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+The Project Gutenberg Etext Cross Roads, by Margaret E. Sangster
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+Cross Roads
+
+by Margaret E. Sangster
+
+January, 2001  [Etext #2487]
+
+
+The Project Gutenberg Etext Cross Roads, by Margaret E. Sangster
+******This file should be named crsrd10.txt or crsrd10.zip******
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+This etext was prepared by Judy Boss, Omaha, NE
+
+
+
+
+
+CROSS ROADS
+
+by MARGARET E. SANGSTER,
+
+
+
+
+To My Father
+
+
+
+
+NOTE
+
+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 wish to acknowledge, with thanks,
+permission to reprint them.
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+PREFACE
+WOOD MAGIC
+WATERIN' THE HORSES
+AT DAWN
+THE HAUNTED HOUSE
+TO A PAIR OF GLOVES
+PEAKS
+LI'L FELLER
+TO AN OLD SCHOOLHOUSE
+THE OLD SAILOR
+THE RIVER AND THE TREE
+AUTUMN SONG
+SCARLET FLOWERS
+ON FIFTH AVENUE
+FROM A CITY WINDOW
+THE LADY ACROSS THE COURT
+TO A PORCELAIN PUPPY DOG
+COLORS
+POSSESSION (A TENEMENT MOTHER SPEAKS)
+LIGHTS OF THE CITY
+STEEL
+MUSIC OF THE SLUMS
+"BE OF GOOD CHEER!"
+FROM MY ROOM
+THE BALCONY SCENE
+A BOWERY PAWN-SHOP
+SPRING IN THE CITY
+LI'L EMPTY CLOSET
+TWO LULLABYS
+I DREAMED YOUR FACE
+ANSWER
+A BABY'S HANDS
+ALL ALONG THE BROAD HIGHWAY
+MY MOTHER
+HEREDITY
+APRIL
+THE DESERT PATH (SEVEN SONNETS)
+SUMMER SONG
+COMPREHENSION (A MOTHER'S SONG)
+SINGING ON THE MARCH
+EASTER
+RESURRECTION
+THE QUEEN
+FRAGMENTS
+IT'S LOTS OF FUN
+VALENTINE
+THE SACRIFICE
+TO A CERTAIN ROOM
+OTHER DAYS
+AT TWILIGHT
+THERE ARE SUCH WEARY LITTLE LINES
+THREE SONGS OF AWAKENING
+IN A CANOE
+CAPTIVE-HEART
+EVENING SONG
+AFTER A DAY OF WAITING
+INTANGIBLE
+AT FIRST SIGHT
+FIVE SONNETS
+FORGIVEN
+THE WRITING
+AT PARTING
+WHEN I AM OLD
+THE REFUGE
+TO DREAM ALONE
+NOW I MAY SING OF SADNESS
+WHEN WAR CAME
+WHEN YOU WENT BY
+IN MEMORIAM
+A PEASANT GIRL SINGS
+TOGETHER
+JIM-DOG
+SIX SONNETS
+AFTER PEACE
+FROM THE DECK OF A TRANSPORT
+TIM -- MY BUNKIE
+A PRAYER FOR OUR BOYS RETURNING
+PARIS
+SONG FROM FRANCE
+FROM PARIS TO CHATEAU-THIERRY
+A RUINED CHURCH
+CHILD FACES
+AFTER HEARING MUSIC COMING FROM A DEVASTATED FARMHOUSE
+RETURN
+THE PHOENIX
+A PRAYER ON EASTER FOR OUR BOYS KILLED IN ACTION
+INDEPENDENCE DAY, 1919
+SHADOWS
+L'ENVOI
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+WOOD MAGIC
+
+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!
+
+
+
+WATERIN' TH' HORSES
+
+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!
+
+
+
+AT DAWN
+
+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!
+
+
+
+II. THE PIONEER
+
+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?
+
+
+
+III. THE FARMER
+
+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!
+
+
+
+
+THE HAUNTED HOUSE
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+TO A PAIR OF GLOVES
+
+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!
+
+
+
+PEAKS
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+LIL' FELLER
+
+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!
+
+
+
+TO AN OLD SCHOOLHOUSE
+
+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!
+
+
+
+THE OLD SAILOR
+
+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!
+
+
+
+
+THE RIVER AND THE TREE
+
+"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!
+
+
+
+
+AUTUMN SONG
+
+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!
+
+
+
+THE CITY --
+TOWERS AND CANYONS, AND SLUMS,
+MAN BUILT. . . .
+
+AND SOULS,
+GOD BUILT!
+
+
+
+
+SCARLET FLOWERS
+
+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.
+
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+ON FIFTH AVENUE
+
+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.)
+
+
+
+FROM A CITY WINDOW
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+THE LADY ACROSS THE COURT
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+TO A PORCELAIN PUPPY DOG
+
+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?
+
+
+
+
+COLORS
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+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!
+
+
+
+
+LIGHTS OF THE CITY
+
+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. . . .
+
+
+
+
+STEEL
+
+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!
+
+
+
+MUSIC OF THE SLUMS
+
+I. THE VlOLIN-MAKER
+
+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.
+
+
+
+II. THE PARK BAND
+
+(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.)
+
+
+
+III. THE ORGAN MAN
+
+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.
+
+
+
+"BE OF GOOD CHEER!"
+
+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. . . .
+
+
+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!
+
+
+
+FROM MY ROOM
+
+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!
+
+
+
+THE BALCONY SCENES
+
+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.
+
+
+
+A BOWERY PAWN-SHOP
+
+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!
+
+
+
+SPRING IN THE CITY
+
+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!
+
+
+
+ROSE PETALS IN THE EARLY RAIN,
+FORGOTTEN DREAMS,
+AND A TORN SKETCH BOOK!
+
+
+
+LI'L EMPTY CLOSET
+
+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!
+
+
+
+
+TWO LULLABYS
+
+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!
+
+
+
+II. POPPY LAND
+
+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. . . .
+
+
+
+I DREAMED YOUR FACE
+
+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!
+
+
+
+ANSWER
+
+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!
+
+
+
+A BABY'S HANDS
+
+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!
+
+
+
+
+ALL ALONG THE BROAD HIGHWAY
+
+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!
+
+
+
+
+MY MOTHER
+
+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!
+
+
+
+
+HEREDITY
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+APRIL
+
+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!
+
+
+
+
+THE DESERT PATH -- SEVEN SONNETS
+
+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.
+
+
+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!
+
+
+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!
+
+
+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.
+
+
+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!
+
+
+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!"
+
+
+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!
+
+
+
+
+SUMMER SONG
+
+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!
+
+
+
+COMPREHENSION -- A MOTHER'S SONG
+
+      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!
+
+
+
+SINGING ON THE MARCH
+
+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!
+
+
+
+
+EASTER
+
+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!
+
+
+
+RESURRECTION
+
+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!
+
+
+
+THE QUEEN
+
+"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!
+
+
+
+FRAGMENTS
+
+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.
+
+
+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?
+
+
+
+IT'S LOTS OF FUN --
+
+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!
+
+
+
+
+VALENTINE
+
+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.
+
+
+
+THE SACRIFICE
+
+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!
+
+
+
+TO A CERTAIN ROOM
+
+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!
+
+
+
+OTHER DAYS
+
+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!
+
+
+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!
+
+
+
+AT TWILIGHT
+
+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!
+
+
+
+
+THERE ARE SUCH WEARY LITTLE LINES
+
+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!
+
+
+
+
+THREE SONGS OF AWAKENING
+
+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!
+
+
+
+IN A CANOE
+
+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!
+
+
+
+
+CAPTIVE-HEART
+
+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!
+
+
+
+EVENING SONG
+
+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!
+
+
+
+
+AFTER A DAY OF WAITING
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+INTANGIBLE
+
+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!
+
+
+
+
+AT FIRST SIGHT
+
+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!
+
+
+
+FIVE SONNETS
+
+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!
+
+
+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!
+
+
+
+III.  THE RAIN OUTSIDE
+
+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.
+
+
+
+IV.  I USED TO WRITE
+
+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!
+
+
+
+V.  MOON-GLOW
+
+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!
+
+
+
+FORGIVEN
+
+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!
+
+
+
+THE WRITING
+
+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!
+
+
+
+
+AT PARTING
+
+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!
+   
+
+
+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?
+
+
+
+THE REFUGE
+
+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!
+
+
+
+TO DREAM ALONE. . . .
+
+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!
+
+
+
+NOW I MAY SING OF SADNESS. . . .
+
+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!
+
+
+
+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!
+
+
+
+WHEN WAR CAME
+
+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!
+
+
+
+
+WHEN YOU WENT BY
+
+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!
+
+
+
+IN MEMORIAM
+
+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!
+   
+
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+TOGETHER
+
+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. . . .
+
+
+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.
+
+
+
+JIM-DOG
+
+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!
+
+
+
+
+SIX SONNETS
+
+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!
+   
+
+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. . . .
+
+
+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!
+
+
+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!
+
+
+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.
+
+
+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!
+
+
+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.
+
+
+
+FROM THE DECK OF A TRANSPORT
+
+(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!
+
+
+
+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?
+
+
+
+TIM -- MY BUNKIE
+
+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!
+
+
+
+A PRAYER FOR OUR BOYS RETURNING
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+PARIS
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+II.  THE RUE DE LA PAIX -- (A STREET OF JEWELS)
+
+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!)
+
+
+
+
+III.  THE FLOWER WAGONS 
+
+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!
+
+
+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.
+
+
+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.
+
+
+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. . . .
+
+
+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!
+
+
+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!
+
+
+
+
+SONGS FROM FRANCE
+
+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!
+
+
+
+FROM PARIS TO CHATEAU THIERRY
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+A RUINED CHURCH
+
+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. . . .
+
+
+
+
+CHILD FACES
+
+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!
+
+
+
+
+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!
+
+
+
+
+RETURN
+
+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.
+
+
+
+THE PHOENIX
+
+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!
+
+
+
+
+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.
+
+
+
+
+INDEPENDENCE DAY -- 1919
+
+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.
+
+
+
+SHADOWS
+
+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!
+
+
+
+
+L'ENVOI
+
+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!
+
+
+
+
+
+End of The Project Gutenberg Etext Cross Roads, by Margaret E. Sangster
+
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