + But our hearts are gay at the close of day, + Though the tired crowds pass by + With heavy feet through the blinding heat, + Like a sullen, sluggish tide.... + For hand in hand through a magic land. + We are wandering side by side. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LADY ACROSS THE COURT + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + She only comes when night is near, + And stands a moment quietly + Beside her window, in the dusk— + She lives across the court from me— + And though I cannot see her eyes + Because she is too far away, + I somehow feel that they are kind, + And very soft, and widely gray! + + Her hands are only dim white blurs, + That rest against the window pane; + And yet I know that they are firm, + And cool and sweet as April rain. + And, oh, I cannot help but wish + As, through the dark, I go to bed, + That they might rest a moment like + A little prayer upon my head! + + She only comes when night is near, + I do not know who she can be; + I never see her anywhere + But just across the court from me.... + I am so small the curtains hide + The wistful smiles that I have smiled, + And yet I, somehow, think she feels + The love of me—a lonely child. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TO A PORCELAIN PUPPY DOG + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Oh, pudgy porcelain puppy dog from far-away Japan, + I saw you in a shop to-day where lonesomely you + sat + Upon a velvet cushion that was colored gold and + purple, + Between a bowl of goldfish, and a sleeping wooden + cat. + + I wonder what you thought about as stolidly you sat + there, + A grin of faint derision on your pudgy porcelain + face; + I wonder if you dreamed about some cherry blossom + tea house, + And if the goldfish bored you in their painted + Chinese case? + + I wonder if you dreamed about the laughter of the + geishas + As languidly they danced across the shining + lacquered floor, + I wonder if your thoughts were with a purple clump + of iris + That bloomed, all through the summer, by the + little tea house door? + + I wonder if you hated us who passed, you by unheeding, + You who had known the temples of another, older + land? + And, oh, I wonder if you knew when I had paused + beside you + To pat you, porcelain puppy dog, that I could + understand? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + COLORS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I love color. + I love flaming reds, + And vivid greens, + And royal flaunting purples. + I love the startled rose of the sun at dawning, + And the blazing orange of it at twilight. + + I love color. + I love the drowsy blue of the fringed gentian, + And the yellow of the goldenrod, + And the rich russet of the leaves + That turn at autumn-time.... + I love rainbows, + And prisms, + And the tinsel glitter + Of every shop-window. + + I love color. + And yet today, + I saw a brown little bird + Perched on the dull-gray fence + Of a weed-filled city yard. + And as I watched him + The little bird + Threw back his head + Defiantly, almost, + And sang a song + That was full of gay ripples, + And poignant sweetness, + And half-hidden melody. + + 1 love color.... + I love crimson, and azure, + And the glowing purity of white. + And yet today, + I saw a living bit of brown, + A vague oasis on a streak of gray, + That brought heaven + Very near to me. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +POSSESSION + (A TENEMENT MOTHER SPEAKS) + + Y' ain't as pretty as some babies are— + But, oh, yer mine! + Yer lil' fingers sorter seem t' twine + Aroun' my soul. + Yer eyes are bright, t' me, as any star, + Yer hair's like gol'. + + Some people say yer hair is sandy-red, + An' that yer eyes is sorter wan an' pale, + An' that yer lil' body looks, well, frail.... + Y' ain't been fed + Like rich folks children are.... + It takes fresh air + Ter keep a baby fat an' strong an' pink! + It takes more care, + 'N I have time ter give.... + An' yet, if God'll only let yer live— + + When yer first came, + An' when I seen yer face, deep down inside + My heart I felt—well, sorter broke an' tore, + 'Cause when yer came ter me I like ter died, + An' I had lost my job, there at th' store. + I looked at you, an' oh, it wasn't pride + I felt, but bitterness an' shame! + + An' then yer gropin' fingers touched my hand, + As helpless as a snow-flake in the air, + Yer didn't know, yer couldn't understand, + ('Cause yer was new t' this cold-hearted land), + That life ain't fair! + Yer didn't know if I was good, 'r bad, + 'R much ter see— + Y' only knew that I belonged, an' oh, + Yer trusted me! + + Somehow, right there, I didn't stop ter think + That yer was white an' thin—instead o' pink, + An' that yer lips, an' not yer eyes, was blue... + I got t' thinkin' how, when work was through + I'd sing t' yer, an' rock yer off t' rest. + I got t' thinkin' that I had been blessed, + More than th' richest girl I'd ever knew! + An' oh, I held yer tight against my breast, + An', lookin' far ahead, I dreamed an' planned + That I would work th' fingers off my hand + Fer you! + An' mother-love swept on me like a tide, + An', oh, I cried! + + Some people say yer hair is sandy-red, + But they don't know; + They say yer eyes is sorter pale an' weak, + But it ain't so! + It's jus' because yer never been well fed, + An' never had a lil' cribby bed; + It's jus' because yer never had a peek + At th' blue sky— + That's why! + + Yer ain't so pretty as some babies are, + But, oh, t' me yer like a silver star + That, through th' darkest night can smile an' + shine.... + Yer ain't as pretty as some babies are, + But, God, yer mine! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LIGHTS OF THE CITY + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + He was young, + And his mind + Was filled with the science of economics + That he had studied in college. + And as we talked about the food riots, + And high prices, + And jobless men, + He said: + "It's all stupid and wrong, + "This newspaper talk! + "Folk have no business to starve. + "The price of labor always advances, + "Proportionally, + "With the price of food!" + + "Any man," he said, + A moment later, + "Can earn at least two dollars a day + "By working on a railroad, + "Or in the street cleaning department! + "What if potatoes DO cost + "Eight cents a pound? + "Wages are high, too.... + "People have no reason to starve." + + I listened to him prayerfully + (More or less), + For I had never been to college, + And I didn't know much about economics. + + But— + As I walked to the window, + And looked out over the veiled, mysterious lights + Of the city, + I couldn't help thinking + Of a little baby + That I had seen a few days ago; + A baby of the slums—thin, and joyless, + And old of face, + But with eyes + Like the eyes of the Christ Child.. .. + A baby—crying for bread— + + And.... I wondered.... +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + STEEL + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + They think that we're just animals, almost, + We men who work with steel. + A lady visitor was here th' other day, + She looked at me, an' I could hear her say, + "My, what a life! I s'pose his only boast + "Is muscles!" + She's wrong. We feel + A certain pride, a certain sort o' joy, + When some great blazin' mass is tamed an' turned + Into an engine wheel. Our hands get burned, + An' sometimes half our hair is scorched away— + But, well, it's fun! + Perhaps you've seen a boy, + Who did hard work he loved, an' called it play? + Know what I mean? Well, that's the way we feel, + We men who work with steel. + + A lady visitor was here th' other day; + She held her skirts right dainty in her hand, + An' as she passed me by, I heard her say, + "I wonder what he THINKS—or if his head + "Is just a piece o' metal, too!" She said + It laughin'-like. + She didn't understand, + She couldn't know that we have dreams as grand, + As any SHE could have. We wonder where + Th' rivets that we make are goin' to, + An' if th' engine wheels we turn, will go + Through tropic heat, or if they'll plow through snow; + An' as we watch, we sorter grow to care + About th' steel. Why it's as shiny blue + As j'ew'ls! An' every bit is, well, a part + Of life to us. Sometimes my very heart + Thanks God that I've a man-sized job to do! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MUSIC OF THE SLUMS + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I. THE VIOLIN-MAKER + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Over a slum his sign swings out, + Over a street where the city's shout + Is deadened into a sob of pain— + Where even joy has a minor strain. + + "Violins made," read the sign. It swings + Over a street where sorrow sings; + Over a street where people give + Their right to laugh for a chance to live. + + He works alone with his head bent low + And all the sorrow and all the woe, + And all the pride of a banished race, + Stare from the eyes that light his face. + + But he never sighs and his slender hand, + Fastens the cat-gut, strand by strand— + Fastens it tight, but tenderly + As if he dreams of some melody. + + Some melody of his yesterday.... + Will it, I wonder, find its way + Out to the world, when fingers creep + Over the strings that lie asleep? + + Or will the city's misery + Mould the song in a tragic key— + Making its sweetest, faintest breath + Thrill with sorrow, and throb with death? + + Maker of music—who can know + Where the work of his hand shall go? + Maybe its slightest phrase will bring, + Comfort to ease the suffering— + + Maybe his dreams will have their part + Buried deep in the music's heart.... + Out of a chain of dreary days, + Joy may come as some master plays! + + Over a slum his sign hangs out, + Over a street where dread meets doubt— + "Violins made," reads the sign. It swings + Over a street where sorrow sings. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. THE PARK BAND + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + (Side by side and silent—eagerly they stand— + Souls look out of tired eyes, hands are clasped + together, + Through the thrilling softness of the late spring + weather, + All a city slum is out to listen to the band.) + + Young love and Maytime, hear the joyous strain, + Listen to a serenade written long ago! + You will recognize the song—you who care must + know + Fear that blends with happiness, joy that touches + pain. + + Rabbi with the grizzled beard hear adventure's story! + Hear the tale the music tells, thrilling with ro- + mance, + Hear the clatter of a sword, hear a broken lance + Falling from some hero's hand, red with blood- + stained glory. + + (Tenements on either side, light-flecked in the gloam- + ing, + Tenements on either side, stark and tall and gray— + Ah, the folk who line your halls wander far away, + All a crowded city slum is a-gypsie roaming!) + + Woman with the brooding gaze, hear the lilting + laughter + Of the children that you loved, feel their soft- + lipped kisses; + Think of all the little joys that a hard world + misses- + What though bitter loneliness always follows after? + + Gangster with the shifty eyes, listen to the sighing + Of the hymn tune that you heard at your mother's + knee; + Listen to the restless ghost of the used-to-be, + Listen to a wistful ghost's empty-hearted crying. + + (Tenements on either side—menacing they stand— + Light-flecked in the softness of the late spring + weather.... + But young love and broken life are standing close + together, + And all a city slum is out to listen to the band.) +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. THE ORGAN MAN + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + He's very old, his music box is old and rusty, too, + And half the notes of it are harsh, and half of + them are slow; + One wonders if the coat he wears could ever have + been new— + And if the tune he plays was quite forgotten long + ago. + + He finds a sunny place to stand, and lifts his bleary + eyes, + And smiles a bit—a toothless smile half touched, + perhaps, with fear; + And though he cannot see them he is looking at the + skies, + As if he prays, but silently, for hope and faith + and cheer. + + The foreign women pass him by, their tarnished coins + held tight, + They toss their heads and will not hear his music's + wistful hum— + But through each alley way and street, like moths + that seek the light, + With eager eyes and laughing lips the little chil- + dren come. + + He plays his ancient, shaky song, his mouth moves to + its sway, + He does not know the tune of it is old and out of + key; + For, through his eyes, a soul stares out that wanders + far away, + In some fair land of youth and love—some land + that used to be. + + The little children cluster close, bareheaded, bare of + limb— + They hold their ragged frocks and dance, they do + not care—or know, + That they are like a garden place, a fragrant dream + to him, + Or that the tune he plays was quite forgotten long + ago. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + "BE OF GOOD CHEER!" + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Temptation came to me today, + And oh, I felt that I must stray + Down primrose paths, forgetting all.... + The city's fevered, siren call + Spoke to my soul, its whispered cry + Said, "Live, for Youth, too soon, will die!" + + So all alone, when work was done, + I sought the park. The setting sun + Had left a bit of warmth for me— + I found a bench beneath a tree, + And sat and thought. + My life is hard, + Sometimes my heart seems battle-scarred, + With longings keen, and bitter fears, + And want, and suffering, and tears. + + Temptation spoke, and Youth spoke back; + The night seemed cold and grimly black, + And every light was like a star + That cleft the sky—they were so far, + So very far away! And I + Was lonely, there, beneath the sky.... + + There used to be a little farm + A tiny place, remote from harm; + There used to be a mother frail + And sweet, with hair as silver-pale + As the faint moon. She heard me say + The words when first I learned to pray.... + + Above me in the silent trees, + I heard the rustles of the breeze, + It sounded like her step, as light + As dreams across an endless night. + My mother— + Ah, the name so sweet, + Brought memories on noiseless feet, + And softly in the darkness, there, + I breathed my little childhood prayer.... +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Do prayers have answers? As I prayed + A Presence came, and gently laid + A Hand upon my arm. I knew + That Someone kind, and good, and true + Was very near. Upon my soul + A peace swept down, and left it whole. + I felt a calm steal over me, + The same that stilled the troubled sea + Where Jesus walked. + My fears were laid, + Temptation left me unafraid. + And as I smiled, there in the park, + A voice spoke through the fragrant dark. + "Be of good cheer!" the words rang out + Like music through the city's shout. + + And all the lights that I could see + Were stars of home, agleam for me! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FROM MY ROOM + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I love you, dear.... + Here, alone in my room tonight, it is all that matters, + Out through my window, vaguely hushed, the city + clatters, + Telling ever its tale of woe and mirth, + Sighing ever its song of death and birth, + Singing ever its potent, mad refrain, + Swept with tears and the bitter weight of pain. + + Here in my room I kneel, alone, to pray, + But there seems very little, dear, to say + Even to God. So, kneeling by my bed, + I think dim thoughts, and dream long dreams instead. + Wide-eyed I kneel and watch the candle flame, + Making swift shadows on the wall; your name + Throbs in my heart, and makes my pulse to thrill— + Wide-eyed I kneel, with soul a-light, until + Somewhere a clock starts chiming.... It is + late.... + Out through the dark wan tenderness and hate + Press pale kisses upon the city's lips— + Dawn comes creeping, the weary nighttime slips + Furtively by, like some hurt thief with plunder.... + Dear, I cross to my window, and I wonder + Whether you are asleep, or if you lie, + Sleepless beneath the smoke-hung purple sky.... + + Down in the streets the tired city vaguely clatters, + Here alone in my room I stand, and nothing matters, + Only.... I love you! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BALCONY SCENES + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The stage is set, like a garden, + And the lights are flickering and low; + And a Romeo with fat legs, + Is telling a Juliet with dyed hair and tired, + disillusioned eyes, + That love—real love—is the only thing in the world. + + And up in the balcony of the theatre + Where the seats cost twenty-five cents, + A slim little girl in a shiny serge frock, + And a boy with a wistful mouth + Are holding hands. + And as they listen, breathlessly, to the studied voice + of the actor, + Their fingers are all a-thrill, + With the music of the ages. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A BOWERY PAWN-SHOP + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A dusty, musty little shop set in a dingy street, + A doorsill old and scarred and worn by many tired + feet, + A row of cases, vaguely glassed, a safe against the + wall, + And, oh, the ache of many hearts—the fabric of it + all! + + A violin with broken strings that fingers have + caressed, + A diamond-set betrothal ring that lover's lips have + pressed, + A high shell comb, a spangled fan, a filmy bit of lace, + A heart-shaped locket, ribbon-tied, that frames a + laughing face. + + A pair of blankets folded up, an overcoat, a shawl, + A tall old clock that might have chimed in some + wainscoted hall, + And in the farthest corner, where the purple shadows + lie, + The echo of a woman's sob, the phantom of a sigh. + + Ah, wedding-rings—a score of them—not many of + them new, + A grim revolver laid beside a baby's tiny shoe, + A satin coat, a ragged gown, a gold-clasped book of + verse, + A necklace of bedraggled pearls, an empty silver + purse. + + A dreary weary little shop set in a sunless place. + A little shop where love has met with sorrow and + disgrace.... + A row of cases, double-locked, a safe against the wall; + And, oh, the ache of countless hearts that lies + behind it all! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SPRING IN THE CITY + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I saw a crocus blooming in the park, + I felt a hint of magic in the air, + I heard faint music sighing everywhere, + And so, as all the world, grew softly dark— + + I found again the hope that never dies, + And hungrily, with out-flung arms, I came + Once more to you. And when you spoke my + name + I read springtime eternal in your eyes! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +ROSE PETALS IN THE EARLY RAIN, + FORGOTTEN DREAMS, + AND A TORN SKETCH BOOK! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + LI'L EMPTY CLOSET + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + There's a li'l empty closet in a li'l empty room, + Where th' shadows lie like dust upon th' floor; + It uster be HIS closet not s' very long ago— + That's why I don't go near it any more. + Every li'l hook is empty, 'ceptin' one, an' from it + hangs + (Th' whitest li'l ghost that ever grew + In a heart that's near ter breakin' with it's agony o' + grief! ) + An empty flannel nightie piped with blue. + + Jus' a li'l flannel nightie that was shrunken in th' + wash, + In spots th' blue has ran inter th' white; + But I've seen him in it, sleepy, when I tucked th' + covers in, + An' kissed him, soft, an took away th' light. + Jus' a li'l flannel nightie, hangin' empty on a hook, + As if it was ashamed—or in disgrace— + Jus' a li'l flannel nightie an' it ain't no use no more, + But I couldn't bear t' take it from its place! + + Jus' a li'l empty closet in a li'l empty room, + Where th' shadows lie like dust upon th' floor— + It uster be his closet, where I'd put his clothes away, + That's why I hate ter go there any more. + But I've left his li'l nightie hangin' on a single hook, + I sorter had ter leave it there, I guess; + Ah, that li'l empty closet in that li'l empty room + Is crowded—crowded ful o' loneliness! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TWO LULLABYS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. To A DREAM BABY + + Oh, little child whose face I cannot see, + I feel your presence very near tonight, + I feel the warmth of you creep close to me... + The grey moths drift across the candlelight, + And tiny shadows sway across the floor, + Like wistful elves who do a fairy dance; + The wind is tapping softly at the door, + And rain is beating, like a silver lance, + Against the tightly curtained window pane. + Oh, little child whose face I cannot see, + The loneliness, the twilight, and the rain, + Have brought your dearness very close to me. + And though I rock with empty arms, I sing + A lullaby that I have made to croon + Into your drowsy shadow ear—a song + About the star sheep and the shepherd moon! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. POPPY LAND + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sleep, little tired eyes, close to the heart of me, + Sleep while the sun trembles low in the west; + You who are dream of my dreams, and a part of + me— + Sleep with your head lying warm on my breast. + + Dear, there's a land that is filled with red flowers, + Poppies, they call them, that sway in the breeze; + Sometimes their petals, in soft scarlet showers, + Fall in warm drifts that are high as your + knees.... + Dear, in your dreams you will laugh as you roll + through them, + Waving your arms in an effort to creep; + Gently they nod as the wind sings its soul through + them, + Sleep, little tired eyes, sleep.... + + Dear, in this land there's a sky like a feather, + Blue in some places, or white as a star; + And there's a fragrance—a plant that's called heather + Grows in the spot where the butterflies are. + Dear, there are pastures as gay as glad laughter, + Dotted with hundreds of woolly white sheep, + Dear, you can pat them, for they'll follow after + You, as you sleep.... + + Dream, little tired eyes, close to the breast of me, + Wander in fields where red flowers are gloaming; + All of my heart wanders with you, the rest of me + Watches your dreaming.... +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I DREAMED YOUR FACE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I dreamed your face, one night, when Heaven seemed + resting, + Against the troubled fever of the earth; + I dreamed that vivid throated birds were nesting, + In trees that shook with elfin-hearted mirth. + I dreamed that star-like purple flowers were springing + A-throb with perfume all about the place, + And that there was a far-off sound of singing— + And then—I dreamed your face! + + I dreamed your face, and then I waked from + dreaming, + (The creeping dawn seemed very cold and bare!) + The rising sun seemed pallid in its beaming, + Because its coming did not find you there! + And I—I rose despondent in the morning, + As one whose burning thirst has not been slaked; + I dreamed your face, a wonder world adorning, + And then—I waked. + + And so I went upon a quest to find you, + A quest that led through many bitter years; + I journeyed far with strands of love to bind you, + And found, not you, but bitterness and tears— + So I returned, discouraged, through the gloaming, + My shoulders bowed with weariness unguessed; + I came back, unsuccessful, from my roaming— + My sorry quest! + + I had a bit of garden that I tended, + It helped me dream, again, my dream of you— + It was a joyous place of colors blended— + A place where pansies and Sweet William grew. + And one bright day I hummed as I was planting + A border row of flowers slim and fair, + And raised my eyes to see pale sunlight slanting + Across your hair! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ANSWER + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I am myself—you cannot take my dreams + And pull the filmy stuff of them apart! + I am myself—and life IS what it seems. + I am myself, and love is in my heart! + You cannot make me think by fast set rule, + You cannot laugh beliefs like mine away, + Experience MAY be a bitter school, + And yet.... The golden sun shines every day, + And stars at night lend magic to the sky, + And all the world is vividly a-glow, + You cannot make me pause to question why + For we who dare to dream have learned to know! + + THE WORLD IS RIGHT! There is a friendly One + Who smiles when we have tried to do our part— + I will not flinch, my journey's just begun.... + I AM MYSELF—YOU CANNOT BREAK MY HEART! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A BABY'S HANDS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + God made the rivers, the hills, and the seas, + God made the flowers, the grass, and the trees; + God made the clouds, and the waves, silver-crested, + Then God made the hands of a baby—and rested! + + How did He make them? Well, nobody knows— + Some say He dreamed of the bud of a rose, + And that He woke as the dawn swept away + Night in the dancing pink promise of day. + + Maybe He thought of the light of a star, + (That's why He made them as soft as they are!) + Maybe He watched while a new butterfly, + Light as a sunbeam, went fluttering by. + + Maybe He walked in a garden, dew-kissed, + That's why He made them as frail as the mist— + Then as He leaned from His heaven above, + God made them strong as His greatest gift—LOVE! + + God made the mountains—we wonder at these— + God made the splendor of sunsets and trees; + God made vast mines where a world's wealth is piled, + Then God made the hands of a baby—and smiled! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + ALL ALONG THE BROAD HIGHWAY + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + All along the broad highway the little dreams were + growing, + White as hope, and red as life, and bluer than the + sea— + All along the broad highway I felt their petals + blowing, + Like a storm of fragrant snow across the lips of + me! + So I danced with joyous heart, and bent above them + singing. + So I skipped along the road and smiled into the + skies; + ALL ALONG THE BROAD HIGHWAY THE LITTLE DREAMS WERE + SPRINGING, + FRAGRANT AS THE DEW OF STARS AND GLAD AS BUTTERFLIES! + + All along the broad highway I danced and sang unheeding, + Till One came with haughty step and traveled by + my side; + Traveled first beside my path then, suddenly, was + leading— + One who drew me after him and murmured, "I AM + PRIDE!" + All along the broad highway I hurried, ever faster, + Faster through the purple dust that blinded like + a mist, + Blinded me until I felt that only Pride was master, + (And I saw the little dreams through clouds of + amethyst!) + + All along the broad highway I toiled, no longer + glancing + Anywhere but straight ahead... I had no + heart to sing— + All along the broad highway, my feet no longer + dancing; + Followed I the steps of Pride, and felt the thick + dust sting + In the tired eyes of me... the eyes too sad for + weeping! + Still I struggled—struggled on until quite + suddenly— + All the strength that kept me up seemed drowsy, + almost sleeping— + And I paused with drooping head and lo, Pride + went from me! + + All along the broad highway the silent dusk was + stealing, + Quite alone I stood and stared about me in the + gloom; + And the voice of me was still, and my heart was + kneeling + Like a weary pilgrim soul in an attic room. + And I stretched my empty hands to where the ghostly + lighting, + Showed a crumpled mist of blue, a heap of white + and red— + There along the broad highway like armies after + fighting, + All the gallant little dreams were lying gaunt and + dead! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0039" id="link2H_4_0039"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MY MOTHER + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + My mother's kinder chubby—she's fat, th' fellers + say— + My mother's kinder chubby, but I like her that a-way! + 'Cause she's awful sorter jolly, an' she makes th' + bestest pies, + An' she laughs when I'm a-jokin' 'till th' tears are in + her eyes. + An' she pats me on th' shoulder when I'm feelin' + sad an' blue, + An' whispers, "Little feller, yer mother's proud o' + you!" + + She don't wear silks 'at rustle, like Tommie's mother + does, + But I like her gingham better 'cause it's—well, just + 'cause it's hers! + An' she don't look young an' girl-like, an' her hands + are sorter red, + But, my, they're awful gentle when she tucks you + inter bed.... + She hasn't got a di'mond like th' lady crost th' street, + But she's got two great big dimples, an' her smile is + mighty sweet! + + My mother's sorter chubby—but say, her step is + light— + She's never cross 'r tired—not even when it's night! + An' her shoulders JUST as comfy when yer heart is + feelin' sore, + When you wish you was a baby—an' not a boy no + more— + Oh, her arms are cushion tender at th' twilight time + o' day, + Yes—my mother's sorter chubby—But I like her that + a-way! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HEREDITY + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + You told me, last night, + In a strange and sudden burst of confidence; + That a New England ancestor of yours, + Had burned witches— + And at last I knew.... + + Why your eyes are always so grim, + And why your mouth is cut, + In a straight line, + And why you can never see beauty and mirth + In the sweep of wind over a wheat field, + Or in the sunlight on a baby's hair. + At last I knew + Why you can never see romance + In the long gypsie trail, + Or magic, + In the still purple woods. + + I knew why life, + To you, + Was something to be struggled with, + Not a glorious adventure; + And why death was the end of things, + And not the beginning. + And I knew at last, + Why you could never understand, + That tears may cover laughter, + And that laughter may be a veil + For tears. + + You told me, last night, + That an ancestor of yours, + Had burned witches, + And, oh, as I sat in the candlelight, + Watching you, + I couldn't help wishing, + That somewhere behind you, in the shadows, + + There was another ancestor— + A gay cavalier ancestor— + Who rode hard, + And fought with his sword, + And wore his hat, rakishly, + On the back of his head, + And knew—love. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + APRIL + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I had not meant to love again—all that was lost to + me, + For I had felt love's fear and pain, as well as ecstasy; + I closed my heart, and locked the door, and tossed + away the key. + + All through the winter-time I sat before my flaming + fire, + And listened to the sleigh-bells chime, and watched + the flames leap higher, + To grasp at shadows, sombre-hued, with fiendish, red + desire. + + And then mad April came again—I felt the breezes + blowing, + And I forgot the fear, the pain.... I only knew + that, glowing, + In shady nook and garden spot, pale hyacinths were + growing. + + And when across the perfumed lea (for nothing could + defeat him! ) + My vagrant love crept back to me... I did not + mean to greet him; + But April opened up my heart, and, oh, I ran to + meet him! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE DESERT PATH—SEVEN SONNETS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. + + The camel tracks led whitely across the desert sand, + And one came riding after with furtive mystery; + Ah, one came swiftly riding, a dagger in his hand, + And he was bent on plunder—a nomad thief was he! + He did not heed the starshine that glimmered from + on high, + For laden beasts had traveled along the lonely way. + He did not see the glory that swept the Eastern sky, + For he had far to journey before the dawn of day. + + He followed through the desert, and then at last he + saw + An inn upon the outskirts of some small village place; + And there were camels resting before the stable + door— + He left his horse, crept nearer, with greed upon his + face; + And peering o'er the threshold, he saw that gold was + piled, + With precious stones and incense, before a little + Child. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + II. + + A thief he was by calling, who to the stable came, + A thief whose youthful fingers had learned to steal + their fill; + A thief he was who valued his heritage of shame, + YET STANDING BY THAT DOORWAY, HE DID NOT WANT TO + KILL! + A thief he was, but—watching,—he saw a Baby face, + And, bending near, a Mother, whose joy was undefiled; + And for one breathless moment across the stable + space, + The Baby's eyes gazed at him—AND THEN THE BABY + SMILED! + + A thief he was by calling, but there beside the door + He saw a Holy Vision—he knelt and tried to pray— + And something, thrilling, whispered of love forever- + more— + And then he rose, half weeping—and it was Christmas Day! + A thief he was by calling, who felt the Father's plan, + But back across the desert there silent rode a man! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + III. + + The years are met as milestones upon a winding road, + And some slip by like shadows, and some are fair + with flowers; + And some seem dreary, hopeless—a leaden chain of + hours— + And some are like a heart-throb, and some a heavy + load, + The thief, a thief no longer, a lonely figure strode + Heart-weary down life's pathway, through tempest + and through showers, + But always prayed that somewhere among sweet- + scented bowers, + A Baby's smile might show him where happiness + abode. + + For he was often hungry—a thief, reformed, must + eat— + And there were folk who shunned him, and turned + his plea away; + And there were those who scourged him from out + the market place— + (They were the ones who told him to earn his bread + and meat!) + Yet ever he walked onward, and dreamed of some + fair day + When he would find the Christ-Child with love upon + His face! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + IV. + + Where work lay for the asking it seemed that men + MIGHT work, + But prejudice was rampant in every shop and field; + And, "What if you ARE trying, MY scythe you may + not wield!" + Men told the thief, who answered—"Indeed, I will + not shirk!" + And carpenters and builders turned from him with + a smirk, + And farmers hurried by him to house the harvest's + yield. + And so he took his dagger, all rusted, and his shield, + And sought again the highway where thieves and + jackals lurk. + + And yet the spark of manhood still flamed within his + heart, + And still he saw the Baby, beyond the stable door; + And oftentimes at even, as crimson daytime died, + He knelt, a sorry figure, from all of life apart. + And, "Oh, if I could see Him—and feel His love + once more, + "If I could see Him smiling, I would not steal!" he + cried. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + V. + + It was a glowing ruby that caused the thief to fall, + But—he was very hungry, and lonely, too, and cold; + And youth lay all behind him, a tattered funeral + pall, + For he was very tired, and he was growing old. + It was a glowing ruby that lay upon the breast + Of one who had not earned it, who wore it with a + sneer; + The thief was very weary, he only longed for rest; + He was too wan for caring, he was too numb for fear! + + It was a glowing ruby—he held it in his hand— + His hand was thin and withered, it shook beneath + the gem; + He took the vivid ruby, the ransom of a land, + And tied it firmly, tightly, within his garment's hem; + And then he shuffled forward, but like a thorn + within + His soul he bore the torment of bitterness and sin! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + VI. + + They caught him when the morning had tinged the + Eastern skies; + The gem was found upon him, as red as guilty blood; + He stood, his head sunk forward, with listless, shal- + low eyes, + And hopelessness submerged him like some unholy + flood; + A Thief he was by calling. The law? The law + was great; + What chance had he for pity? His fate was sealed + and done; + He was unclean, an outcast, a menace to the state; + A thing to be avoided, a stain against the sun! + + They led him to his hearing, the hall was still and + light; + A judge was seated higher, who passed him with a + glance; + And suddenly, forgetting his weariness and fright, + The thief cried, leaping forward, "I did not have a + chance!" + The judgment hall was spacious, and coldly white + and wide— + And coldly came the sentence—"He shall be crucified!" +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + VII. + + They nailed him, God's creation, upon a cross of + shame; + They nailed him up with laughter, they heeded not + his tears; + And people looking at him were moved to soulless + jeers, + And agony was on him—a searing, breathless flame! + And then, as he hung sobbing, a sudden feeling came + Of peace that, reaching toward him across the sound + of sneers, + Was like a burst of music that one more feels than + hears— + For, from somewhere beside him, a Voice had + breathed his name. + + Ah, he was weak with anguish, and yet he turned his + head, + And saw a cross beside him, and on the cross a Form; + And he forgot the tumult, the horror and the storm— + And someone, down below him, said, "Look, the thief + is dead!" + But, safe from fear and torture beyond their scornful cries, + The thief had gazed at Heaven in Christ's triumphant + eyes! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SUMMER SONG + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + If I might go with my True Love, + To some far, dream-swept land, + I'd be content to sit all day + Upon the silver sand, + And watch the sea come creeping in, + The sighing, singing sea— + If I might go to some far land, + And take True Love with me! + + If I could go with my True Love, + To some far, lonely place; + The world might well be lost, and I + Could look upon Love's face. + And wealth would seem a little thing, + While happiness might be— + If I could go to some far land, + And take True Love with me. + + Ah, Love would smile, and ruffle up, + The hair above my brow; + And we would laugh at all that seems + So very sober, now. + And monkey-folk, and scarlet birds, + Would peer from every tree, + And try to understand the words + My True Love said to me! + + If I might go with my True Love, + To some far, dream-swept land; + I would not miss the world, for I + Could always touch Love's hand, + And feel the magic of his lips— + Oh, by the singing sea, + And Eden-place would bloom a-new + For my True Love and me! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + COMPREHENSION—A MOTHER'S SONG + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I KNOW HOW MARY FELT, THERE IN THE HAY, + MY LITTLE SON WAS BORN ON CHRISTMAS DAY! + + I know, as she bent tenderly above Him, + She did not think of majesty or power, + For he was hers—and she was there to love Him! + His hands, as pinkly tinted as a flower, + Seemed all too small to carve His deathless story— + What though a star gleamed glorious to guide + Him? + She snatched Him to her breast as if to hide Him + From harm, and fear, and even—yes, from glory. + + And when the wise men came to give their treasure, + She smiled at them as proud as any queen; + She scarcely saw the jewels in countless measure, + The gold that gleamed; her gaze was far, serene, + Upon the hills where shepherds watched, alone. + She did not think of crosses or of dying, + For He was just a drowsy baby, lying + Wrapped in her love—A baby—all her own! + + I KNOW HOW MARY FELT, THERE IN THE HAY, + MY LITTLE SON WAS BORN ON CHRISTMAS DAY! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SINGING ON THE MARCH + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + God put a song into my heart one day, + A little song as light as ocean form, + A little song of love and hope and home, + A little song to cheer me on my way. + + And though I bowed beneath the load I bore, + I found that, when I sang, the way was bright, + And that my footsteps swifter grew, and light; + And all my life seemed fairer than before. + + God has a song that fits in every heart, + And though that song may seem a tiny thing, + It is your task—so forge ahead, and SING— + And you will find that you have done your part! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EASTER + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + He came to call last night— + And we began to talk, as young folk will, + Half carelessly, and half in awe, of God. + It was the springtime, and the night was still + And fragrant, all about us. + And the sod + Was fresh with tender grass, + And overhead a crescent moon shone bright. + And, "God," he said, "Has built the world on laws, + "Like some great watch, and every breathing space + "Is measured; and the system has no flaws, + "And nothing moves from its appointed place. + "God is the Master Scientist," he said, + His voice was bold and had a ring of truth— + But God seemed ponderous, and far away.... + + And then a gentle breeze danced overhead, + And caused the timid, new-born leaves to sway, + And we began to talk of love, and youth. + + And then, I sent him home, and went upstairs, + To my still room, and flung the windows wide; + And as I knelt to say my evening prayers + I saw the stars, far smiling, in the sky. + And, all at once, I knew the reason why + I worshipped God... knew why He had sent + His son to save the world from sin and shame; + And, suddenly, like some sweet, healing tide, + The meaning of my life swept over me; + And, through the dark, my groping soul could see + The Christ Who loved us, and was crucified. + + And, as I knelt and watched the star's faint shine, + I felt God's hand, a moment, touching mine! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0047" id="link2H_4_0047"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + RESURRECTION + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + You took the lilt from my heart of hearts, + And the breath of song from my soul; + And the mind of me that had once been free + And buoyantly young, and whole; + Grew calm and still as a barren sea, + Where never a star beam shone, + A sea where never a ripple danced— + That reflected your face along. + + I walked in a daze down well-worn paths— + Paths that your feet had trod; + I thought your thoughts and I spoke your tongue, + I knelt to your hostile God. + And the dreams that had been a part of me, + I tossed with a sigh away, + And left to rust in the misty dust + Of the land called Yesterday. + + My hands lay folded in slim repose, + Quite as you bade them rest; + Folded, meek, o'er the leaden heart + That tortured my gypsie breast. + And I smiled with my lips—my eyes were numb— + I smiled for I never knew, + That the mind of me was a lifeless sea, + Reflecting the face of you! + + You took the lilt from my carefree life, + And the song from my singing heart; + But there came a day when the world grew gray, + When I knew that we must part.... + So I tore you out of your soul-bound shrine— + And, oh, though it caused me pain, + I raised my face to the sky and knew + That my song would come again! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0048" id="link2H_4_0048"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE QUEEN + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + "Barefooted came the beggar maid," + So ran the minstrel's lay— + "Barefooted came the beggar maid + "Before the King Corpethua." + But, oh, her face was like a light, + Her hair was black as middle night, + And whispers ran from left to right— + "She is more beautiful than day!" + + "In robe and crown the king stepped down," + So ran the minstrel's lay— + "In robe and crown the king stepped down, + "To meet and greet her by the way." + And so the beggar maid became, + A Queen, but just a queen in name, + For, with her gypsie eyes aflame, + Her mirror heard her say— + + I was a beggar maid, I used to lie + Silent and unafraid, beneath the sky, + And watch the stars—my little sisters, they, + I used to wake at dawning time of day + To plunge my body in some mountain stream— + I was a beggar maid! + Is this a dream, + This golden crown I wear upon my head? + This robe of royal purple and of red, + This rope of pearls, this ring, these silken shoon? + + Not long ago the silver crescent moon + Was like a hand that beckoned me to stray, + And cities seemed vast centuries away; + And as my feet—swift feet, they were, and light— + Carried me through the wonder of the night, + I never thought of kings, or kingly power— + My life was all one splendid, singing hour! + + I love my king—He raised me from the dust, + And looked at me with wonder, and with trust; + My hair hung, tangled, to the waist of me, + He brushed it from my eyes, that he might see + Deep into them! + He set me on his steed, + He never knew my name, or asked my creed, + He just believed in me—and told me so. + I love my king, I love him well, but, oh— + Once I wore poppies, red upon my brow, + (A crown seems very heavy to me, now,) + And once I wore, for all the world to see + A gown of rags. (Now, velvets stifle me!) + And once my hands (how soft they are!) were strong + To toil for me. + The days seem very long + While I must sit in state above the land— + I love my king... But does he understand? + I was a beggar maid, I used to lie + Silent and unafraid beneath the sky— + And, now that I am queen, my being longs + To hear, once more, the little slumber songs + Of night birds nesting in some forest tree— + I want to be myself, again, and free! + I want to climb the crest of some great hill, + And watch the sunset clouds, again, and thrill + Before the color of them! I would stand + Alone, once more, and see the wistful land + Take on the tint of twilight. + I would pray + My gypsie prayer, again, at close of day! + + I love my king—for he has given me + Rare pearls, the treasure of a sighing sea, + And rubies, red as sunset clouds a-glow + And opals like the wistful winds that blow + At twilight-time. + + But I would wear, instead, + Wild forest flowers, twined about my head— + And I would dance, barefooted, on the sod, + An innovation to my pagan God! + + Am I a queen? What is this crown I wear? + I tear it from my smoothly plaited hair— + I lay my ring, my rope of pearls, aside; + Am I a queen—am I a monarch's bride? + The soul of me is still a gypsie thing— + I pull them off, the glowing gems, the ring.... + + I love my king, I love him well—but, oh, + GIVE ME MY RAGS, AGAIN, AND LET ME GO! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0049" id="link2H_4_0049"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FRAGMENTS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A WITHERED ROSE + + A book of verse, + And one withered rose + Between two pages.... + + My love is as faded as the petals, + But still faintly fragrant + With sweet memories. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ASHES OF LOVE + + Dust on the letters you sent me + And I did not know that they had been forgotten. + + Does it mean that I love again? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0050" id="link2H_4_0050"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IT'S LOTS OF FUN— + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + It's lots of fun to play around, + To dance and sing; + And not be tied to anyone, + Or anything! + + It's lots of fun to live my life, + Beneath the sky; + To have no one who owns the right + To question "Why"? + + It's lots of fun to come and go, + Through storm and strife, + With no one by my side who hopes + To mould my life. + + (But sometimes at the twilight time, + When night birds cry; + I dream, perhaps, that something fair + Has passed me by!) + + And yet—it's good to play around, + To laugh and sing; + And not be tied to anyone, + Or anything! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0051" id="link2H_4_0051"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VALENTINE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I wonder if you know, up there in heaven, + That I have kept your roses, crumpled now. + I wonder if you guess that still I treasure + A faded ribbon that once touched your brow. + I wonder if you dream, as dusk is falling, + Of how I read that note you sent to me. + I wonder if you think, up there in heaven, + Of all the golden days that used to be. + + I wonder if you smile up there in heaven, + And pass by, lightly, in your robes of white; + Or if you sometimes think of me a little. + You seem so near, so very near tonight. + I wonder if that last shy kiss I gave you + Can make you lonely, just a bit, for me. + I wonder if you long, up there in heaven, + For all the golden plans that used to be. + + Do they have valentines up there in heaven? + A love like mine is surely strong to go + The little way from earth to where you wait me, + Although it be beyond the stars' faint glow. + I want you dear; my tired heart is calling; + My eyes are searching, though they may not see; + I wonder if you're lonely, there in heaven, + For all the golden dreams that used to be. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0052" id="link2H_4_0052"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE SACRIFICE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I started out in a cloak of pride, + With talent, too, that I did not hide; + I started out on Life's stony road, + Ambition's weight was my only load, + And the way seemed fair in the dawn's first glow, + And I hurried—ran—FOR I DID NOT KNOW! + + Love smiled from a garden by the way, + And called to me, but I would not stray + From the road that stretched like a ribbon white, + Up endless hills to an endless night. + Love smiled at me, but I pushed ahead, + And love fell back in the garden—dead— + But I did not care as I hastened by, + And I did not pause for regret or sigh.... + The road before was a path of hope, + And every hill with its gentle slope + Led up to heights I had dreamed and prayed + To reach some day— + Ah! I might have stayed + With Love and Youth in the garden gay, + That smiled at me from beside the way. + + I plodded up, and the gentle hills + Grew hard to climb, and the laughing rills + Were torrents peopled with sodden forms; + The sky grew black with the threat of storms, + And rocks leaped out and they bruised my feet, + And faint I grew in the fever heat. + (But ever on led the path that lay + As grey as dust in the waning day.) + My back was bent, and my heart was sore, + And the cloak of pride that I grandly wore + Was rent and patched and not fair to see— + Ambition, talent, seemed naught to me.... + But I struggled on 'till I reached the top, + FOR ONLY THEN DID I DARE TO STOP! + + I stood on the summit gazing down, + And the earth looked sordid and dull and brown, + And neutral-tinted and neutral-souled; + And all of life seemed a story told, + And the only spot that was bright to see + Was a patch of green that had bloomed for me + Where a garden lived in a spring long fled, + When Love stood smiling— + BUT LOVE WAS DEAD! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0053" id="link2H_4_0053"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TO A CERTAIN ROOM + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Your room is still the dainty little place, + That used to seem so much a part of you— + The draperies of faded rose and blue + Still hold a shadow of their former grace. + The windows still are hung with frosty lace, + And sometimes, when the moonlight glimmers + through, + I watch your mirror, half expecting to + See once again, reflected there, your face! + + And yet, the little room seems much too neat, + It seems quite colorless, and very bare, + Because the filmy things you used to wear + Are laid away. Because the perfume sweet + That clung about you has been swept aside.... + Your room is there—but, oh, its soul has died! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0054" id="link2H_4_0054"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + OTHER DAYS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I wonder if you ever dream of other days, + Because, sometimes, at twilight when the sunset + plays + Half wistfully across the polished oaken floor, + I see you smiling—standing in your place once more. + + (Do you remember little things we used to say? + They wouldn't mean so very much to us to-day.... + Do you remember how I wore a gown of blue, + Because it brought the haze of autumn clouds to you? + Do you remember how I said you didn't care— + And how you laughed at me and rumpled up my + hair? + Do you remember how the tears stood in my eyes + At your good-by when darkness overhung the skies?) + + I wonder if you ever dream of other days? + Because, sometimes at twilight when the sunset plays + Half wistfully across your empty cozy-chair, + I turn and half expect to see you smiling there! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THIS IS TO YOU, DEAR, + TO YOU, UNKNOWING; + JUST AS THE SOUTH WIND + WISTFULLY BLOWING + TOUCHES SOME FLOWER— + + SO IS MY SONG, DEAR, + THROUGH EVERY HOUR, + ALL THE DAY LONG, DEAR, + TO YOU, UNKNOWING! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0055" id="link2H_4_0055"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AT TWILIGHT + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + You came to me through the candlelight, + When the world, outside, was grey.... + You came to me through the candlelight + When the day was done, and the misty night + Crept through the land. + And your eyes were bright, + And they seemed to laugh and pray. + You came to me through the candlelight, + And you took my hands, and you held them tight, + And you didn't speak, but, dear, I KNEW— + And my heart and my soul were part of you. + + You came to me through the candlelight, + When the world, outside, was grey; + And I looked in your eyes and, glowing there, + I saw a hope and I read a prayer; + And I knew, at last, that I didn't care, + If life were a troubled, weary way, + As long as I walked with you. + You came to me, at the close of day, + Through the candlelight—when the world was grey— + And dreams of Heaven seemed strangely new.... + And I told you, dear, to stay! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0056" id="link2H_4_0056"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THERE ARE SUCH WEARY LITTLE LINES + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + There are such weary little lines about the mouth of + you, + Such tragic little mirthless lines—they mock at + dreams come true, + And twist your lips when you would smile, until all + joy is dead, + And I, who want to laugh with you, am fain to + weep instead! + + There are such dreary little lines about the mouth of + you, + They make me want to whisper that summer sky is + blue, + And that the rain is like a lance of silver through + the air, + And that the flowers in the lane are growing tall + and fair! + + There are such tired little lines about the mouth of + you— + As if you thought that life was cold and loving + friends were few.... + They are such lonely little lines I think that I, some + day, + Will creep close to you in the dusk, and kiss them + quite away! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0057" id="link2H_4_0057"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THREE SONGS OF AWAKENING + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 1. + + The flowers spring from the broken heart, + Of the frozen winter sod— + Rending their prison bars apart, + They smile in the face of God! + + The birds sweep up to the wind-blown plain, + E'er ever the land knows spring; + To sway on a budding branch again, + To challenge the world, and sing! + + And I with my tired eyes a-dance, + And my weary heart a-flame; + Have felt the call of the old romance, + And thrilled to a whispered name! + + 2. + + I saw a sky as blue as eyes I know, + I felt a breeze, as soft as kisses, blow; + And, dear, I saw one golden sunbeam creep + From Heaven, lighting all the world below, + Like love that wakens, dewy-eyed, from sleep! + + 3. + + We who have wondered know the answer, now; + For Spring stands, joyous, on the purple brow + Of the far hill; and doubt is swept away, + And all the mirth-mad world makes holiday! + + We who have wandered long, and half afraid, + Find answer in each dreaming woodland glade; + HEARTS THAT HAVE BROKEN MAY BE BOUND TOGETHER, + WHEN SPRING HAS TRIUMPHED OVER WINTER WEATHER! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0058" id="link2H_4_0058"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IN A CANOE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Starlight, and the silver lake + Clasp the skies— + And two nearer, dearer stars, + Your eyes! + + Elfin voices seem to call + Through the night, + But your arms are warm, and they + Hold me tight. + + Pallidly the moon slides down, + Hour by hour slips; + Ah, the deathless magic of + Your lips! + + Dark the shadows as we creep + Past the shore— + Dear, that we might drift like this + Evermore! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0059" id="link2H_4_0059"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CAPTIVE-HEART + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Now that the day is done I am ready to greet you, + Smiling, the way that I know you would have me + smile; + I will open the door, and will run down the walk + to meet you, + As if I had missed you, dear, for a weary while! + I will listen, breathless, the while you tell of your + toiling, + All day long in the dust and the city's heat; + And, dear, you will never know that my blood is + boiling— + Back of the smile that is calm and tenderly sweet. + + You will never know that the soul of me, dear, is + flying, + Out where the seagull dips in the ocean's foam; + You will never know that something of me is dying, + Every night as I smile and welcome you home. + You will never know that my heart is soaring above + you— + You will be content with my mask of a smile— + KNOWING I LOVE YOU! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0060" id="link2H_4_0060"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + EVENING SONG + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I do not want to be worshipped, + From a distance; + Like some idol carved in wood, + Or stone. + I want to be loved + As every real woman + Wants to be loved! + + And so.... + Lay aside the book that you are reading from— + What if Leander did swim the Hellespont? + And what if burning Sappho + Did sing? + What do I care for + Launcelot and Elaine, + Or Tristram and Isolt, + Or Aucassin and Nicholette? + + Lay aside the book that you are reading from, + And cross the room quickly, + And take my cold hands between your two + Warmer ones.... + And here, in the vivid dusk, + We will make our own love songs! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0061" id="link2H_4_0061"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AFTER A DAY OF WAITING + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + All day long I waited—waited with soul aflame— + And then through the still of evening, humming a + tune, you came; + Came with a jest on your smiling lips, and eyes that + were all too gay; + And the light died out of my waiting heart with the + words that I could not say. + + We laughed through the star-flecked twilight—what + though my laugh was strained? + You, who were there beside me, laughed with a mirth + unfeigned! + And at last when I bade you leave me you went, and + you never knew + That with soul aflame I had waited, all through the + day, for you. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0062" id="link2H_4_0062"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + INTANGIBLE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Dear, you are like the summer dusk to me, + The summer dusk when all the world seems still; + When purple shadows creep along the hill, + And birds are softly crooning in each tree. + You are the gentle-cool-eyed mystery + Of twilight hours. Sometime I think you will + Melt from me out into the dark, until + You turn to star-shine, silvering the sea. + + Dear, even when your head is on my breast, + You seem no nearer than a moonbeam thrown + Across my heart. Your fingers have caressed + My hair so lightly that I scarce have known + Their pressure. You are like that time when rest + Steals up so softly that one feels alone! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0063" id="link2H_4_0063"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AT FIRST SIGHT + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Seeing you once, how can I forget + That our eyes have smiled and our hands have met? + That our souls have known and our hearts have cried, + Though our lips were dumb. + Ah, the world is wide, + And love there is for us both to know— + But my eyes were dim as I watched you go! + + You may wander far, you may come no more, + But you hold the key to the inmost door + Of my heart of hearts! + For our hands have met, + And our eyes have smiled, and I CAN'T FORGET! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0064" id="link2H_4_0064"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FIVE SONNETS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. THE COMING + + I know that Love will come to me, some day, + Though I have never loved, or looked on Love; + I know that Love will wait beside the way + And smile at me. The tender skies above + Will be alight with all the joy of spring, + And flowers will life their heads above the earth, + And some far bird will stay its flight and sing, + And fill the land with silver throated mirth. + + I know that Love, at last, with smiling eyes, + Will pause beside my half-swung cottage door, + And I will lift my gaze, without surprise, + To see his shadow dance across the floor. + I know that Love will come to me, some day, + When springtime blossoms, shyly, into May! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + II. REALIZATION + + I know that you are not the one that I + Should fall in love with, for your eyes are blind + To all the things that make my world the kind + I want to live in. Often, when I cry + At some vague beauty that has caught my eye, + You laugh! You cannot dream the dreams I find, + In forest places where dim pathways wind + Up to the Heaven-land so far and high. + + I know that I should never learn to care, + And yet, sometimes the blueness of your eyes + Can make me half forget the smiling skies.... + And, when I see the sunlight on your hair, + I do not stop to reason, dear, for oh— + My heart throbs faster, and I know—I know! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0065" id="link2H_4_0065"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. THE RAIN OUTSIDE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + You close beside me, and outside, the rain, + Which, stealing through the darkness of the night, + Seems tapping out with fingers softly light, + A world-old song upon my window pane— + A song of happiness with a refrain + That throbs in suffering. You hold me tight, + Your eyes, that search my own, are warmly bright, + Your lips touch mine again, and yet again! + + Ah, what though years must pass, though you and I + May live our lives, quite silently, apart? + Whenever rain comes, when the day is through, + And, tapping on my casement, seems to sigh, + A dream will blossom, fragrant, in my heart, + A dream of youth eternal, and of—you. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0066" id="link2H_4_0066"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV. I USED TO WRITE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I used to write so many songs of love— + I wrote them carefully, I did not know + That love was more than moonlight from above, + And pretty words set in an even row, + I held my pencil calmly in my hand, + And sang of arms and lips and tender eyes; + I wrote of love—who did not understand— + And hoped that folk would think me very wise! + + I used to write so many songs... To-day + My hands are folded, and I cannot sing, + I sit, instead, and watch the sunlight stray + Across my desk. And I am wondering + If God, who lights a million stars each night, + Laughed at the groping words I tried to write! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0067" id="link2H_4_0067"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V. MOON-GLOW + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I wonder if, dim centuries ago, + We watched the moon together, on some night + When stars hung very near, and softly bright? + I wonder if my tired head drooped low + Against your breast? And if you seemed to know + (As you know now) the dreams that, like a light, + Shone in my soul? For, dear, it seems so right— + So very right that you should hold me so! + + Here, in the moonlight, there is nothing new, + The very arms that crush me to your heart, + Seem almost like a memory, a part + Of some vague yesterday that has come true— + I feel tonight as if I, dear, might start + A journey back, across the years, with you! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0068" id="link2H_4_0068"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FORGIVEN + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + You left me when the weary weight of sorrow + Lay, like a stone, upon my bursting heart; + It seemed as if no shimmering tomorrow + Could dry the tears that you had caused to start. + You left me, never telling why you wandered— + Without a word, without a last caress; + Left me with but the love that I had squandered, + The husks of love and a vast loneliness. + + And yet if you came back with arms stretched toward + me, + Came back to-night, with carefree, smiling eyes, + And said: "My journeying has somehow bored me, + And love, though broken, never, never dies!" + I would forget the wounded heart you gave me, + I would forget the bruises on my soul. + My old-time gods would rise again to save me, + My dreams would grow supremely new and whole. + What though youth lay, a tattered garment, o'er you? + Warm words would leap upon my lips, long dumb; + If you came back, with arms stretched out before + you, + AND TOLD ME, DEAR, THAT YOU WERE GLAD TO COME! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0069" id="link2H_4_0069"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE WRITING + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Sometimes a mist of sunlight across a stranger's hair, + Sometimes the vague expression upon a stranger's + face, + Can make me feel your presence—can fill a lonely + place + With dreams of life half realized. Faint music + through the air + Can make me hear your foot-fall, again, upon the + stair— + Sometimes a dancer moving with quite unconscious + grace, + Can make my pulse beat faster; and for a breathless + space + Can make me turn, expecting to find you standing + there! + + You have not gone! The passing of every empty + day + Has only brought you nearer. Those things that + were a part + Of all we planned together are bits of you that stay, + To bruise my soul as sharply as any flame-tipped + dart. + Ah, time may hold its healing—but years that pass + away + Cannot erase the writing you traced upon my + heart! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0070" id="link2H_4_0070"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AT PARTING + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Love of my life, the time has come for parting— + For, dearest, I must leave you while we care! + Leave you while tears of vain regret are starting, + While I can look at you and find you fair. + Could we endure a morn of bitter waking, + Could we accept a love that would seem less? + Dear, I must go the while my heart is breaking— + Go while my world is filled with happiness. + + Love of my soul, our dream has been so flaming, + That, if we waited, it might smoulder down— + Leaving dead ashes only, ashes shaming + All that was vivid—ashes dimly brown. + We will have memories as sweet as flowers, + We who have left, untouched, Fate's cup of woe; + Kiss me once more to bridge life's aching hours— + Love of my heart—the time has come to go! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + WHEN I AM OLD— + + When I am old and drenched in worlds of sadness, + And wear a lacy cap upon my head; + When, looking past the future's singing gladness, + I linger, wistful, in the years long dead. + When I am old, and young folk all about me, + Speak softly of religion, WHEN THEY SPEAK, + When parties are a grand success without me; + And when my laugh is fluttering and weak— + + Will I then be content to raise my glances, + Serenely to the cloud-entangled sky? + And will I be content to watch at dances, + Without a heartbreak, as the hours pass by? + Or when I see young lovers' fingers twine, + WILL I REMEMBER, DEAR, YOUR LIPS ON MINE? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0071" id="link2H_4_0071"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE REFUGE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + We hurried, once, down the purple road, + When a storm hung low in the sky; + And we gained the door of Love's abode + As the silver rain flashed by. + Our steps rang out as we crossed the sill, + And the place was dimly bright, + And even our hearts seemed strangely still, + While our searching hands clasped tight. + + We waited there while the wind moaned past + And the thunder crashed in the air; + And the door of Love's abode blew fast, + But we didn't know—or care! + For we heard a song in the driving rain, + And the sky seemed warmly gray; + And the tempest rang with a mad refrain, + And the world seemed years away. + . . . . . . . . . + + We have wandered far from the road of dreams, + We have crept from the house of love; + And the scorching sun of the noonday gleams + From the pitiless sky above. + But once, ah, once—in that dusky place, + When the lightning flashed through the air, + I saw its flame on your upturned face, + And its glow on your vivid hair. + + We have strayed away—we have strayed away— + For the world is all too wide.... + But once I came through the stormy day, + And you walked, proud, at my side. + AND, OH, FOR THE FEEL OF THE RAIN AGAIN, + AND, OH, FOR THE PURPLE ROAD, + AND, OH, FOR THE JOY AND THE PAIN AGAIN, + THAT WE KNEW IN LOVE'S ABODE! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0072" id="link2H_4_0072"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TO DREAM ALONE.... + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + How long the days may seem, how long each night, + (And yet, how short the evenings used to be!) + How strange it is that I can never see, + Warm pictures in the hearth that glows so bright. + We used to watch the laughing firelight, + And build dream castles in it—Ah, but we + Built castles everywhere! And now the sea + Is swept between us. You have gone to fight. + + And I—I wait and try to dream alone, + And try to smile, to dance and laugh and sing; + And, somehow, cannot think of anything, + But just the thrilling roughness of your tone, + The light that lights your eyes, your lips that + cling, + And love—the flame of love that we have known! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0073" id="link2H_4_0073"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + NOW I MAY SING OF SADNESS.... + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Knowing, dear, that my whole heart lies at rest + Deep in the heart of you, I may sing a song + Telling the tale of bitterness and wrong.... + Knowing, dear, that my head lay on your breast + Only last night, I may sing of dreams that died, + And hopes that never were born, and faith betrayed, + Of weary feet that have left the road and strayed + Out of the narrow way, to pastures wide. + + Dear, when my songs were gay, I did not know + Whether you cared. And so I had to sing + Gladly, to mask grim fear—I had to bring + Sunlight to point the path that I must go! + Now that the clouds are silver sweet above, + I may sing songs of sadness. I am blessed + Knowing, dear, that my whole heart lies at rest, + Knowing, dear, that I have your love—your love! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +KNOWING THAT YOU HAVE WALKED HER MUDDY ROADS + WEARILY, AFTER BITTER TIMES OF FIGHTING; + KNOWING THAT YOU HAVE CARRIED HEAVY LOADS + OVER HER HILLS—WHILE I, AT HOME, WAS LIGHTING + DIM YELLOW CANDLES ON THE MANTEL SHELF.... + KNOWING YOU SUFFERED AGONY AND LOSS, + UNDER THE VERY SHADOW OF A CROSS— + FRANCE HOLDS A BIT OF YOU—AND OF MYSELF! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0074" id="link2H_4_0074"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WHEN WAR CAME + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + War came, one day, and drew us close together, + Although it swept us many miles apart; + The love that lay as lightly as a feather, + Now rests, a precious weight, upon my heart. + And all the dreams I dreamed for just the dreaming, + Have taken on a meaning that is new; + And somehow all the lonely world is seeming, + To cry aloud my aching need of you! + + Because you were so much a part of living, + Like sunshine and the freshness of the air, + The priceless gift of faith that you were giving + Seemed small to me. Scarce knowing you were + there + I took your heart-strings in my careless fingers, + And played a song as light as summer dew, + And yet, today, its wistful echo lingers + And fills an empty world with thoughts of you. + + I did not think that I would ever miss you, + I did not dream the time would come to be + When I would long to touch your hand, to kiss you— + To hear your voice say tender words to me. + I did not know that I would wonder whether + My head would rest, once more, against your + heart.... + War came, my dear, and drew us close together, + Although it swept us many miles apart! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0075" id="link2H_4_0075"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + WHEN YOU WENT BY + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I stood in the rain and watched you pass, + I stood in the blinding rain.... + And I thought of a fragrant summer night, + When the room was glowing with candlelight, + And a shower beat on the window glass + With a wonderful, low refrain. + I thought of your arms that held me tight, + And your eyes that were near and warmly bright; + I thought of—all, as I watched you pass, + And my soul was wrung with pain. + + "Tramp, tramp, tramp!" rang your column's tread. + "Tramp, tramp, tramp!" through the street. + (Ah, dear, it was summer once, and there + Were flower scents on the misty air— + Honeysuckle and mignonette, poignantly, sadly + sweet!) + "Tramp, tramp, tramp!" rang your column's tread, + And my eyes were dim as I bowed my head; + And my heart seemed broken and old and dead, + Under your marching feet. + + I stood in the rain and watched you pass— + There in the autumn rain.... + And I thought, my dear, of the night when you + Had kissed me first. (Ah, your eyes were blue, + And very tender, and Heaven-true, + There in the candlelight!) + I thought of a misty summer night, + When a shower fell on the vivid grass + (There, through the rain, I watched you pass!) + I thought of a mystic summer night + That never may come again. + + "TRAMP, TRAMP, TRAMP!" RANG YOUR COLUMN'S TREAD, + "TRAMP, TRAMP, TRAMP!" IN THE STREET; + AND I TRIED TO SMILE—WITH A LIFTED HEAD— + BUT MY HEART LAY, CRUSHED, AT YOUR FEET! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0076" id="link2H_4_0076"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IN MEMORIAM + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + To an American Aviator + + He went to battle in the mist-hung sky, + Like some gold-hearted bird with pinions strong; + He went with courage, with a snatch of song, + In all his splendid youth! And God on high + Looked down with love to watch him dip and fly, + Then lifted him to where the brave belong. + He went to right a bleeding nation's wrong, + And proved that he was not afraid to die! + + So we, who stare across the lonely hours, + Must only think of that great gift he gave; + Must think of other lives that his will save; + And know that, when the tender, healing showers + Have fallen in a stranger-land, the flowers + Will bloom, like prayers, upon a hero's grave! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + A PEASANT GIRL SINGS + + Somewhere, Out There, he is—just a boy, that's all— + (Laughter sparkled in his eyes—he was always + singing!) + Just a boy who answered when he heard his country's + call; + (Somewhere, Out There, he is—how my thoughts go + winging—) + Ready to do or dare, + (Like sunlight was his hair,) + Just a boy, a laughing boy, + Somewhere, Out There. + + Idle my wheel, to-day, hushed is it's spinning— + (Ah, but his eyes were blue—blue as the sea—) + Somewhere, Out There, he is... Losing—or winning! + (Boy with the carefree heart, come back to me!) + Blood red the cannon's flare, + (God, can you hear my prayer?) + Keep him, my boy, from harm— + Somewhere, Out There. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0077" id="link2H_4_0077"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TOGETHER + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + THEY LAY TOGETHER IN THE SUN AND WAITED FOR THE END; + SIDE BY SIDE, TOGETHER, BEARDED FOE AND FRIEND; + JEAN FROM THE PLEASANT FIELDS OF SINGING, SOUTHERN + FRANCE, + JEAN FROM THE POPPY FIELDS SIGHING WITH ROMANCE; + FRITZ FROM A FATHERLAND HE BLINDLY LOVED AND SERVED, + FRITZ WHOSE SOFT-NOSED BULLETS HAD NEVER FLINCHED NOR + SWERVED; + AND PETER, WHOSE TIRED EYES WERE WIDE AND DEEP AND + BROWN, + PETER FROM DELANCEY STREET, IN NEW YORK TOWN. + + They didn't speak, these three, + They didn't know each other's tongue; + And, then, + When men + Whose songs are nearly sung + Are lying side by side, + Their breathing not so... free, + The gulf is rather wide. + + In the sun they lay there; + And Fritz's hair + Was very bright. + He was a foe + To kill on sight— + And yet the light + Upon his hair was so, + So very fair.... +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Jean found himself remembering HER hair; + Of palest gold it was, a magic snare + To net men's soul in! She had bade him go, + Sobbing, "Je t'aime"—which means, "I love you so!" + Her hair—her hands—her lips, + Red as a sunset cloud when daytime slips + Into the night. No, redder! + Like a flower + That blooms upon the earth for just an hour; + A poppy flower, fragile, soft.... HER LIPS + Red as the heart-blood of a man, that drips + Into eternity.... + Jean sighed, + And died. + + PERHAPS HER LIPS WERE VERY NEAR—WHO KNOWS? + WHEN EYES MUST CLOSE + AGAINST THE SUN, AND LIFE, WHO CARES? + ONE ONLY DARES + TO WONDER! + + Fritz lay still. + He felt the strength, the faith, the stubborn will, + Drop from him like worn garments, till he lay + Half-frightened in the burning light of day. + He had killed many, yes.... + From under + His tunic, gropingly, he drew a cross; + He wondered would it make, for her, the loss + A little less? + Ah, to press + His bearded lips once more upon her cheek, + To hear her speak.... + + Yes, he had killed, and killed— + And he had thrilled + To do it.... + But just to sit + Beside her, in the shade, + THAT had been paradise! + Her soft arms laid + About his throat.... + THEY STRANGLED HIM— + His eyes grew dim.... + He choked—once... twice.... + + Peter from Delancey Street, laughed with white- + lipped pluck. + "Dyin' side o' HIM!" he coughed. "Ain't it rotten + luck! + "Poor guy, they got him, though—got him same as + me...." + Peter, from Delancey Street, stopped talking suddenly. + + He saw— + A candy store, + On the busy, smelly corner of a crowded city + slum; + He heard the hum + Of traffic in the street, + The sound of feet + Upon the pavement; and he saw, + Behind the counter there, + THE GIRL. She wore + Her hair + Plastered tight to her little shell-like ears. + He felt her tears + Upon his face + The night he told her that he'd left his place, + His steady paying job, to go and fight. + + "Good night!" + He'd said to her. + "Somebody's gotta go! + Yerself, you know, + We gotta STIR + T'lick them fellers Over There!" + Her slicked-back hair + Had roughened up against his khaki sleeve, + And she had cried: + "Dear, MUST you leave?" + And he had dried + Her eyes, and smudged the powder on her + nose.... + + "Here goes!" + Said Peter of Delancey Street. + He saw + A candy store— + A city slum, a girl with plastered hair, + Who waited there.... + + THEY LAY TOGETHER IN THE SUN—BRAVELY TO THE END, + SIDE BY SIDE, TOGETHER, BEARDED FOE AND FRIEND. + JEAN FROM THE POPPY FIELDS, SIGHING WITH ROMANCE, + JEAN FROM THE LAUGHTER-LILTING FIELDS OF SOUTHERN + FRANCE; + FRITZ FROM A FATHERLAND HE BLINDLY LOVED AND SERVED, + FRITZ, WHOSE FAITH, ALTHOUGH BETRAYED, HAD NEVER + FLINCHED OR SWERVED; + AND PETER, WHOSE TIRED EYES WERE QUESTIONING AND + BROWN, + PETER, FROM DELANCEY STREET, IN NEW YORK TOWN. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0078" id="link2H_4_0078"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + JIM-DOG + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + He wasn't, well, a fancy kind o' dog— + Not Jim! + But, oh, I sorter couldn't seem ter help + A-lovin' him. + He always seemed ter understand. + He'd rub his nose against my hand + If I was feelin' blue or sad. + Or if my thoughts was pretty bad; + An' how he'd bark an' frisk an' play + When I was gay! + + A soldier's dog don't have much time ter whine + Like little pets a-howlin' at th' moon. + A soldier's dog is bound ter learn, right soon, + That war is war, an' what a steady line + Of men in khaki means. + (What, dogs don't know? + You bet they do! Jim-dog, he had ter go + Along th' trenches oftentimes at night; + He seemed ter sense it when there was a fight + A-brewin'. Oh, I guess he knew, all right!) + I was a soldier, an' Jim-dog was MINE. + + Ah, what's the use? + There never was another dog like him. + Why, on th' march I'd pause an' call—"Hey, Jim!" + An' he'd be there, his head tipped on one side, + A-lookin' up at me with love an' pride, + His tail a-waggin', an' his ears raised high.... + + I wonder why my Jim-dog had ter die? + He was a friend ter folks; he didn't bite; + He never snapped at no one in th' night; + He didn't hate a soul; an' he was GAME! + An' yet... a spark o' light, a dartin' flame + Across th' dark, a sneaky bit o' lead, + An' he was... dead! + + They say there ain't no heaven-land for him, + 'Cause dogs is dogs, an' haven't any right; + But let me tell yer this; without my Jim + Th' very shinin' streets would seem less bright! + An' somehow I'm a-thinkin' that if he + Could come at that last stirrin' bugle call + Up to th' gates o' gold aside of me, + Where God stands smilin' welcome to us all, + An' I said, "Father, here's my dog... here's + Jim," + They'd find some corner, touched with love, fer him! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0079" id="link2H_4_0079"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SIX SONNETS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. SOMEHOW + + Somehow I never thought that you would go, + Not even when red war swept through the land— + I somehow thought, because I loved you so, + That you would stay. I did not understand + That something stronger than my love could come, + To draw you, half-reluctant, from my heart; + I never thought the call of fife and drum + Would rend our cloak of happiness apart! + + And yet, you went... And I—I did not weep— + I smiled, instead, and brushed the tears aside. + And yet, when night-time comes, I cannot sleep + But silent lie, while longing fights with pride— + YOU ARE MY MAN, THE FOE YOU FIGHT MY FOE, + AND YET—I NEVER THOUGHT THAT YOU WOULD GO! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + II. I WONDER + + I wonder if you dream, across the night, + When watchfires cut the vivid dark in twain, + Of long dim rooms, and yellow candlelight, + And gardens drenched in vaguely perfumed rain? + I wonder if you think, when shot and shell + And molten fire are singing songs of hate, + Of that last throbbing moment of farewell + When, in your arms, I promised you to wait! + + I wonder, should grim death reach out his hand, + And speak, above the strife, of peace and rest; + If you, alone in that dark stranger land, + Would feel again my head upon your breast? + And if, as light and love and living slips, + Your prayer would be my kiss upon your lips.... +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + III. SOME DAY + + Some day when on exultant feet you come + Back through the streets that echo at your tread— + My soul will thrill to hear the throbbing drum, + And yet, perhaps, I'll sit with drooping head, + Not caring, quite, to meet your steady gaze, + Not daring, quite, to look into your eyes; + Afraid because a weary stretch of days, + Each one a million years, between us lies. + + My heart—my heart is ever yours to hold, + And yet, while I have waited here for you, + You have seen faith betrayed, and brave youth sold, + You have seen meadows drenched in bloody dew— + It may have changed you, and your eyes may be + A little harder when they look at me! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + IV. DREAM + + Sometimes I dream that you are back with me, + And that with hands together clasped we go + Like little children, young and glad and free, + A-down a magic road we used to know. + Sometimes I dream your eyes upon my face, + And feel your fingers softly touch my hair.... + And when I wake from dreaming all the place, + Seems lonelier because you are not there. + + What is a dream? Not very much, they say, + An idle vision made in castled Spain— + Well, maybe they are right.... And yet, today, + When all the warring world was swept with pain, + The suffering and sorrow ceased to be, + Because I dreamed that you were back with me! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + V. UNDERSTANDING + + Now, when I stand in some great crowded place, + I see the souls of other women stare + Out of their eyes—And I can glimpse the care + And worry that has banished light and grace + From every life. Upon each woman-face + I see the mark of tears, the hint of prayer + That, one short year ago, had not been there— + I see what time will never quite erase! + + Before you left, I did not notice eyes— + Because I knew that I might touch your hand, + I did not dream the dread that swept our land... + Ah, dear, the months have made me very wise! + Now, one with everything, I understand, + And heart meets heart and I can sympathize. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + VI. THE WAKING + + Now war is over and a world set free, + And youth returns, triumphant, to our land— + And dear-heart, you'll be coming back to me, + With eager lips, and tender outstretched hand! + You will be coming as you came of old, + At evening time, with laughter lilting gay; + Glad of the little things that life may hold— + And I will meet you in the self same way.... + + Yes, in the shadows by my oaken door, + I will be waiting as I used to wait— + And I will feel that you are come, before + I hear the clicking of the garden gate. + And, in the darkness there, my pulse will leap, + Reviving dreams that long have lain asleep! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + AFTER PEACE + + "I wonder what they're doin' home tonight?" + Jim said— + We sat there, in the yellow firelight, + There, in a house in France— + Some of us, maybe thinkin' of romance— + Some of us missin' buddies who was dead— + And some just dreamin' + Sorter hardly seemin' + Ter make th' dream come clear. + + An' then—Jim spoke— + "I wonder what they're doin' home ternight?" + Says Jim— + An' some of us felt, well—as if we'd like + Ter smother him! + An' some of us tried hard-like not ter choke, + Th' smoke + Was pretty thick an' black! + A-thinkin' back, + Across th' ocean I could sort of see + A little house that means just all ter me + And, though nobody said a word I knew + Their thoughts was goin' on th' self-same track— + Thoughts do + Out here, in France. + + Home—HOME—No wonder that we all was still— + For one of us was thinkin' of a hill, + With pine trees on it black against th' moon— + And one of us was dreaming of a town, + All drab an' brown— + An' one of us was lookin'—far an' high + Ter some one who had gone back home too soon + To that real home that is beyond the sky. + + Nobody of us spoke fer quite a while— + We didn't smile— + We just sat still an' wondered when there'd be + An order for ter send us home— + Back 'crost the sea. + Th' war was won— + An' we was DONE! + We wanted faces that we loved an' knew, + An' voices too— + + We sat an' watched th' dancin' fire fling + Its shadders on th' floor— + Bright shapes, an' dim. + An' then Jim coughed as if his throat was sore, + An'—"Say—let's sing!" + Says Jim. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0080" id="link2H_4_0080"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FROM THE DECK OF A TRANSPORT + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + (A Returning Soldier Speaks) + + I am coming back with a singing soul through the + surge of the splendid sea, + Coming back to the land called home, and the love + that used to be— + I am coming back through a flash of spray, through + a conquered tempest's hum, + I am coming back, I am coming back.... But, + God, do I want to come? + + I have heard the shriek of the great shells speak to + the dawn of a flaming day; + And a growling gun when the fight was won, and the + twilight flickered gray, + I have seen men die with their chins raised high, and + a curse that was half a prayer— + I have fought alone when a comrade's groan was + tense on the blinding air. + + I have tramped a road when a burning load was + strapped to my aching back, + Through miles of mud that was streaked with blood, + when my closing eyes turned back— + I have cried aloud to a heedless crowd of a God that + they could not know, + And have knelt at night when the way was bright + with a rocket's sullen glow. + + I am going home through the whirling foam—home + to her arms stretched wide— + I am going back to the beaten track and the sheltered + fireside, + With gasping breath I have sneered at death, and + have mocked at a shell's swift shirr, + And safe again, through the years of pain, I am + going back—to HER! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I am coming back with a singing soul through the + surge of the splendid sea, + Coming back—BUT MY SINGING SOUL WILL NEVER BE + QUITE FREE— + For I have killed, and my heart has thrilled to the + call of the battle hum.... + I am coming back to the used-to-be—But, God, do I + want to come? +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0081" id="link2H_4_0081"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + TIM—MY BUNKIE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I met Tim th' other day + On Broadway; + Hadn't seem him since he fell, + Covered like with streaks of blood, + In th' Argonne's battle hell. + + Tim an' me was bunkies; we + Marched together + Through th' water an' th' slime— + SUNNY FRANCE, HEY? We seen weather + That we hadn't dreamed COULD be + Anywhere or any time. + We had fought—well, hand to hand, + Over miles o' broken land, + Through th' Vesle, an' by th' Aisne, + When th' shrapnel fell like rain— + Tim an' me was bunkies—see? + + Smilin' sort o' cuss was Tim; + Never seen th' beat o' him! + He could whistle when a pack + Was like lead upon his back; + He could smile with blistered feet; + Never swore at monkey meat, + Or at cooties, or th' drill; + Always laughin'—never still— + That was Tim! + + Say, th' fellers loved that boy! + Chaplain said that he "was joy + All incarnate—" Sounds all right, + But th' men said he was WHITE, + That meant most to us, I'd say! + Why, we never seen th' day + When he wouldn't help a guy. + If he had a franc he'd buy + Chocolate or chow for us, + Gen'rus little smilin' cuss— + That was Tim! + + When THEY got him, I can see + Even now, th' way he slipped + To th' ground beside o' me. + Red blood dripped + From his tunic an' his chin, + But he choked out, "Fellers, win! + "Me, I don't much matter, GRIN!" + + Sure we had ter leave him lay; + War is always that-a-way; + An' we thought o'course he'd die. + Maybe that's the reason why + We could fight th' way we did; + Why we found th' guns THEY hid; + Why we broke their line in two, + Whistlin' a tune HE knew + All th' time we pushed 'em back, + Crowdin' on 'em whack fer whack! + + I seen Tim th' other day + On Broadway; + He had lef' one arm in France, + But his eyes was all a-dance + When he seen me face t' face. + "Say," he shouts, "ain't this SOME place? + Ain't it great th' war is through? + Glad I seen it, though; ain't you?" + + Smilin' sort o' little cuss, + Meetin' me without a fuss— + Tim, my bunkie, livin'!... Tim! + That's him! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0082" id="link2H_4_0082"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A PRAYER FOR OUR BOYS RETURNING + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + God, bring them back just as they went away; + A little wiser, maybe, but unchanged + In all the vital things—let them today + Take up the lives that war has disarranged. + Let them renew the youth they laid aside + To fight their battles in the world of men, + God, bring to life their little dreams that died, + And build their altars new again, and then— + + Give them the vivid youth that they have sought for + Through bloody mists on bloody fields of strife; + Show them the gallant truth that they have fought + for; + Show them, anew, the better things of life. + God of the hosts, blot out the months of pain— + And let them have their boyhood back again. + AMEN. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0083" id="link2H_4_0083"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PARIS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + I. AFTER PEACE + + The city thrills once more to joyous singing; + Glad laughter sounds again upon the street, + And music throbs again, until young feet + Trip merrily upon their way; the ringing + Of hour chimes are gallant voices, flinging + Their challenges through each crowded space, to + greet + Old friends who linger where they used to meet + With other friends long gone.... The summer, + bringing + + The light of peace, has seemed to fill the city, + With happiness that echoes far and wide + In sounds of joy; there seems no room for sorrow— + Yet, like a minor chord submersed in pity, + There steals above the music of tomorrow, + The weary footsteps of the ones who died. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0084" id="link2H_4_0084"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. THE RUE DE LA PAIX—(A STREET OF JEWELS) + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The windows glow with many jewels, with rubies + fire-entangled, + And glowing bits of emerald, and diamonds like + the dew— + But, Paris, can you quite forget the bodies lying + mangled + Beneath the snow on Flanders fields—your lost + who call to you?). + + The windows of each little shop are gay with gem- + like laughter, + With rings to fit milady's hand, and drops to deck + her ear; + (But, Paris, can you quite forget Verdun, and Ypres, + and—after? + And, far beneath the sounds of mirth, one + wonders what you hear.) + + The windows glow with countless jewels, the shop- + girls stop to wonder, + The little shopgirls who are still, so many, dressed + in black— + (But, oh, the saddened hearts of them no doubt are + lying under + Some sandy stretch along the Marne, where grim + defeat turned back!) + + The windows gleam enticingly, and eyes light up to + see them, + For Paris thrills to loveliness, as Paris always + thrilled— + (Oh, God of beauty, touch the lives that war has + crushed, and free them + From broken dreams, an empty faith, and hopes + forever stilled!) +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0085" id="link2H_4_0085"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. THE FLOWER WAGONS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Violets and mignonette, crowded close together, + Crowded close together on the corner of each street, + Through the chilling dampness of the misty weather, + Violets and mignonette—ah, so close together— + Making all the Paris day colorful and sweet! + + Roses faintly touched with pink; see, a soldier + lingers + Close beside the flower-stand, dreaming of the day + When she broke a single bud with her slender fingers, + Pressed it to her wistful mouth—see, a soldier lingers + Dreaming of a summertime very far away. + + Lilacs white and pure and new, fragrant as the + morning— + One pale widow, passing by, pauses for a space, + Thinking of the lilac tree that once grew, adorning + All a little cottage home, in life's fragrant morning; + Of a lilac tree that grew in a garden place. + + Pansies for a thought of love, lilies for love's sorrow, + Bay leaves green as hopes that live, berries red + and brown; + Flowers vivid for a day, gone upon the morrow, + Flowers that are sweet as faith, that are sad as + sorrow— + Flowers for the weary souls of a weary town. + + Violets and mignonette, crowded close together, + Crowded close together on the corner of each + street; + Singing of the summertime, through the misty + weather, + Violets and mignonette—ah, so close together— + Making all the Paris day colorful and sweet! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + IV. ACROSS THE YEARS + + (Marie Antoinette walked down the steps of a certain + Chapel on her way to the guillotine.) + + They say a queen once walked along the marble steps + with grace, + To meet grim death by guillotine—a smile was on + her face, + A smile of scorn that lifted her above the howling + crowd, + A smile that mocked at pallid fear—a smile serene + and proud. + + Yes, it was Marie Antoinette—she walked with + steady tread, + She sauntered down the marble steps with proudly + lifted head; + And there were those among the crowd who watched + with indrawn breath, + To see a queen walk out with smiles to keep a tryst + with death! + + I stood beside those marble steps just yesterday, and + saw, + A bride upon a soldier's arm—a poilu brave who + wore + A Croix de Guerre upon his breast—and oh, they + smiled above + The busy throng that hurried by, unconscious of their + love. + + And though, across the mist of years, I glimpsed a + fair queen's face, + A face that smiled, but scornfully, above her land's + disgrace— + I will remember, on those steps, the little new-made + wife, + Who came, her eyes all filled with trust, to keep + her tryst with life. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + V. SUNLIGHT + + The sun shines over Paris fitfully, + As if it really were afraid to shine; + And clouds of gray mist curl and twist and twine + Across the sky. As far as one can see + The streets are wet with rain, and suddenly + New rain falls in a straight, relentless line— + And silver drops, like needles, slim and fine, + Drip from the branches of each gaunt-limbed tree. + + Ah, Paris, can the very wistful sky + Look down into the center of your heart, + That has been bruised by war, and torn apart— + The once glad heart that has been taught to sigh? + The sun is like your smile that flutters by + Like some lost dream, before the tear-drops start. +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + VI. THE LATIN QUARTER—AFTER + + They were the brave ones, the gallant ones, the + laughing ones, + Who were the very first to go—to heed their coun- + try's call; + They were the joyous ones, the carefree ones, the + chaffing ones, + Who were the first to meet the foe, who were the + first to fall. + + Artists and poets, they; the talented and youthful + ones— + All the world before their feet, their feet that loved + to stray; + We have heard about their lives; stories crude, and + truthful ones + Of the carefree lives they lived, in the yesterday. + + Ah, the Latin Quarter now; boarded up, the most + of it, + Studios are bare, this year, and little models sigh, + For the ones who died for France, died and are the + boast of it, + Died as they had always lived, with their heads + held high! + + But a spark of it remains, in forgotten places, + For I saw a blinded boy strumming a guitar, + Playing with his face a-smile, with the arts and + graces + Of a troubadour of old. He had wandered far. + + Through the flaming hell of war—wandered far and + home again, + To the corner that he loved when his eyes could + see; + And he played a jolly tune, he who may not roam + again, + Played it on an old guitar—played it smilingly. + + And I saw another sit at a tiny table, + In a dingy eating house; he had laughed and + drawn + Sketches on the ragged cloth, boasting he was able + Still to draw as well as most—with two fingers + gone.... +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + VII. NOTRE DAME + + Through colored glass, on burnished walls, + Soft as a psalm, the sunlight falls; + And, in the corners, cool and dim, + Its glow is like a vesper hymn. + And, arch by arch, the ceilings high + Rise like a hand stretched toward the sky + To touch God's hand. On every side + Is misty silence; and the wide + Untroubled spaces seem to tell + That Peace is come—and all is well! + + A slender woman kneels in prayer; + The sunlight slants across her hair; + A pallid child in rusty black + Stands in the doorway, looking back.... + A poilu gropes (his eyes are wide) + Along the altar rail. The tide + Of war has cast him brokenly + Upon the shore of life. I see + A girl in costly furs, who cries + Against her muff; I see her rise + And hurry out. Two tourists pause + Beside the grated chancel doors, + To wonder and to speculate; + To stoop and read a carven date. + + In uniform the nations come; + Their voices are a steady hum + Until they feel some subtle thrill + That makes them falter, holds them still— + Bronzed boys, who shrugged and laughed at death, + They stand today with indrawn breath, + Half mystified. + The colors steal + Into my heart, and I can feel + The rapture that the artists knew + Who, centuries before me, drew + Their very souls into the glass + Of every window..... Hours pass + Like beads of amber that are strung + Upon a rainbow, frail and young. + + Through mellow glass, on hallowed walls, + The twilight, like faint music, falls; + And in each corner, cool and dim, + The music is a splendid hymn. + And, arch on arch, the ceilings high + Seem like a hand stretched toward the sky + To touch a Hand that clasped a Cross— + FOR FRANCE, NEW-RISEN FROM THE LOSS, + AND PAIN AND FEAR OF BATTLE-HELL, + KNOWS PEACE, AT LEAST, AND ALL IS WELL! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + VIII. SUNDAY MORNING + + The streets are silent, and the church bells ring + Across the city like the silver chime + Of some forgotten memory. They bring + The phantom of another, sweeter time, + When war was all undreamed. They seem to say, + "Come back, come back, across the years of strife + "To One who reaches out a Hand today, + "A Hand that brings your dead again to life!" + + A little white-haired woman hurries past, + A tiny prayer-book in one wrinkled hand; + Her eyes are calm, as one who knows at last + What only age may really understand; + That, as a rainbow creeps across the rain, + The God of Paris smiles above its pain! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0086" id="link2H_4_0086"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SONGS FROM FRANCE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + SCARS + + Summer sweeps, like sad laughter, over France, + Touching the fields with flower-tinted mirth; + Bringing its wistful gladness to an earth + That has been stabbed with sorrow's bitter lance; + Bringing again the hint of old romance, + Bringing again the magic of re-birth; + Paying again the price that youth was worth— + OVER DIM WAYSIDE MOUNDS THE GRASSES DANCE! + + Where there were shell holes summer sends, un- + heeding, + Blossoms to deck the broken country side; + Where, in another season, heroes, bleeding, + Fell for the cause of righteousness, and died, + Green creeper twines its vivid arms, half-pleading, + But there are scars that summer cannot hide! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0087" id="link2H_4_0087"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + FROM PARIS TO CHATEAU THIERRY + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The road winds out its weary way, + Where fields are torn with sorrow; + It is a road of yesterday, + That dreams no fair tomorrow. + + It is silent, saddened road, + A lonely road to follow; + For in its dust red rivers flowed, + And now, from every hollow, + The crows rise up in sullen flight + The crows that, blackly flying + Against the skyline, speak of night, + And bitterness, and dying. + + It is a road that creeps around + Farmhouses that lie broken; + That pauses at each shallow mound, + At every blood-stained token. + A helmet by the way one sees; + A pistol, bent and rusty; + And hung between two shattered trees, + A coat mildewed and musty. + It is a sad, forgotten road, + But oh, it tells the story + Of youth that bore another's load + Without a thought of glory! + For every tattered homestead cries + Of vengeance that descended; + And memory that never dies, + From hearts that stay unmended! + + The road winds out its weary way, + A lonely way to follow; + And crows rise black against the day + From every tree and hollow. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0088" id="link2H_4_0088"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A RUINED CHURCH + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + They could not take the living God away, + Although they left His altar blank and bare; + Their ruthless hands could never rend and tear + More than the walls, they could not hope to sway + The utter faith that is the nation's heart; + They could not bring a real destruction where + Hymn music had been softly wont to play! + They smothered beauty, and tore hope apart; + But in the house of One who is supreme, + The marks they left will now be sanctified; + The broken walls, when war is but a dream, + Will be a monument to those who died; + And every shell-torn scar will stand for One + Whose hands were scarred, the Christ men crucified! + + I think, perhaps, the very morning sun, + Will slant more gently through the broken tower— + And, in good season, that some tender flower + Will bloom beside the ruined threshold, where + Folk paused before they entered in to prayer.... +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0089" id="link2H_4_0089"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHILD FACES + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Child faces saddened, older than they should be, + And wiser than a lived-out span of years; + One wonders what those self same faces would be, + If they had never looked on pain—if tears + Had never been their portion; if the morrow, + Had never held the pallid ghost of care— + Child faces, graven deep with worlds of sorrow, + Until the light of childhood is not there! + + Child faces, once agleam with carefree laughter, + Wide eyes, where smiles like baby rainbows grew; + They are the heritage of ever after, + They are the dreams that never will come true. + They are the words of fate that have been spoken, + And when the tumult of the war is gone, + They will remind a world that hearts were broken, + For, in their souls, France goes to meet her dawn! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +AFTER HEARING MUSIC COMING FROM A + DEVASTATED FARMHOUSE + + Just a little wisp of song played softly in the twilight, + Such a happy little song—and oh, the dusk is gray! + Such a joyous little song, and oh, the night is + coming— + Coming with the bitter chill that marks the death + of day. + + Almost like a dance it is, it holds no hint of sorrow, + Almost like a waltz it is, to set the pulse a-thrill; + Not a hint of tears in it—and oh, the night is + coming— + Coming like a purple shroud across the purple hill! + Sad the little farmhouse is, the doors swing on their + hinges, + All the windows look like wounds, pitiful and bare, + And a shell has torn a gash in the broken roof of it, + But the music lilts along like a happy prayer. + + Do pale ghostly fingers play on a ghostly violin? + (War has swept the countryside of the songs it + knew!) + Merry is the little tune—not a wistful questioning— + Merry with a rosy thrill of a dream come true. + + Just a little wisp of song played softly in the twilight, + Such a happy little song—and oh, the dusk is gray! + Such a joyous little song, and oh, the night is + coming— + Coming with the bitter chill that marks the death + of day! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0090" id="link2H_4_0090"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + RETURN + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Now that the tumult of the war is over, + The fairy folk are coming back to France; + They push their way through tangled grass and + clover, + To find the ring where once they used to dance. + They come half-wistfully, the little people, + Through broken town, and battered market place, + They come past shell-torn church with shattered + steeple, + They come as smiles come to a tear-stained face. + + They come with packs of dreams, with love and + laughter, + They come with songs rolled snugly up in sacks; + They come with promises for ever after, + Tied neatly into bundles on their backs! + They bring the seeds of magic so that flowers, + The flowers of new happiness and mirth, + May bloom, once more, in sweet enchanted bowers, + Above the heart-ache of a tortured earth. + + Now that the angry powder smoke has vanished, + The fairy folk are coming as of yore, + The fairy folk that hate and war had banished... + They pause beside a loosely swinging door, + To set it right on hinges that were breaking, + They lift an old rag doll with tender care, + And hurry on—because their hearts are aching, + For one-time childish faces that were there. + + They cross forgotten meadows in the gloaming, + Through forest aisles at even-time they creep; + Where trenches were, their little feet are roaming, + And where the heroes of the conflict sleep, + They stop, a moment, wistful—and their singing + Dies down into the semblance of a prayer; + And tiny bells in far-off elf land ringing, + Sound, like a silver promise, on the air. + + NOW THAT THE TUMULT OF THE WAR IS OVER, + ONCE MORE THE COUNTRY WAKENS TO ROMANCE; + FOR, THROUGH THE TANGLE OF THE GRASS AND CLOVER, + THE FAIRY FOLK ARE COMING BACK TO FRANCE. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0091" id="link2H_4_0091"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PHOENIX + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + The ruined wheat fields lying in the sun + Will smile again, e'er many seasons pass; + The crooning breeze will sway the golden grass, + The way it did before a blazing gun, + Mowed down the meadow poppies in red heaps; + And battered villages will rise anew, + And homes will stand where one-time gardens grew, + And, in dim forests where an army sleeps, + The little birds will sing their evening songs, + The way they did before a blasting rain, + Of shrapnel cut their tiny nests in twain; + For France will rise, triumphant, from her wrongs— + + Yes, France will rise once more in faith, and pave + Her roads anew with shattered stones of life, + Her songs will rise, once more, above the strife— + But what about the hearts that gave—and gave! +</pre> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +A PRAYER ON EASTER FOR OUR BOYS + KILLED IN ACTION + + Dear God, they will not come again, those lads of + ours, + Who went to fight with honor's foe across the sea— + Who died with eyes set straight ahead, amid the + showers + Of shrapnel, as they cleared a path to victory, + They will not come again... And it is Easter + weather, + And all the world is waking to the call of life, + But they lie sleeping, Over There, our lads, together, + Who died before their hearts could know the end + of strife. + + Dear God, they will not come again, those lads of + ours, + Who left this land so gallantly to do their best— + And so I ask that You will send gay springtime + flowers, + To deck each shell-torn meadow where their bodies + rest. + I ask that You will let them hear the joyous singing, + Of some deep-throated bird whose heart tones + throb and swell; + God, let them feel the thrill that Easter time is + bringing, + That death is only life asleep—and all is well! + AMEN. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0092" id="link2H_4_0092"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + INDEPENDENCE DAY—1919 + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Over the mists of a century they come, and their + tramping feet + Are light as the dust on the broad highway, or the + wind that sways in the wheat; + Out of the haze of the years between their shadowy + hands stretch wide + To welcome the heroes home again who have fought + for their cause and died. + + They went to battle at Concord Bridge, and they fell + on Bunker Hill; + The odds were great, but they struggled on with a + stubborn Yankee will; + They lay in the fields at Lexington when the sun in + the west was red, + And the next year's violets grew on the spot where + their valiant blood was shed. + + But they won in the end—with their broken guns + and without much food to spare, + Won at the end of a bitter war, by means that they + knew were fair; + And some of them wandered back to their plows, and + some lay wrapped in the loam, + And slept the sleep of the fearless heart that has + fought at home—for home! + + Fought for their homes, at home, they did—but these + other boys today + Fought for the homes of stranger folk three thousand + miles away; + FOUGHT FOR THE HONOR OF THE WORLD, and were not + afraid to die + In a muddy trench, in a foreign land, and under a + foreign sky! + + They fought on the Marne, at Belleau Wood; they + swept through the mad Argonne; + Chateau-Thierry was theirs to take; they took it and + then surged on; + And now that the fight they fought is won, though + they lie in a far-off grave, + Their souls come back to the land they loved—the + land that they LEFT to save. + + And so, through the damp of the sorry sea, through + the wreck of the shell-torn plain, + They are coming back to homes they loved—they + are coming back again! + And light as the wind that sways in the wheat, or + the dust on the broad highway, + They march to their rendezvous with the ones who + died in the yesterday. +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0093" id="link2H_4_0093"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SHADOWS + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + You come to me at twilight, when the others, + Are laughing in the fullness of their joy; + When glad-eyed women folk, when wives and mothers, + Are welcoming some other bronze-cheeked boy. + You come to me, all silent, in the gloaming, + A shadow form, with curly shadow hair— + And, dear, I somehow feel that you are roaming + Between two shadow worlds—the Here and There. + + They ask me, do those others, why I wander + Down dewy lanes, alone, at eventide— + They do not know my heart's a shadow—yonder... + They do not know that part of me has died. + They do not know that your dear presence stands + Just out of reach with misty, wide-flung hands! +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0094" id="link2H_4_0094"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + L'ENVOI + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Only we two, dear... and the candlelight, + Seems to be softer than it was before, + Country and city, vivid dream lands, war— + Dear, they are very far from us to-night! + + Woven of promise from life's golden loom, + Pale threads of light have bound us heart to heart; + Laughter and sorrow—they are things apart— + ALL OF OUR WORLD IS IN THIS LITTLE ROOM. + + Outside the branches sway, and winter weather + Sweeps, with a cry of triumph, through the land + Dear, it is springtime, when you touch my hand— + Only we two, and magic, here together! +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Cross Roads, by Margaret E. 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