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diff --git a/old/crsrd10.txt b/old/crsrd10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..99f15ae --- /dev/null +++ b/old/crsrd10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4543 @@ +The Project Gutenberg Etext Cross Roads, by Margaret E. Sangster + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. We need your donations. + + +Cross Roads + +by Margaret E. 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If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Association/Carnegie-Mellon + University" within the 60 days following each + date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) + your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, +scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty +free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution +you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg +Association / Carnegie-Mellon University". + +*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +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. 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