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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/27912-8.txt b/27912-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5deed74 --- /dev/null +++ b/27912-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3075 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Gloucester Moors and Other Poems, by William Vaughn Moody + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Gloucester Moors and Other Poems + +Author: William Vaughn Moody + +Release Date: January 27, 2009 [EBook #27912] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLOUCESTER MOORS AND OTHER POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by David Garcia, C. St. Charleskindt and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net +(This file was produced from images generously made +available by The Kentuckiana Digital Library) + + + + + + + + + +By William Vaughn Moody + + GLOUCESTER MOORS and Other Poems. 12mo, $1.25. + THE FIRE-BRINGER. 12mo, $1.10, _net_. Postage 8 cents. + THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT. 12mo, $1.50. + + THE GREAT DIVIDE. 12mo, $1.00, _net_. Postage 10 cents. + THE FAITH HEALER. 12mo, $1.00, _net_. Postage 10 cents. + + HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY + BOSTON AND NEW YORK + + + + +GLOUCESTER MOORS + +AND OTHER POEMS + + +BY + + +WILLIAM VAUGHN MOODY + + + + +[Illustration: TOUT BIEN OU RIEN] + + + + +BOSTON AND NEW YORK +HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY +The Riverside Press Cambridge + + + + +COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY WILLIAM VAUGHN MOODY + +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED + + + + +NOTE + + +Several poems of this collection, including "An Ode in Time of +Hesitation," "The Brute," and "On a Soldier Fallen in the +Philippines," have appeared in the _Atlantic Monthly_; "Gloucester +Moors" and "Faded Pictures," in _Scribner's Magazine_; and "The Ride +Back," under a different title in the _Chap-Book_. The author is +indebted to the editors of these periodicals for leave to reprint. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + + GLOUCESTER MOORS 1 + + GOOD FRIDAY NIGHT 5 + + ROAD-HYMN FOR THE START 9 + + AN ODE IN TIME OF HESITATION 12 + + THE QUARRY 22 + + ON A SOLDIER FALLEN IN THE PHILIPPINES 24 + + UNTIL THE TROUBLING OF THE WATERS 26 + + JETSAM 39 + + THE BRUTE 49 + + THE MENAGERIE 55 + + THE GOLDEN JOURNEY 62 + + HEART'S WILD-FLOWER 65 + + HARMONICS 67 + + ON THE RIVER 68 + + THE BRACELET OF GRASS 70 + + THE DEPARTURE 72 + + FADED PICTURES 74 + + A GREY DAY 75 + + THE RIDE BACK 76 + + SONG-FLOWER AND POPPY 80 + + I. IN NEW YORK + + II. AT ASSISI + + HOW THE MEAD-SLAVE WAS SET FREE 86 + + A DIALOGUE IN PURGATORY 89 + + THE DAGUERREOTYPE 98 + + + + +POEMS + + + + +GLOUCESTER MOORS + + + A mile behind is Gloucester town + Where the fishing fleets put in, + A mile ahead the land dips down + And the woods and farms begin. + Here, where the moors stretch free + In the high blue afternoon, + Are the marching sun and talking sea, + And the racing winds that wheel and flee + On the flying heels of June. + + Jill-o'er-the-ground is purple blue, + Blue is the quaker-maid, + The wild geranium holds its dew + Long in the boulder's shade. + Wax-red hangs the cup + From the huckleberry boughs, + In barberry bells the grey moths sup, + Or where the choke-cherry lifts high up + Sweet bowls for their carouse. + + Over the shelf of the sandy cove + Beach-peas blossom late. + By copse and cliff the swallows rove + Each calling to his mate. + Seaward the sea-gulls go, + And the land-birds all are here; + That green-gold flash was a vireo, + And yonder flame where the marsh-flags grow + Was a scarlet tanager. + + This earth is not the steadfast place + We landsmen build upon; + From deep to deep she varies pace, + And while she comes is gone. + Beneath my feet I feel + Her smooth bulk heave and dip; + With velvet plunge and soft upreel + She swings and steadies to her keel + Like a gallant, gallant ship. + + These summer clouds she sets for sail, + The sun is her masthead light, + She tows the moon like a pinnace frail + Where her phosphor wake churns bright. + Now hid, now looming clear, + On the face of the dangerous blue + The star fleets tack and wheel and veer, + But on, but on does the old earth steer + As if her port she knew. + + God, dear God! Does she know her port, + Though she goes so far about? + Or blind astray, does she make her sport + To brazen and chance it out? + I watched when her captains passed: + She were better captainless. + Men in the cabin, before the mast, + But some were reckless and some aghast, + And some sat gorged at mess. + + By her battened hatch I leaned and caught + Sounds from the noisome hold,-- + Cursing and sighing of souls distraught + And cries too sad to be told. + Then I strove to go down and see; + But they said, "Thou art not of us!" + I turned to those on the deck with me + And cried, "Give help!" But they said, "Let be: + Our ship sails faster thus." + + Jill-o'er-the-ground is purple blue, + Blue is the quaker-maid, + The alder-clump where the brook comes through + Breeds cresses in its shade. + To be out of the moiling street + With its swelter and its sin! + Who has given to me this sweet, + And given my brother dust to eat? + And when will his wage come in? + + Scattering wide or blown in ranks, + Yellow and white and brown, + Boats and boats from the fishing banks + Come home to Gloucester town. + There is cash to purse and spend, + There are wives to be embraced, + Hearts to borrow and hearts to lend, + And hearts to take and keep to the end,-- + O little sails, make haste! + + But thou, vast outbound ship of souls, + What harbor town for thee? + What shapes, when thy arriving tolls, + Shall crowd the banks to see? + Shall all the happy shipmates then + Stand singing brotherly? + Or shall a haggard ruthless few + Warp her over and bring her to, + While the many broken souls of men + Fester down in the slaver's pen, + And nothing to say or do? + + + + +GOOD FRIDAY NIGHT + + + At last the bird that sang so long + In twilight circles, hushed his song: + Above the ancient square + The stars came here and there. + + Good Friday night! Some hearts were bowed, + But some amid the waiting crowd + Because of too much youth + Felt not that mystic ruth; + + And of these hearts my heart was one: + Nor when beneath the arch of stone + With dirge and candle flame + The cross of passion came, + + Did my glad spirit feel reproof, + Though on the awful tree aloof, + Unspiritual, dead, + Drooped the ensanguined Head. + + To one who stood where myrtles made + A little space of deeper shade + (As I could half descry, + A stranger, even as I), + + I said, "These youths who bear along + The symbols of their Saviour's wrong, + The spear, the garment torn, + The flaggel, and the thorn,-- + + "Why do they make this mummery? + Would not a brave man gladly die + For a much smaller thing + Than to be Christ and king?" + + He answered nothing, and I turned. + Throned in its hundred candles burned + The jeweled eidolon + Of her who bore the Son. + + The crowd was prostrate; still, I felt + No shame until the stranger knelt; + Then not to kneel, almost + Seemed like a vulgar boast. + + I knelt. The doll-face, waxen white, + Flowered out a living dimness; bright + Dawned the dear mortal grace + Of my own mother's face. + + When we were risen up, the street + Was vacant; all the air hung sweet + With lemon-flowers; and soon + The sky would hold the moon. + + More silently than new-found friends + To whom much silence makes amends + For the much babble vain + While yet their lives were twain, + + We walked along the odorous hill. + The light was little yet; his will + I could not see to trace + Upon his form or face. + + So when aloft the gold moon broke, + I cried, heart-stung. As one who woke + He turned unto my cries + The anguish of his eyes. + + "Friend! Master!" I cried falteringly, + "Thou seest the thing they make of thee. + Oh, by the light divine + My mother shares with thine, + + "I beg that I may lay my head + Upon thy shoulder and be fed + With thoughts of brotherhood!" + So through the odorous wood, + + More silently than friends new-found + We walked. At the first meadow bound + His figure ashen-stoled + Sank in the moon's broad gold. + + + + +ROAD-HYMN FOR THE START + + + Leave the early bells at chime, + Leave the kindled hearth to blaze, + Leave the trellised panes where children linger out the waking-time, + Leave the forms of sons and fathers trudging through the misty ways, + Leave the sounds of mothers taking up their sweet laborious days. + + Pass them by! even while our soul + Yearns to them with keen distress. + Unto them a part is given; we will strive to see the whole. + Dear shall be the banquet table where their singing spirits press; + Dearer be our sacred hunger, and our pilgrim loneliness. + + We have felt the ancient swaying + Of the earth before the sun, + On the darkened marge of midnight heard sidereal rivers playing; + Rash it was to bathe our souls there, but we plunged and all was done. + That is lives and lives behind us--lo, our journey is begun! + + Careless where our face is set, + Let us take the open way. + What we are no tongue has told us: Errand-goers who forget? + Soldiers heedless of their harry? Pilgrim people gone astray? + We have heard a voice cry "Wander!" That was all we heard it say. + + Ask no more: 't is much, 't is much! + Down the road the day-star calls; + Touched with change in the wide heavens, like a leaf the frost winds + touch, + Flames the failing moon a moment, ere it shrivels white and falls; + Hid aloft, a wild throat holdeth sweet and sweeter intervals. + + Leave him still to ease in song + Half his little heart's unrest: + Speech is his, but we may journey toward the life for which we long. + God, who gives the bird its anguish, maketh nothing manifest, + But upon our lifted foreheads pours the boon of endless quest. + + + + +AN ODE IN TIME OF HESITATION + + +(After seeing at Boston the statue of Robert Gould Shaw, killed while +storming Fort Wagner, July 18, 1863, at the head of the first enlisted +negro regiment, the 54th Massachusetts.) + + + I + + Before the solemn bronze Saint Gaudens made + To thrill the heedless passer's heart with awe, + And set here in the city's talk and trade + To the good memory of Robert Shaw, + This bright March morn I stand, + And hear the distant spring come up the land; + Knowing that what I hear is not unheard + Of this boy soldier and his negro band, + For all their gaze is fixed so stern ahead, + For all the fatal rhythm of their tread. + The land they died to save from death and shame + Trembles and waits, hearing the spring's great name, + And by her pangs these resolute ghosts are stirred. + + + II + + Through street and mall the tides of people go + Heedless; the trees upon the Common show + No hint of green; but to my listening heart + The still earth doth impart + Assurance of her jubilant emprise, + And it is clear to my long-searching eyes + That love at last has might upon the skies. + The ice is runneled on the little pond; + A telltale patter drips from off the trees; + The air is touched with southland spiceries, + As if but yesterday it tossed the frond + Of pendent mosses where the live-oaks grow + Beyond Virginia and the Carolines, + Or had its will among the fruits and vines + Of aromatic isles asleep beyond + Florida and the Gulf of Mexico. + + + III + + Soon shall the Cape Ann children shout in glee, + Spying the arbutus, spring's dear recluse; + Hill lads at dawn shall hearken the wild goose + Go honking northward over Tennessee; + West from Oswego to Sault Sainte-Marie, + And on to where the Pictured Rocks are hung, + And yonder where, gigantic, willful, young, + Chicago sitteth at the northwest gates, + With restless violent hands and casual tongue + Moulding her mighty fates, + The Lakes shall robe them in ethereal sheen; + And like a larger sea, the vital green + Of springing wheat shall vastly be outflung + Over Dakota and the prairie states. + By desert people immemorial + On Arizonan mesas shall be done + Dim rites unto the thunder and the sun; + Nor shall the primal gods lack sacrifice + More splendid, when the white Sierras call + Unto the Rockies straightway to arise + And dance before the unveiled ark of the year, + Sounding their windy cedars as for shawms, + Unrolling rivers clear + For flutter of broad phylacteries; + While Shasta signals to Alaskan seas + That watch old sluggish glaciers downward creep + To fling their icebergs thundering from the steep, + And Mariposa through the purple calms + Gazes at far Hawaii crowned with palms + Where East and West are met,-- + A rich seal on the ocean's bosom set + To say that East and West are twain, + With different loss and gain: + The Lord hath sundered them; let them be sundered yet. + + + IV + + Alas! what sounds are these that come + Sullenly over the Pacific seas,-- + Sounds of ignoble battle, striking dumb + The season's half-awakened ecstasies? + Must I be humble, then, + Now when my heart hath need of pride? + Wild love falls on me from these sculptured men; + By loving much the land for which they died + I would be justified. + My spirit was away on pinions wide + To soothe in praise of her its passionate mood + And ease it of its ache of gratitude. + Too sorely heavy is the debt they lay + On me and the companions of my day. + I would remember now + My country's goodliness, make sweet her name. + Alas! what shade art thou + Of sorrow or of blame + Liftest the lyric leafage from her brow, + And pointest a slow finger at her shame? + + + V + + Lies! lies! It cannot be! The wars we wage + Are noble, and our battles still are won + By justice for us, ere we lift the gage, + We have not sold our loftiest heritage. + The proud republic hath not stooped to cheat + And scramble in the market-place of war; + Her forehead weareth yet its solemn star. + Here is her witness: this, her perfect son, + This delicate and proud New England soul + Who leads despisèd men, with just-unshackled feet, + Up the large ways where death and glory meet, + To show all peoples that our shame is done, + That once more we are clean and spirit-whole. + + + VI + + Crouched in the sea fog on the moaning sand + All night he lay, speaking some simple word + From hour to hour to the slow minds that heard, + Holding each poor life gently in his hand + And breathing on the base rejected clay + Till each dark face shone mystical and grand + Against the breaking day; + And lo, the shard the potter cast away + Was grown a fiery chalice crystal-fine + Fulfilled of the divine + Great wine of battle wrath by God's ring-finger stirred. + Then upward, where the shadowy bastion loomed + Huge on the mountain in the wet sea light, + Whence now, and now, infernal flowerage bloomed, + Bloomed, burst, and scattered down its deadly seed,-- + They swept, and died like freemen on the height, + Like freemen, and like men of noble breed; + And when the battle fell away at night + By hasty and contemptuous hands were thrust + Obscurely in a common grave with him + The fair-haired keeper of their love and trust. + Now limb doth mingle with dissolvèd limb + In nature's busy old democracy + To flush the mountain laurel when she blows + Sweet by the southern sea, + And heart with crumbled heart climbs in the rose:-- + The untaught hearts with the high heart that knew + This mountain fortress for no earthly hold + Of temporal quarrel, but the bastion old + Of spiritual wrong, + Built by an unjust nation sheer and strong, + Expugnable but by a nation's rue + And bowing down before that equal shrine + By all men held divine, + Whereof his band and he were the most holy sign. + + + VII + + O bitter, bitter shade! + Wilt thou not put the scorn + And instant tragic question from thine eyes? + Do thy dark brows yet crave + That swift and angry stave-- + Unmeet for this desirous morn-- + That I have striven, striven to evade? + Gazing on him, must I not deem they err + Whose careless lips in street and shop aver + As common tidings, deeds to make his cheek + Flush from the bronze, and his dead throat to speak? + Surely some elder singer would arise, + Whose harp hath leave to threaten and to mourn + Above this people when they go astray. + Is Whitman, the strong spirit, overworn? + Has Whittier put his yearning wrath away? + I will not and I dare not yet believe! + Though furtively the sunlight seems to grieve, + And the spring-laden breeze + Out of the gladdening west is sinister + With sounds of nameless battle overseas; + Though when we turn and question in suspense + If these things be indeed after these ways, + And what things are to follow after these, + Our fluent men of place and consequence + Fumble and fill their mouths with hollow phrase, + Or for the end-all of deep arguments + Intone their dull commercial liturgies-- + I dare not yet believe! My ears are shut! + I will not hear the thin satiric praise + And muffled laughter of our enemies, + Bidding us never sheathe our valiant sword + Till we have changed our birthright for a gourd + Of wild pulse stolen from a barbarian's hut; + Showing how wise it is to cast away + The symbols of our spiritual sway, + That so our hands with better ease + May wield the driver's whip and grasp the jailer's keys. + + + VIII + + Was it for this our fathers kept the law? + This crown shall crown their struggle and their ruth? + Are we the eagle nation Milton saw + Mewing its mighty youth, + Soon to possess the mountain winds of truth, + And be a swift familiar of the sun + Where aye before God's face his trumpets run? + Or have we but the talons and the maw, + And for the abject likeness of our heart + Shall some less lordly bird be set apart?-- + Some gross-billed wader where the swamps are fat? + Some gorger in the sun? Some prowler with the bat? + + + IX + + Ah no! + We have not fallen so. + We are our fathers' sons: let those who lead us know! + 'T was only yesterday sick Cuba's cry + Came up the tropic wind, "Now help us, for we die!" + Then Alabama heard, + And rising, pale, to Maine and Idaho + Shouted a burning word. + Proud state with proud impassioned state conferred, + And at the lifting of a hand sprang forth, + East, west, and south, and north, + Beautiful armies. Oh, by the sweet blood and young + Shed on the awful hill slope at San Juan, + By the unforgotten names of eager boys + Who might have tasted girls' love and been stung + With the old mystic joys + And starry griefs, now the spring nights come on, + But that the heart of youth is generous,-- + We charge you, ye who lead us, + Breathe on their chivalry no hint of stain! + Turn not their new-world victories to gain! + One least leaf plucked for chaffer from the bays + Of their dear praise, + One jot of their pure conquest put to hire, + The implacable republic will require; + With clamor, in the glare and gaze of noon, + Or subtly, coming as a thief at night, + But surely, very surely, slow or soon + That insult deep we deeply will requite. + Tempt not our weakness, our cupidity! + For save we let the island men go free, + Those baffled and dislaureled ghosts + Will curse us from the lamentable coasts + Where walk the frustrate dead. + The cup of trembling shall be drainèd quite, + Eaten the sour bread of astonishment, + With ashes of the hearth shall be made white + Our hair, and wailing shall be in the tent; + Then on your guiltier head + Shall our intolerable self-disdain + Wreak suddenly its anger and its pain; + For manifest in that disastrous light + We shall discern the right + And do it, tardily.--O ye who lead, + Take heed! + Blindness we may forgive, but baseness we will smite. + + 1900. + + + + +THE QUARRY + + + Between the rice swamps and the fields of tea + I met a sacred elephant, snow-white. + Upon his back a huge pagoda towered + Full of brass gods and food of sacrifice. + Upon his forehead sat a golden throne, + The massy metal twisted into shapes + Grotesque, antediluvian, such as move + In myth or have their broken images + Sealed in the stony middle of the hills. + A peacock spread his thousand dyes to screen + The yellow sunlight from the head of one + Who sat upon the throne, clad stiff with gems, + Heirlooms of dynasties of buried kings,-- + Himself the likeness of a buried king, + With frozen gesture and unfocused eyes. + The trappings of the beast were over-scrawled + With broideries--sea-shapes and flying things, + Fan-trees and dwarfed nodosities of pine, + Mixed with old alphabets, and faded lore + Fallen from ecstatic mouths before the Flood, + Or gathered by the daughters when they walked + Eastward in Eden with the Sons of God + Whom love and the deep moon made garrulous. + Between the carven tusks his trunk hung dead; + Blind as the eyes of pearl in Buddha's brow + His beaded eyes stared thwart upon the road; + And feebler than the doting knees of eld, + His joints, of size to swing the builder's crane + Across the war-walls of the Anakim, + Made vain and shaken haste. Good need was his + To hasten: panting, foaming, on the slot + Came many brutes of prey, their several hates + Laid by until the sharing of the spoil. + Just as they gathered stomach for the leap, + The sun was darkened, and wide-balanced wings + Beat downward on the trade-wind from the sea. + A wheel of shadow sped along the fields + And o'er the dreaming cities. Suddenly + My heart misgave me, and I cried aloud, + "Alas! What dost thou here? What dost _thou_ here?" + The great beasts and the little halted sharp, + Eyed the grand circler, doubting his intent. + Straightway the wind flawed and he came about, + Stooping to take the vanward of the pack; + Then turned, between the chasers and the chased, + Crying a word I could not understand,-- + But stiller-tongued, with eyes somewhat askance, + They settled to the slot and disappeared. + + 1900. + + + + +ON A SOLDIER FALLEN IN THE PHILIPPINES + + + Streets of the roaring town, + Hush for him, hush, be still! + He comes, who was stricken down + Doing the word of our will. + Hush! Let him have his state, + Give him his soldier's crown. + The grists of trade can wait + Their grinding at the mill, + But he cannot wait for his honor, now the trumpet has been blown. + Wreathe pride now for his granite brow, lay love on his breast of + stone. + + Toll! Let the great bells toll + Till the clashing air is dim. + Did we wrong this parted soul? + We will make it up to him. + Toll! Let him never guess + What work we set him to. + Laurel, laurel, yes; + He did what we bade him do. + Praise, and never a whispered hint but the fight he fought was good; + Never a word that the blood on his sword was his country's own + heart's-blood. + + A flag for the soldier's bier + Who dies that his land may live; + O, banners, banners here, + That he doubt not nor misgive! + That he heed not from the tomb + The evil days draw near + When the nation, robed in gloom, + With its faithless past shall strive. + Let him never dream that his bullet's scream went wide of its island + mark, + Home to the heart of his darling land where she stumbled and sinned + in the dark. + + + + +UNTIL THE TROUBLING OF THE WATERS + + + Two hours, two hours: God give me strength for it! + He who has given so much strength to me + And nothing to my child, must give to-day + What more I need to try and save my child + And get for him the life I owe to him. + To think that I may get it for him now, + Before he knows how much he might have missed + That other boys have got! The bitterest thought + Of all that plagued me when he came was this, + How some day he would see the difference, + And drag himself to me with puzzled eyes + To ask me why it was. He would have been + Cruel enough to do it, knowing not + That was the question my rebellious heart + Cried over and over one whole year to God, + And got no answer and no help at all. + If he had asked me, what could I have said? + What single word could I have found to say + To hide me from his searching, puzzled gaze? + Some coward thing at best, never the truth; + The truth I never could have told him. No, + I never could have said, "God gave you me + To fashion you a body, right and strong, + With sturdy little limbs and chest and neck + For fun and fighting with your little mates, + Great feats and voyages in the breathless world + Of out-of-doors,--He gave you me for this, + And I was such a bungler, that is all!" + O, the old lie--that thought was not the worst. + I never have been truthful with myself. + For by the door where lurked one ghostly thought + I stood with crazy hands to thrust it back + If it should dare to peep and whisper out + Unbearable things about me, hearing which + The women passing in the streets would turn + To pity me and scold me with their eyes, + Who was so bad a mother and so slow + To learn to help God do his wonder in her + That she--O my sweet baby! It was not + The fear that you would see the difference + Between you and the other boys and girls; + No, no, it was the dimmer, wilder fear, + That you might never see it, never look + Out of your tiny baby-house of mind, + But sit your life through, quiet in the dark, + Smiling and nodding at what was not there! + A foolish fear: God could not punish so. + Yet until yesterday I thought He would. + My soul was always cowering at the blow + I saw suspended, ready to be dealt + The moment that I showed my fear too much. + Therefore I hid it from Him all I could, + And only stole a shaking glance at it + Sometimes in the dead minutes before dawn + When He forgets to watch. Till yesterday. + For yesterday was wonderful and strange + From the beginning. When I wakened first + And looked out at the window, the last snow + Was gone from earth; about the apple-trees + Hung a faint mist of bloom; small sudden green + Had run and spread and rippled everywhere + Over the fields; and in the level sun + Walked something like a presence and a power, + Uttering hopes and loving-kindnesses + To all the world, but chiefly unto me. + It walked before me when I went to work, + And all day long the noises of the mill + Were spun upon a core of golden sound, + Half-spoken words and interrupted songs + Of blessed promise, meant for all the world, + But most for me, because I suffered most. + The shooting spindles, the smooth-humming wheels, + The rocking webs, seemed toiling to some end + Beneficent and human known to them, + And duly brought to pass in power and love. + The faces of the girls and men at work + Met mine with intense greeting, veiled at once, + As if they knew a secret they must keep + For fear the joy would harm me if they told + Before some inkling filtered to my mind + In roundabout ways. When the day's work was done + There lay a special silence on the fields; + And, as I passed, the bushes and the trees, + The very ruts and puddles of the road + Spoke to each other, saying it was she, + The happy woman, the elected one, + The vessel of strange mercy and the sign + Of many loving wonders done in Heaven + To help the piteous earth. + + At last I stopped + And looked about me in sheer wonderment. + What did it mean? What did they want with me? + What was the matter with the evening now + That it was just as bound to make me glad + As morning and the live-long day had been? + Me, who had quite forgot what gladness was, + Who had no right to anything but toil, + And food and sleep for strength to toil again, + And that fierce frightened anguish of my love + For the poor little spirit I had wronged + With life that was no life. What had befallen + Since yesterday? No need to stop and ask! + Back there in the dark places of my mind + Where I had thrust it, fearing to believe + An unbelievable mercy, shone the news + Told by the village neighbors coming home + Last night from the great city, of a man + Arisen, like the first evangelists, + With power to heal the bodies of the sick, + In testimony of his master Christ, + Who heals the soul when it is sick with sin. + Could such a thing be true in these hard days? + Was help still sent in such a way as that? + No, no! I did not dare to think of it, + Feeling what weakness and despair would come + After the crazy hope broke under me. + I turned and started homeward, faster now, + But never fast enough to leave behind + The voices and the troubled happiness + That still kept mounting, mounting like a sea, + And singing far-off like a rush of wings. + Far down the road a yellow spot of light + Shone from my cottage window, rayless yet, + Where the last sunset crimson caught the panes. + Alice had lit the lamp before she went; + Her day of pity and unmirthful play + Was over, and her young heart free to live + Until to-morrow brought her nursing-task + Again, and made her feel how dark and still + That life could be to others which to her + Was full of dreams that beckoned, reaching hands, + And thrilling invitations young girls hear. + My boy was sleeping, little mind and frame + More tired just lying there awake two hours + Than with a whole day's romp he should have been. + He would not know his mother had come home; + But after supper I would sit awhile + Beside his bed, and let my heart have time + For that worst love that stabs and breaks and kills. + This I thought over to myself by rote + And habit, but I could not feel my thoughts; + For still that dim unmeaning happiness + Kept mounting, mounting round me like a sea, + And singing inward like a wind of wings. + + Before I lifted up the latch, I knew. + I felt no fear; the One who waited there + In the low lamplight by the bed, had come + Because I was his sister and in need. + My word had got to Him somehow at last, + And He had come to help me or to tell + Where help was to be found. It was not strange. + Strange only He had stayed away so long; + But that should be forgotten--He was here. + I pushed the door wide open and looked in. + He had been kneeling by the bed, and now, + Half-risen, kissed my boy upon the lips, + Then turned and smiled and pointed with his hand. + I must have fallen on the threshold stone, + For I remember that I felt, not saw, + The resurrection glory and the peace + Shed from his face and raiment as He went + Out by the door into the evening street. + But when I looked, the place about the bed + Was yet all bathed in light, and in the midst + My boy lay changed,--no longer clothed upon + With scraps and shreds of life, but like the child + Of some most fortunate mother. In a breath + The image faded. There he lay again + The same as always; and the light was gone. + I sank with moans and cries beside the bed. + The cruelty, O Christ, the cruelty! + To come at last and then to go like that, + Leaving the darkness deeper than before! + Then, though I heard no sound, I grew aware + Of some one standing by the open door + Among the dry vines rustling in the porch. + My heart laughed suddenly. He had come back! + He had come back to make the vision true. + He had not meant to mock me: God was God, + And Christ was Christ; there was no falsehood there. + I heard a quiet footstep cross the room + And felt a hand laid gently on my hair,-- + A human hand, worn hard by daily toil, + Heavy with life-long struggle after bread. + Alice's father. The kind homely voice + Had in it such strange music that I dreamed + Perhaps it was the Other speaking in him, + Because His own bright form had made me swoon + With its too much of glory. What he brought + Was news as good as ever heavenly lips + Had the dear right to utter. He had been + All day among the crowds of curious folk + From the great city and the country-side + Gathered to watch the Healer do his work + Of mercy on the sick and halt and blind, + And with his very eyes had seen such things + As awestruck men had witnessed long ago + In Galilee, and writ of in the Book. + To-morrow morning he would take me there + If I had strength and courage to believe. + It might be there was hope; he could not say, + But knew what he had seen. When he was gone + I lay for hours, letting the solemn waves + Thundering joy go over and over me. + + Just before midnight baby fretted, woke; + He never yet has slept a whole night through + Without his food and petting. As I sat + Feeding and petting him and singing soft, + I felt a jealousy begin to ache + And worry at my heartstrings, hushing down + The gladness. Jealousy of what or whom? + I hardly knew, or could not put in words; + At least it seemed too foolish and too wrong + When said, and so I shut the thought away. + Only, next minute, it came stealing back. + After the change, would my boy be the same + As this one? Would he be my boy at all, + And not another's--his who gave the life + I could not give, or did not anyhow? + How could I look in his new eyes to claim + The whole of him, the body and the breath, + When some one not his mother, a strange man, + Had clothed him in that beauty of the flesh-- + Perhaps (for who could know?), perhaps, by some + Hateful disfiguring miracle, had even + Transformed his spirit to a better one, + Better, but not the same I prayed for him + Down out of Heaven through the sleepless nights,-- + The best that God would send to such as me. + I tried to strangle back the wicked pain; + Fancied him changed and tried to love him so. + No use; it was another, not my child, + Not my frail, broken, priceless little one, + My cup of anguish, and my trembling star + Hung small and sad and sweet above the earth, + So sure to fall but for my cherishing! + + When he had dropped asleep again, I rose + And wrestled with the sinful selfishness, + The dark injustice, the unnatural pain. + Fevered at last with pacing to and fro, + I raised the bedroom window and leaned out. + The white moon, low behind the sycamores, + Silvered the silent country; not a voice + Of all the myriads summer moves to sing + Had yet awakened; in the level moon + Walked that same presence I had heard at dawn + Uttering hopes and loving-kindnesses, + But now, dispirited and reticent, + It walked the moonlight like a homeless thing. + O, how to cleanse me of the cowardice! + How to be just! Was I a mother, then, + A mother, and not love her child as well + As her own covetous and morbid love? + Was it for this the Comforter had come, + Smiling at me and pointing with His hand? + --What had He meant to have me think or do, + Smiling and pointing? + + All at once I saw + A way to save my darling from myself + And make atonement for my grudging love! + Under the sycamores and up the hill + And down across the river, the wet road + Went stretching cityward, silvered in the moon. + I who had shrunk from sacrifice, even I, + Who had refused God's blessing for my boy, + Would take him in my arms and carry him + Up to the altar of the miracle. + I would not wait for daylight, nor the help + Of any human friendship; I alone, + Through the still miles of country, I alone, + Only my arms to shield him and my feet + To bear him: he should have no one to thank + But me for that. I knew the way was long, + But knew strength would be given. So I came. + Soon the stars failed; the late moon faded too: + I think my heart had sucked their beams from them + To build more blue amid the murky night + Its own miraculous day. From creeks and fields + The fog climbed slowly, blotted out the road; + And hid the signposts telling of the town; + After a while rain fell, with sleet and snow. + What did I care? Baby was snug and dry. + Some day, when I was telling him of this, + He would but hug me closer, hearing how + The night conspired against us. Better hard + Than easy, then: I almost felt regret + My body was so capable and strong + To do its errand. Honeyed drop by drop, + The ghostly jealousy, loosening at my breast, + Distilled into a dew of quiet tears + And fell with splash of music in the wells + And on the hidden rivers of my soul. + + The hardest part was coming through the town. + The country, even when it hindered most, + Seemed conscious of the thing I went to find. + The rocks and bushes looming through the mist + Questioned and acquiesced and understood; + The trees and streams believed; the wind and rain, + Even they, for all their temper, had some words + Of faith and comfort. But the glaring streets, + The dizzy traffic, the piled merchandise, + The giant buildings swarming with fierce life-- + Cared nothing for me. They had never heard + Of me nor of my business. When I asked + My way, a shade of pity or contempt + Showed through men's kindness--for they all were kind. + Daunted and chilled and very sick at heart, + I walked the endless pavements. But at last + The streets grew quieter; the houses seemed + As if they might be homes where people lived; + Then came the factories and cottages, + And all was well again. Much more than well, + For many sick and broken went my way, + Alone or helped along by loving hands; + And from a thousand eyes the famished hope + Looked out at mine--wild, patient, querulous, + But always hope and hope, a thousand tongues + Speaking one word in many languages. + + In two hours He will come, they say, will stand + There on the steps, above the waiting crowd, + And touch with healing hands whoever asks + Believingly, in spirit and in truth. + Can such a mercy be, in these hard days? + Is help still sent in such a way as that? + Christ, I believe; pity my unbelief! + + + + +JETSAM + + + I wonder can this be the world it was + At sunset? I remember the sky fell + Green as pale meadows, at the long street-ends, + But overhead the smoke-wrack hugged the roofs + As if to shut the city from God's eyes + Till dawn should quench the laughter and the lights. + Beneath the gas flare stolid faces passed, + Too dull for sin; old loosened lips set hard + To drain the stale lees from the cup of sense; + Or if a young face yearned from out the mist + Made by its own bright hair, the eyes were wan + With desolate fore-knowledge of the end. + My life lay waste about me: as I walked, + From the gross dark of unfrequented streets + The face of my own youth peered forth at me, + Struck white with pity at the thing I was; + And globed in ghostly fire, thrice-virginal, + With lifted face star-strong, went one who sang + Lost verses from my youth's gold canticle. + Out of the void dark came my face and hers + One vivid moment--then the street was there; + Bloat shapes and mean eyes blotted the sear dusk; + And in the curtained window of a house + Whence sin reeked on the night, a shameful head + Was silhouetted black as Satan's face + Against eternal fires. I stumbled on + Down the dark slope that reaches riverward, + Stretching blind hands to find the throat of God + And crush Him in his lies. The river lay + Coiled in its factory filth and few lean trees. + All was too hateful--I could not die there! + I whom the Spring had strained unto her breast, + Whose lips had felt the wet vague lips of dawn. + So under the thin willows' leprous shade + And through the tangled ranks of riverweed + I pushed--till lo, God heard me! I came forth + Where, 'neath the shoreless hush of region light, + Through a new world, undreamed of, undesired, + Beyond imagining of man's weary heart, + Far to the white marge of the wondering sea + This still plain widens, and this moon rains down + Insufferable ecstasy of peace. + + My heart is man's heart, strong to bear this night's + Unspeakable affliction of mute love + That crazes lesser things. The rocks and clods + Dissemble, feign a busy intercourse; + The bushes deal in shadowy subterfuge, + Lurk dull, dart spiteful out, make heartless signs, + Utter awestricken purpose of no sense,-- + But I walk quiet, crush aside the hands + Stretched furtively to drag me madmen's ways. + I know the thing they suffer, and the tricks + They must be at to help themselves endure. + I would not be too boastful; I am weak, + Too weak to put aside the utter ache + Of this lone splendor long enough to see + Whether the moon is still her white strange self + Or something whiter, stranger, even the face + Which by the changed face of my risen youth + Sang, globed in fire, her golden canticle. + I dare not look again; another gaze + Might drive me to the wavering coppice there, + Where bat-winged madness brushed me, the wild laugh + Of naked nature crashed across my blood. + So rank it was with earthy presences, + Faun-shapes in goatish dance, young witches' eyes + Slanting deep invitation, whinnying calls + Ambiguous, shocks and whirlwinds of wild mirth,-- + They had undone me in the darkness there, + But that within me, smiting through my lids + Lowered to shut in the thick whirl of sense, + The dumb light ached and rummaged, and with out, + The soaring splendor summoned me aloud + To leave the low dank thickets of the flesh + Where man meets beast and makes his lair with him, + For spirit reaches of the strenuous vast, + Where stalwart stars reap grain to make the bread + God breaketh at his tables and is glad. + I came out in the moonlight cleansed and strong, + And gazed up at the lyric face to see + All sweetness tasted of in earthen cups + Ere it be dashed and spilled, all radiance flung + Beyond experience, every benison dream, + Treasured and mystically crescent there. + + O, who will shield me from her? Who will place + A veil between me and the fierce in-throng + Of her inexorable benedicite? + See, I have loved her well and been with her! + Through tragic twilights when the stricken sea + Groveled with fear, or when she made her throne + In imminent cities built of gorgeous winds + And paved with lightnings; or when the sobering stars + Would lead her home 'mid wealth of plundered May + Along the violet slopes of evensong. + Of all the sights that starred the dreamy year, + For me one sight stood peerless and apart: + Bright rivers tacit; low hills prone and dumb; + Forests that hushed their tiniest voice to hear; + Skies for the unutterable advent robed + In purple like the opening iris buds; + And by some lone expectant pool, one tree + Whose gray boughs shivered with excess of awe,-- + As with preluding gush of amber light, + And herald trumpets softly lifted through, + Across the palpitant horizon marge + Crocus-filleted came the singing moon. + Out of her changing lights I wove my youth + A place to dwell in, sweet and spiritual, + And all the bitter years of my exile + My heart has called afar off unto her. + Lo, after many days love finds its own! + The futile adorations, the waste tears, + The hymns that fluttered low in the false dawn, + She has uptreasured as a lover's gifts; + They are the mystic garment that she wears + Against the bridal, and the crocus flowers + She twined her brow with at the going forth; + They are the burden of the song she made + In coming through the quiet fields of space, + And breathe between her passion-parted lips + Calling me out along the flowering road + Which summers through the dimness of the sea. + + Hark, where the deep feels round its thousand shores + To find remembered respite, and far drawn + Through weed-strewn shelves and crannies of the coast + The myriad silence yearns to myriad speech. + O sea that yearns a day, shall thy tongues be + So eloquent, and heart, shall all thy tongues + Be dumb to speak thy longing? Say I hold + Life as a broken jewel in my hand, + And fain would buy a little love with it + For comfort, say I fain would make it shine + Once in remembering eyes ere it be dust,-- + Were life not worthy spent? Then what of this, + When all my spirit hungers to repay + The beauty that has drenched my soul with peace? + Once at a simple turning of the way + I met God walking; and although the dawn + Was large behind Him, and the morning stars + Circled and sang about his face as birds + About the fieldward morning cottager, + My coward heart said faintly, "Let us haste! + Day grows and it is far to market-town." + Once where I lay in darkness after fight, + Sore smitten, thrilled a little thread of song + Searching and searching at my muffled sense + Until it shook sweet pangs through all my blood, + And I beheld one globed in ghostly fire + Singing, star-strong, her golden canticle; + And her mouth sang, "The hosts of Hate roll past, + A dance of dust motes in the sliding sun; + Love's battle comes on the wide wings of storm, + From east to west one legion! Wilt thou strive?" + Then, since the splendor of her sword-bright gaze + Was heavy on me with yearning and with scorn + My sick heart muttered, "Yea, the little strife, + Yet see, the grievous wounds! I fain would sleep." + O heart, shalt thou not once be strong to go + Where all sweet throats are calling, once be brave + To slake with deed thy dumbness? Let us go + The path her singing face looms low to point, + Pendulous, blanched with longing, shedding flame + Of silver on the brown grope of the flood; + For all my spirit's soilure is put by + And all my body's soilure, lacking now + But the last lustral sacrament of death + To make me clean for those near-searching eyes + That question yonder whether all be well, + And pause a little ere they dare rejoice. + + Question and be thou answered, passionate face! + For I am worthy, worthy now at last + After so long unworth; strong now at last + To give myself to beauty and be saved; + Now, being man, to give myself to thee, + As once the tumult of my boyish heart + Companioned thee with rapture through the world, + Forth from a land whereof no poet's lip + Made mention how the leas were lily-sprent, + Into a land God's eyes had looked not on + To love the tender bloom upon the hills. + To-morrow, when the fishers come at dawn + Upon that shell of me the sea has tossed + To land, as fit for earth to use again, + Men, meeting at the shops and corner streets, + Will speak a word of pity, glossing o'er + With altered accent, dubious sweep of hand, + Their virile, just contempt for one who failed. + But they can never cast my earnings up, + Who know so well my losses. Even you + Who in the mild light of the spirit walk + And hold yourselves acquainted with the truth, + Be not too swift to judge and cast me out! + You shall find other, nobler ways than mine + To work your soul's redemption,--glorious noons + Of battle 'neath the heaven-suspended sign, + And nightly refuge 'neath God's ægis-rim; + Increase of wisdom, and acquaintance held + With the heart's austerities; still governance, + And ripening of the blood in the weekday sun + To make the full-orbed consecrated fruit + At life's end for the Sabbath supper meet. + I shall not sit beside you at that feast, + For ere a seedling of my golden tree + Pushed off its petals to get room to grow, + I stripped the boughs to make an April gaud + And wreathe a spendthrift garland for my hair. + But mine is not the failure God deplores; + For I of old am beauty's votarist, + Long recreant, often foiled and led astray, + But resolute at last to seek her there + Where most she does abide, and crave with tears + That she assoil me of my blemishment. + Low looms her singing face to point the way, + Pendulous, blanched with longing, shedding flame + Of silver on the brown grope of the flood. + The stars are for me; the horizon wakes + Its pilgrim chanting; and the little sand + Grows musical of hope beneath my feet. + The waves that leap to meet my swimming breast + Gossip sweet secrets of the light-drenched way, + And when the deep throbs of the rising surge + Pulse upward with me, and a rain of wings + Blurs round the moon's pale place, she stoops to reach + Still welcome of bright hands across the wave, + And sings low, low, globed all in ghostly fire, + Lost verses from my youth's gold canticle. + + + + +THE BRUTE + + + Through his might men work their wills. + They have boweled out the hills + For food to keep him toiling in the cages they have wrought; + And they fling him, hour by hour, + Limbs of men to give him power; + Brains of men to give him cunning; and for dainties to devour + Children's souls, the little worth; hearts of women, cheaply bought: + He takes them and he breaks them, but he gives them scanty thought. + + For about the noisy land, + Roaring, quivering 'neath his hand, + His thoughts brood fierce and sullen or laugh in lust of pride + O'er the stubborn things that he, + Breaks to dust and brings to be. + Some he mightily establishes, some flings down utterly. + There is thunder in his stride, nothing ancient can abide, + When he hales the hills together and bridles up the tide. + + Quietude and loveliness, + Holy sights that heal and bless, + They are scattered and abolished where his iron hoof is set; + When he splashes through the brae + Silver streams are choked with clay, + When he snorts the bright cliffs crumble and the woods go down like + hay; + He lairs in pleasant cities, and the haggard people fret + Squalid 'mid their new-got riches, soot-begrimed and desolate. + + They who caught and bound him tight + Laughed exultant at his might, + Saying, "Now behold, the good time comes for the weariest and the + least! + We will use this lusty knave: + No more need for men to slave; + We may rise and look about us and have knowledge ere the grave." + But the Brute said in his breast, "Till the mills I grind have ceased, + The riches shall be dust of dust, dry ashes be the feast! + + "On the strong and cunning few + Cynic favors I will strew; + I will stuff their maw with overplus until their spirit dies; + From the patient and the low + I will take the joys they know; + They shall hunger after vanities and still an-hungered go. + Madness shall be on the people, ghastly jealousies arise; + Brother's blood shall cry on brother up the dead and empty skies. + + "I will burn and dig and hack + Till the heavens suffer lack; + God shall feel a pleasure fail him, crying to his cherubim, + 'Who hath flung yon mud-ball there + Where my world went green and fair?' + I shall laugh and hug me, hearing how his sentinels declare, + ''T is the Brute they chained to labor! He has made the bright earth + dim. + Store of wares and pelf a plenty, but they got no good of him.'" + + So he plotted in his rage: + So he deals it, age by age. + But even as he roared his curse a still small Voice befell; + Lo, a still and pleasant voice bade them none the less rejoice, + For the Brute must bring the good time on; he has no other choice. + He may struggle, sweat, and yell, but he knows exceeding well + He must work them out salvation ere they send him back to hell. + + All the desert that he made + He must treble bless with shade, + In primal wastes set precious seed of rapture and of pain; + All the strongholds that he built + For the powers of greed and guilt-- + He must strew their bastions down the sea and choke their towers with + silt; + He must make the temples clean for the gods to come again, + And lift the lordly cities under skies without a stain. + + In a very cunning tether + He must lead the tyrant weather; + He must loose the curse of Adam from the worn neck of the race; + He must cast out hate and fear, + Dry away each fruitless tear, + And make the fruitful tears to gush from the deep heart and clear. + He must give each man his portion, each his pride and worthy place; + He must batter down the arrogant and lift the weary face, + On each vile mouth set purity, on each low forehead grace. + + Then, perhaps, at the last day, + They will whistle him away, + Lay a hand upon his muzzle in the face of God, and say, + "Honor, Lord, the Thing we tamed! + Let him not be scourged or blamed. + Even through his wrath and fierceness was thy fierce wroth world + reclaimed! + Honor Thou thy servants' servant; let thy justice now be shown." + Then the Lord will heed their saying, and the Brute come to his own, + 'Twixt the Lion and the Eagle, by the armpost of the Throne. + + + + +THE MENAGERIE + + + Thank God my brain is not inclined to cut + Such capers every day! I 'm just about + Mellow, but then--There goes the tent-flap shut. + Rain 's in the wind. I thought so: every snout + Was twitching when the keeper turned me out. + + That screaming parrot makes my blood run cold. + Gabriel's trump! the big bull elephant + Squeals "Rain!" to the parched herd. The monkeys scold, + And jabber that it 's rain water they want. + (It makes me sick to see a monkey pant.) + + I 'll foot it home, to try and make believe + I 'm sober. After this I stick to beer, + And drop the circus when the sane folks leave. + A man 's a fool to look at things too near: + They look back, and begin to cut up queer. + + Beasts do, at any rate; especially + Wild devils caged. They have the coolest way + Of being something else than what you see: + You pass a sleek young zebra nosing hay, + A nylghau looking bored and distingué,-- + + And think you 've seen a donkey and a bird. + Not on your life! Just glance back, if you dare. + The zebra chews, the nylghau has n't stirred; + But something 's happened, Heaven knows what or where, + To freeze your scalp and pompadour your hair. + + I 'm not precisely an æolian lute + Hung in the wandering winds of sentiment, + But drown me if the ugliest, meanest brute + Grunting and fretting in that sultry tent + Did n't just floor me with embarrassment! + + 'T was like a thunder-clap from out the clear, + One minute they were circus beasts, some grand, + Some ugly, some amusing, and some queer: + Rival attractions to the hobo band, + The flying jenny, and the peanut stand. + + Next minute they were old hearth-mates of mine! + Lost people, eyeing me with such a stare! + Patient, satiric, devilish, divine; + A gaze of hopeless envy, squalid care, + Hatred, and thwarted love, and dim despair. + + Within my blood my ancient kindred spoke,-- + Grotesque and monstrous voices, heard afar + Down ocean caves when behemoth awoke, + Or through fern forests roared the plesiosaur + Locked with the giant-bat in ghastly war. + + And suddenly, as in a flash of light, + I saw great Nature working out her plan; + Through all her shapes from mastodon to mite + Forever groping, testing, passing on + To find at last the shape and soul of Man. + + Till in the fullness of accomplished time, + Comes brother Forepaugh, upon business bent, + Tracks her through frozen and through torrid clime, + And shows us, neatly labeled in a tent, + The stages of her huge experiment; + + Blabbing aloud her shy and reticent hours; + Dragging to light her blinking, slothful moods; + Publishing fretful seasons when her powers + Worked wild and sullen in her solitudes, + Or when her mordant laughter shook the woods. + + Here, round about me, were her vagrant births; + Sick dreams she had, fierce projects she essayed; + Her qualms, her fiery prides, her crazy mirths; + The troublings of her spirit as she strayed, + Cringed, gloated, mocked, was lordly, was afraid, + + On that long road she went to seek mankind; + Here were the darkling coverts that she beat + To find the Hider she was sent to find; + Here the distracted footprints of her feet + Whereby her soul's Desire she came to greet. + + But why should they, her botch-work, turn about + And stare disdain at me, her finished job? + Why was the place one vast suspended shout + Of laughter? Why did all the daylight throb + With soundless guffaw and dumb-stricken sob? + + Helpless I stood among those awful cages; + The beasts were walking loose, and I was bagged! + I, I, last product of the toiling ages, + Goal of heroic feet that never lagged,-- + A little man in trousers, slightly jagged. + + Deliver me from such another jury! + The Judgment-day will be a picnic to 't. + Their satire was more dreadful than their fury, + And worst of all was just a kind of brute + Disgust, and giving up, and sinking mute. + + Survival of the fittest, adaptation, + And all their other evolution terms, + Seem to omit one small consideration, + To wit, that tumblebugs and angleworms + Have souls: there 's soul in everything that squirms. + + And souls are restless, plagued, impatient things, + All dream and unaccountable desire; + Crawling, but pestered with the thought of wings; + Spreading through every inch of earth's old mire + Mystical hanker after something higher. + + Wishes _are_ horses, as I understand. + I guess a wistful polyp that has strokes + Of feeling faint to gallivant on land + Will come to be a scandal to his folks; + Legs he will sprout, in spite of threats and jokes. + + And at the core of every life that crawls + Or runs or flies or swims or vegetates-- + Churning the mammoth's heart-blood, in the galls + Of shark and tiger planting gorgeous hates, + Lighting the love of eagles for their mates; + + Yes, in the dim brain of the jellied fish + That is and is not living--moved and stirred + From the beginning a mysterious wish, + A vision, a command, a fatal Word: + The name of Man was uttered, and they heard. + + Upward along the æons of old war + They sought him: wing and shank-bone, claw and bill + Were fashioned and rejected; wide and far + They roamed the twilight jungles of their will; + But still they sought him, and desired him still. + + Man they desired, but mind you, Perfect Man, + The radiant and the loving, yet to be! + I hardly wonder, when they came to scan + The upshot of their strenuosity, + They gazed with mixed emotions upon _me_. + + Well, my advice to you is, Face the creatures, + Or spot them sideways with your weather eye, + Just to keep tab on their expansive features; + It is n't pleasant when you 're stepping high + To catch a giraffe smiling on the sly. + + If nature made you graceful, don't get gay + Back-to before the hippopotamus; + If meek and godly, find some place to play + Besides right where three mad hyenas fuss: + You may hear language that we won't discuss. + + If you 're a sweet thing in a flower-bed hat, + Or her best fellow with your tie tucked in, + Don't squander love's bright springtime girding at + An old chimpanzee with an Irish chin: + _There may be hidden meaning in his grin._ + + + + +THE GOLDEN JOURNEY + + + All day he drowses by the sail + With dreams of her, and all night long + The broken waters are at song + Of how she lingers, wild and pale, + When all the temple lights are dumb, + And weaves her spells to make him come. + + The wide sea traversed, he will stand + With straining eyes, until the shoal + Green water from the prow shall roll + Upon the yellow strip of sand-- + Searching some fern-hid tangled way + Into the forest old and grey. + + Then he will leap upon the shore, + And cast one look up at the sun, + Over his loosened locks will run + The dawn breeze, and a bird will pour + Its rapture out to make life seem + Too sweet to leave for such a dream. + + But all the swifter will he go + Through the pale, scattered asphodels, + Down mote-hung dusk of olive dells, + To where the ancient basins throw + Fleet threads of blue and trembling zones + Of gold upon the temple stones. + + There noon keeps just a twilight trace; + Twixt love and hate, and death and birth, + No man may choose; nor sobs nor mirth + May enter in that haunted place. + All day the fountain sphynx lets drip + Slow drops of silence from her lip. + + To hold the porch-roof slender girls + Of milk-white marble stand arow; + Doubt never blurs a single brow, + And never the noon's faintness curls + From their expectant hush of pride + The lips the god has glorified. + + But these things he will barely view, + Or if he stay to heed them, still + But as the lark the lights that spill + From out the sun it soars unto, + Where, past the splendors and the heats, + The sun's heart's self forever beats. + + For wide the brazen doors will swing + Soon as his sandals touch the pave; + The anxious light inside will wave + And tremble to a lunar ring + About the form that lieth prone + Before the dreadful altar-stone. + + She will not look or speak or stir, + But with drowned lips and cheeks death-white + Will lie amid the pool of light, + Until, grown faint with thirst of her, + He shall bow down his face and sink + Breathless beneath the eddying brink. + + Then a swift music will begin, + And as the brazen doors shut slow, + There will be hurrying to and fro, + And lights and calls and silver din, + While through the star-freaked swirl of air + The god's sweet cruel eyes will stare. + + + + +HEART'S WILD-FLOWER + + + To-night her lids shall lift again, slow, soft, with vague desire, + And lay about my breast and brain their hush of spirit fire, + And I shall take the sweet of pain as the laborer his hire. + + And though no word shall e'er be said to ease the ghostly sting, + And though our hearts, unhoused, unfed, must still go wandering, + My sign is set upon her head while stars do meet and sing. + + Not such a sign as women wear who make their foreheads tame + With life's long tolerance, and bear love's sweetest, humblest name, + Nor such as passion eateth bare with its crown of tears and flame. + + Nor such a sign as happy friend sets on his friend's dear brow + When meadow-pipings break and blend to a key of autumn woe, + And the woodland says playtime 's at end, best unclasp hands and go. + + But where she strays, through blight or blooth, one fadeless flower + she wears, + A little gift God gave my youth,--whose petals dim were fears, + Awes, adorations, songs of ruth, hesitancies, and tears. + + O heart of mine, with all thy powers of white beatitude, + What are the dearest of God's dowers to the children of his blood? + How blow the shy, shy wilding flowers in the hollows of his wood? + + + + +HARMONICS + + + This string upon my harp was best beloved: + I thought I knew its secrets through and through; + Till an old man, whose young eyes lightened blue + 'Neath his white hair, bent over me and moved + His fingers up and down, and broke the wire + To such a laddered music, rung on rung, + As from the patriarch's pillow skyward sprung + Crowded with wide-flung wings and feet of fire. + + O vibrant heart! so metely tuned and strung + That any untaught hand can draw from thee + One clear gold note that makes the tired years young-- + What of the time when Love had whispered me + Where slept thy nodes, and my hand pausefully + Gave to the dim harmonics voice and tongue? + + + + +ON THE RIVER + + + The faint stars wake and wonder, + Fade and find heart anew; + Above us and far under + Sphereth the watchful blue. + + Silent she sits, outbending, + A wild pathetic grace, + A beauty strange, heart-rending, + Upon her hair and face. + + O spirit cries that sever + The cricket's level drone! + O to give o'er endeavor + And let love have its own! + + Within the mirrored bushes + There wakes a little stir; + The white-throat moves, and hushes + Her nestlings under her. + + Beneath, the lustrous river, + The watchful sky o'erhead. + God, God, that Thou should'st ever + Poison thy children's bread! + + + + +THE BRACELET OF GRASS + + + The opal heart of afternoon + Was clouding on to throbs of storm, + Ashen within the ardent west + The lips of thunder muttered harm, + And as a bubble like to break + Hung heaven's trembling amethyst, + When with the sedge-grass by the lake + I braceleted her wrist. + + And when the ribbon grass was tied, + Sad with the happiness we planned, + Palm linked in palm we stood awhile + And watched the raindrops dot the sand; + Until the anger of the breeze + Chid all the lake's bright breathing down, + And ravished all the radiancies + From her deep eyes of brown. + + We gazed from shelter on the storm, + And through our hearts swept ghostly pain + To see the shards of day sweep past, + Broken, and none might mend again. + Broken, that none shall ever mend; + Loosened, that none shall ever tie. + O the wind and the wind, will it never end? + O the sweeping past of the ruined sky! + + + + +THE DEPARTURE + + + I + + I sat beside the glassy evening sea, + One foot upon the thin horn of my lyre, + And all its strings of laughter and desire + Crushed in the rank wet grasses heedlessly; + Nor did my dull eyes care to question how + The boat close by had spread its saffron sails, + Nor what might mean the coffers and the bales, + And streaks of new wine on the gilded prow. + Neither was wonder in me when I saw + Fair women step therein, though they were fair + Even to adoration and to awe, + And in the gracious fillets of their hair + Were blossoms from a garden I had known, + Sweet mornings ere the apple buds were blown. + + + II + + One gazed steadfast into the dying west + With lips apart to greet the evening star; + And one with eyes that caught the strife and jar + Of the sea's heart, followed the sunward breast + Of a lone gull; from a slow harp one drew + Blind music like a laugh or like a wail; + And in the uncertain shadow of the sail + One wove a crown of berries and of yew. + Yet even as I said with dull desire, + "All these were mine, and one was mine indeed," + The smoky music burst into a fire, + And I was left alone in my great need, + One foot upon the thin horn of my lyre + And all its strings crushed in the dripping weed. + + + + +FADED PICTURES + + + Only two patient eyes to stare + Out of the canvas. All the rest-- + The warm green gown, the small hands pressed + Light in the lap, the braided hair + + That must have made the sweet low brow + So earnest, centuries ago, + When some one saw it change and glow-- + All faded! Just the eyes burn now. + + I dare say people pass and pass + Before the blistered little frame, + And dingy work without a name + Stuck in behind its square of glass. + + But I, well, I left Raphael + Just to come drink these eyes of hers, + To think away the stains and blurs + And make all new again and well. + + Only, for tears my head will bow, + Because there on my heart's last wall, + Scarce one tint left to tell it all, + A picture keeps its eyes, somehow. + + + + +A GREY DAY + + + Grey drizzling mists the moorlands drape, + Rain whitens the dead sea, + From headland dim to sullen cape + Grey sails creep wearily. + I know not how that merchantman + Has found the heart; but 't is her plan + Seaward her endless course to shape. + + Unreal as insects that appall + A drunkard's peevish brain, + O'er the grey deep the dories crawl, + Four-legged, with rowers twain: + Midgets and minims of the earth, + Across old ocean's vasty girth + Toiling--heroic, comical! + + I wonder how that merchant's crew + Have ever found the will! + I wonder what the fishers do + To keep them toiling still! + I wonder how the heart of man + Has patience to live out its span, + Or wait until its dreams come true. + + + + +THE RIDE BACK + + + _Before the coming of the dark, he dreamed + An old-world faded story: of a knight, + Much like in need to him, who was no knight! + And of a road, much like the road his soul + Groped over, desperate to meet Her soul. + Beside the bed Death waited. And he dreamed._ + + + His limbs were heavy from the fight, + His mail was dark with dust and blood; + On his good horse they bound him tight, + And on his breast they bound the rood + To help him in the ride that night. + + When he crashed through the wood's wet rim, + About the dabbled reeds a breeze + Went moaning broken words and dim; + The haggard shapes of twilight trees + Caught with their scrawny hands at him. + + Between the doubtful aisles of day + Strange folk and lamentable stood + To maze and beckon him astray, + But through the grey wrath of the wood + He held right on his bitter way. + + When he came where the trees were thin, + The moon sat waiting there to see; + On her worn palm she laid her chin, + And laughed awhile in sober glee + To think how strong this knight had been. + + When he rode past the pallid lake, + The withered yellow stems of flags + Stood breast-high for his horse to break; + Lewd as the palsied lips of hags + The petals in the moon did shake. + + When he came by the mountain wall, + The snow upon the heights looked down + And said, "The sight is pitiful. + The nostrils of his steed are brown + With frozen blood; and he will fall." + + The iron passes of the hills + With question were importunate; + And, but the sharp-tongued icy rills + Had grown for once compassionate, + The spiteful shades had had their wills. + + Just when the ache in breast and brain + And the frost smiting at his face + Had sealed his spirit up with pain, + He came out in a better place, + And morning lay across the plain. + + He saw the wet snails crawl and cling + On fern-stalks where the rime had run, + The careless birds went wing and wing, + And in the low smile of the sun + Life seemed almost a pleasant thing. + + Right on the panting charger swung + Through the bright depths of quiet grass; + The knight's lips moved as if they sung, + And through the peace there came to pass + The flattery of lute and tongue. + + From the mid-flowering of the mead + There swelled a sob of minstrelsy, + Faint sackbuts and the dreamy reed, + And plaintive lips of maids thereby, + And songs blown out like thistle seed. + + Forth from her maidens came the bride, + And as his loosened rein fell slack + He muttered, "In their throats they lied + Who said that I should ne'er win back + To kiss her lips before I died!" + + + + +SONG-FLOWER AND POPPY + + + I + + IN NEW YORK + + He plays the deuce with my writing time, + For the penny my sixth-floor neighbor throws; + He finds me proud of my pondered rhyme, + And he leaves me--well, God knows + It takes the shine from a tunester's line + When a little mate of the deathless Nine + Pipes up under your nose! + + For listen, there is his voice again, + Wistful and clear and piercing sweet. + Where did the boy find such a strain + To make a dead heart beat? + And how in the name of care can he bear + To jet such a fountain into the air + In this gray gulch of a street? + + Tuscan slopes or the Piedmontese? + Umbria under the Apennine? + South, where the terraced lemon-trees + Round rich Sorrento shine? + Venice moon on the smooth lagoon?-- + Where have I heard that aching tune, + That boyish throat divine? + + Beyond my roofs and chimney pots + A rag of sunset crumbles gray; + Below, fierce radiance hangs in clots + O'er the streams that never stay. + Shrill and high, newsboys cry + The worst of the city's infamy + For one more sordid day. + + But my desire has taken sail + For lands beyond, soft-horizoned: + Down languorous leagues I hold the trail, + From Marmalada, steeply throned + Above high pastures washed with light, + Where dolomite by dolomite + Looms sheer and spectral-coned, + + To purple vineyards looking south + On reaches of the still Tyrrhene; + Virgilian headlands, and the mouth + Of Tiber, where that ship put in + To take the dead men home to God, + Whereof Casella told the mode + To the great Florentine. + + Up stairways blue with flowering weed + I climb to hill-hung Bergamo; + All day I watch the thunder breed + Golden above the springs of Po, + Till the voice makes sure its wavering lure, + And by Assisi's portals pure + I stand, with heart bent low. + + O hear, how it blooms in the blear dayfall, + That flower of passionate wistful song! + How it blows like a rose by the iron wall + Of the city loud and strong. + How it cries "Nay, nay" to the worldling's way, + To the heart's clear dream how it whispers, "Yea; + Time comes, though the time is long." + + Beyond my roofs and chimney piles + Sunset crumbles, ragged, dire; + The roaring street is hung for miles + With fierce electric fire. + Shrill and high, newsboys cry + The gross of the planet's destiny + Through one more sullen gyre. + + Stolidly the town flings down + Its lust by day for its nightly lust; + Who does his given stint, 't is known, + Shall have his mug and crust.-- + Too base of mood, too harsh of blood, + Too stout to seize the grosser good, + Too hungry after dust! + + O hark! how it blooms in the falling dark, + That flower of mystical yearning song: + Sad as a hermit thrush, as a lark + Uplifted, glad, and strong. + Heart, we have chosen the better part! + Save sacred love and sacred art + Nothing is good for long. + + + II + + AT ASSISI + + Before St. Francis' burg I wait, + Frozen in spirit, faint with dread; + His presence stands within the gate, + Mild splendor rings his head. + Gently he seems to welcome me: + Knows he not I am quick, and he + Is dead, and priest of the dead? + + I turn away from the gray church pile; + I dare not enter, thus undone: + Here in the roadside grass awhile + I will lie and watch for the sun. + Too purged of earth's good glee and strife, + Too drained of the honied lusts of life, + Was the peace these old saints won! + + And lo! how the laughing earth says no + To the fear that mastered me; + To the blood that aches and clamors so + How it whispers "Verily." + Here by my side, marvelous-dyed, + Bold stray-away from the courts of pride, + A poppy-bell flaunts free. + + St. Francis sleeps upon his hill, + And a poppy flower laughs down his creed; + Triumphant light her petals spill, + His shrines are dim indeed. + Men build and plan, but the soul of man, + Coming with haughty eyes to scan, + Feels richer, wilder need. + + How long, old builder Time, wilt bide + Till at thy thrilling word + Life's crimson pride shall have to bride + The spirit's white accord, + Within that gate of good estate + Which thou must build us soon or late, + Hoar workman of the Lord? + + + + +HOW THE MEAD-SLAVE WAS SET FREE + + + Nay, move not! Sit just as you are, + Under the carved wings of the chair. + The hearth-glow sifting through your hair + Turns every dim pearl to a star + Dawn-drowned in floods of brightening air. + + I have been thinking of that night + When all the wide hall burst to blaze + With spears caught up, thrust fifty ways + To find my throat, while I lay white + And sick with joy, to think the days + + I dragged out in your hateful North-- + A slave, constrained at banquet's need + To fill the black bull's horns with mead + For drunken sea-thieves--were henceforth + Cast from me as a poison weed, + + While Death thrust roses in my hands! + But you, who knew the flowers he had + Were no such roses ripe and glad + As nod in my far southern lands, + But pallid things to make men sad, + + Put back the spears with one calm hand, + Raised on your knee my wondering head, + Wiped off the trickling drops of red + From my torn forehead with a strand + Of your bright loosened hair, and said: + + "Sea-rovers! would you kill a skald? + This boy has hearkened Odin sing + Unto the clang and winnowing + Of raven's wings. His heart is thralled + To music, as to some strong king; + + "And this great thraldom works disdain + Of lesser serving. Once release + These bonds he bears, and he may please + To give you guerdon sweet as rain + To sailors calmed in thirsty seas." + + Then, having soothed their rage to rest, + You led me to old Skagi's throne, + Where yellow gold rims in the stone; + And in my arms, against my breast, + Thrust his great harp of walrus bone. + + How they came crowding, tunes on tunes! + How good it was to touch the strings + And feel them thrill like happy things + That flutter from the gray cocoons + On hedge rows, in your gradual springs! + + All grew a blur before my sight, + As when the stealthy white fog slips + At noonday on the staggering ships; + I saw one single spot of light, + Your white face, with its eager lips-- + + And so I sang to that. O thou + Who liftedst me from out my shame! + Wert thou content when Skagi came, + Put his own chaplet on my brow, + And bent and kissed his own harp-frame? + + + + +A DIALOGUE IN PURGATORY + + + _Poi disse un altro.... "Io son Buonconte: + Giovanna o altri non ha di me cura; + Per ch' io vo tra costor con bassa fronte."_ + + _Seguito il terzo spirito al secondo, + "Ricorditi di me, che son la Pia; + Siena mi fe, disfecemi Maremma. + Salsi colui che inannellata pria + Disposata m' avea colla sua gemma."_ + + PURGATORIO, CANTO V. + + + I + + BUONCONTE + + Sister, the sun has ceased to shine; + By companies of twain and trine + Stars gather; from the sea + The moon comes momently. + + On all the roads that ring our hill + The sighing and the hymns are still: + It is our time to gain + Strength for to-morrow's pain. + + Yet still your eyes are wholly bent + Upon the way that Virgil went, + Following Sordello's sign, + With the dark Florentine. + + Night now has barred their upward track: + There where the mountain-side folds back + And in the Vale of Flowers + The Princes count their hours + + Those three friends sit in the clear starlight + With the green-clad angels left and right,-- + Soul made by wakeful soul + More earnest for the goal. + + So let us, sister, though our place + Is barren of that Valley's grace, + Sit hand in hand, till we + Seem rich as those friends be. + + + II + + LA PIA + + Brother, 't were sweet your hand to feel + In mine; it would a little heal + The shame that makes me poor, + And dumb at the heart's core. + + But where our spirits felt Love's dearth, + Down on the green and pleasant earth, + Remains the fleshly shell, + Love's garment tangible. + + So now our hands have naught to say: + Heart unto heart some other way + Must utter forth its pain, + Must glee or comfort gain. + + Ah, no! For souls like you and me + Some comfort waits, but never glee: + Not yours the young men's singing + In Heaven, at the bride-bringing; + + Not mine, beside God's living waters, + Dance of the marriageable daughters, + The laughter and the ease + Beneath His summer trees. + + + III + + BUONCONTE + + In fair Arezzo's halls and bowers + My Giovanna speeds her hours + Delicately, nor cares + To shorten by her prayers + + My days upon this mount of ruth: + If those who come from earth speak sooth, + Though still I call and call, + She does not heed at all. + + And if aright your words I read + At Dante's passing, he you wed + Dipped from the drains of Hell + The marriage hydromel. + + O therefore, while the moon intense + Holds yonder dreaming sea suspense, + And round the shadowy coasts + Gather the wistful ghosts, + + Let us sit quiet all the night, + And wonder, wonder on the light + Worn by those spirits fair + Whom Love has not left bare. + + + IV + + LA PIA + + Even as theirs, the chance was mine + To meet and mate beneath Love's sign, + To feel in soul and sense + The solemn influence + + Which, breathed upon a man or maid, + Maketh forever unafraid, + Though life with death unite + That spirit to affright,-- + + Which lifts the changèd heart high up, + As the priest lifts the changèd cup, + Boldens the feet to pace + Before God's proving face. + + O just a thought beyond the blue + The wings of the dove yearned down and through! + Even now I hear and hear + How near they were, how near! + + I murmur not. Rightly disgraced, + The weak hand stretched abroad in haste + For gifts barely allowed + The tacit, strong, and proud. + + But therefore was I so intent + To watch where Dante onward went + With the Roman spirit pure + And the grave troubadour, + + Because my mind was busy then + With the loves that wait those gentle men: + Cunizza one; and one + Bice, above the sun; + + And for the other, more and less + Than woman's near-felt tenderness, + A million voices dim + Praising him, praising him. + + + V + + BUONCONTE + + The waves that wash this mountain's base + Were crimson in the sun's low rays, + When, singing high and fast, + An angel downward passed, + + To bid some patient soul arise + And make it fair for Paradise; + And upward, so attended, + That soul its journey wended; + + Yet you, who in these lower rings + Wait for the coming of such wings, + Turned not your eyes to view + Whether they came for you, + + But watched, but watched great Virgil stayed + Greeting Sordello's couchant shade, + Which to salute him rose + Like lion from its pose; + + While humbly by those lords of song + Stood he whose living limbs are strong + To mount where Mary's bliss + Is shed on Beatrice. + + On him your gaze was fastened, more + Than on those great names Mantua bore; + Your eyes hold the distress + Still, of that wistfulness. + + Yea, fit he seemed much love to rouse! + His pilgrim lips and iron brows + Grew like a woman's, dim, + While you held speech with him; + + And troubled came his mortal breath + The while I told him of my death; + His looks were changed and wan + When Virgil led him on. + + + VI + + LA PIA + + E'er since Casella came this morn, + Newly o'er yonder ocean borne, + Bound upward for the choir + Who purge themselves in fire, + + And from that meinie he was of + Stayed backward at my cry of love, + To speak awhile with me + Of life and Tuscany, + + And, parting, told us how e'er day + Was done, Dante would come this way, + With mortal feet, to find + His sweetheart, sky-enshrined,-- + + E'er since Casella spoke such news + My heart has lain in a golden muse, + Picturing him and her, + What starry ones they were. + + And now the moon sheds its compassion + O'er the hushed mount, I try to fashion + The manner of their meeting, + Their few first words of greeting. + + O well for them, with claspèd hands, + Unshamed amid the heavenly bands! + They hear no pitying pair + Of old-time lovers there + + Look down and say in an undertone, + "This latest-come, who comes alone, + Was still alone on earth, + And lonely from his birth." + + Nor feel a sudden whisper mar + God's weather, "Dost thou see the scar + That spirit hideth so? + Who dealt her such a blow + + "That God can hardly wipe it out?" + And answer, "She gave love, no doubt, + To one who saw not fit + To set much store by it." + + + + +THE DAGUERREOTYPE + + + This, then, is she, + My mother as she looked at seventeen, + When she first met my father. Young incredibly, + Younger than spring, without the faintest trace + Of disappointment, weariness, or tean + Upon the childlike earnestness and grace + Of the waiting face. + These close-wound ropes of pearl + (Or common beads made precious by their use) + Seem heavy for so slight a throat to wear; + But the low bodice leaves the shoulders bare + And half the glad swell of the breast, for news + That now the woman stirs within the girl. + And yet, + Even so, the loops and globes + Of beaten gold + And jet + Hung, in the stately way of old, + From the ears' drooping lobes + On festivals and Lord's-day of the week, + Show all too matron-sober for the cheek,-- + Which, now I look again, is perfect child, + Or no--or no--'t is girlhood's very self, + Moulded by some deep, mischief-ridden elf + So meek, so maiden mild, + But startling the close gazer with the sense + Of passions forest-shy and forest-wild, + And delicate delirious merriments. + + As a moth beats sidewise + And up and over, and tries + To skirt the irresistible lure + Of the flame that has him sure, + My spirit, that is none too strong to-day, + Flutters and makes delay,-- + Pausing to wonder on the perfect lips, + Lifting to muse upon the low-drawn hair + And each hid radiance there, + But powerless to stem the tide-race bright, + The vehement peace which drifts it toward the light + Where soon--ah, now, with cries + Of grief and giving-up unto its gain + It shrinks no longer nor denies, + But dips + Hurriedly home to the exquisite heart of pain,-- + And all is well, for I have seen them plain, + The unforgettable, the unforgotten eyes! + Across the blinding gush of these good tears + They shine as in the sweet and heavy years + When by her bed and chair + We children gathered jealously to share + The sunlit aura breathing myrrh and thyme, + Where the sore-stricken body made a clime + Gentler than May and pleasanter than rhyme, + Holier and more mystical than prayer. + + God, how thy ways are strange! + That this should be, even this, + The patient head + Which suffered years ago the dreary change! + That these so dewy lips should be the same + As those I stooped to kiss + And heard my harrowing half-spoken name, + A little ere the one who bowed above her, + Our father and her very constant lover, + Rose stoical, and we knew that she was dead. + Then I, who could not understand or share + His antique nobleness, + Being unapt to bear + The insults which time flings us for our proof, + Fled from the horrible roof + Into the alien sunshine merciless, + The shrill satiric fields ghastly with day, + Raging to front God in his pride of sway + And hurl across the lifted swords of fate + That ringed Him where He sat + My puny gage of scorn and desolate hate + Which somehow should undo Him, after all! + That this girl face, expectant, virginal, + Which gazes out at me + Boon as a sweetheart, as if nothing loth + (Save for the eyes, with other presage stored) + To pledge me troth, + And in the kingdom where the heart is lord + Take sail on the terrible gladness of the deep + Whose winds the gray Norns keep,-- + That this should be indeed + The flesh which caught my soul, a flying seed, + Out of the to and fro + Of scattering hands where the seedsman Mage, + Stooping from star to star and age to age + Sings as he sows! + That underneath this breast + Nine moons I fed + Deep of divine unrest, + While over and over in the dark she said, + "Blessèd! but not as happier children blessed"-- + That this should be + Even she.... + God, how with time and change + Thou makest thy footsteps strange! + Ah, now I know + They play upon me, and it is not so. + Why, 't is a girl I never saw before, + A little thing to flatter and make weep, + To tease until her heart is sore, + Then kiss and clear the score; + A gypsy run-the-fields, + A little liberal daughter of the earth, + Good for what hour of truancy and mirth + The careless season yields + Hither-side the flood o' the year and yonder of the neap; + Then thank you, thanks again, and twenty light good-byes.-- + O shrined above the skies, + Frown not, clear brow, + Darken not, holy eyes! + Thou knowest well I know that it is thou! + Only to save me from such memories + As would unman me quite, + Here in this web of strangeness caught + And prey to troubled thought + Do I devise + These foolish shifts and slight; + Only to shield me from the afflicting sense + Of some waste influence + Which from this morning face and lustrous hair + Breathes on me sudden ruin and despair. + In any other guise, + With any but this girlish depth of gaze, + Your coming had not so unsealed and poured + The dusty amphoras where I had stored + The drippings of the winepress of my days. + I think these eyes foresee, + Now in their unawakened virgin time, + Their mother's pride in me, + And dream even now, unconsciously, + Upon each soaring peak and sky-hung lea + You pictured I should climb. + Broken premonitions come, + Shapes, gestures visionary, + Not as once to maiden Mary + The manifest angel with fresh lilies came + Intelligibly calling her by name; + But vanishingly, dumb, + Thwarted and bright and wild, + As heralding a sin-defiled, + Earth-encumbered, blood-begotten, passionate man-child, + Who yet should be a trump of mighty call + Blown in the gates of evil kings + To make them fall; + Who yet should be a sword of flame before + The soul's inviolate door + To beat away the clang of hellish wings; + Who yet should be a lyre + Of high unquenchable desire + In the day of little things.-- + Look, where the amphoras, + The yield of many days, + Trod by my hot soul from the pulp of self + And set upon the shelf + In sullen pride + The Vineyard-master's tasting to abide-- + O mother mine! + Are these the bringings-in, the doings fine, + Of him you used to praise? + Emptied and overthrown + The jars lie strown. + These, for their flavor duly nursed, + Drip from the stopples vinegar accursed; + These, I thought honied to the very seal, + Dry, dry,--a little acid meal, + A pinch of mouldy dust, + Sole leavings of the amber-mantling must; + These, rude to look upon, + But flasking up the liquor dearest won, + Through sacred hours and hard, + With watching and with wrestlings and with grief, + Even of these, of these in chief, + The stale breath sickens, reeking from the shard. + Nothing is left. Ay, how much less than naught! + What shall be said or thought + Of the slack hours and waste imaginings, + The cynic rending of the wings, + Known to that froward, that unreckoning heart + Whereof this brewage was the precious part, + Treasured and set away with furtive boast? + O dear and cruel ghost, + Be merciful, be just! + See, I was yours and I am in the dust. + Then look not so, as if all things were well! + Take your eyes from me, leave me to my shame, + Or else, if gaze they must, + Steel them with judgment, darken them with blame; + But by the ways of light ineffable + You bade me go and I have faltered from, + By the low waters moaning out of hell + Whereto my feet have come, + Lay not on me these intolerable + Looks of rejoicing love, of pride, of happy trust! + + Nothing dismayed? + By all I say and all I hint not made + Afraid? + O then, stay by me! Let + These eyes afflict me, cleanse me, keep me yet. + Brave eyes and true! + See how the shriveled heart, that long has lain + Dead to delight and pain, + Stirs, and begins again + To utter pleasant life, as if it knew + The wintry days were through; + As if in its awakening boughs it heard + The quick, sweet-spoken bird. + Strong eyes and brave, + Inexorable to save! + + + + + +--------------------------------------------------------------------+ + | | + | Transcriber's Note: | + | | + | | + | Spacing for contractions has been retained to match the original | + | 1901 text. | + | | + | Both "gray" and "grey" are used in this text, as per the original. | + | | + +--------------------------------------------------------------------+ + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Gloucester Moors and Other Poems, by +William Vaughn Moody + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLOUCESTER MOORS AND OTHER POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 27912-8.txt or 27912-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/9/1/27912/ + +Produced by David Garcia, C. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Gloucester Moors and Other Poems + +Author: William Vaughn Moody + +Release Date: January 27, 2009 [EBook #27912] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLOUCESTER MOORS AND OTHER POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by David Garcia, C. St. Charleskindt and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net +(This file was produced from images generously made +available by The Kentuckiana Digital Library) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="bbox"> +<p class="center">By William Vaughn Moody</p> + +<hr class="minor" /> + +<p class="size85">GLOUCESTER MOORS and Other Poems. 12mo, $1.25.<br /> +THE FIRE-BRINGER. 12mo, $1.10, <i>net</i>. Postage 8 cents.<br /> +THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT. 12mo, $1.50.</p> + +<hr class="minor" /> + +<p class="size85">THE GREAT DIVIDE. 12mo, $1.00, <i>net</i>. Postage 10 cents.<br /> +THE FAITH HEALER. 12mo, $1.00, <i>net</i>. Postage 10 cents.</p> + +<p class="size85 center">HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY<br /> +<span class="smcap">Boston and New York</span></p> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<h1>GLOUCESTER MOORS<br /> +<span class="size75">AND OTHER POEMS</span></h1> + +<hr class="spacer" /> + +<div class="center"> +<span class="size75">BY</span> +<hr class="spacer" /> +<span class="size120">WILLIAM VAUGHN MOODY</span> +</div> + +<hr class="spacer" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 190px;"> +<img src="images/toutbien.png" width="190" height="200" +alt="TOUT BIEN OU RIEN" title="TOUT BIEN OU RIEN" /> +</div> + +<hr class="spacer" /> + +<div class="center"> +<span class="size75">BOSTON AND NEW YORK</span><br /> +HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY<br /> +The Riverside Press Cambridge<br /> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="size75 center"> +COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY WILLIAM VAUGHN MOODY<br /> +<br /> +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<h2>NOTE</h2> + +<p>Several poems of this collection, including "An Ode in Time of +Hesitation," "The Brute," and "On a Soldier Fallen in the +Philippines," have appeared in the <i>Atlantic Monthly</i>; "Gloucester +Moors" and "Faded Pictures," in <i>Scribner's Magazine</i>; and "The Ride +Back," under a different title in the <i>Chap-Book</i>. The author is +indebted to the editors of these periodicals for leave to reprint.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class="center"> +<table summary="Table of Contents"> +<tr><td class="left"> </td><td class="right">PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td class="left"><a href="#GLOUCESTER_MOORS">GLOUCESTER MOORS</a></td><td class="right">1</td></tr> +<tr><td class="left"><a href="#GOOD_FRIDAY_NIGHT">GOOD FRIDAY NIGHT</a></td><td class="right">5</td></tr> +<tr><td class="left"><a href="#ROAD-HYMN_FOR_THE_START">ROAD-HYMN FOR THE START</a></td><td class="right">9</td></tr> +<tr><td class="left"><a href="#AN_ODE_IN_TIME_OF_HESITATION">AN ODE IN TIME OF HESITATION</a></td><td class="right">12</td></tr> +<tr><td class="left"><a href="#THE_QUARRY">THE QUARRY</a></td><td class="right">22</td></tr> +<tr><td class="left"><a href="#ON_A_SOLDIER_FALLEN_IN_THE_PHILIPPINES">ON A SOLDIER FALLEN IN THE PHILIPPINES</a></td><td class="right">24</td></tr> +<tr><td class="left"><a href="#UNTIL_THE_TROUBLING_OF_THE_WATERS">UNTIL THE TROUBLING OF THE WATERS</a></td><td class="right">26</td></tr> +<tr><td class="left"><a href="#JETSAM">JETSAM</a></td><td class="right">39</td></tr> +<tr><td class="left"><a href="#THE_BRUTE">THE BRUTE</a></td><td class="right">49</td></tr> +<tr><td class="left"><a href="#THE_MENAGERIE">THE MENAGERIE</a></td><td class="right">55</td></tr> +<tr><td class="left"><a href="#THE_GOLDEN_JOURNEY">THE GOLDEN JOURNEY</a></td><td class="right">62</td></tr> +<tr><td class="left"><a href="#HEARTS_WILD-FLOWER">HEART'S WILD-FLOWER</a></td><td class="right">65</td></tr> +<tr><td class="left"><a href="#HARMONICS">HARMONICS</a></td><td class="right">67</td></tr> +<tr><td class="left"><a href="#ON_THE_RIVER">ON THE RIVER</a></td><td class="right">68</td></tr> +<tr><td class="left"><a href="#THE_BRACELET_OF_GRASS">THE BRACELET OF GRASS</a></td><td class="right">70</td></tr> +<tr><td class="left"><a href="#THE_DEPARTURE">THE DEPARTURE</a></td><td class="right">72</td></tr> +<tr><td class="left"><a href="#FADED_PICTURES">FADED PICTURES</a></td><td class="right">74</td></tr> +<tr><td class="left"><a href="#A_GREY_DAY">A GREY DAY</a></td><td class="right">75</td></tr> +<tr><td class="left"><a href="#THE_RIDE_BACK">THE RIDE BACK</a></td><td class="right">76</td></tr> +<tr><td class="left"><a href="#SONG-FLOWER_AND_POPPY">SONG-FLOWER AND POPPY</a></td><td class="right">80</td></tr> +<tr><td class="indent">I. IN NEW YORK</td></tr> +<tr><td class="indent">II. AT ASSISI</td></tr> +<tr><td class="left"><a href="#HOW_THE_MEAD-SLAVE_WAS_SET_FREE">HOW THE MEAD-SLAVE WAS SET FREE</a></td><td class="right">86</td></tr> +<tr><td class="left"><a href="#A_DIALOGUE_IN_PURGATORY">A DIALOGUE IN PURGATORY</a></td><td class="right">89</td></tr> +<tr><td class="left"><a href="#THE_DAGUERREOTYPE">THE DAGUERREOTYPE</a></td><td class="right">98</td></tr> +</table> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<h2>POEMS</h2> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="poem"> + +<!-- Page 1 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span> + +<h2><a name="GLOUCESTER_MOORS" id="GLOUCESTER_MOORS"></a>GLOUCESTER MOORS</h2> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A mile behind is Gloucester town<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the fishing fleets put in,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mile ahead the land dips down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the woods and farms begin.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here, where the moors stretch free<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the high blue afternoon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are the marching sun and talking sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the racing winds that wheel and flee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the flying heels of June.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Jill-o'er-the-ground is purple blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blue is the quaker-maid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wild geranium holds its dew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long in the boulder's shade.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wax-red hangs the cup<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the huckleberry boughs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In barberry bells the grey moths sup,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or where the choke-cherry lifts high up<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet bowls for their carouse.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Over the shelf of the sandy cove<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beach-peas blossom late.<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 2 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">By copse and cliff the swallows rove<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Each calling to his mate.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seaward the sea-gulls go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the land-birds all are here;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That green-gold flash was a vireo,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yonder flame where the marsh-flags grow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was a scarlet tanager.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This earth is not the steadfast place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We landsmen build upon;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From deep to deep she varies pace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And while she comes is gone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath my feet I feel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her smooth bulk heave and dip;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With velvet plunge and soft upreel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She swings and steadies to her keel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a gallant, gallant ship.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">These summer clouds she sets for sail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sun is her masthead light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She tows the moon like a pinnace frail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where her phosphor wake churns bright.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now hid, now looming clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the face of the dangerous blue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The star fleets tack and wheel and veer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But on, but on does the old earth steer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if her port she knew.<br /></span> +</div> + +<!-- Page 3 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">God, dear God! Does she know her port,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though she goes so far about?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or blind astray, does she make her sport<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To brazen and chance it out?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I watched when her captains passed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She were better captainless.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Men in the cabin, before the mast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But some were reckless and some aghast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And some sat gorged at mess.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By her battened hatch I leaned and caught<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sounds from the noisome hold,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cursing and sighing of souls distraught<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cries too sad to be told.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then I strove to go down and see;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But they said, "Thou art not of us!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I turned to those on the deck with me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cried, "Give help!" But they said, "Let be:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our ship sails faster thus."<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Jill-o'er-the-ground is purple blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blue is the quaker-maid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The alder-clump where the brook comes through<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breeds cresses in its shade.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To be out of the moiling street<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With its swelter and its sin!<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 4 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Who has given to me this sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And given my brother dust to eat?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when will his wage come in?<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Scattering wide or blown in ranks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yellow and white and brown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Boats and boats from the fishing banks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come home to Gloucester town.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is cash to purse and spend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There are wives to be embraced,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hearts to borrow and hearts to lend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hearts to take and keep to the end,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O little sails, make haste!<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But thou, vast outbound ship of souls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What harbor town for thee?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What shapes, when thy arriving tolls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall crowd the banks to see?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall all the happy shipmates then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stand singing brotherly?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or shall a haggard ruthless few<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warp her over and bring her to,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the many broken souls of men<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fester down in the slaver's pen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And nothing to say or do?<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="poem"> + +<!-- Page 5 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> + +<h2><a name="GOOD_FRIDAY_NIGHT" id="GOOD_FRIDAY_NIGHT"></a>GOOD FRIDAY NIGHT</h2> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At last the bird that sang so long<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In twilight circles, hushed his song:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above the ancient square<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stars came here and there.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Good Friday night! Some hearts were bowed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But some amid the waiting crowd<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because of too much youth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Felt not that mystic ruth;<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And of these hearts my heart was one:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor when beneath the arch of stone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With dirge and candle flame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cross of passion came,<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Did my glad spirit feel reproof,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though on the awful tree aloof,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unspiritual, dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drooped the ensanguined Head.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To one who stood where myrtles made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A little space of deeper shade<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 6 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">(As I could half descry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A stranger, even as I),<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I said, "These youths who bear along<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The symbols of their Saviour's wrong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spear, the garment torn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flaggel, and the thorn,—<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Why do they make this mummery?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would not a brave man gladly die<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For a much smaller thing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than to be Christ and king?"<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He answered nothing, and I turned.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Throned in its hundred candles burned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The jeweled eidolon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of her who bore the Son.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The crowd was prostrate; still, I felt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No shame until the stranger knelt;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then not to kneel, almost<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seemed like a vulgar boast.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I knelt. The doll-face, waxen white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flowered out a living dimness; bright<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dawned the dear mortal grace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of my own mother's face.<br /></span> +</div> + +<!-- Page 7 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When we were risen up, the street<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was vacant; all the air hung sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With lemon-flowers; and soon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sky would hold the moon.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">More silently than new-found friends<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To whom much silence makes amends<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the much babble vain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While yet their lives were twain,<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We walked along the odorous hill.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The light was little yet; his will<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I could not see to trace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon his form or face.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So when aloft the gold moon broke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I cried, heart-stung. As one who woke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He turned unto my cries<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The anguish of his eyes.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Friend! Master!" I cried falteringly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Thou seest the thing they make of thee.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, by the light divine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My mother shares with thine,<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I beg that I may lay my head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon thy shoulder and be fed<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 8 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">With thoughts of brotherhood!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So through the odorous wood,<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">More silently than friends new-found<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We walked. At the first meadow bound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His figure ashen-stoled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sank in the moon's broad gold.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="poem"> + +<!-- Page 9 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span> + +<h2><a name="ROAD-HYMN_FOR_THE_START" id="ROAD-HYMN_FOR_THE_START"></a>ROAD-HYMN FOR THE START</h2> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Leave the early bells at chime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Leave the kindled hearth to blaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leave the trellised panes where children linger out the waking-time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leave the forms of sons and fathers trudging through the misty ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leave the sounds of mothers taking up their sweet laborious days.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Pass them by! even while our soul<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yearns to them with keen distress.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unto them a part is given; we will strive to see the whole.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dear shall be the banquet table where their singing spirits press;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dearer be our sacred hunger, and our pilgrim loneliness.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">We have felt the ancient swaying<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the earth before the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the darkened marge of midnight heard sidereal rivers playing;<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 10 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Rash it was to bathe our souls there, but we plunged and all was done.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That is lives and lives behind us—lo, our journey is begun!<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Careless where our face is set,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let us take the open way.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What we are no tongue has told us: Errand-goers who forget?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soldiers heedless of their harry? Pilgrim people gone astray?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We have heard a voice cry "Wander!" That was all we heard it say.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Ask no more: 't is much, 't is much!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Down the road the day-star calls;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Touched with change in the wide heavens, like a leaf the frost winds touch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flames the failing moon a moment, ere it shrivels white and falls;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hid aloft, a wild throat holdeth sweet and sweeter intervals.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Leave him still to ease in song<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Half his little heart's unrest:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Speech is his, but we may journey toward the life for which we long.<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 11 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">God, who gives the bird its anguish, maketh nothing manifest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But upon our lifted foreheads pours the boon of endless quest.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="poem"> + +<!-- Page 12 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> + +<h2><a name="AN_ODE_IN_TIME_OF_HESITATION" id="AN_ODE_IN_TIME_OF_HESITATION"></a>AN ODE IN TIME OF HESITATION</h2> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<p>(After seeing at Boston the statue of Robert Gould Shaw, killed +while storming Fort Wagner, July 18, 1863, at the head of the +first enlisted negro regiment, the 54th Massachusetts.)</p> +</div> + +<h3>I</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Before the solemn bronze Saint Gaudens made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To thrill the heedless passer's heart with awe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And set here in the city's talk and trade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the good memory of Robert Shaw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This bright March morn I stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hear the distant spring come up the land;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Knowing that what I hear is not unheard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of this boy soldier and his negro band,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For all their gaze is fixed so stern ahead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For all the fatal rhythm of their tread.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The land they died to save from death and shame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trembles and waits, hearing the spring's great name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And by her pangs these resolute ghosts are stirred.<br /></span> +</div> + +<h3>II</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Through street and mall the tides of people go<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heedless; the trees upon the Common show<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 13 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">No hint of green; but to my listening heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The still earth doth impart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Assurance of her jubilant emprise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And it is clear to my long-searching eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That love at last has might upon the skies.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ice is runneled on the little pond;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A telltale patter drips from off the trees;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The air is touched with southland spiceries,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if but yesterday it tossed the frond<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of pendent mosses where the live-oaks grow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond Virginia and the Carolines,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or had its will among the fruits and vines<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of aromatic isles asleep beyond<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Florida and the Gulf of Mexico.<br /></span> +</div> + +<h3>III</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Soon shall the Cape Ann children shout in glee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spying the arbutus, spring's dear recluse;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hill lads at dawn shall hearken the wild goose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go honking northward over Tennessee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">West from Oswego to Sault Sainte-Marie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on to where the Pictured Rocks are hung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yonder where, gigantic, willful, young,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chicago sitteth at the northwest gates,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With restless violent hands and casual tongue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Moulding her mighty fates,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Lakes shall robe them in ethereal sheen;<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 14 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">And like a larger sea, the vital green<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of springing wheat shall vastly be outflung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over Dakota and the prairie states.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By desert people immemorial<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On Arizonan mesas shall be done<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dim rites unto the thunder and the sun;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor shall the primal gods lack sacrifice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More splendid, when the white Sierras call<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unto the Rockies straightway to arise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dance before the unveiled ark of the year,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sounding their windy cedars as for shawms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unrolling rivers clear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For flutter of broad phylacteries;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While Shasta signals to Alaskan seas<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That watch old sluggish glaciers downward creep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To fling their icebergs thundering from the steep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Mariposa through the purple calms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gazes at far Hawaii crowned with palms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where East and West are met,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A rich seal on the ocean's bosom set<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To say that East and West are twain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With different loss and gain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Lord hath sundered them; let them be sundered yet.<br /></span> +</div> + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Alas! what sounds are these that come<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sullenly over the Pacific seas,—<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 15 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Sounds of ignoble battle, striking dumb<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The season's half-awakened ecstasies?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must I be humble, then,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now when my heart hath need of pride?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wild love falls on me from these sculptured men;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By loving much the land for which they died<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would be justified.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My spirit was away on pinions wide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To soothe in praise of her its passionate mood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ease it of its ache of gratitude.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too sorely heavy is the debt they lay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On me and the companions of my day.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would remember now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My country's goodliness, make sweet her name.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alas! what shade art thou<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of sorrow or of blame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Liftest the lyric leafage from her brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pointest a slow finger at her shame?<br /></span> +</div> + +<h3>V</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Lies! lies! It cannot be! The wars we wage<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are noble, and our battles still are won<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By justice for us, ere we lift the gage,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We have not sold our loftiest heritage.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The proud republic hath not stooped to cheat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And scramble in the market-place of war;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her forehead weareth yet its solemn star.<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 16 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Here is her witness: this, her perfect son,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This delicate and proud New England soul<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who leads despisèd men, with just-unshackled feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up the large ways where death and glory meet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To show all peoples that our shame is done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That once more we are clean and spirit-whole.<br /></span> +</div> + +<h3>VI</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Crouched in the sea fog on the moaning sand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All night he lay, speaking some simple word<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From hour to hour to the slow minds that heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Holding each poor life gently in his hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And breathing on the base rejected clay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till each dark face shone mystical and grand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Against the breaking day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lo, the shard the potter cast away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was grown a fiery chalice crystal-fine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fulfilled of the divine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Great wine of battle wrath by God's ring-finger stirred.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then upward, where the shadowy bastion loomed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Huge on the mountain in the wet sea light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whence now, and now, infernal flowerage bloomed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bloomed, burst, and scattered down its deadly seed,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They swept, and died like freemen on the height,<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 17 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Like freemen, and like men of noble breed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when the battle fell away at night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By hasty and contemptuous hands were thrust<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Obscurely in a common grave with him<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fair-haired keeper of their love and trust.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now limb doth mingle with dissolvèd limb<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In nature's busy old democracy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To flush the mountain laurel when she blows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet by the southern sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heart with crumbled heart climbs in the rose:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The untaught hearts with the high heart that knew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This mountain fortress for no earthly hold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of temporal quarrel, but the bastion old<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of spiritual wrong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Built by an unjust nation sheer and strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Expugnable but by a nation's rue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bowing down before that equal shrine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By all men held divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whereof his band and he were the most holy sign.<br /></span> +</div> + +<h3>VII</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O bitter, bitter shade!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wilt thou not put the scorn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And instant tragic question from thine eyes?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Do thy dark brows yet crave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That swift and angry stave—<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 18 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Unmeet for this desirous morn—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I have striven, striven to evade?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gazing on him, must I not deem they err<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose careless lips in street and shop aver<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As common tidings, deeds to make his cheek<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flush from the bronze, and his dead throat to speak?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Surely some elder singer would arise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose harp hath leave to threaten and to mourn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above this people when they go astray.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is Whitman, the strong spirit, overworn?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has Whittier put his yearning wrath away?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I will not and I dare not yet believe!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though furtively the sunlight seems to grieve,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the spring-laden breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out of the gladdening west is sinister<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With sounds of nameless battle overseas;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though when we turn and question in suspense<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If these things be indeed after these ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And what things are to follow after these,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our fluent men of place and consequence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fumble and fill their mouths with hollow phrase,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or for the end-all of deep arguments<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Intone their dull commercial liturgies—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I dare not yet believe! My ears are shut!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I will not hear the thin satiric praise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And muffled laughter of our enemies,<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 19 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Bidding us never sheathe our valiant sword<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till we have changed our birthright for a gourd<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of wild pulse stolen from a barbarian's hut;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Showing how wise it is to cast away<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The symbols of our spiritual sway,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That so our hands with better ease<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May wield the driver's whip and grasp the jailer's keys.<br /></span> +</div> + +<h3>VIII</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Was it for this our fathers kept the law?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This crown shall crown their struggle and their ruth?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are we the eagle nation Milton saw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mewing its mighty youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soon to possess the mountain winds of truth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And be a swift familiar of the sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where aye before God's face his trumpets run?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or have we but the talons and the maw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And for the abject likeness of our heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall some less lordly bird be set apart?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some gross-billed wader where the swamps are fat?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some gorger in the sun? Some prowler with the bat?<br /></span> +</div> + +<h3>IX</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah no!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We have not fallen so.<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 20 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">We are our fathers' sons: let those who lead us know!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'T was only yesterday sick Cuba's cry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came up the tropic wind, "Now help us, for we die!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then Alabama heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rising, pale, to Maine and Idaho<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shouted a burning word.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Proud state with proud impassioned state conferred,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And at the lifting of a hand sprang forth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">East, west, and south, and north,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beautiful armies. Oh, by the sweet blood and young<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shed on the awful hill slope at San Juan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the unforgotten names of eager boys<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who might have tasted girls' love and been stung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the old mystic joys<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And starry griefs, now the spring nights come on,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But that the heart of youth is generous,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We charge you, ye who lead us,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breathe on their chivalry no hint of stain!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Turn not their new-world victories to gain!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One least leaf plucked for chaffer from the bays<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of their dear praise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One jot of their pure conquest put to hire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The implacable republic will require;<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 21 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">With clamor, in the glare and gaze of noon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or subtly, coming as a thief at night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But surely, very surely, slow or soon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That insult deep we deeply will requite.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tempt not our weakness, our cupidity!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For save we let the island men go free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those baffled and dislaureled ghosts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will curse us from the lamentable coasts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where walk the frustrate dead.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cup of trembling shall be drainèd quite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eaten the sour bread of astonishment,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With ashes of the hearth shall be made white<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our hair, and wailing shall be in the tent;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then on your guiltier head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall our intolerable self-disdain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wreak suddenly its anger and its pain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For manifest in that disastrous light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We shall discern the right<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And do it, tardily.—O ye who lead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Take heed!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blindness we may forgive, but baseness we will smite.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="year">1900.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="poem"> + +<!-- Page 22 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> + +<h2><a name="THE_QUARRY" id="THE_QUARRY"></a>THE QUARRY</h2> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Between the rice swamps and the fields of tea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I met a sacred elephant, snow-white.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon his back a huge pagoda towered<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Full of brass gods and food of sacrifice.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon his forehead sat a golden throne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The massy metal twisted into shapes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grotesque, antediluvian, such as move<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In myth or have their broken images<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sealed in the stony middle of the hills.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A peacock spread his thousand dyes to screen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The yellow sunlight from the head of one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who sat upon the throne, clad stiff with gems,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heirlooms of dynasties of buried kings,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Himself the likeness of a buried king,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With frozen gesture and unfocused eyes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The trappings of the beast were over-scrawled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With broideries—sea-shapes and flying things,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fan-trees and dwarfed nodosities of pine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mixed with old alphabets, and faded lore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fallen from ecstatic mouths before the Flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or gathered by the daughters when they walked<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eastward in Eden with the Sons of God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whom love and the deep moon made garrulous.<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 23 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Between the carven tusks his trunk hung dead;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blind as the eyes of pearl in Buddha's brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His beaded eyes stared thwart upon the road;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And feebler than the doting knees of eld,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His joints, of size to swing the builder's crane<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Across the war-walls of the Anakim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made vain and shaken haste. Good need was his<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To hasten: panting, foaming, on the slot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came many brutes of prey, their several hates<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Laid by until the sharing of the spoil.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just as they gathered stomach for the leap,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sun was darkened, and wide-balanced wings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beat downward on the trade-wind from the sea.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A wheel of shadow sped along the fields<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And o'er the dreaming cities. Suddenly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My heart misgave me, and I cried aloud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Alas! What dost thou here? What dost <i>thou</i> here?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The great beasts and the little halted sharp,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eyed the grand circler, doubting his intent.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Straightway the wind flawed and he came about,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stooping to take the vanward of the pack;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then turned, between the chasers and the chased,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crying a word I could not understand,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But stiller-tongued, with eyes somewhat askance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They settled to the slot and disappeared.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<p class="year">1900.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="poem"> + +<!-- Page 24 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> + +<h2><a name="ON_A_SOLDIER_FALLEN_IN_THE_PHILIPPINES" id="ON_A_SOLDIER_FALLEN_IN_THE_PHILIPPINES"></a>ON A SOLDIER FALLEN IN THE PHILIPPINES</h2> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Streets of the roaring town,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hush for him, hush, be still!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He comes, who was stricken down<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Doing the word of our will.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hush! Let him have his state,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Give him his soldier's crown.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The grists of trade can wait<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their grinding at the mill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But he cannot wait for his honor, now the trumpet has been blown.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wreathe pride now for his granite brow, lay love on his breast of stone.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">Toll! Let the great bells toll<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Till the clashing air is dim.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Did we wrong this parted soul?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We will make it up to him.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Toll! Let him never guess<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What work we set him to.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Laurel, laurel, yes;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He did what we bade him do.<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 25 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Praise, and never a whispered hint but the fight he fought was good;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never a word that the blood on his sword was his country's own heart's-blood.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">A flag for the soldier's bier<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who dies that his land may live;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O, banners, banners here,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That he doubt not nor misgive!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That he heed not from the tomb<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The evil days draw near<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the nation, robed in gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With its faithless past shall strive.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let him never dream that his bullet's scream went wide of its island mark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Home to the heart of his darling land where she stumbled and sinned in the dark.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="poem"> + +<!-- Page 26 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> + +<h2><a name="UNTIL_THE_TROUBLING_OF_THE_WATERS" id="UNTIL_THE_TROUBLING_OF_THE_WATERS"></a>UNTIL THE TROUBLING OF THE WATERS</h2> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Two hours, two hours: God give me strength for it!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He who has given so much strength to me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And nothing to my child, must give to-day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What more I need to try and save my child<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And get for him the life I owe to him.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To think that I may get it for him now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before he knows how much he might have missed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That other boys have got! The bitterest thought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of all that plagued me when he came was this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How some day he would see the difference,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And drag himself to me with puzzled eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To ask me why it was. He would have been<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cruel enough to do it, knowing not<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That was the question my rebellious heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cried over and over one whole year to God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And got no answer and no help at all.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If he had asked me, what could I have said?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What single word could I have found to say<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To hide me from his searching, puzzled gaze?<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 27 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Some coward thing at best, never the truth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The truth I never could have told him. No,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I never could have said, "God gave you me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To fashion you a body, right and strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With sturdy little limbs and chest and neck<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For fun and fighting with your little mates,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Great feats and voyages in the breathless world<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of out-of-doors,—He gave you me for this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I was such a bungler, that is all!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, the old lie—that thought was not the worst.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I never have been truthful with myself.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For by the door where lurked one ghostly thought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I stood with crazy hands to thrust it back<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If it should dare to peep and whisper out<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unbearable things about me, hearing which<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The women passing in the streets would turn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To pity me and scold me with their eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who was so bad a mother and so slow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To learn to help God do his wonder in her<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That she—O my sweet baby! It was not<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fear that you would see the difference<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Between you and the other boys and girls;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No, no, it was the dimmer, wilder fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That you might never see it, never look<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out of your tiny baby-house of mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But sit your life through, quiet in the dark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smiling and nodding at what was not there!<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 28 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">A foolish fear: God could not punish so.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet until yesterday I thought He would.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My soul was always cowering at the blow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw suspended, ready to be dealt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The moment that I showed my fear too much.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Therefore I hid it from Him all I could,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And only stole a shaking glance at it<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sometimes in the dead minutes before dawn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When He forgets to watch. Till yesterday.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For yesterday was wonderful and strange<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the beginning. When I wakened first<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And looked out at the window, the last snow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was gone from earth; about the apple-trees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hung a faint mist of bloom; small sudden green<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had run and spread and rippled everywhere<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over the fields; and in the level sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Walked something like a presence and a power,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Uttering hopes and loving-kindnesses<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To all the world, but chiefly unto me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It walked before me when I went to work,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all day long the noises of the mill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were spun upon a core of golden sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Half-spoken words and interrupted songs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of blessed promise, meant for all the world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But most for me, because I suffered most.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shooting spindles, the smooth-humming wheels,<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 29 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">The rocking webs, seemed toiling to some end<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneficent and human known to them,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And duly brought to pass in power and love.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The faces of the girls and men at work<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Met mine with intense greeting, veiled at once,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if they knew a secret they must keep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For fear the joy would harm me if they told<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before some inkling filtered to my mind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In roundabout ways. When the day's work was done<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There lay a special silence on the fields;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, as I passed, the bushes and the trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The very ruts and puddles of the road<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spoke to each other, saying it was she,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The happy woman, the elected one,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The vessel of strange mercy and the sign<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of many loving wonders done in Heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To help the piteous earth.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i11">At last I stopped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And looked about me in sheer wonderment.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What did it mean? What did they want with me?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What was the matter with the evening now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That it was just as bound to make me glad<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As morning and the live-long day had been?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Me, who had quite forgot what gladness was,<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 30 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Who had no right to anything but toil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And food and sleep for strength to toil again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that fierce frightened anguish of my love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the poor little spirit I had wronged<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With life that was no life. What had befallen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since yesterday? No need to stop and ask!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Back there in the dark places of my mind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where I had thrust it, fearing to believe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An unbelievable mercy, shone the news<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Told by the village neighbors coming home<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Last night from the great city, of a man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arisen, like the first evangelists,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With power to heal the bodies of the sick,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In testimony of his master Christ,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who heals the soul when it is sick with sin.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could such a thing be true in these hard days?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was help still sent in such a way as that?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No, no! I did not dare to think of it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Feeling what weakness and despair would come<br /></span> +<span class="i0">After the crazy hope broke under me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I turned and started homeward, faster now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But never fast enough to leave behind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The voices and the troubled happiness<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That still kept mounting, mounting like a sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And singing far-off like a rush of wings.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far down the road a yellow spot of light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shone from my cottage window, rayless yet,<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 31 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Where the last sunset crimson caught the panes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alice had lit the lamp before she went;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her day of pity and unmirthful play<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was over, and her young heart free to live<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until to-morrow brought her nursing-task<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again, and made her feel how dark and still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That life could be to others which to her<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was full of dreams that beckoned, reaching hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And thrilling invitations young girls hear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My boy was sleeping, little mind and frame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More tired just lying there awake two hours<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than with a whole day's romp he should have been.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He would not know his mother had come home;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But after supper I would sit awhile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beside his bed, and let my heart have time<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For that worst love that stabs and breaks and kills.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This I thought over to myself by rote<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And habit, but I could not feel my thoughts;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For still that dim unmeaning happiness<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kept mounting, mounting round me like a sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And singing inward like a wind of wings.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Before I lifted up the latch, I knew.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I felt no fear; the One who waited there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the low lamplight by the bed, had come<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because I was his sister and in need.<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 32 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">My word had got to Him somehow at last,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And He had come to help me or to tell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where help was to be found. It was not strange.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strange only He had stayed away so long;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But that should be forgotten—He was here.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I pushed the door wide open and looked in.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He had been kneeling by the bed, and now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Half-risen, kissed my boy upon the lips,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then turned and smiled and pointed with his hand.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I must have fallen on the threshold stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For I remember that I felt, not saw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The resurrection glory and the peace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shed from his face and raiment as He went<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out by the door into the evening street.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when I looked, the place about the bed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was yet all bathed in light, and in the midst<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My boy lay changed,—no longer clothed upon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With scraps and shreds of life, but like the child<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of some most fortunate mother. In a breath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The image faded. There he lay again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The same as always; and the light was gone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I sank with moans and cries beside the bed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cruelty, O Christ, the cruelty!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To come at last and then to go like that,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leaving the darkness deeper than before!<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 33 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Then, though I heard no sound, I grew aware<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of some one standing by the open door<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among the dry vines rustling in the porch.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My heart laughed suddenly. He had come back!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He had come back to make the vision true.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He had not meant to mock me: God was God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Christ was Christ; there was no falsehood there.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I heard a quiet footstep cross the room<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And felt a hand laid gently on my hair,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A human hand, worn hard by daily toil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heavy with life-long struggle after bread.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alice's father. The kind homely voice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had in it such strange music that I dreamed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps it was the Other speaking in him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because His own bright form had made me swoon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With its too much of glory. What he brought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was news as good as ever heavenly lips<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had the dear right to utter. He had been<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All day among the crowds of curious folk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the great city and the country-side<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gathered to watch the Healer do his work<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of mercy on the sick and halt and blind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with his very eyes had seen such things<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As awestruck men had witnessed long ago<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Galilee, and writ of in the Book.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To-morrow morning he would take me there<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 34 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">If I had strength and courage to believe.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It might be there was hope; he could not say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But knew what he had seen. When he was gone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I lay for hours, letting the solemn waves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thundering joy go over and over me.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Just before midnight baby fretted, woke;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He never yet has slept a whole night through<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without his food and petting. As I sat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Feeding and petting him and singing soft,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I felt a jealousy begin to ache<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And worry at my heartstrings, hushing down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gladness. Jealousy of what or whom?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hardly knew, or could not put in words;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At least it seemed too foolish and too wrong<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When said, and so I shut the thought away.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only, next minute, it came stealing back.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">After the change, would my boy be the same<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As this one? Would he be my boy at all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And not another's—his who gave the life<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I could not give, or did not anyhow?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How could I look in his new eyes to claim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The whole of him, the body and the breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When some one not his mother, a strange man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had clothed him in that beauty of the flesh—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps (for who could know?), perhaps, by some<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hateful disfiguring miracle, had even<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 35 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Transformed his spirit to a better one,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Better, but not the same I prayed for him<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down out of Heaven through the sleepless nights,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The best that God would send to such as me.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I tried to strangle back the wicked pain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fancied him changed and tried to love him so.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No use; it was another, not my child,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not my frail, broken, priceless little one,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My cup of anguish, and my trembling star<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hung small and sad and sweet above the earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So sure to fall but for my cherishing!<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When he had dropped asleep again, I rose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wrestled with the sinful selfishness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dark injustice, the unnatural pain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fevered at last with pacing to and fro,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I raised the bedroom window and leaned out.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The white moon, low behind the sycamores,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silvered the silent country; not a voice<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of all the myriads summer moves to sing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had yet awakened; in the level moon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Walked that same presence I had heard at dawn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Uttering hopes and loving-kindnesses,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But now, dispirited and reticent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It walked the moonlight like a homeless thing.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O, how to cleanse me of the cowardice!<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 36 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">How to be just! Was I a mother, then,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A mother, and not love her child as well<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As her own covetous and morbid love?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was it for this the Comforter had come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smiling at me and pointing with His hand?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—What had He meant to have me think or do,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smiling and pointing?<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i10">All at once I saw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A way to save my darling from myself<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And make atonement for my grudging love!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under the sycamores and up the hill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And down across the river, the wet road<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Went stretching cityward, silvered in the moon.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I who had shrunk from sacrifice, even I,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who had refused God's blessing for my boy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would take him in my arms and carry him<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up to the altar of the miracle.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would not wait for daylight, nor the help<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of any human friendship; I alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the still miles of country, I alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only my arms to shield him and my feet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To bear him: he should have no one to thank<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But me for that. I knew the way was long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But knew strength would be given. So I came.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soon the stars failed; the late moon faded too:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I think my heart had sucked their beams from them<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 37 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">To build more blue amid the murky night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its own miraculous day. From creeks and fields<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fog climbed slowly, blotted out the road;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hid the signposts telling of the town;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">After a while rain fell, with sleet and snow.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What did I care? Baby was snug and dry.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some day, when I was telling him of this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He would but hug me closer, hearing how<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The night conspired against us. Better hard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than easy, then: I almost felt regret<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My body was so capable and strong<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To do its errand. Honeyed drop by drop,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The ghostly jealousy, loosening at my breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Distilled into a dew of quiet tears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fell with splash of music in the wells<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on the hidden rivers of my soul.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The hardest part was coming through the town.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The country, even when it hindered most,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seemed conscious of the thing I went to find.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rocks and bushes looming through the mist<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Questioned and acquiesced and understood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The trees and streams believed; the wind and rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even they, for all their temper, had some words<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of faith and comfort. But the glaring streets,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dizzy traffic, the piled merchandise,<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 38 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">The giant buildings swarming with fierce life—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cared nothing for me. They had never heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of me nor of my business. When I asked<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My way, a shade of pity or contempt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Showed through men's kindness—for they all were kind.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Daunted and chilled and very sick at heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I walked the endless pavements. But at last<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The streets grew quieter; the houses seemed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if they might be homes where people lived;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then came the factories and cottages,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all was well again. Much more than well,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For many sick and broken went my way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Alone or helped along by loving hands;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from a thousand eyes the famished hope<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looked out at mine—wild, patient, querulous,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But always hope and hope, a thousand tongues<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Speaking one word in many languages.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In two hours He will come, they say, will stand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There on the steps, above the waiting crowd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And touch with healing hands whoever asks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Believingly, in spirit and in truth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Can such a mercy be, in these hard days?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is help still sent in such a way as that?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Christ, I believe; pity my unbelief!<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="poem"> + +<!-- Page 39 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> + +<h2><a name="JETSAM" id="JETSAM"></a>JETSAM</h2> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I wonder can this be the world it was<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At sunset? I remember the sky fell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Green as pale meadows, at the long street-ends,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But overhead the smoke-wrack hugged the roofs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if to shut the city from God's eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till dawn should quench the laughter and the lights.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the gas flare stolid faces passed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too dull for sin; old loosened lips set hard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To drain the stale lees from the cup of sense;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or if a young face yearned from out the mist<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made by its own bright hair, the eyes were wan<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With desolate fore-knowledge of the end.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My life lay waste about me: as I walked,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the gross dark of unfrequented streets<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The face of my own youth peered forth at me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Struck white with pity at the thing I was;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And globed in ghostly fire, thrice-virginal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With lifted face star-strong, went one who sang<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lost verses from my youth's gold canticle.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out of the void dark came my face and hers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One vivid moment—then the street was there;<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 40 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Bloat shapes and mean eyes blotted the sear dusk;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in the curtained window of a house<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whence sin reeked on the night, a shameful head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was silhouetted black as Satan's face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Against eternal fires. I stumbled on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down the dark slope that reaches riverward,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stretching blind hands to find the throat of God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And crush Him in his lies. The river lay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Coiled in its factory filth and few lean trees.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All was too hateful—I could not die there!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I whom the Spring had strained unto her breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose lips had felt the wet vague lips of dawn.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So under the thin willows' leprous shade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through the tangled ranks of riverweed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I pushed—till lo, God heard me! I came forth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where, 'neath the shoreless hush of region light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through a new world, undreamed of, undesired,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond imagining of man's weary heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far to the white marge of the wondering sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This still plain widens, and this moon rains down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Insufferable ecstasy of peace.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My heart is man's heart, strong to bear this night's<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unspeakable affliction of mute love<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That crazes lesser things. The rocks and clods<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dissemble, feign a busy intercourse;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bushes deal in shadowy subterfuge,<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 41 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Lurk dull, dart spiteful out, make heartless signs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Utter awestricken purpose of no sense,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I walk quiet, crush aside the hands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stretched furtively to drag me madmen's ways.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know the thing they suffer, and the tricks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They must be at to help themselves endure.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I would not be too boastful; I am weak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too weak to put aside the utter ache<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of this lone splendor long enough to see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whether the moon is still her white strange self<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or something whiter, stranger, even the face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which by the changed face of my risen youth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sang, globed in fire, her golden canticle.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I dare not look again; another gaze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Might drive me to the wavering coppice there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where bat-winged madness brushed me, the wild laugh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of naked nature crashed across my blood.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So rank it was with earthy presences,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faun-shapes in goatish dance, young witches' eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slanting deep invitation, whinnying calls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ambiguous, shocks and whirlwinds of wild mirth,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They had undone me in the darkness there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But that within me, smiting through my lids<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lowered to shut in the thick whirl of sense,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dumb light ached and rummaged, and with out,<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 42 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">The soaring splendor summoned me aloud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To leave the low dank thickets of the flesh<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where man meets beast and makes his lair with him,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For spirit reaches of the strenuous vast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where stalwart stars reap grain to make the bread<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God breaketh at his tables and is glad.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I came out in the moonlight cleansed and strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gazed up at the lyric face to see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All sweetness tasted of in earthen cups<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere it be dashed and spilled, all radiance flung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond experience, every benison dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Treasured and mystically crescent there.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O, who will shield me from her? Who will place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A veil between me and the fierce in-throng<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of her inexorable benedicite?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See, I have loved her well and been with her!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through tragic twilights when the stricken sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Groveled with fear, or when she made her throne<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In imminent cities built of gorgeous winds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And paved with lightnings; or when the sobering stars<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would lead her home 'mid wealth of plundered May<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 43 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Along the violet slopes of evensong.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of all the sights that starred the dreamy year,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For me one sight stood peerless and apart:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bright rivers tacit; low hills prone and dumb;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forests that hushed their tiniest voice to hear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Skies for the unutterable advent robed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In purple like the opening iris buds;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And by some lone expectant pool, one tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose gray boughs shivered with excess of awe,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As with preluding gush of amber light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And herald trumpets softly lifted through,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Across the palpitant horizon marge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crocus-filleted came the singing moon.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out of her changing lights I wove my youth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A place to dwell in, sweet and spiritual,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the bitter years of my exile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My heart has called afar off unto her.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lo, after many days love finds its own!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The futile adorations, the waste tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hymns that fluttered low in the false dawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She has uptreasured as a lover's gifts;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They are the mystic garment that she wears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Against the bridal, and the crocus flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She twined her brow with at the going forth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They are the burden of the song she made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In coming through the quiet fields of space,<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 44 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">And breathe between her passion-parted lips<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Calling me out along the flowering road<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which summers through the dimness of the sea.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hark, where the deep feels round its thousand shores<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To find remembered respite, and far drawn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through weed-strewn shelves and crannies of the coast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The myriad silence yearns to myriad speech.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O sea that yearns a day, shall thy tongues be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So eloquent, and heart, shall all thy tongues<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be dumb to speak thy longing? Say I hold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Life as a broken jewel in my hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fain would buy a little love with it<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For comfort, say I fain would make it shine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once in remembering eyes ere it be dust,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were life not worthy spent? Then what of this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When all my spirit hungers to repay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The beauty that has drenched my soul with peace?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once at a simple turning of the way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I met God walking; and although the dawn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was large behind Him, and the morning stars<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Circled and sang about his face as birds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">About the fieldward morning cottager,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My coward heart said faintly, "Let us haste!<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 45 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Day grows and it is far to market-town."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Once where I lay in darkness after fight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sore smitten, thrilled a little thread of song<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Searching and searching at my muffled sense<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until it shook sweet pangs through all my blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I beheld one globed in ghostly fire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Singing, star-strong, her golden canticle;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And her mouth sang, "The hosts of Hate roll past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A dance of dust motes in the sliding sun;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love's battle comes on the wide wings of storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From east to west one legion! Wilt thou strive?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, since the splendor of her sword-bright gaze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was heavy on me with yearning and with scorn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My sick heart muttered, "Yea, the little strife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet see, the grievous wounds! I fain would sleep."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O heart, shalt thou not once be strong to go<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where all sweet throats are calling, once be brave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To slake with deed thy dumbness? Let us go<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The path her singing face looms low to point,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pendulous, blanched with longing, shedding flame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of silver on the brown grope of the flood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For all my spirit's soilure is put by<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all my body's soilure, lacking now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the last lustral sacrament of death<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To make me clean for those near-searching eyes<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 46 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">That question yonder whether all be well,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pause a little ere they dare rejoice.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Question and be thou answered, passionate face!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For I am worthy, worthy now at last<br /></span> +<span class="i0">After so long unworth; strong now at last<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To give myself to beauty and be saved;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now, being man, to give myself to thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As once the tumult of my boyish heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Companioned thee with rapture through the world,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forth from a land whereof no poet's lip<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made mention how the leas were lily-sprent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into a land God's eyes had looked not on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To love the tender bloom upon the hills.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To-morrow, when the fishers come at dawn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon that shell of me the sea has tossed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To land, as fit for earth to use again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Men, meeting at the shops and corner streets,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will speak a word of pity, glossing o'er<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With altered accent, dubious sweep of hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their virile, just contempt for one who failed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But they can never cast my earnings up,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who know so well my losses. Even you<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who in the mild light of the spirit walk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hold yourselves acquainted with the truth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be not too swift to judge and cast me out!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You shall find other, nobler ways than mine<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 47 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">To work your soul's redemption,—glorious noons<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of battle 'neath the heaven-suspended sign,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And nightly refuge 'neath God's ægis-rim;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Increase of wisdom, and acquaintance held<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the heart's austerities; still governance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ripening of the blood in the weekday sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To make the full-orbed consecrated fruit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At life's end for the Sabbath supper meet.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I shall not sit beside you at that feast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For ere a seedling of my golden tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pushed off its petals to get room to grow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I stripped the boughs to make an April gaud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wreathe a spendthrift garland for my hair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But mine is not the failure God deplores;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For I of old am beauty's votarist,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Long recreant, often foiled and led astray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But resolute at last to seek her there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where most she does abide, and crave with tears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That she assoil me of my blemishment.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Low looms her singing face to point the way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pendulous, blanched with longing, shedding flame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of silver on the brown grope of the flood.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stars are for me; the horizon wakes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its pilgrim chanting; and the little sand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grows musical of hope beneath my feet.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The waves that leap to meet my swimming breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gossip sweet secrets of the light-drenched way,<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 48 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">And when the deep throbs of the rising surge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pulse upward with me, and a rain of wings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blurs round the moon's pale place, she stoops to reach<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still welcome of bright hands across the wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sings low, low, globed all in ghostly fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lost verses from my youth's gold canticle.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="poem"> + +<!-- Page 49 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> + +<h2><a name="THE_BRUTE" id="THE_BRUTE"></a>THE BRUTE</h2> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Through his might men work their wills.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They have boweled out the hills<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For food to keep him toiling in the cages they have wrought;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they fling him, hour by hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Limbs of men to give him power;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brains of men to give him cunning; and for dainties to devour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Children's souls, the little worth; hearts of women, cheaply bought:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He takes them and he breaks them, but he gives them scanty thought.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For about the noisy land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Roaring, quivering 'neath his hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His thoughts brood fierce and sullen or laugh in lust of pride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the stubborn things that he,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breaks to dust and brings to be.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some he mightily establishes, some flings down utterly.<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 50 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">There is thunder in his stride, nothing ancient can abide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When he hales the hills together and bridles up the tide.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Quietude and loveliness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Holy sights that heal and bless,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They are scattered and abolished where his iron hoof is set;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When he splashes through the brae<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silver streams are choked with clay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When he snorts the bright cliffs crumble and the woods go down like hay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He lairs in pleasant cities, and the haggard people fret<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Squalid 'mid their new-got riches, soot-begrimed and desolate.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They who caught and bound him tight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Laughed exultant at his might,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saying, "Now behold, the good time comes for the weariest and the least!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We will use this lusty knave:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No more need for men to slave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We may rise and look about us and have knowledge ere the grave."<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 51 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">But the Brute said in his breast, "Till the mills I grind have ceased,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The riches shall be dust of dust, dry ashes be the feast!<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"On the strong and cunning few<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cynic favors I will strew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I will stuff their maw with overplus until their spirit dies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the patient and the low<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I will take the joys they know;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They shall hunger after vanities and still an-hungered go.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Madness shall be on the people, ghastly jealousies arise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brother's blood shall cry on brother up the dead and empty skies.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I will burn and dig and hack<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the heavens suffer lack;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God shall feel a pleasure fail him, crying to his cherubim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Who hath flung yon mud-ball there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where my world went green and fair?'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I shall laugh and hug me, hearing how his sentinels declare,<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 52 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">''T is the Brute they chained to labor! He has made the bright earth dim.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Store of wares and pelf a plenty, but they got no good of him.'"<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So he plotted in his rage:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So he deals it, age by age.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But even as he roared his curse a still small Voice befell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lo, a still and pleasant voice bade them none the less rejoice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the Brute must bring the good time on; he has no other choice.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He may struggle, sweat, and yell, but he knows exceeding well<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He must work them out salvation ere they send him back to hell.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All the desert that he made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He must treble bless with shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In primal wastes set precious seed of rapture and of pain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All the strongholds that he built<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the powers of greed and guilt—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He must strew their bastions down the sea and choke their towers with silt;<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 53 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">He must make the temples clean for the gods to come again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lift the lordly cities under skies without a stain.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In a very cunning tether<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He must lead the tyrant weather;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He must loose the curse of Adam from the worn neck of the race;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He must cast out hate and fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dry away each fruitless tear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And make the fruitful tears to gush from the deep heart and clear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He must give each man his portion, each his pride and worthy place;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He must batter down the arrogant and lift the weary face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On each vile mouth set purity, on each low forehead grace.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then, perhaps, at the last day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They will whistle him away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lay a hand upon his muzzle in the face of God, and say,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Honor, Lord, the Thing we tamed!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let him not be scourged or blamed.<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 54 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Even through his wrath and fierceness was thy fierce wroth world reclaimed!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Honor Thou thy servants' servant; let thy justice now be shown."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then the Lord will heed their saying, and the Brute come to his own,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twixt the Lion and the Eagle, by the armpost of the Throne.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="poem"> + +<!-- Page 55 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> + +<h2><a name="THE_MENAGERIE" id="THE_MENAGERIE"></a>THE MENAGERIE</h2> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thank God my brain is not inclined to cut<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such capers every day! I 'm just about<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mellow, but then—There goes the tent-flap shut.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rain 's in the wind. I thought so: every snout<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was twitching when the keeper turned me out.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That screaming parrot makes my blood run cold.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gabriel's trump! the big bull elephant<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Squeals "Rain!" to the parched herd. The monkeys scold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And jabber that it 's rain water they want.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(It makes me sick to see a monkey pant.)<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I 'll foot it home, to try and make believe<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I 'm sober. After this I stick to beer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And drop the circus when the sane folks leave.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A man 's a fool to look at things too near:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They look back, and begin to cut up queer.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beasts do, at any rate; especially<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wild devils caged. They have the coolest way<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 56 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Of being something else than what you see:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You pass a sleek young zebra nosing hay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A nylghau looking bored and distingué,—<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And think you 've seen a donkey and a bird.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not on your life! Just glance back, if you dare.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The zebra chews, the nylghau has n't stirred;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But something 's happened, Heaven knows what or where,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To freeze your scalp and pompadour your hair.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I 'm not precisely an æolian lute<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hung in the wandering winds of sentiment,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But drown me if the ugliest, meanest brute<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grunting and fretting in that sultry tent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Did n't just floor me with embarrassment!<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'T was like a thunder-clap from out the clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One minute they were circus beasts, some grand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some ugly, some amusing, and some queer:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rival attractions to the hobo band,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flying jenny, and the peanut stand.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Next minute they were old hearth-mates of mine!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lost people, eyeing me with such a stare!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Patient, satiric, devilish, divine;<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 57 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">A gaze of hopeless envy, squalid care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hatred, and thwarted love, and dim despair.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Within my blood my ancient kindred spoke,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grotesque and monstrous voices, heard afar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down ocean caves when behemoth awoke,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or through fern forests roared the plesiosaur<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Locked with the giant-bat in ghastly war.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And suddenly, as in a flash of light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw great Nature working out her plan;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through all her shapes from mastodon to mite<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forever groping, testing, passing on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To find at last the shape and soul of Man.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Till in the fullness of accomplished time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comes brother Forepaugh, upon business bent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tracks her through frozen and through torrid clime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shows us, neatly labeled in a tent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stages of her huge experiment;<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Blabbing aloud her shy and reticent hours;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dragging to light her blinking, slothful moods;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Publishing fretful seasons when her powers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Worked wild and sullen in her solitudes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or when her mordant laughter shook the woods.<br /></span> +</div> + +<!-- Page 58 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here, round about me, were her vagrant births;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sick dreams she had, fierce projects she essayed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her qualms, her fiery prides, her crazy mirths;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The troublings of her spirit as she strayed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cringed, gloated, mocked, was lordly, was afraid,<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On that long road she went to seek mankind;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here were the darkling coverts that she beat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To find the Hider she was sent to find;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here the distracted footprints of her feet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whereby her soul's Desire she came to greet.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But why should they, her botch-work, turn about<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stare disdain at me, her finished job?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why was the place one vast suspended shout<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of laughter? Why did all the daylight throb<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With soundless guffaw and dumb-stricken sob?<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Helpless I stood among those awful cages;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The beasts were walking loose, and I was bagged!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I, I, last product of the toiling ages,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Goal of heroic feet that never lagged,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A little man in trousers, slightly jagged.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Deliver me from such another jury!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Judgment-day will be a picnic to 't.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their satire was more dreadful than their fury,<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 59 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">And worst of all was just a kind of brute<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Disgust, and giving up, and sinking mute.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Survival of the fittest, adaptation,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all their other evolution terms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seem to omit one small consideration,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To wit, that tumblebugs and angleworms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have souls: there 's soul in everything that squirms.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And souls are restless, plagued, impatient things,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All dream and unaccountable desire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crawling, but pestered with the thought of wings;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spreading through every inch of earth's old mire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mystical hanker after something higher.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Wishes <i>are</i> horses, as I understand.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I guess a wistful polyp that has strokes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of feeling faint to gallivant on land<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will come to be a scandal to his folks;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Legs he will sprout, in spite of threats and jokes.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And at the core of every life that crawls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or runs or flies or swims or vegetates—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Churning the mammoth's heart-blood, in the galls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of shark and tiger planting gorgeous hates,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lighting the love of eagles for their mates;<br /></span> +</div> + +<!-- Page 60 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yes, in the dim brain of the jellied fish<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That is and is not living—moved and stirred<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the beginning a mysterious wish,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A vision, a command, a fatal Word:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The name of Man was uttered, and they heard.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Upward along the æons of old war<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They sought him: wing and shank-bone, claw and bill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were fashioned and rejected; wide and far<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They roamed the twilight jungles of their will;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But still they sought him, and desired him still.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Man they desired, but mind you, Perfect Man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The radiant and the loving, yet to be!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hardly wonder, when they came to scan<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The upshot of their strenuosity,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They gazed with mixed emotions upon <i>me</i>.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Well, my advice to you is, Face the creatures,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or spot them sideways with your weather eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just to keep tab on their expansive features;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is n't pleasant when you 're stepping high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To catch a giraffe smiling on the sly.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If nature made you graceful, don't get gay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Back-to before the hippopotamus;<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 61 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">If meek and godly, find some place to play<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Besides right where three mad hyenas fuss:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You may hear language that we won't discuss.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If you 're a sweet thing in a flower-bed hat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or her best fellow with your tie tucked in,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Don't squander love's bright springtime girding at<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An old chimpanzee with an Irish chin:<br /></span> +<span class="i0 ital">There may be hidden meaning in his grin.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="poem"> + +<!-- Page 62 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> + +<h2><a name="THE_GOLDEN_JOURNEY" id="THE_GOLDEN_JOURNEY"></a>THE GOLDEN JOURNEY</h2> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All day he drowses by the sail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With dreams of her, and all night long<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The broken waters are at song<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of how she lingers, wild and pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When all the temple lights are dumb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And weaves her spells to make him come.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The wide sea traversed, he will stand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With straining eyes, until the shoal<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Green water from the prow shall roll<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the yellow strip of sand—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Searching some fern-hid tangled way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into the forest old and grey.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then he will leap upon the shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cast one look up at the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over his loosened locks will run<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dawn breeze, and a bird will pour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its rapture out to make life seem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too sweet to leave for such a dream.<br /></span> +</div> + +<!-- Page 63 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But all the swifter will he go<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the pale, scattered asphodels,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down mote-hung dusk of olive dells,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To where the ancient basins throw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fleet threads of blue and trembling zones<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of gold upon the temple stones.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There noon keeps just a twilight trace;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Twixt love and hate, and death and birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No man may choose; nor sobs nor mirth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May enter in that haunted place.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All day the fountain sphynx lets drip<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slow drops of silence from her lip.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To hold the porch-roof slender girls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of milk-white marble stand arow;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Doubt never blurs a single brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And never the noon's faintness curls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From their expectant hush of pride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lips the god has glorified.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But these things he will barely view,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or if he stay to heed them, still<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But as the lark the lights that spill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From out the sun it soars unto,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where, past the splendors and the heats,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sun's heart's self forever beats.<br /></span> +</div> + +<!-- Page 64 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For wide the brazen doors will swing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soon as his sandals touch the pave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The anxious light inside will wave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tremble to a lunar ring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">About the form that lieth prone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before the dreadful altar-stone.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She will not look or speak or stir,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But with drowned lips and cheeks death-white<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will lie amid the pool of light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until, grown faint with thirst of her,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He shall bow down his face and sink<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breathless beneath the eddying brink.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then a swift music will begin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as the brazen doors shut slow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There will be hurrying to and fro,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lights and calls and silver din,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While through the star-freaked swirl of air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The god's sweet cruel eyes will stare.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="poem"> + +<!-- Page 65 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> + +<h2><a name="HEARTS_WILD-FLOWER" id="HEARTS_WILD-FLOWER"></a>HEART'S WILD-FLOWER</h2> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To-night her lids shall lift again, slow, soft, with vague desire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lay about my breast and brain their hush of spirit fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I shall take the sweet of pain as the laborer his hire.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And though no word shall e'er be said to ease the ghostly sting,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And though our hearts, unhoused, unfed, must still go wandering,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My sign is set upon her head while stars do meet and sing.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not such a sign as women wear who make their foreheads tame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With life's long tolerance, and bear love's sweetest, humblest name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor such as passion eateth bare with its crown of tears and flame.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nor such a sign as happy friend sets on his friend's dear brow<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 66 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">When meadow-pipings break and blend to a key of autumn woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the woodland says playtime 's at end, best unclasp hands and go.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But where she strays, through blight or blooth, one fadeless flower she wears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A little gift God gave my youth,—whose petals dim were fears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Awes, adorations, songs of ruth, hesitancies, and tears.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O heart of mine, with all thy powers of white beatitude,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What are the dearest of God's dowers to the children of his blood?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How blow the shy, shy wilding flowers in the hollows of his wood?<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="poem"> + +<!-- Page 67 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> + +<h2><a name="HARMONICS" id="HARMONICS"></a>HARMONICS</h2> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This string upon my harp was best beloved:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I thought I knew its secrets through and through;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till an old man, whose young eyes lightened blue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Neath his white hair, bent over me and moved<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His fingers up and down, and broke the wire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To such a laddered music, rung on rung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As from the patriarch's pillow skyward sprung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crowded with wide-flung wings and feet of fire.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O vibrant heart! so metely tuned and strung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That any untaught hand can draw from thee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One clear gold note that makes the tired years young—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What of the time when Love had whispered me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where slept thy nodes, and my hand pausefully<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gave to the dim harmonics voice and tongue?<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="poem"> + +<!-- Page 68 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> + +<h2><a name="ON_THE_RIVER" id="ON_THE_RIVER"></a>ON THE RIVER</h2> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The faint stars wake and wonder,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fade and find heart anew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above us and far under<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sphereth the watchful blue.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Silent she sits, outbending,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A wild pathetic grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A beauty strange, heart-rending,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon her hair and face.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O spirit cries that sever<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cricket's level drone!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O to give o'er endeavor<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And let love have its own!<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Within the mirrored bushes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There wakes a little stir;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The white-throat moves, and hushes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her nestlings under her.<br /></span> +</div> + +<!-- Page 69 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beneath, the lustrous river,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The watchful sky o'erhead.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God, God, that Thou should'st ever<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poison thy children's bread!<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="poem"> + +<!-- Page 70 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> + +<h2><a name="THE_BRACELET_OF_GRASS" id="THE_BRACELET_OF_GRASS"></a>THE BRACELET OF GRASS</h2> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The opal heart of afternoon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was clouding on to throbs of storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ashen within the ardent west<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lips of thunder muttered harm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as a bubble like to break<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hung heaven's trembling amethyst,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When with the sedge-grass by the lake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I braceleted her wrist.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And when the ribbon grass was tied,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sad with the happiness we planned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Palm linked in palm we stood awhile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And watched the raindrops dot the sand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until the anger of the breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chid all the lake's bright breathing down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ravished all the radiancies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From her deep eyes of brown.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We gazed from shelter on the storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through our hearts swept ghostly pain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To see the shards of day sweep past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Broken, and none might mend again.<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 71 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Broken, that none shall ever mend;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loosened, that none shall ever tie.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O the wind and the wind, will it never end?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O the sweeping past of the ruined sky!<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="poem"> + +<!-- Page 72 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> + +<h2><a name="THE_DEPARTURE" id="THE_DEPARTURE"></a>THE DEPARTURE</h2> + +<h3>I</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I sat beside the glassy evening sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One foot upon the thin horn of my lyre,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all its strings of laughter and desire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crushed in the rank wet grasses heedlessly;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor did my dull eyes care to question how<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The boat close by had spread its saffron sails,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor what might mean the coffers and the bales,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And streaks of new wine on the gilded prow.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Neither was wonder in me when I saw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair women step therein, though they were fair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even to adoration and to awe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in the gracious fillets of their hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were blossoms from a garden I had known,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet mornings ere the apple buds were blown.<br /></span> +</div> + +<h3>II</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One gazed steadfast into the dying west<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With lips apart to greet the evening star;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And one with eyes that caught the strife and jar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the sea's heart, followed the sunward breast<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 73 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Of a lone gull; from a slow harp one drew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blind music like a laugh or like a wail;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in the uncertain shadow of the sail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One wove a crown of berries and of yew.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet even as I said with dull desire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"All these were mine, and one was mine indeed,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The smoky music burst into a fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I was left alone in my great need,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One foot upon the thin horn of my lyre<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all its strings crushed in the dripping weed.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="poem"> + +<!-- Page 74 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> + +<h2><a name="FADED_PICTURES" id="FADED_PICTURES"></a>FADED PICTURES</h2> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Only two patient eyes to stare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out of the canvas. All the rest—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The warm green gown, the small hands pressed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Light in the lap, the braided hair<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That must have made the sweet low brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So earnest, centuries ago,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When some one saw it change and glow—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All faded! Just the eyes burn now.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I dare say people pass and pass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before the blistered little frame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dingy work without a name<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stuck in behind its square of glass.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But I, well, I left Raphael<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Just to come drink these eyes of hers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To think away the stains and blurs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And make all new again and well.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Only, for tears my head will bow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because there on my heart's last wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scarce one tint left to tell it all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A picture keeps its eyes, somehow.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="poem"> + +<!-- Page 75 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span> + +<h2><a name="A_GREY_DAY" id="A_GREY_DAY"></a>A GREY DAY</h2> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Grey drizzling mists the moorlands drape,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rain whitens the dead sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From headland dim to sullen cape<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grey sails creep wearily.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know not how that merchantman<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has found the heart; but 't is her plan<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seaward her endless course to shape.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Unreal as insects that appall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A drunkard's peevish brain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the grey deep the dories crawl,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Four-legged, with rowers twain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Midgets and minims of the earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Across old ocean's vasty girth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Toiling—heroic, comical!<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I wonder how that merchant's crew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have ever found the will!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wonder what the fishers do<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To keep them toiling still!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wonder how the heart of man<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has patience to live out its span,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or wait until its dreams come true.<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="poem"> + +<!-- Page 76 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> + +<h2><a name="THE_RIDE_BACK" id="THE_RIDE_BACK"></a>THE RIDE BACK</h2> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0 ital">Before the coming of the dark, he dreamed<br /></span> +<span class="i0 ital">An old-world faded story: of a knight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0 ital">Much like in need to him, who was no knight!<br /></span> +<span class="i0 ital">And of a road, much like the road his soul<br /></span> +<span class="i0 ital">Groped over, desperate to meet Her soul.<br /></span> +<span class="i0 ital">Beside the bed Death waited. And he dreamed.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i0">His limbs were heavy from the fight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His mail was dark with dust and blood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On his good horse they bound him tight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on his breast they bound the rood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To help him in the ride that night.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When he crashed through the wood's wet rim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">About the dabbled reeds a breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Went moaning broken words and dim;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The haggard shapes of twilight trees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Caught with their scrawny hands at him.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Between the doubtful aisles of day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strange folk and lamentable stood<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 77 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">To maze and beckon him astray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But through the grey wrath of the wood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He held right on his bitter way.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When he came where the trees were thin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The moon sat waiting there to see;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On her worn palm she laid her chin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And laughed awhile in sober glee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To think how strong this knight had been.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When he rode past the pallid lake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The withered yellow stems of flags<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood breast-high for his horse to break;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lewd as the palsied lips of hags<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The petals in the moon did shake.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When he came by the mountain wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The snow upon the heights looked down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And said, "The sight is pitiful.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The nostrils of his steed are brown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With frozen blood; and he will fall."<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The iron passes of the hills<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With question were importunate;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, but the sharp-tongued icy rills<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had grown for once compassionate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spiteful shades had had their wills.<br /></span> +</div> + +<!-- Page 78 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Just when the ache in breast and brain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the frost smiting at his face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had sealed his spirit up with pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He came out in a better place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And morning lay across the plain.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He saw the wet snails crawl and cling<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On fern-stalks where the rime had run,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The careless birds went wing and wing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in the low smile of the sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Life seemed almost a pleasant thing.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Right on the panting charger swung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the bright depths of quiet grass;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The knight's lips moved as if they sung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through the peace there came to pass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flattery of lute and tongue.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From the mid-flowering of the mead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There swelled a sob of minstrelsy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faint sackbuts and the dreamy reed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And plaintive lips of maids thereby,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And songs blown out like thistle seed.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Forth from her maidens came the bride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And as his loosened rein fell slack<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 79 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">He muttered, "In their throats they lied<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who said that I should ne'er win back<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To kiss her lips before I died!"<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="poem"> + +<!-- Page 80 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> + +<h2><a name="SONG-FLOWER_AND_POPPY" id="SONG-FLOWER_AND_POPPY"></a>SONG-FLOWER AND POPPY</h2> + +<h3>I<br /> +<br /> +IN NEW YORK</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He plays the deuce with my writing time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the penny my sixth-floor neighbor throws;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He finds me proud of my pondered rhyme,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he leaves me—well, God knows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It takes the shine from a tunester's line<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When a little mate of the deathless Nine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pipes up under your nose!<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For listen, there is his voice again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wistful and clear and piercing sweet.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where did the boy find such a strain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To make a dead heart beat?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And how in the name of care can he bear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To jet such a fountain into the air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In this gray gulch of a street?<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tuscan slopes or the Piedmontese?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Umbria under the Apennine?<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 81 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">South, where the terraced lemon-trees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round rich Sorrento shine?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Venice moon on the smooth lagoon?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where have I heard that aching tune,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That boyish throat divine?<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beyond my roofs and chimney pots<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A rag of sunset crumbles gray;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Below, fierce radiance hangs in clots<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the streams that never stay.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shrill and high, newsboys cry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The worst of the city's infamy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For one more sordid day.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But my desire has taken sail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For lands beyond, soft-horizoned:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down languorous leagues I hold the trail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Marmalada, steeply throned<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above high pastures washed with light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where dolomite by dolomite<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looms sheer and spectral-coned,<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To purple vineyards looking south<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On reaches of the still Tyrrhene;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Virgilian headlands, and the mouth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Tiber, where that ship put in<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To take the dead men home to God,<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 82 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Whereof Casella told the mode<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the great Florentine.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Up stairways blue with flowering weed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I climb to hill-hung Bergamo;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All day I watch the thunder breed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Golden above the springs of Po,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the voice makes sure its wavering lure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And by Assisi's portals pure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I stand, with heart bent low.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O hear, how it blooms in the blear dayfall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That flower of passionate wistful song!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How it blows like a rose by the iron wall<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the city loud and strong.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How it cries "Nay, nay" to the worldling's way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the heart's clear dream how it whispers, "Yea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Time comes, though the time is long."<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beyond my roofs and chimney piles<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sunset crumbles, ragged, dire;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The roaring street is hung for miles<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With fierce electric fire.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shrill and high, newsboys cry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gross of the planet's destiny<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through one more sullen gyre.<br /></span> +</div> + +<!-- Page 83 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Stolidly the town flings down<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its lust by day for its nightly lust;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who does his given stint, 't is known,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall have his mug and crust.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too base of mood, too harsh of blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too stout to seize the grosser good,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too hungry after dust!<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O hark! how it blooms in the falling dark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That flower of mystical yearning song:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sad as a hermit thrush, as a lark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Uplifted, glad, and strong.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heart, we have chosen the better part!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Save sacred love and sacred art<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nothing is good for long.<br /></span> +</div> + +<!-- Page 84 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> + +<h3>II<br /> +<br /> +AT ASSISI</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Before St. Francis' burg I wait,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Frozen in spirit, faint with dread;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His presence stands within the gate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mild splendor rings his head.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gently he seems to welcome me:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Knows he not I am quick, and he<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is dead, and priest of the dead?<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I turn away from the gray church pile;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I dare not enter, thus undone:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here in the roadside grass awhile<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I will lie and watch for the sun.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too purged of earth's good glee and strife,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too drained of the honied lusts of life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was the peace these old saints won!<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And lo! how the laughing earth says no<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the fear that mastered me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the blood that aches and clamors so<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How it whispers "Verily."<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 85 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Here by my side, marvelous-dyed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bold stray-away from the courts of pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A poppy-bell flaunts free.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">St. Francis sleeps upon his hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a poppy flower laughs down his creed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Triumphant light her petals spill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His shrines are dim indeed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Men build and plan, but the soul of man,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Coming with haughty eyes to scan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Feels richer, wilder need.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How long, old builder Time, wilt bide<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till at thy thrilling word<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Life's crimson pride shall have to bride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spirit's white accord,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within that gate of good estate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which thou must build us soon or late,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hoar workman of the Lord?<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="poem"> + +<!-- Page 86 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> + +<h2><a name="HOW_THE_MEAD-SLAVE_WAS_SET_FREE" id="HOW_THE_MEAD-SLAVE_WAS_SET_FREE"></a>HOW THE MEAD-SLAVE WAS SET FREE</h2> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nay, move not! Sit just as you are,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under the carved wings of the chair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hearth-glow sifting through your hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Turns every dim pearl to a star<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dawn-drowned in floods of brightening air.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I have been thinking of that night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When all the wide hall burst to blaze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With spears caught up, thrust fifty ways<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To find my throat, while I lay white<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sick with joy, to think the days<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I dragged out in your hateful North—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A slave, constrained at banquet's need<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To fill the black bull's horns with mead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For drunken sea-thieves—were henceforth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cast from me as a poison weed,<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">While Death thrust roses in my hands!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But you, who knew the flowers he had<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were no such roses ripe and glad<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 87 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">As nod in my far southern lands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But pallid things to make men sad,<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Put back the spears with one calm hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Raised on your knee my wondering head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wiped off the trickling drops of red<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From my torn forehead with a strand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of your bright loosened hair, and said:<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Sea-rovers! would you kill a skald?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This boy has hearkened Odin sing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unto the clang and winnowing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of raven's wings. His heart is thralled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To music, as to some strong king;<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"And this great thraldom works disdain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of lesser serving. Once release<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These bonds he bears, and he may please<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To give you guerdon sweet as rain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To sailors calmed in thirsty seas."<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then, having soothed their rage to rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You led me to old Skagi's throne,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where yellow gold rims in the stone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in my arms, against my breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thrust his great harp of walrus bone.<br /></span> +</div> + +<!-- Page 88 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How they came crowding, tunes on tunes!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How good it was to touch the strings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And feel them thrill like happy things<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That flutter from the gray cocoons<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On hedge rows, in your gradual springs!<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All grew a blur before my sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As when the stealthy white fog slips<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At noonday on the staggering ships;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw one single spot of light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your white face, with its eager lips—<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And so I sang to that. O thou<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who liftedst me from out my shame!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wert thou content when Skagi came,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Put his own chaplet on my brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bent and kissed his own harp-frame?<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="poem"> + +<!-- Page 89 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> + +<h2><a name="A_DIALOGUE_IN_PURGATORY" id="A_DIALOGUE_IN_PURGATORY"></a>A DIALOGUE IN PURGATORY</h2> + +<div class="blockquote"> +<div class="poem"> + +<div class="stanza ital"> +<span class="i0">Poi disse un altro.... "Io son Buonconte:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Giovanna o altri non ha di me cura;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Per ch' io vo tra costor con bassa fronte."</span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza ital"> +<span class="i0">Seguito il terzo spirito al secondo,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Ricorditi di me, che son la Pia;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Siena mi fe, disfecemi Maremma.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Salsi colui che inannellata pria<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Disposata m' avea colla sua gemma."</span> +</div> + +<span class="source">Purgatorio, Canto V.</span> + +</div> +</div> + +<h3>I<br /> +<br /> +BUONCONTE</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sister, the sun has ceased to shine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By companies of twain and trine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stars gather; from the sea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The moon comes momently.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On all the roads that ring our hill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sighing and the hymns are still:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is our time to gain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strength for to-morrow's pain.<br /></span> +</div> + +<!-- Page 90 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet still your eyes are wholly bent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the way that Virgil went,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Following Sordello's sign,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the dark Florentine.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Night now has barred their upward track:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There where the mountain-side folds back<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in the Vale of Flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Princes count their hours<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Those three friends sit in the clear starlight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the green-clad angels left and right,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soul made by wakeful soul<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More earnest for the goal.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So let us, sister, though our place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is barren of that Valley's grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sit hand in hand, till we<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seem rich as those friends be.<br /></span> +</div> + +<h3>II<br /> +<br /> +LA PIA</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Brother, 't were sweet your hand to feel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In mine; it would a little heal<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shame that makes me poor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dumb at the heart's core.<br /></span> +</div> + +<!-- Page 91 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But where our spirits felt Love's dearth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down on the green and pleasant earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Remains the fleshly shell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love's garment tangible.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So now our hands have naught to say:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heart unto heart some other way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must utter forth its pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must glee or comfort gain.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah, no! For souls like you and me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some comfort waits, but never glee:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not yours the young men's singing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Heaven, at the bride-bringing;<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Not mine, beside God's living waters,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dance of the marriageable daughters,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The laughter and the ease<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath His summer trees.<br /></span> +</div> + +<h3>III<br /> +<br /> +BUONCONTE</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In fair Arezzo's halls and bowers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My Giovanna speeds her hours<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Delicately, nor cares<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To shorten by her prayers<br /></span> +</div> + +<!-- Page 92 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My days upon this mount of ruth:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If those who come from earth speak sooth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though still I call and call,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She does not heed at all.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And if aright your words I read<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At Dante's passing, he you wed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dipped from the drains of Hell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The marriage hydromel.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O therefore, while the moon intense<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Holds yonder dreaming sea suspense,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And round the shadowy coasts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gather the wistful ghosts,<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Let us sit quiet all the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wonder, wonder on the light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Worn by those spirits fair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whom Love has not left bare.<br /></span> +</div> + +<h3>IV<br /> +<br /> +LA PIA</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Even as theirs, the chance was mine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To meet and mate beneath Love's sign,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To feel in soul and sense<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The solemn influence<br /></span> +</div> + +<!-- Page 93 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Which, breathed upon a man or maid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Maketh forever unafraid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though life with death unite<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That spirit to affright,—<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Which lifts the changèd heart high up,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the priest lifts the changèd cup,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Boldens the feet to pace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before God's proving face.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O just a thought beyond the blue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wings of the dove yearned down and through!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even now I hear and hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How near they were, how near!<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I murmur not. Rightly disgraced,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The weak hand stretched abroad in haste<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For gifts barely allowed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The tacit, strong, and proud.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But therefore was I so intent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To watch where Dante onward went<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the Roman spirit pure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the grave troubadour,<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Because my mind was busy then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the loves that wait those gentle men:<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 94 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Cunizza one; and one<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bice, above the sun;<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And for the other, more and less<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than woman's near-felt tenderness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A million voices dim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Praising him, praising him.<br /></span> +</div> + +<h3>V<br /> +<br /> +BUONCONTE</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The waves that wash this mountain's base<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were crimson in the sun's low rays,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, singing high and fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An angel downward passed,<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To bid some patient soul arise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And make it fair for Paradise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And upward, so attended,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That soul its journey wended;<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet you, who in these lower rings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wait for the coming of such wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Turned not your eyes to view<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whether they came for you,<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But watched, but watched great Virgil stayed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Greeting Sordello's couchant shade,<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 95 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Which to salute him rose<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like lion from its pose;<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">While humbly by those lords of song<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood he whose living limbs are strong<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To mount where Mary's bliss<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is shed on Beatrice.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On him your gaze was fastened, more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than on those great names Mantua bore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your eyes hold the distress<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still, of that wistfulness.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yea, fit he seemed much love to rouse!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His pilgrim lips and iron brows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grew like a woman's, dim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While you held speech with him;<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And troubled came his mortal breath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The while I told him of my death;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His looks were changed and wan<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When Virgil led him on.<br /></span> +</div> + +<h3>VI<br /> +<br /> +LA PIA</h3> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">E'er since Casella came this morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Newly o'er yonder ocean borne,<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 96 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Bound upward for the choir<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who purge themselves in fire,<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And from that meinie he was of<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stayed backward at my cry of love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To speak awhile with me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of life and Tuscany,<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And, parting, told us how e'er day<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was done, Dante would come this way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With mortal feet, to find<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His sweetheart, sky-enshrined,—<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">E'er since Casella spoke such news<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My heart has lain in a golden muse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Picturing him and her,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What starry ones they were.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And now the moon sheds its compassion<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er the hushed mount, I try to fashion<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The manner of their meeting,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their few first words of greeting.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O well for them, with claspèd hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unshamed amid the heavenly bands!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They hear no pitying pair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of old-time lovers there<br /></span> +</div> + +<!-- Page 97 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Look down and say in an undertone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"This latest-come, who comes alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was still alone on earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lonely from his birth."<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nor feel a sudden whisper mar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God's weather, "Dost thou see the scar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That spirit hideth so?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who dealt her such a blow<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"That God can hardly wipe it out?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And answer, "She gave love, no doubt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To one who saw not fit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To set much store by it."<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<hr class="major" /> + +<div class="poem"> + +<!-- Page 98 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> + +<h2><a name="THE_DAGUERREOTYPE" id="THE_DAGUERREOTYPE"></a>THE DAGUERREOTYPE</h2> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">This, then, is she,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My mother as she looked at seventeen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When she first met my father. Young incredibly,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Younger than spring, without the faintest trace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of disappointment, weariness, or tean<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon the childlike earnestness and grace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the waiting face.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These close-wound ropes of pearl<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Or common beads made precious by their use)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seem heavy for so slight a throat to wear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the low bodice leaves the shoulders bare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And half the glad swell of the breast, for news<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That now the woman stirs within the girl.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even so, the loops and globes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of beaten gold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And jet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hung, in the stately way of old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the ears' drooping lobes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On festivals and Lord's-day of the week,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Show all too matron-sober for the cheek,—<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 99 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Which, now I look again, is perfect child,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or no—or no—'t is girlhood's very self,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Moulded by some deep, mischief-ridden elf<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So meek, so maiden mild,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But startling the close gazer with the sense<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of passions forest-shy and forest-wild,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And delicate delirious merriments.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As a moth beats sidewise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And up and over, and tries<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To skirt the irresistible lure<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the flame that has him sure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My spirit, that is none too strong to-day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flutters and makes delay,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pausing to wonder on the perfect lips,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lifting to muse upon the low-drawn hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And each hid radiance there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But powerless to stem the tide-race bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The vehement peace which drifts it toward the light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where soon—ah, now, with cries<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of grief and giving-up unto its gain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It shrinks no longer nor denies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But dips<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hurriedly home to the exquisite heart of pain,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all is well, for I have seen them plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The unforgettable, the unforgotten eyes!<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 100 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Across the blinding gush of these good tears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They shine as in the sweet and heavy years<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When by her bed and chair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We children gathered jealously to share<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sunlit aura breathing myrrh and thyme,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the sore-stricken body made a clime<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gentler than May and pleasanter than rhyme,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Holier and more mystical than prayer.<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">God, how thy ways are strange!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That this should be, even this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The patient head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which suffered years ago the dreary change!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That these so dewy lips should be the same<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As those I stooped to kiss<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heard my harrowing half-spoken name,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A little ere the one who bowed above her,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our father and her very constant lover,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rose stoical, and we knew that she was dead.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then I, who could not understand or share<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His antique nobleness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Being unapt to bear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The insults which time flings us for our proof,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fled from the horrible roof<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into the alien sunshine merciless,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shrill satiric fields ghastly with day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Raging to front God in his pride of sway<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 101 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">And hurl across the lifted swords of fate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That ringed Him where He sat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My puny gage of scorn and desolate hate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which somehow should undo Him, after all!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That this girl face, expectant, virginal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which gazes out at me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Boon as a sweetheart, as if nothing loth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Save for the eyes, with other presage stored)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To pledge me troth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in the kingdom where the heart is lord<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Take sail on the terrible gladness of the deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose winds the gray Norns keep,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That this should be indeed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The flesh which caught my soul, a flying seed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out of the to and fro<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of scattering hands where the seedsman Mage,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stooping from star to star and age to age<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sings as he sows!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That underneath this breast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nine moons I fed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep of divine unrest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While over and over in the dark she said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Blessèd! but not as happier children blessed"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That this should be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even she....<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God, how with time and change<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou makest thy footsteps strange!<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 102 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Ah, now I know<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They play upon me, and it is not so.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why, 't is a girl I never saw before,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A little thing to flatter and make weep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To tease until her heart is sore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then kiss and clear the score;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A gypsy run-the-fields,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A little liberal daughter of the earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Good for what hour of truancy and mirth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The careless season yields<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hither-side the flood o' the year and yonder of the neap;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then thank you, thanks again, and twenty light good-byes.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O shrined above the skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Frown not, clear brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Darken not, holy eyes!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou knowest well I know that it is thou!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only to save me from such memories<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As would unman me quite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here in this web of strangeness caught<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And prey to troubled thought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Do I devise<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These foolish shifts and slight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only to shield me from the afflicting sense<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of some waste influence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which from this morning face and lustrous hair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breathes on me sudden ruin and despair.<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 103 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">In any other guise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With any but this girlish depth of gaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your coming had not so unsealed and poured<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dusty amphoras where I had stored<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The drippings of the winepress of my days.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I think these eyes foresee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now in their unawakened virgin time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their mother's pride in me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dream even now, unconsciously,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon each soaring peak and sky-hung lea<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You pictured I should climb.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Broken premonitions come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shapes, gestures visionary,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not as once to maiden Mary<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The manifest angel with fresh lilies came<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Intelligibly calling her by name;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But vanishingly, dumb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thwarted and bright and wild,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As heralding a sin-defiled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Earth-encumbered, blood-begotten, passionate man-child,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who yet should be a trump of mighty call<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blown in the gates of evil kings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To make them fall;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who yet should be a sword of flame before<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The soul's inviolate door<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To beat away the clang of hellish wings;<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 104 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Who yet should be a lyre<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of high unquenchable desire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the day of little things.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Look, where the amphoras,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The yield of many days,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trod by my hot soul from the pulp of self<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And set upon the shelf<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In sullen pride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Vineyard-master's tasting to abide—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O mother mine!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are these the bringings-in, the doings fine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of him you used to praise?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Emptied and overthrown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The jars lie strown.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These, for their flavor duly nursed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drip from the stopples vinegar accursed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These, I thought honied to the very seal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dry, dry,—a little acid meal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A pinch of mouldy dust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sole leavings of the amber-mantling must;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These, rude to look upon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But flasking up the liquor dearest won,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through sacred hours and hard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With watching and with wrestlings and with grief,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even of these, of these in chief,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stale breath sickens, reeking from the shard.<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 105 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Nothing is left. Ay, how much less than naught!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What shall be said or thought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the slack hours and waste imaginings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The cynic rending of the wings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Known to that froward, that unreckoning heart<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whereof this brewage was the precious part,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Treasured and set away with furtive boast?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O dear and cruel ghost,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be merciful, be just!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See, I was yours and I am in the dust.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then look not so, as if all things were well!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Take your eyes from me, leave me to my shame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or else, if gaze they must,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Steel them with judgment, darken them with blame;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But by the ways of light ineffable<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You bade me go and I have faltered from,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the low waters moaning out of hell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whereto my feet have come,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lay not on me these intolerable<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looks of rejoicing love, of pride, of happy trust!<br /></span> +</div> + +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nothing dismayed?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By all I say and all I hint not made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Afraid?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O then, stay by me! Let<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These eyes afflict me, cleanse me, keep me yet.<br /></span> + +<!-- Page 106 --> + +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> + +<span class="i0">Brave eyes and true!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See how the shriveled heart, that long has lain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dead to delight and pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stirs, and begins again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To utter pleasant life, as if it knew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wintry days were through;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if in its awakening boughs it heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The quick, sweet-spoken bird.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strong eyes and brave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Inexorable to save!<br /></span> +</div> +</div> + +<div class="tnote"> +<h3>Transcriber's Note:</h3> + +<p>Spacing for contractions has been retained to match the original +1901 text.</p> + +<p>Both "gray" and "grey" are used in this text, as per the original.</p> +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Gloucester Moors and Other Poems, by +William Vaughn Moody + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLOUCESTER MOORS AND OTHER POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 27912-h.htm or 27912-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/9/1/27912/ + +Produced by David Garcia, C. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Gloucester Moors and Other Poems + +Author: William Vaughn Moody + +Release Date: January 27, 2009 [EBook #27912] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLOUCESTER MOORS AND OTHER POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by David Garcia, C. St. Charleskindt and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net +(This file was produced from images generously made +available by The Kentuckiana Digital Library) + + + + + + + + + +By William Vaughn Moody + + GLOUCESTER MOORS and Other Poems. 12mo, $1.25. + THE FIRE-BRINGER. 12mo, $1.10, _net_. Postage 8 cents. + THE MASQUE OF JUDGMENT. 12mo, $1.50. + + THE GREAT DIVIDE. 12mo, $1.00, _net_. Postage 10 cents. + THE FAITH HEALER. 12mo, $1.00, _net_. Postage 10 cents. + + HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY + BOSTON AND NEW YORK + + + + +GLOUCESTER MOORS + +AND OTHER POEMS + + +BY + + +WILLIAM VAUGHN MOODY + + + + +[Illustration: TOUT BIEN OU RIEN] + + + + +BOSTON AND NEW YORK +HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY +The Riverside Press Cambridge + + + + +COPYRIGHT, 1901, BY WILLIAM VAUGHN MOODY + +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED + + + + +NOTE + + +Several poems of this collection, including "An Ode in Time of +Hesitation," "The Brute," and "On a Soldier Fallen in the +Philippines," have appeared in the _Atlantic Monthly_; "Gloucester +Moors" and "Faded Pictures," in _Scribner's Magazine_; and "The Ride +Back," under a different title in the _Chap-Book_. The author is +indebted to the editors of these periodicals for leave to reprint. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + + GLOUCESTER MOORS 1 + + GOOD FRIDAY NIGHT 5 + + ROAD-HYMN FOR THE START 9 + + AN ODE IN TIME OF HESITATION 12 + + THE QUARRY 22 + + ON A SOLDIER FALLEN IN THE PHILIPPINES 24 + + UNTIL THE TROUBLING OF THE WATERS 26 + + JETSAM 39 + + THE BRUTE 49 + + THE MENAGERIE 55 + + THE GOLDEN JOURNEY 62 + + HEART'S WILD-FLOWER 65 + + HARMONICS 67 + + ON THE RIVER 68 + + THE BRACELET OF GRASS 70 + + THE DEPARTURE 72 + + FADED PICTURES 74 + + A GREY DAY 75 + + THE RIDE BACK 76 + + SONG-FLOWER AND POPPY 80 + + I. IN NEW YORK + + II. AT ASSISI + + HOW THE MEAD-SLAVE WAS SET FREE 86 + + A DIALOGUE IN PURGATORY 89 + + THE DAGUERREOTYPE 98 + + + + +POEMS + + + + +GLOUCESTER MOORS + + + A mile behind is Gloucester town + Where the fishing fleets put in, + A mile ahead the land dips down + And the woods and farms begin. + Here, where the moors stretch free + In the high blue afternoon, + Are the marching sun and talking sea, + And the racing winds that wheel and flee + On the flying heels of June. + + Jill-o'er-the-ground is purple blue, + Blue is the quaker-maid, + The wild geranium holds its dew + Long in the boulder's shade. + Wax-red hangs the cup + From the huckleberry boughs, + In barberry bells the grey moths sup, + Or where the choke-cherry lifts high up + Sweet bowls for their carouse. + + Over the shelf of the sandy cove + Beach-peas blossom late. + By copse and cliff the swallows rove + Each calling to his mate. + Seaward the sea-gulls go, + And the land-birds all are here; + That green-gold flash was a vireo, + And yonder flame where the marsh-flags grow + Was a scarlet tanager. + + This earth is not the steadfast place + We landsmen build upon; + From deep to deep she varies pace, + And while she comes is gone. + Beneath my feet I feel + Her smooth bulk heave and dip; + With velvet plunge and soft upreel + She swings and steadies to her keel + Like a gallant, gallant ship. + + These summer clouds she sets for sail, + The sun is her masthead light, + She tows the moon like a pinnace frail + Where her phosphor wake churns bright. + Now hid, now looming clear, + On the face of the dangerous blue + The star fleets tack and wheel and veer, + But on, but on does the old earth steer + As if her port she knew. + + God, dear God! Does she know her port, + Though she goes so far about? + Or blind astray, does she make her sport + To brazen and chance it out? + I watched when her captains passed: + She were better captainless. + Men in the cabin, before the mast, + But some were reckless and some aghast, + And some sat gorged at mess. + + By her battened hatch I leaned and caught + Sounds from the noisome hold,-- + Cursing and sighing of souls distraught + And cries too sad to be told. + Then I strove to go down and see; + But they said, "Thou art not of us!" + I turned to those on the deck with me + And cried, "Give help!" But they said, "Let be: + Our ship sails faster thus." + + Jill-o'er-the-ground is purple blue, + Blue is the quaker-maid, + The alder-clump where the brook comes through + Breeds cresses in its shade. + To be out of the moiling street + With its swelter and its sin! + Who has given to me this sweet, + And given my brother dust to eat? + And when will his wage come in? + + Scattering wide or blown in ranks, + Yellow and white and brown, + Boats and boats from the fishing banks + Come home to Gloucester town. + There is cash to purse and spend, + There are wives to be embraced, + Hearts to borrow and hearts to lend, + And hearts to take and keep to the end,-- + O little sails, make haste! + + But thou, vast outbound ship of souls, + What harbor town for thee? + What shapes, when thy arriving tolls, + Shall crowd the banks to see? + Shall all the happy shipmates then + Stand singing brotherly? + Or shall a haggard ruthless few + Warp her over and bring her to, + While the many broken souls of men + Fester down in the slaver's pen, + And nothing to say or do? + + + + +GOOD FRIDAY NIGHT + + + At last the bird that sang so long + In twilight circles, hushed his song: + Above the ancient square + The stars came here and there. + + Good Friday night! Some hearts were bowed, + But some amid the waiting crowd + Because of too much youth + Felt not that mystic ruth; + + And of these hearts my heart was one: + Nor when beneath the arch of stone + With dirge and candle flame + The cross of passion came, + + Did my glad spirit feel reproof, + Though on the awful tree aloof, + Unspiritual, dead, + Drooped the ensanguined Head. + + To one who stood where myrtles made + A little space of deeper shade + (As I could half descry, + A stranger, even as I), + + I said, "These youths who bear along + The symbols of their Saviour's wrong, + The spear, the garment torn, + The flaggel, and the thorn,-- + + "Why do they make this mummery? + Would not a brave man gladly die + For a much smaller thing + Than to be Christ and king?" + + He answered nothing, and I turned. + Throned in its hundred candles burned + The jeweled eidolon + Of her who bore the Son. + + The crowd was prostrate; still, I felt + No shame until the stranger knelt; + Then not to kneel, almost + Seemed like a vulgar boast. + + I knelt. The doll-face, waxen white, + Flowered out a living dimness; bright + Dawned the dear mortal grace + Of my own mother's face. + + When we were risen up, the street + Was vacant; all the air hung sweet + With lemon-flowers; and soon + The sky would hold the moon. + + More silently than new-found friends + To whom much silence makes amends + For the much babble vain + While yet their lives were twain, + + We walked along the odorous hill. + The light was little yet; his will + I could not see to trace + Upon his form or face. + + So when aloft the gold moon broke, + I cried, heart-stung. As one who woke + He turned unto my cries + The anguish of his eyes. + + "Friend! Master!" I cried falteringly, + "Thou seest the thing they make of thee. + Oh, by the light divine + My mother shares with thine, + + "I beg that I may lay my head + Upon thy shoulder and be fed + With thoughts of brotherhood!" + So through the odorous wood, + + More silently than friends new-found + We walked. At the first meadow bound + His figure ashen-stoled + Sank in the moon's broad gold. + + + + +ROAD-HYMN FOR THE START + + + Leave the early bells at chime, + Leave the kindled hearth to blaze, + Leave the trellised panes where children linger out the waking-time, + Leave the forms of sons and fathers trudging through the misty ways, + Leave the sounds of mothers taking up their sweet laborious days. + + Pass them by! even while our soul + Yearns to them with keen distress. + Unto them a part is given; we will strive to see the whole. + Dear shall be the banquet table where their singing spirits press; + Dearer be our sacred hunger, and our pilgrim loneliness. + + We have felt the ancient swaying + Of the earth before the sun, + On the darkened marge of midnight heard sidereal rivers playing; + Rash it was to bathe our souls there, but we plunged and all was done. + That is lives and lives behind us--lo, our journey is begun! + + Careless where our face is set, + Let us take the open way. + What we are no tongue has told us: Errand-goers who forget? + Soldiers heedless of their harry? Pilgrim people gone astray? + We have heard a voice cry "Wander!" That was all we heard it say. + + Ask no more: 't is much, 't is much! + Down the road the day-star calls; + Touched with change in the wide heavens, like a leaf the frost winds + touch, + Flames the failing moon a moment, ere it shrivels white and falls; + Hid aloft, a wild throat holdeth sweet and sweeter intervals. + + Leave him still to ease in song + Half his little heart's unrest: + Speech is his, but we may journey toward the life for which we long. + God, who gives the bird its anguish, maketh nothing manifest, + But upon our lifted foreheads pours the boon of endless quest. + + + + +AN ODE IN TIME OF HESITATION + + +(After seeing at Boston the statue of Robert Gould Shaw, killed while +storming Fort Wagner, July 18, 1863, at the head of the first enlisted +negro regiment, the 54th Massachusetts.) + + + I + + Before the solemn bronze Saint Gaudens made + To thrill the heedless passer's heart with awe, + And set here in the city's talk and trade + To the good memory of Robert Shaw, + This bright March morn I stand, + And hear the distant spring come up the land; + Knowing that what I hear is not unheard + Of this boy soldier and his negro band, + For all their gaze is fixed so stern ahead, + For all the fatal rhythm of their tread. + The land they died to save from death and shame + Trembles and waits, hearing the spring's great name, + And by her pangs these resolute ghosts are stirred. + + + II + + Through street and mall the tides of people go + Heedless; the trees upon the Common show + No hint of green; but to my listening heart + The still earth doth impart + Assurance of her jubilant emprise, + And it is clear to my long-searching eyes + That love at last has might upon the skies. + The ice is runneled on the little pond; + A telltale patter drips from off the trees; + The air is touched with southland spiceries, + As if but yesterday it tossed the frond + Of pendent mosses where the live-oaks grow + Beyond Virginia and the Carolines, + Or had its will among the fruits and vines + Of aromatic isles asleep beyond + Florida and the Gulf of Mexico. + + + III + + Soon shall the Cape Ann children shout in glee, + Spying the arbutus, spring's dear recluse; + Hill lads at dawn shall hearken the wild goose + Go honking northward over Tennessee; + West from Oswego to Sault Sainte-Marie, + And on to where the Pictured Rocks are hung, + And yonder where, gigantic, willful, young, + Chicago sitteth at the northwest gates, + With restless violent hands and casual tongue + Moulding her mighty fates, + The Lakes shall robe them in ethereal sheen; + And like a larger sea, the vital green + Of springing wheat shall vastly be outflung + Over Dakota and the prairie states. + By desert people immemorial + On Arizonan mesas shall be done + Dim rites unto the thunder and the sun; + Nor shall the primal gods lack sacrifice + More splendid, when the white Sierras call + Unto the Rockies straightway to arise + And dance before the unveiled ark of the year, + Sounding their windy cedars as for shawms, + Unrolling rivers clear + For flutter of broad phylacteries; + While Shasta signals to Alaskan seas + That watch old sluggish glaciers downward creep + To fling their icebergs thundering from the steep, + And Mariposa through the purple calms + Gazes at far Hawaii crowned with palms + Where East and West are met,-- + A rich seal on the ocean's bosom set + To say that East and West are twain, + With different loss and gain: + The Lord hath sundered them; let them be sundered yet. + + + IV + + Alas! what sounds are these that come + Sullenly over the Pacific seas,-- + Sounds of ignoble battle, striking dumb + The season's half-awakened ecstasies? + Must I be humble, then, + Now when my heart hath need of pride? + Wild love falls on me from these sculptured men; + By loving much the land for which they died + I would be justified. + My spirit was away on pinions wide + To soothe in praise of her its passionate mood + And ease it of its ache of gratitude. + Too sorely heavy is the debt they lay + On me and the companions of my day. + I would remember now + My country's goodliness, make sweet her name. + Alas! what shade art thou + Of sorrow or of blame + Liftest the lyric leafage from her brow, + And pointest a slow finger at her shame? + + + V + + Lies! lies! It cannot be! The wars we wage + Are noble, and our battles still are won + By justice for us, ere we lift the gage, + We have not sold our loftiest heritage. + The proud republic hath not stooped to cheat + And scramble in the market-place of war; + Her forehead weareth yet its solemn star. + Here is her witness: this, her perfect son, + This delicate and proud New England soul + Who leads despised men, with just-unshackled feet, + Up the large ways where death and glory meet, + To show all peoples that our shame is done, + That once more we are clean and spirit-whole. + + + VI + + Crouched in the sea fog on the moaning sand + All night he lay, speaking some simple word + From hour to hour to the slow minds that heard, + Holding each poor life gently in his hand + And breathing on the base rejected clay + Till each dark face shone mystical and grand + Against the breaking day; + And lo, the shard the potter cast away + Was grown a fiery chalice crystal-fine + Fulfilled of the divine + Great wine of battle wrath by God's ring-finger stirred. + Then upward, where the shadowy bastion loomed + Huge on the mountain in the wet sea light, + Whence now, and now, infernal flowerage bloomed, + Bloomed, burst, and scattered down its deadly seed,-- + They swept, and died like freemen on the height, + Like freemen, and like men of noble breed; + And when the battle fell away at night + By hasty and contemptuous hands were thrust + Obscurely in a common grave with him + The fair-haired keeper of their love and trust. + Now limb doth mingle with dissolved limb + In nature's busy old democracy + To flush the mountain laurel when she blows + Sweet by the southern sea, + And heart with crumbled heart climbs in the rose:-- + The untaught hearts with the high heart that knew + This mountain fortress for no earthly hold + Of temporal quarrel, but the bastion old + Of spiritual wrong, + Built by an unjust nation sheer and strong, + Expugnable but by a nation's rue + And bowing down before that equal shrine + By all men held divine, + Whereof his band and he were the most holy sign. + + + VII + + O bitter, bitter shade! + Wilt thou not put the scorn + And instant tragic question from thine eyes? + Do thy dark brows yet crave + That swift and angry stave-- + Unmeet for this desirous morn-- + That I have striven, striven to evade? + Gazing on him, must I not deem they err + Whose careless lips in street and shop aver + As common tidings, deeds to make his cheek + Flush from the bronze, and his dead throat to speak? + Surely some elder singer would arise, + Whose harp hath leave to threaten and to mourn + Above this people when they go astray. + Is Whitman, the strong spirit, overworn? + Has Whittier put his yearning wrath away? + I will not and I dare not yet believe! + Though furtively the sunlight seems to grieve, + And the spring-laden breeze + Out of the gladdening west is sinister + With sounds of nameless battle overseas; + Though when we turn and question in suspense + If these things be indeed after these ways, + And what things are to follow after these, + Our fluent men of place and consequence + Fumble and fill their mouths with hollow phrase, + Or for the end-all of deep arguments + Intone their dull commercial liturgies-- + I dare not yet believe! My ears are shut! + I will not hear the thin satiric praise + And muffled laughter of our enemies, + Bidding us never sheathe our valiant sword + Till we have changed our birthright for a gourd + Of wild pulse stolen from a barbarian's hut; + Showing how wise it is to cast away + The symbols of our spiritual sway, + That so our hands with better ease + May wield the driver's whip and grasp the jailer's keys. + + + VIII + + Was it for this our fathers kept the law? + This crown shall crown their struggle and their ruth? + Are we the eagle nation Milton saw + Mewing its mighty youth, + Soon to possess the mountain winds of truth, + And be a swift familiar of the sun + Where aye before God's face his trumpets run? + Or have we but the talons and the maw, + And for the abject likeness of our heart + Shall some less lordly bird be set apart?-- + Some gross-billed wader where the swamps are fat? + Some gorger in the sun? Some prowler with the bat? + + + IX + + Ah no! + We have not fallen so. + We are our fathers' sons: let those who lead us know! + 'T was only yesterday sick Cuba's cry + Came up the tropic wind, "Now help us, for we die!" + Then Alabama heard, + And rising, pale, to Maine and Idaho + Shouted a burning word. + Proud state with proud impassioned state conferred, + And at the lifting of a hand sprang forth, + East, west, and south, and north, + Beautiful armies. Oh, by the sweet blood and young + Shed on the awful hill slope at San Juan, + By the unforgotten names of eager boys + Who might have tasted girls' love and been stung + With the old mystic joys + And starry griefs, now the spring nights come on, + But that the heart of youth is generous,-- + We charge you, ye who lead us, + Breathe on their chivalry no hint of stain! + Turn not their new-world victories to gain! + One least leaf plucked for chaffer from the bays + Of their dear praise, + One jot of their pure conquest put to hire, + The implacable republic will require; + With clamor, in the glare and gaze of noon, + Or subtly, coming as a thief at night, + But surely, very surely, slow or soon + That insult deep we deeply will requite. + Tempt not our weakness, our cupidity! + For save we let the island men go free, + Those baffled and dislaureled ghosts + Will curse us from the lamentable coasts + Where walk the frustrate dead. + The cup of trembling shall be drained quite, + Eaten the sour bread of astonishment, + With ashes of the hearth shall be made white + Our hair, and wailing shall be in the tent; + Then on your guiltier head + Shall our intolerable self-disdain + Wreak suddenly its anger and its pain; + For manifest in that disastrous light + We shall discern the right + And do it, tardily.--O ye who lead, + Take heed! + Blindness we may forgive, but baseness we will smite. + + 1900. + + + + +THE QUARRY + + + Between the rice swamps and the fields of tea + I met a sacred elephant, snow-white. + Upon his back a huge pagoda towered + Full of brass gods and food of sacrifice. + Upon his forehead sat a golden throne, + The massy metal twisted into shapes + Grotesque, antediluvian, such as move + In myth or have their broken images + Sealed in the stony middle of the hills. + A peacock spread his thousand dyes to screen + The yellow sunlight from the head of one + Who sat upon the throne, clad stiff with gems, + Heirlooms of dynasties of buried kings,-- + Himself the likeness of a buried king, + With frozen gesture and unfocused eyes. + The trappings of the beast were over-scrawled + With broideries--sea-shapes and flying things, + Fan-trees and dwarfed nodosities of pine, + Mixed with old alphabets, and faded lore + Fallen from ecstatic mouths before the Flood, + Or gathered by the daughters when they walked + Eastward in Eden with the Sons of God + Whom love and the deep moon made garrulous. + Between the carven tusks his trunk hung dead; + Blind as the eyes of pearl in Buddha's brow + His beaded eyes stared thwart upon the road; + And feebler than the doting knees of eld, + His joints, of size to swing the builder's crane + Across the war-walls of the Anakim, + Made vain and shaken haste. Good need was his + To hasten: panting, foaming, on the slot + Came many brutes of prey, their several hates + Laid by until the sharing of the spoil. + Just as they gathered stomach for the leap, + The sun was darkened, and wide-balanced wings + Beat downward on the trade-wind from the sea. + A wheel of shadow sped along the fields + And o'er the dreaming cities. Suddenly + My heart misgave me, and I cried aloud, + "Alas! What dost thou here? What dost _thou_ here?" + The great beasts and the little halted sharp, + Eyed the grand circler, doubting his intent. + Straightway the wind flawed and he came about, + Stooping to take the vanward of the pack; + Then turned, between the chasers and the chased, + Crying a word I could not understand,-- + But stiller-tongued, with eyes somewhat askance, + They settled to the slot and disappeared. + + 1900. + + + + +ON A SOLDIER FALLEN IN THE PHILIPPINES + + + Streets of the roaring town, + Hush for him, hush, be still! + He comes, who was stricken down + Doing the word of our will. + Hush! Let him have his state, + Give him his soldier's crown. + The grists of trade can wait + Their grinding at the mill, + But he cannot wait for his honor, now the trumpet has been blown. + Wreathe pride now for his granite brow, lay love on his breast of + stone. + + Toll! Let the great bells toll + Till the clashing air is dim. + Did we wrong this parted soul? + We will make it up to him. + Toll! Let him never guess + What work we set him to. + Laurel, laurel, yes; + He did what we bade him do. + Praise, and never a whispered hint but the fight he fought was good; + Never a word that the blood on his sword was his country's own + heart's-blood. + + A flag for the soldier's bier + Who dies that his land may live; + O, banners, banners here, + That he doubt not nor misgive! + That he heed not from the tomb + The evil days draw near + When the nation, robed in gloom, + With its faithless past shall strive. + Let him never dream that his bullet's scream went wide of its island + mark, + Home to the heart of his darling land where she stumbled and sinned + in the dark. + + + + +UNTIL THE TROUBLING OF THE WATERS + + + Two hours, two hours: God give me strength for it! + He who has given so much strength to me + And nothing to my child, must give to-day + What more I need to try and save my child + And get for him the life I owe to him. + To think that I may get it for him now, + Before he knows how much he might have missed + That other boys have got! The bitterest thought + Of all that plagued me when he came was this, + How some day he would see the difference, + And drag himself to me with puzzled eyes + To ask me why it was. He would have been + Cruel enough to do it, knowing not + That was the question my rebellious heart + Cried over and over one whole year to God, + And got no answer and no help at all. + If he had asked me, what could I have said? + What single word could I have found to say + To hide me from his searching, puzzled gaze? + Some coward thing at best, never the truth; + The truth I never could have told him. No, + I never could have said, "God gave you me + To fashion you a body, right and strong, + With sturdy little limbs and chest and neck + For fun and fighting with your little mates, + Great feats and voyages in the breathless world + Of out-of-doors,--He gave you me for this, + And I was such a bungler, that is all!" + O, the old lie--that thought was not the worst. + I never have been truthful with myself. + For by the door where lurked one ghostly thought + I stood with crazy hands to thrust it back + If it should dare to peep and whisper out + Unbearable things about me, hearing which + The women passing in the streets would turn + To pity me and scold me with their eyes, + Who was so bad a mother and so slow + To learn to help God do his wonder in her + That she--O my sweet baby! It was not + The fear that you would see the difference + Between you and the other boys and girls; + No, no, it was the dimmer, wilder fear, + That you might never see it, never look + Out of your tiny baby-house of mind, + But sit your life through, quiet in the dark, + Smiling and nodding at what was not there! + A foolish fear: God could not punish so. + Yet until yesterday I thought He would. + My soul was always cowering at the blow + I saw suspended, ready to be dealt + The moment that I showed my fear too much. + Therefore I hid it from Him all I could, + And only stole a shaking glance at it + Sometimes in the dead minutes before dawn + When He forgets to watch. Till yesterday. + For yesterday was wonderful and strange + From the beginning. When I wakened first + And looked out at the window, the last snow + Was gone from earth; about the apple-trees + Hung a faint mist of bloom; small sudden green + Had run and spread and rippled everywhere + Over the fields; and in the level sun + Walked something like a presence and a power, + Uttering hopes and loving-kindnesses + To all the world, but chiefly unto me. + It walked before me when I went to work, + And all day long the noises of the mill + Were spun upon a core of golden sound, + Half-spoken words and interrupted songs + Of blessed promise, meant for all the world, + But most for me, because I suffered most. + The shooting spindles, the smooth-humming wheels, + The rocking webs, seemed toiling to some end + Beneficent and human known to them, + And duly brought to pass in power and love. + The faces of the girls and men at work + Met mine with intense greeting, veiled at once, + As if they knew a secret they must keep + For fear the joy would harm me if they told + Before some inkling filtered to my mind + In roundabout ways. When the day's work was done + There lay a special silence on the fields; + And, as I passed, the bushes and the trees, + The very ruts and puddles of the road + Spoke to each other, saying it was she, + The happy woman, the elected one, + The vessel of strange mercy and the sign + Of many loving wonders done in Heaven + To help the piteous earth. + + At last I stopped + And looked about me in sheer wonderment. + What did it mean? What did they want with me? + What was the matter with the evening now + That it was just as bound to make me glad + As morning and the live-long day had been? + Me, who had quite forgot what gladness was, + Who had no right to anything but toil, + And food and sleep for strength to toil again, + And that fierce frightened anguish of my love + For the poor little spirit I had wronged + With life that was no life. What had befallen + Since yesterday? No need to stop and ask! + Back there in the dark places of my mind + Where I had thrust it, fearing to believe + An unbelievable mercy, shone the news + Told by the village neighbors coming home + Last night from the great city, of a man + Arisen, like the first evangelists, + With power to heal the bodies of the sick, + In testimony of his master Christ, + Who heals the soul when it is sick with sin. + Could such a thing be true in these hard days? + Was help still sent in such a way as that? + No, no! I did not dare to think of it, + Feeling what weakness and despair would come + After the crazy hope broke under me. + I turned and started homeward, faster now, + But never fast enough to leave behind + The voices and the troubled happiness + That still kept mounting, mounting like a sea, + And singing far-off like a rush of wings. + Far down the road a yellow spot of light + Shone from my cottage window, rayless yet, + Where the last sunset crimson caught the panes. + Alice had lit the lamp before she went; + Her day of pity and unmirthful play + Was over, and her young heart free to live + Until to-morrow brought her nursing-task + Again, and made her feel how dark and still + That life could be to others which to her + Was full of dreams that beckoned, reaching hands, + And thrilling invitations young girls hear. + My boy was sleeping, little mind and frame + More tired just lying there awake two hours + Than with a whole day's romp he should have been. + He would not know his mother had come home; + But after supper I would sit awhile + Beside his bed, and let my heart have time + For that worst love that stabs and breaks and kills. + This I thought over to myself by rote + And habit, but I could not feel my thoughts; + For still that dim unmeaning happiness + Kept mounting, mounting round me like a sea, + And singing inward like a wind of wings. + + Before I lifted up the latch, I knew. + I felt no fear; the One who waited there + In the low lamplight by the bed, had come + Because I was his sister and in need. + My word had got to Him somehow at last, + And He had come to help me or to tell + Where help was to be found. It was not strange. + Strange only He had stayed away so long; + But that should be forgotten--He was here. + I pushed the door wide open and looked in. + He had been kneeling by the bed, and now, + Half-risen, kissed my boy upon the lips, + Then turned and smiled and pointed with his hand. + I must have fallen on the threshold stone, + For I remember that I felt, not saw, + The resurrection glory and the peace + Shed from his face and raiment as He went + Out by the door into the evening street. + But when I looked, the place about the bed + Was yet all bathed in light, and in the midst + My boy lay changed,--no longer clothed upon + With scraps and shreds of life, but like the child + Of some most fortunate mother. In a breath + The image faded. There he lay again + The same as always; and the light was gone. + I sank with moans and cries beside the bed. + The cruelty, O Christ, the cruelty! + To come at last and then to go like that, + Leaving the darkness deeper than before! + Then, though I heard no sound, I grew aware + Of some one standing by the open door + Among the dry vines rustling in the porch. + My heart laughed suddenly. He had come back! + He had come back to make the vision true. + He had not meant to mock me: God was God, + And Christ was Christ; there was no falsehood there. + I heard a quiet footstep cross the room + And felt a hand laid gently on my hair,-- + A human hand, worn hard by daily toil, + Heavy with life-long struggle after bread. + Alice's father. The kind homely voice + Had in it such strange music that I dreamed + Perhaps it was the Other speaking in him, + Because His own bright form had made me swoon + With its too much of glory. What he brought + Was news as good as ever heavenly lips + Had the dear right to utter. He had been + All day among the crowds of curious folk + From the great city and the country-side + Gathered to watch the Healer do his work + Of mercy on the sick and halt and blind, + And with his very eyes had seen such things + As awestruck men had witnessed long ago + In Galilee, and writ of in the Book. + To-morrow morning he would take me there + If I had strength and courage to believe. + It might be there was hope; he could not say, + But knew what he had seen. When he was gone + I lay for hours, letting the solemn waves + Thundering joy go over and over me. + + Just before midnight baby fretted, woke; + He never yet has slept a whole night through + Without his food and petting. As I sat + Feeding and petting him and singing soft, + I felt a jealousy begin to ache + And worry at my heartstrings, hushing down + The gladness. Jealousy of what or whom? + I hardly knew, or could not put in words; + At least it seemed too foolish and too wrong + When said, and so I shut the thought away. + Only, next minute, it came stealing back. + After the change, would my boy be the same + As this one? Would he be my boy at all, + And not another's--his who gave the life + I could not give, or did not anyhow? + How could I look in his new eyes to claim + The whole of him, the body and the breath, + When some one not his mother, a strange man, + Had clothed him in that beauty of the flesh-- + Perhaps (for who could know?), perhaps, by some + Hateful disfiguring miracle, had even + Transformed his spirit to a better one, + Better, but not the same I prayed for him + Down out of Heaven through the sleepless nights,-- + The best that God would send to such as me. + I tried to strangle back the wicked pain; + Fancied him changed and tried to love him so. + No use; it was another, not my child, + Not my frail, broken, priceless little one, + My cup of anguish, and my trembling star + Hung small and sad and sweet above the earth, + So sure to fall but for my cherishing! + + When he had dropped asleep again, I rose + And wrestled with the sinful selfishness, + The dark injustice, the unnatural pain. + Fevered at last with pacing to and fro, + I raised the bedroom window and leaned out. + The white moon, low behind the sycamores, + Silvered the silent country; not a voice + Of all the myriads summer moves to sing + Had yet awakened; in the level moon + Walked that same presence I had heard at dawn + Uttering hopes and loving-kindnesses, + But now, dispirited and reticent, + It walked the moonlight like a homeless thing. + O, how to cleanse me of the cowardice! + How to be just! Was I a mother, then, + A mother, and not love her child as well + As her own covetous and morbid love? + Was it for this the Comforter had come, + Smiling at me and pointing with His hand? + --What had He meant to have me think or do, + Smiling and pointing? + + All at once I saw + A way to save my darling from myself + And make atonement for my grudging love! + Under the sycamores and up the hill + And down across the river, the wet road + Went stretching cityward, silvered in the moon. + I who had shrunk from sacrifice, even I, + Who had refused God's blessing for my boy, + Would take him in my arms and carry him + Up to the altar of the miracle. + I would not wait for daylight, nor the help + Of any human friendship; I alone, + Through the still miles of country, I alone, + Only my arms to shield him and my feet + To bear him: he should have no one to thank + But me for that. I knew the way was long, + But knew strength would be given. So I came. + Soon the stars failed; the late moon faded too: + I think my heart had sucked their beams from them + To build more blue amid the murky night + Its own miraculous day. From creeks and fields + The fog climbed slowly, blotted out the road; + And hid the signposts telling of the town; + After a while rain fell, with sleet and snow. + What did I care? Baby was snug and dry. + Some day, when I was telling him of this, + He would but hug me closer, hearing how + The night conspired against us. Better hard + Than easy, then: I almost felt regret + My body was so capable and strong + To do its errand. Honeyed drop by drop, + The ghostly jealousy, loosening at my breast, + Distilled into a dew of quiet tears + And fell with splash of music in the wells + And on the hidden rivers of my soul. + + The hardest part was coming through the town. + The country, even when it hindered most, + Seemed conscious of the thing I went to find. + The rocks and bushes looming through the mist + Questioned and acquiesced and understood; + The trees and streams believed; the wind and rain, + Even they, for all their temper, had some words + Of faith and comfort. But the glaring streets, + The dizzy traffic, the piled merchandise, + The giant buildings swarming with fierce life-- + Cared nothing for me. They had never heard + Of me nor of my business. When I asked + My way, a shade of pity or contempt + Showed through men's kindness--for they all were kind. + Daunted and chilled and very sick at heart, + I walked the endless pavements. But at last + The streets grew quieter; the houses seemed + As if they might be homes where people lived; + Then came the factories and cottages, + And all was well again. Much more than well, + For many sick and broken went my way, + Alone or helped along by loving hands; + And from a thousand eyes the famished hope + Looked out at mine--wild, patient, querulous, + But always hope and hope, a thousand tongues + Speaking one word in many languages. + + In two hours He will come, they say, will stand + There on the steps, above the waiting crowd, + And touch with healing hands whoever asks + Believingly, in spirit and in truth. + Can such a mercy be, in these hard days? + Is help still sent in such a way as that? + Christ, I believe; pity my unbelief! + + + + +JETSAM + + + I wonder can this be the world it was + At sunset? I remember the sky fell + Green as pale meadows, at the long street-ends, + But overhead the smoke-wrack hugged the roofs + As if to shut the city from God's eyes + Till dawn should quench the laughter and the lights. + Beneath the gas flare stolid faces passed, + Too dull for sin; old loosened lips set hard + To drain the stale lees from the cup of sense; + Or if a young face yearned from out the mist + Made by its own bright hair, the eyes were wan + With desolate fore-knowledge of the end. + My life lay waste about me: as I walked, + From the gross dark of unfrequented streets + The face of my own youth peered forth at me, + Struck white with pity at the thing I was; + And globed in ghostly fire, thrice-virginal, + With lifted face star-strong, went one who sang + Lost verses from my youth's gold canticle. + Out of the void dark came my face and hers + One vivid moment--then the street was there; + Bloat shapes and mean eyes blotted the sear dusk; + And in the curtained window of a house + Whence sin reeked on the night, a shameful head + Was silhouetted black as Satan's face + Against eternal fires. I stumbled on + Down the dark slope that reaches riverward, + Stretching blind hands to find the throat of God + And crush Him in his lies. The river lay + Coiled in its factory filth and few lean trees. + All was too hateful--I could not die there! + I whom the Spring had strained unto her breast, + Whose lips had felt the wet vague lips of dawn. + So under the thin willows' leprous shade + And through the tangled ranks of riverweed + I pushed--till lo, God heard me! I came forth + Where, 'neath the shoreless hush of region light, + Through a new world, undreamed of, undesired, + Beyond imagining of man's weary heart, + Far to the white marge of the wondering sea + This still plain widens, and this moon rains down + Insufferable ecstasy of peace. + + My heart is man's heart, strong to bear this night's + Unspeakable affliction of mute love + That crazes lesser things. The rocks and clods + Dissemble, feign a busy intercourse; + The bushes deal in shadowy subterfuge, + Lurk dull, dart spiteful out, make heartless signs, + Utter awestricken purpose of no sense,-- + But I walk quiet, crush aside the hands + Stretched furtively to drag me madmen's ways. + I know the thing they suffer, and the tricks + They must be at to help themselves endure. + I would not be too boastful; I am weak, + Too weak to put aside the utter ache + Of this lone splendor long enough to see + Whether the moon is still her white strange self + Or something whiter, stranger, even the face + Which by the changed face of my risen youth + Sang, globed in fire, her golden canticle. + I dare not look again; another gaze + Might drive me to the wavering coppice there, + Where bat-winged madness brushed me, the wild laugh + Of naked nature crashed across my blood. + So rank it was with earthy presences, + Faun-shapes in goatish dance, young witches' eyes + Slanting deep invitation, whinnying calls + Ambiguous, shocks and whirlwinds of wild mirth,-- + They had undone me in the darkness there, + But that within me, smiting through my lids + Lowered to shut in the thick whirl of sense, + The dumb light ached and rummaged, and with out, + The soaring splendor summoned me aloud + To leave the low dank thickets of the flesh + Where man meets beast and makes his lair with him, + For spirit reaches of the strenuous vast, + Where stalwart stars reap grain to make the bread + God breaketh at his tables and is glad. + I came out in the moonlight cleansed and strong, + And gazed up at the lyric face to see + All sweetness tasted of in earthen cups + Ere it be dashed and spilled, all radiance flung + Beyond experience, every benison dream, + Treasured and mystically crescent there. + + O, who will shield me from her? Who will place + A veil between me and the fierce in-throng + Of her inexorable benedicite? + See, I have loved her well and been with her! + Through tragic twilights when the stricken sea + Groveled with fear, or when she made her throne + In imminent cities built of gorgeous winds + And paved with lightnings; or when the sobering stars + Would lead her home 'mid wealth of plundered May + Along the violet slopes of evensong. + Of all the sights that starred the dreamy year, + For me one sight stood peerless and apart: + Bright rivers tacit; low hills prone and dumb; + Forests that hushed their tiniest voice to hear; + Skies for the unutterable advent robed + In purple like the opening iris buds; + And by some lone expectant pool, one tree + Whose gray boughs shivered with excess of awe,-- + As with preluding gush of amber light, + And herald trumpets softly lifted through, + Across the palpitant horizon marge + Crocus-filleted came the singing moon. + Out of her changing lights I wove my youth + A place to dwell in, sweet and spiritual, + And all the bitter years of my exile + My heart has called afar off unto her. + Lo, after many days love finds its own! + The futile adorations, the waste tears, + The hymns that fluttered low in the false dawn, + She has uptreasured as a lover's gifts; + They are the mystic garment that she wears + Against the bridal, and the crocus flowers + She twined her brow with at the going forth; + They are the burden of the song she made + In coming through the quiet fields of space, + And breathe between her passion-parted lips + Calling me out along the flowering road + Which summers through the dimness of the sea. + + Hark, where the deep feels round its thousand shores + To find remembered respite, and far drawn + Through weed-strewn shelves and crannies of the coast + The myriad silence yearns to myriad speech. + O sea that yearns a day, shall thy tongues be + So eloquent, and heart, shall all thy tongues + Be dumb to speak thy longing? Say I hold + Life as a broken jewel in my hand, + And fain would buy a little love with it + For comfort, say I fain would make it shine + Once in remembering eyes ere it be dust,-- + Were life not worthy spent? Then what of this, + When all my spirit hungers to repay + The beauty that has drenched my soul with peace? + Once at a simple turning of the way + I met God walking; and although the dawn + Was large behind Him, and the morning stars + Circled and sang about his face as birds + About the fieldward morning cottager, + My coward heart said faintly, "Let us haste! + Day grows and it is far to market-town." + Once where I lay in darkness after fight, + Sore smitten, thrilled a little thread of song + Searching and searching at my muffled sense + Until it shook sweet pangs through all my blood, + And I beheld one globed in ghostly fire + Singing, star-strong, her golden canticle; + And her mouth sang, "The hosts of Hate roll past, + A dance of dust motes in the sliding sun; + Love's battle comes on the wide wings of storm, + From east to west one legion! Wilt thou strive?" + Then, since the splendor of her sword-bright gaze + Was heavy on me with yearning and with scorn + My sick heart muttered, "Yea, the little strife, + Yet see, the grievous wounds! I fain would sleep." + O heart, shalt thou not once be strong to go + Where all sweet throats are calling, once be brave + To slake with deed thy dumbness? Let us go + The path her singing face looms low to point, + Pendulous, blanched with longing, shedding flame + Of silver on the brown grope of the flood; + For all my spirit's soilure is put by + And all my body's soilure, lacking now + But the last lustral sacrament of death + To make me clean for those near-searching eyes + That question yonder whether all be well, + And pause a little ere they dare rejoice. + + Question and be thou answered, passionate face! + For I am worthy, worthy now at last + After so long unworth; strong now at last + To give myself to beauty and be saved; + Now, being man, to give myself to thee, + As once the tumult of my boyish heart + Companioned thee with rapture through the world, + Forth from a land whereof no poet's lip + Made mention how the leas were lily-sprent, + Into a land God's eyes had looked not on + To love the tender bloom upon the hills. + To-morrow, when the fishers come at dawn + Upon that shell of me the sea has tossed + To land, as fit for earth to use again, + Men, meeting at the shops and corner streets, + Will speak a word of pity, glossing o'er + With altered accent, dubious sweep of hand, + Their virile, just contempt for one who failed. + But they can never cast my earnings up, + Who know so well my losses. Even you + Who in the mild light of the spirit walk + And hold yourselves acquainted with the truth, + Be not too swift to judge and cast me out! + You shall find other, nobler ways than mine + To work your soul's redemption,--glorious noons + Of battle 'neath the heaven-suspended sign, + And nightly refuge 'neath God's aegis-rim; + Increase of wisdom, and acquaintance held + With the heart's austerities; still governance, + And ripening of the blood in the weekday sun + To make the full-orbed consecrated fruit + At life's end for the Sabbath supper meet. + I shall not sit beside you at that feast, + For ere a seedling of my golden tree + Pushed off its petals to get room to grow, + I stripped the boughs to make an April gaud + And wreathe a spendthrift garland for my hair. + But mine is not the failure God deplores; + For I of old am beauty's votarist, + Long recreant, often foiled and led astray, + But resolute at last to seek her there + Where most she does abide, and crave with tears + That she assoil me of my blemishment. + Low looms her singing face to point the way, + Pendulous, blanched with longing, shedding flame + Of silver on the brown grope of the flood. + The stars are for me; the horizon wakes + Its pilgrim chanting; and the little sand + Grows musical of hope beneath my feet. + The waves that leap to meet my swimming breast + Gossip sweet secrets of the light-drenched way, + And when the deep throbs of the rising surge + Pulse upward with me, and a rain of wings + Blurs round the moon's pale place, she stoops to reach + Still welcome of bright hands across the wave, + And sings low, low, globed all in ghostly fire, + Lost verses from my youth's gold canticle. + + + + +THE BRUTE + + + Through his might men work their wills. + They have boweled out the hills + For food to keep him toiling in the cages they have wrought; + And they fling him, hour by hour, + Limbs of men to give him power; + Brains of men to give him cunning; and for dainties to devour + Children's souls, the little worth; hearts of women, cheaply bought: + He takes them and he breaks them, but he gives them scanty thought. + + For about the noisy land, + Roaring, quivering 'neath his hand, + His thoughts brood fierce and sullen or laugh in lust of pride + O'er the stubborn things that he, + Breaks to dust and brings to be. + Some he mightily establishes, some flings down utterly. + There is thunder in his stride, nothing ancient can abide, + When he hales the hills together and bridles up the tide. + + Quietude and loveliness, + Holy sights that heal and bless, + They are scattered and abolished where his iron hoof is set; + When he splashes through the brae + Silver streams are choked with clay, + When he snorts the bright cliffs crumble and the woods go down like + hay; + He lairs in pleasant cities, and the haggard people fret + Squalid 'mid their new-got riches, soot-begrimed and desolate. + + They who caught and bound him tight + Laughed exultant at his might, + Saying, "Now behold, the good time comes for the weariest and the + least! + We will use this lusty knave: + No more need for men to slave; + We may rise and look about us and have knowledge ere the grave." + But the Brute said in his breast, "Till the mills I grind have ceased, + The riches shall be dust of dust, dry ashes be the feast! + + "On the strong and cunning few + Cynic favors I will strew; + I will stuff their maw with overplus until their spirit dies; + From the patient and the low + I will take the joys they know; + They shall hunger after vanities and still an-hungered go. + Madness shall be on the people, ghastly jealousies arise; + Brother's blood shall cry on brother up the dead and empty skies. + + "I will burn and dig and hack + Till the heavens suffer lack; + God shall feel a pleasure fail him, crying to his cherubim, + 'Who hath flung yon mud-ball there + Where my world went green and fair?' + I shall laugh and hug me, hearing how his sentinels declare, + ''T is the Brute they chained to labor! He has made the bright earth + dim. + Store of wares and pelf a plenty, but they got no good of him.'" + + So he plotted in his rage: + So he deals it, age by age. + But even as he roared his curse a still small Voice befell; + Lo, a still and pleasant voice bade them none the less rejoice, + For the Brute must bring the good time on; he has no other choice. + He may struggle, sweat, and yell, but he knows exceeding well + He must work them out salvation ere they send him back to hell. + + All the desert that he made + He must treble bless with shade, + In primal wastes set precious seed of rapture and of pain; + All the strongholds that he built + For the powers of greed and guilt-- + He must strew their bastions down the sea and choke their towers with + silt; + He must make the temples clean for the gods to come again, + And lift the lordly cities under skies without a stain. + + In a very cunning tether + He must lead the tyrant weather; + He must loose the curse of Adam from the worn neck of the race; + He must cast out hate and fear, + Dry away each fruitless tear, + And make the fruitful tears to gush from the deep heart and clear. + He must give each man his portion, each his pride and worthy place; + He must batter down the arrogant and lift the weary face, + On each vile mouth set purity, on each low forehead grace. + + Then, perhaps, at the last day, + They will whistle him away, + Lay a hand upon his muzzle in the face of God, and say, + "Honor, Lord, the Thing we tamed! + Let him not be scourged or blamed. + Even through his wrath and fierceness was thy fierce wroth world + reclaimed! + Honor Thou thy servants' servant; let thy justice now be shown." + Then the Lord will heed their saying, and the Brute come to his own, + 'Twixt the Lion and the Eagle, by the armpost of the Throne. + + + + +THE MENAGERIE + + + Thank God my brain is not inclined to cut + Such capers every day! I 'm just about + Mellow, but then--There goes the tent-flap shut. + Rain 's in the wind. I thought so: every snout + Was twitching when the keeper turned me out. + + That screaming parrot makes my blood run cold. + Gabriel's trump! the big bull elephant + Squeals "Rain!" to the parched herd. The monkeys scold, + And jabber that it 's rain water they want. + (It makes me sick to see a monkey pant.) + + I 'll foot it home, to try and make believe + I 'm sober. After this I stick to beer, + And drop the circus when the sane folks leave. + A man 's a fool to look at things too near: + They look back, and begin to cut up queer. + + Beasts do, at any rate; especially + Wild devils caged. They have the coolest way + Of being something else than what you see: + You pass a sleek young zebra nosing hay, + A nylghau looking bored and distingue,-- + + And think you 've seen a donkey and a bird. + Not on your life! Just glance back, if you dare. + The zebra chews, the nylghau has n't stirred; + But something 's happened, Heaven knows what or where, + To freeze your scalp and pompadour your hair. + + I 'm not precisely an aeolian lute + Hung in the wandering winds of sentiment, + But drown me if the ugliest, meanest brute + Grunting and fretting in that sultry tent + Did n't just floor me with embarrassment! + + 'T was like a thunder-clap from out the clear, + One minute they were circus beasts, some grand, + Some ugly, some amusing, and some queer: + Rival attractions to the hobo band, + The flying jenny, and the peanut stand. + + Next minute they were old hearth-mates of mine! + Lost people, eyeing me with such a stare! + Patient, satiric, devilish, divine; + A gaze of hopeless envy, squalid care, + Hatred, and thwarted love, and dim despair. + + Within my blood my ancient kindred spoke,-- + Grotesque and monstrous voices, heard afar + Down ocean caves when behemoth awoke, + Or through fern forests roared the plesiosaur + Locked with the giant-bat in ghastly war. + + And suddenly, as in a flash of light, + I saw great Nature working out her plan; + Through all her shapes from mastodon to mite + Forever groping, testing, passing on + To find at last the shape and soul of Man. + + Till in the fullness of accomplished time, + Comes brother Forepaugh, upon business bent, + Tracks her through frozen and through torrid clime, + And shows us, neatly labeled in a tent, + The stages of her huge experiment; + + Blabbing aloud her shy and reticent hours; + Dragging to light her blinking, slothful moods; + Publishing fretful seasons when her powers + Worked wild and sullen in her solitudes, + Or when her mordant laughter shook the woods. + + Here, round about me, were her vagrant births; + Sick dreams she had, fierce projects she essayed; + Her qualms, her fiery prides, her crazy mirths; + The troublings of her spirit as she strayed, + Cringed, gloated, mocked, was lordly, was afraid, + + On that long road she went to seek mankind; + Here were the darkling coverts that she beat + To find the Hider she was sent to find; + Here the distracted footprints of her feet + Whereby her soul's Desire she came to greet. + + But why should they, her botch-work, turn about + And stare disdain at me, her finished job? + Why was the place one vast suspended shout + Of laughter? Why did all the daylight throb + With soundless guffaw and dumb-stricken sob? + + Helpless I stood among those awful cages; + The beasts were walking loose, and I was bagged! + I, I, last product of the toiling ages, + Goal of heroic feet that never lagged,-- + A little man in trousers, slightly jagged. + + Deliver me from such another jury! + The Judgment-day will be a picnic to 't. + Their satire was more dreadful than their fury, + And worst of all was just a kind of brute + Disgust, and giving up, and sinking mute. + + Survival of the fittest, adaptation, + And all their other evolution terms, + Seem to omit one small consideration, + To wit, that tumblebugs and angleworms + Have souls: there 's soul in everything that squirms. + + And souls are restless, plagued, impatient things, + All dream and unaccountable desire; + Crawling, but pestered with the thought of wings; + Spreading through every inch of earth's old mire + Mystical hanker after something higher. + + Wishes _are_ horses, as I understand. + I guess a wistful polyp that has strokes + Of feeling faint to gallivant on land + Will come to be a scandal to his folks; + Legs he will sprout, in spite of threats and jokes. + + And at the core of every life that crawls + Or runs or flies or swims or vegetates-- + Churning the mammoth's heart-blood, in the galls + Of shark and tiger planting gorgeous hates, + Lighting the love of eagles for their mates; + + Yes, in the dim brain of the jellied fish + That is and is not living--moved and stirred + From the beginning a mysterious wish, + A vision, a command, a fatal Word: + The name of Man was uttered, and they heard. + + Upward along the aeons of old war + They sought him: wing and shank-bone, claw and bill + Were fashioned and rejected; wide and far + They roamed the twilight jungles of their will; + But still they sought him, and desired him still. + + Man they desired, but mind you, Perfect Man, + The radiant and the loving, yet to be! + I hardly wonder, when they came to scan + The upshot of their strenuosity, + They gazed with mixed emotions upon _me_. + + Well, my advice to you is, Face the creatures, + Or spot them sideways with your weather eye, + Just to keep tab on their expansive features; + It is n't pleasant when you 're stepping high + To catch a giraffe smiling on the sly. + + If nature made you graceful, don't get gay + Back-to before the hippopotamus; + If meek and godly, find some place to play + Besides right where three mad hyenas fuss: + You may hear language that we won't discuss. + + If you 're a sweet thing in a flower-bed hat, + Or her best fellow with your tie tucked in, + Don't squander love's bright springtime girding at + An old chimpanzee with an Irish chin: + _There may be hidden meaning in his grin._ + + + + +THE GOLDEN JOURNEY + + + All day he drowses by the sail + With dreams of her, and all night long + The broken waters are at song + Of how she lingers, wild and pale, + When all the temple lights are dumb, + And weaves her spells to make him come. + + The wide sea traversed, he will stand + With straining eyes, until the shoal + Green water from the prow shall roll + Upon the yellow strip of sand-- + Searching some fern-hid tangled way + Into the forest old and grey. + + Then he will leap upon the shore, + And cast one look up at the sun, + Over his loosened locks will run + The dawn breeze, and a bird will pour + Its rapture out to make life seem + Too sweet to leave for such a dream. + + But all the swifter will he go + Through the pale, scattered asphodels, + Down mote-hung dusk of olive dells, + To where the ancient basins throw + Fleet threads of blue and trembling zones + Of gold upon the temple stones. + + There noon keeps just a twilight trace; + Twixt love and hate, and death and birth, + No man may choose; nor sobs nor mirth + May enter in that haunted place. + All day the fountain sphynx lets drip + Slow drops of silence from her lip. + + To hold the porch-roof slender girls + Of milk-white marble stand arow; + Doubt never blurs a single brow, + And never the noon's faintness curls + From their expectant hush of pride + The lips the god has glorified. + + But these things he will barely view, + Or if he stay to heed them, still + But as the lark the lights that spill + From out the sun it soars unto, + Where, past the splendors and the heats, + The sun's heart's self forever beats. + + For wide the brazen doors will swing + Soon as his sandals touch the pave; + The anxious light inside will wave + And tremble to a lunar ring + About the form that lieth prone + Before the dreadful altar-stone. + + She will not look or speak or stir, + But with drowned lips and cheeks death-white + Will lie amid the pool of light, + Until, grown faint with thirst of her, + He shall bow down his face and sink + Breathless beneath the eddying brink. + + Then a swift music will begin, + And as the brazen doors shut slow, + There will be hurrying to and fro, + And lights and calls and silver din, + While through the star-freaked swirl of air + The god's sweet cruel eyes will stare. + + + + +HEART'S WILD-FLOWER + + + To-night her lids shall lift again, slow, soft, with vague desire, + And lay about my breast and brain their hush of spirit fire, + And I shall take the sweet of pain as the laborer his hire. + + And though no word shall e'er be said to ease the ghostly sting, + And though our hearts, unhoused, unfed, must still go wandering, + My sign is set upon her head while stars do meet and sing. + + Not such a sign as women wear who make their foreheads tame + With life's long tolerance, and bear love's sweetest, humblest name, + Nor such as passion eateth bare with its crown of tears and flame. + + Nor such a sign as happy friend sets on his friend's dear brow + When meadow-pipings break and blend to a key of autumn woe, + And the woodland says playtime 's at end, best unclasp hands and go. + + But where she strays, through blight or blooth, one fadeless flower + she wears, + A little gift God gave my youth,--whose petals dim were fears, + Awes, adorations, songs of ruth, hesitancies, and tears. + + O heart of mine, with all thy powers of white beatitude, + What are the dearest of God's dowers to the children of his blood? + How blow the shy, shy wilding flowers in the hollows of his wood? + + + + +HARMONICS + + + This string upon my harp was best beloved: + I thought I knew its secrets through and through; + Till an old man, whose young eyes lightened blue + 'Neath his white hair, bent over me and moved + His fingers up and down, and broke the wire + To such a laddered music, rung on rung, + As from the patriarch's pillow skyward sprung + Crowded with wide-flung wings and feet of fire. + + O vibrant heart! so metely tuned and strung + That any untaught hand can draw from thee + One clear gold note that makes the tired years young-- + What of the time when Love had whispered me + Where slept thy nodes, and my hand pausefully + Gave to the dim harmonics voice and tongue? + + + + +ON THE RIVER + + + The faint stars wake and wonder, + Fade and find heart anew; + Above us and far under + Sphereth the watchful blue. + + Silent she sits, outbending, + A wild pathetic grace, + A beauty strange, heart-rending, + Upon her hair and face. + + O spirit cries that sever + The cricket's level drone! + O to give o'er endeavor + And let love have its own! + + Within the mirrored bushes + There wakes a little stir; + The white-throat moves, and hushes + Her nestlings under her. + + Beneath, the lustrous river, + The watchful sky o'erhead. + God, God, that Thou should'st ever + Poison thy children's bread! + + + + +THE BRACELET OF GRASS + + + The opal heart of afternoon + Was clouding on to throbs of storm, + Ashen within the ardent west + The lips of thunder muttered harm, + And as a bubble like to break + Hung heaven's trembling amethyst, + When with the sedge-grass by the lake + I braceleted her wrist. + + And when the ribbon grass was tied, + Sad with the happiness we planned, + Palm linked in palm we stood awhile + And watched the raindrops dot the sand; + Until the anger of the breeze + Chid all the lake's bright breathing down, + And ravished all the radiancies + From her deep eyes of brown. + + We gazed from shelter on the storm, + And through our hearts swept ghostly pain + To see the shards of day sweep past, + Broken, and none might mend again. + Broken, that none shall ever mend; + Loosened, that none shall ever tie. + O the wind and the wind, will it never end? + O the sweeping past of the ruined sky! + + + + +THE DEPARTURE + + + I + + I sat beside the glassy evening sea, + One foot upon the thin horn of my lyre, + And all its strings of laughter and desire + Crushed in the rank wet grasses heedlessly; + Nor did my dull eyes care to question how + The boat close by had spread its saffron sails, + Nor what might mean the coffers and the bales, + And streaks of new wine on the gilded prow. + Neither was wonder in me when I saw + Fair women step therein, though they were fair + Even to adoration and to awe, + And in the gracious fillets of their hair + Were blossoms from a garden I had known, + Sweet mornings ere the apple buds were blown. + + + II + + One gazed steadfast into the dying west + With lips apart to greet the evening star; + And one with eyes that caught the strife and jar + Of the sea's heart, followed the sunward breast + Of a lone gull; from a slow harp one drew + Blind music like a laugh or like a wail; + And in the uncertain shadow of the sail + One wove a crown of berries and of yew. + Yet even as I said with dull desire, + "All these were mine, and one was mine indeed," + The smoky music burst into a fire, + And I was left alone in my great need, + One foot upon the thin horn of my lyre + And all its strings crushed in the dripping weed. + + + + +FADED PICTURES + + + Only two patient eyes to stare + Out of the canvas. All the rest-- + The warm green gown, the small hands pressed + Light in the lap, the braided hair + + That must have made the sweet low brow + So earnest, centuries ago, + When some one saw it change and glow-- + All faded! Just the eyes burn now. + + I dare say people pass and pass + Before the blistered little frame, + And dingy work without a name + Stuck in behind its square of glass. + + But I, well, I left Raphael + Just to come drink these eyes of hers, + To think away the stains and blurs + And make all new again and well. + + Only, for tears my head will bow, + Because there on my heart's last wall, + Scarce one tint left to tell it all, + A picture keeps its eyes, somehow. + + + + +A GREY DAY + + + Grey drizzling mists the moorlands drape, + Rain whitens the dead sea, + From headland dim to sullen cape + Grey sails creep wearily. + I know not how that merchantman + Has found the heart; but 't is her plan + Seaward her endless course to shape. + + Unreal as insects that appall + A drunkard's peevish brain, + O'er the grey deep the dories crawl, + Four-legged, with rowers twain: + Midgets and minims of the earth, + Across old ocean's vasty girth + Toiling--heroic, comical! + + I wonder how that merchant's crew + Have ever found the will! + I wonder what the fishers do + To keep them toiling still! + I wonder how the heart of man + Has patience to live out its span, + Or wait until its dreams come true. + + + + +THE RIDE BACK + + + _Before the coming of the dark, he dreamed + An old-world faded story: of a knight, + Much like in need to him, who was no knight! + And of a road, much like the road his soul + Groped over, desperate to meet Her soul. + Beside the bed Death waited. And he dreamed._ + + + His limbs were heavy from the fight, + His mail was dark with dust and blood; + On his good horse they bound him tight, + And on his breast they bound the rood + To help him in the ride that night. + + When he crashed through the wood's wet rim, + About the dabbled reeds a breeze + Went moaning broken words and dim; + The haggard shapes of twilight trees + Caught with their scrawny hands at him. + + Between the doubtful aisles of day + Strange folk and lamentable stood + To maze and beckon him astray, + But through the grey wrath of the wood + He held right on his bitter way. + + When he came where the trees were thin, + The moon sat waiting there to see; + On her worn palm she laid her chin, + And laughed awhile in sober glee + To think how strong this knight had been. + + When he rode past the pallid lake, + The withered yellow stems of flags + Stood breast-high for his horse to break; + Lewd as the palsied lips of hags + The petals in the moon did shake. + + When he came by the mountain wall, + The snow upon the heights looked down + And said, "The sight is pitiful. + The nostrils of his steed are brown + With frozen blood; and he will fall." + + The iron passes of the hills + With question were importunate; + And, but the sharp-tongued icy rills + Had grown for once compassionate, + The spiteful shades had had their wills. + + Just when the ache in breast and brain + And the frost smiting at his face + Had sealed his spirit up with pain, + He came out in a better place, + And morning lay across the plain. + + He saw the wet snails crawl and cling + On fern-stalks where the rime had run, + The careless birds went wing and wing, + And in the low smile of the sun + Life seemed almost a pleasant thing. + + Right on the panting charger swung + Through the bright depths of quiet grass; + The knight's lips moved as if they sung, + And through the peace there came to pass + The flattery of lute and tongue. + + From the mid-flowering of the mead + There swelled a sob of minstrelsy, + Faint sackbuts and the dreamy reed, + And plaintive lips of maids thereby, + And songs blown out like thistle seed. + + Forth from her maidens came the bride, + And as his loosened rein fell slack + He muttered, "In their throats they lied + Who said that I should ne'er win back + To kiss her lips before I died!" + + + + +SONG-FLOWER AND POPPY + + + I + + IN NEW YORK + + He plays the deuce with my writing time, + For the penny my sixth-floor neighbor throws; + He finds me proud of my pondered rhyme, + And he leaves me--well, God knows + It takes the shine from a tunester's line + When a little mate of the deathless Nine + Pipes up under your nose! + + For listen, there is his voice again, + Wistful and clear and piercing sweet. + Where did the boy find such a strain + To make a dead heart beat? + And how in the name of care can he bear + To jet such a fountain into the air + In this gray gulch of a street? + + Tuscan slopes or the Piedmontese? + Umbria under the Apennine? + South, where the terraced lemon-trees + Round rich Sorrento shine? + Venice moon on the smooth lagoon?-- + Where have I heard that aching tune, + That boyish throat divine? + + Beyond my roofs and chimney pots + A rag of sunset crumbles gray; + Below, fierce radiance hangs in clots + O'er the streams that never stay. + Shrill and high, newsboys cry + The worst of the city's infamy + For one more sordid day. + + But my desire has taken sail + For lands beyond, soft-horizoned: + Down languorous leagues I hold the trail, + From Marmalada, steeply throned + Above high pastures washed with light, + Where dolomite by dolomite + Looms sheer and spectral-coned, + + To purple vineyards looking south + On reaches of the still Tyrrhene; + Virgilian headlands, and the mouth + Of Tiber, where that ship put in + To take the dead men home to God, + Whereof Casella told the mode + To the great Florentine. + + Up stairways blue with flowering weed + I climb to hill-hung Bergamo; + All day I watch the thunder breed + Golden above the springs of Po, + Till the voice makes sure its wavering lure, + And by Assisi's portals pure + I stand, with heart bent low. + + O hear, how it blooms in the blear dayfall, + That flower of passionate wistful song! + How it blows like a rose by the iron wall + Of the city loud and strong. + How it cries "Nay, nay" to the worldling's way, + To the heart's clear dream how it whispers, "Yea; + Time comes, though the time is long." + + Beyond my roofs and chimney piles + Sunset crumbles, ragged, dire; + The roaring street is hung for miles + With fierce electric fire. + Shrill and high, newsboys cry + The gross of the planet's destiny + Through one more sullen gyre. + + Stolidly the town flings down + Its lust by day for its nightly lust; + Who does his given stint, 't is known, + Shall have his mug and crust.-- + Too base of mood, too harsh of blood, + Too stout to seize the grosser good, + Too hungry after dust! + + O hark! how it blooms in the falling dark, + That flower of mystical yearning song: + Sad as a hermit thrush, as a lark + Uplifted, glad, and strong. + Heart, we have chosen the better part! + Save sacred love and sacred art + Nothing is good for long. + + + II + + AT ASSISI + + Before St. Francis' burg I wait, + Frozen in spirit, faint with dread; + His presence stands within the gate, + Mild splendor rings his head. + Gently he seems to welcome me: + Knows he not I am quick, and he + Is dead, and priest of the dead? + + I turn away from the gray church pile; + I dare not enter, thus undone: + Here in the roadside grass awhile + I will lie and watch for the sun. + Too purged of earth's good glee and strife, + Too drained of the honied lusts of life, + Was the peace these old saints won! + + And lo! how the laughing earth says no + To the fear that mastered me; + To the blood that aches and clamors so + How it whispers "Verily." + Here by my side, marvelous-dyed, + Bold stray-away from the courts of pride, + A poppy-bell flaunts free. + + St. Francis sleeps upon his hill, + And a poppy flower laughs down his creed; + Triumphant light her petals spill, + His shrines are dim indeed. + Men build and plan, but the soul of man, + Coming with haughty eyes to scan, + Feels richer, wilder need. + + How long, old builder Time, wilt bide + Till at thy thrilling word + Life's crimson pride shall have to bride + The spirit's white accord, + Within that gate of good estate + Which thou must build us soon or late, + Hoar workman of the Lord? + + + + +HOW THE MEAD-SLAVE WAS SET FREE + + + Nay, move not! Sit just as you are, + Under the carved wings of the chair. + The hearth-glow sifting through your hair + Turns every dim pearl to a star + Dawn-drowned in floods of brightening air. + + I have been thinking of that night + When all the wide hall burst to blaze + With spears caught up, thrust fifty ways + To find my throat, while I lay white + And sick with joy, to think the days + + I dragged out in your hateful North-- + A slave, constrained at banquet's need + To fill the black bull's horns with mead + For drunken sea-thieves--were henceforth + Cast from me as a poison weed, + + While Death thrust roses in my hands! + But you, who knew the flowers he had + Were no such roses ripe and glad + As nod in my far southern lands, + But pallid things to make men sad, + + Put back the spears with one calm hand, + Raised on your knee my wondering head, + Wiped off the trickling drops of red + From my torn forehead with a strand + Of your bright loosened hair, and said: + + "Sea-rovers! would you kill a skald? + This boy has hearkened Odin sing + Unto the clang and winnowing + Of raven's wings. His heart is thralled + To music, as to some strong king; + + "And this great thraldom works disdain + Of lesser serving. Once release + These bonds he bears, and he may please + To give you guerdon sweet as rain + To sailors calmed in thirsty seas." + + Then, having soothed their rage to rest, + You led me to old Skagi's throne, + Where yellow gold rims in the stone; + And in my arms, against my breast, + Thrust his great harp of walrus bone. + + How they came crowding, tunes on tunes! + How good it was to touch the strings + And feel them thrill like happy things + That flutter from the gray cocoons + On hedge rows, in your gradual springs! + + All grew a blur before my sight, + As when the stealthy white fog slips + At noonday on the staggering ships; + I saw one single spot of light, + Your white face, with its eager lips-- + + And so I sang to that. O thou + Who liftedst me from out my shame! + Wert thou content when Skagi came, + Put his own chaplet on my brow, + And bent and kissed his own harp-frame? + + + + +A DIALOGUE IN PURGATORY + + + _Poi disse un altro.... "Io son Buonconte: + Giovanna o altri non ha di me cura; + Per ch' io vo tra costor con bassa fronte."_ + + _Seguito il terzo spirito al secondo, + "Ricorditi di me, che son la Pia; + Siena mi fe, disfecemi Maremma. + Salsi colui che inannellata pria + Disposata m' avea colla sua gemma."_ + + PURGATORIO, CANTO V. + + + I + + BUONCONTE + + Sister, the sun has ceased to shine; + By companies of twain and trine + Stars gather; from the sea + The moon comes momently. + + On all the roads that ring our hill + The sighing and the hymns are still: + It is our time to gain + Strength for to-morrow's pain. + + Yet still your eyes are wholly bent + Upon the way that Virgil went, + Following Sordello's sign, + With the dark Florentine. + + Night now has barred their upward track: + There where the mountain-side folds back + And in the Vale of Flowers + The Princes count their hours + + Those three friends sit in the clear starlight + With the green-clad angels left and right,-- + Soul made by wakeful soul + More earnest for the goal. + + So let us, sister, though our place + Is barren of that Valley's grace, + Sit hand in hand, till we + Seem rich as those friends be. + + + II + + LA PIA + + Brother, 't were sweet your hand to feel + In mine; it would a little heal + The shame that makes me poor, + And dumb at the heart's core. + + But where our spirits felt Love's dearth, + Down on the green and pleasant earth, + Remains the fleshly shell, + Love's garment tangible. + + So now our hands have naught to say: + Heart unto heart some other way + Must utter forth its pain, + Must glee or comfort gain. + + Ah, no! For souls like you and me + Some comfort waits, but never glee: + Not yours the young men's singing + In Heaven, at the bride-bringing; + + Not mine, beside God's living waters, + Dance of the marriageable daughters, + The laughter and the ease + Beneath His summer trees. + + + III + + BUONCONTE + + In fair Arezzo's halls and bowers + My Giovanna speeds her hours + Delicately, nor cares + To shorten by her prayers + + My days upon this mount of ruth: + If those who come from earth speak sooth, + Though still I call and call, + She does not heed at all. + + And if aright your words I read + At Dante's passing, he you wed + Dipped from the drains of Hell + The marriage hydromel. + + O therefore, while the moon intense + Holds yonder dreaming sea suspense, + And round the shadowy coasts + Gather the wistful ghosts, + + Let us sit quiet all the night, + And wonder, wonder on the light + Worn by those spirits fair + Whom Love has not left bare. + + + IV + + LA PIA + + Even as theirs, the chance was mine + To meet and mate beneath Love's sign, + To feel in soul and sense + The solemn influence + + Which, breathed upon a man or maid, + Maketh forever unafraid, + Though life with death unite + That spirit to affright,-- + + Which lifts the changed heart high up, + As the priest lifts the changed cup, + Boldens the feet to pace + Before God's proving face. + + O just a thought beyond the blue + The wings of the dove yearned down and through! + Even now I hear and hear + How near they were, how near! + + I murmur not. Rightly disgraced, + The weak hand stretched abroad in haste + For gifts barely allowed + The tacit, strong, and proud. + + But therefore was I so intent + To watch where Dante onward went + With the Roman spirit pure + And the grave troubadour, + + Because my mind was busy then + With the loves that wait those gentle men: + Cunizza one; and one + Bice, above the sun; + + And for the other, more and less + Than woman's near-felt tenderness, + A million voices dim + Praising him, praising him. + + + V + + BUONCONTE + + The waves that wash this mountain's base + Were crimson in the sun's low rays, + When, singing high and fast, + An angel downward passed, + + To bid some patient soul arise + And make it fair for Paradise; + And upward, so attended, + That soul its journey wended; + + Yet you, who in these lower rings + Wait for the coming of such wings, + Turned not your eyes to view + Whether they came for you, + + But watched, but watched great Virgil stayed + Greeting Sordello's couchant shade, + Which to salute him rose + Like lion from its pose; + + While humbly by those lords of song + Stood he whose living limbs are strong + To mount where Mary's bliss + Is shed on Beatrice. + + On him your gaze was fastened, more + Than on those great names Mantua bore; + Your eyes hold the distress + Still, of that wistfulness. + + Yea, fit he seemed much love to rouse! + His pilgrim lips and iron brows + Grew like a woman's, dim, + While you held speech with him; + + And troubled came his mortal breath + The while I told him of my death; + His looks were changed and wan + When Virgil led him on. + + + VI + + LA PIA + + E'er since Casella came this morn, + Newly o'er yonder ocean borne, + Bound upward for the choir + Who purge themselves in fire, + + And from that meinie he was of + Stayed backward at my cry of love, + To speak awhile with me + Of life and Tuscany, + + And, parting, told us how e'er day + Was done, Dante would come this way, + With mortal feet, to find + His sweetheart, sky-enshrined,-- + + E'er since Casella spoke such news + My heart has lain in a golden muse, + Picturing him and her, + What starry ones they were. + + And now the moon sheds its compassion + O'er the hushed mount, I try to fashion + The manner of their meeting, + Their few first words of greeting. + + O well for them, with clasped hands, + Unshamed amid the heavenly bands! + They hear no pitying pair + Of old-time lovers there + + Look down and say in an undertone, + "This latest-come, who comes alone, + Was still alone on earth, + And lonely from his birth." + + Nor feel a sudden whisper mar + God's weather, "Dost thou see the scar + That spirit hideth so? + Who dealt her such a blow + + "That God can hardly wipe it out?" + And answer, "She gave love, no doubt, + To one who saw not fit + To set much store by it." + + + + +THE DAGUERREOTYPE + + + This, then, is she, + My mother as she looked at seventeen, + When she first met my father. Young incredibly, + Younger than spring, without the faintest trace + Of disappointment, weariness, or tean + Upon the childlike earnestness and grace + Of the waiting face. + These close-wound ropes of pearl + (Or common beads made precious by their use) + Seem heavy for so slight a throat to wear; + But the low bodice leaves the shoulders bare + And half the glad swell of the breast, for news + That now the woman stirs within the girl. + And yet, + Even so, the loops and globes + Of beaten gold + And jet + Hung, in the stately way of old, + From the ears' drooping lobes + On festivals and Lord's-day of the week, + Show all too matron-sober for the cheek,-- + Which, now I look again, is perfect child, + Or no--or no--'t is girlhood's very self, + Moulded by some deep, mischief-ridden elf + So meek, so maiden mild, + But startling the close gazer with the sense + Of passions forest-shy and forest-wild, + And delicate delirious merriments. + + As a moth beats sidewise + And up and over, and tries + To skirt the irresistible lure + Of the flame that has him sure, + My spirit, that is none too strong to-day, + Flutters and makes delay,-- + Pausing to wonder on the perfect lips, + Lifting to muse upon the low-drawn hair + And each hid radiance there, + But powerless to stem the tide-race bright, + The vehement peace which drifts it toward the light + Where soon--ah, now, with cries + Of grief and giving-up unto its gain + It shrinks no longer nor denies, + But dips + Hurriedly home to the exquisite heart of pain,-- + And all is well, for I have seen them plain, + The unforgettable, the unforgotten eyes! + Across the blinding gush of these good tears + They shine as in the sweet and heavy years + When by her bed and chair + We children gathered jealously to share + The sunlit aura breathing myrrh and thyme, + Where the sore-stricken body made a clime + Gentler than May and pleasanter than rhyme, + Holier and more mystical than prayer. + + God, how thy ways are strange! + That this should be, even this, + The patient head + Which suffered years ago the dreary change! + That these so dewy lips should be the same + As those I stooped to kiss + And heard my harrowing half-spoken name, + A little ere the one who bowed above her, + Our father and her very constant lover, + Rose stoical, and we knew that she was dead. + Then I, who could not understand or share + His antique nobleness, + Being unapt to bear + The insults which time flings us for our proof, + Fled from the horrible roof + Into the alien sunshine merciless, + The shrill satiric fields ghastly with day, + Raging to front God in his pride of sway + And hurl across the lifted swords of fate + That ringed Him where He sat + My puny gage of scorn and desolate hate + Which somehow should undo Him, after all! + That this girl face, expectant, virginal, + Which gazes out at me + Boon as a sweetheart, as if nothing loth + (Save for the eyes, with other presage stored) + To pledge me troth, + And in the kingdom where the heart is lord + Take sail on the terrible gladness of the deep + Whose winds the gray Norns keep,-- + That this should be indeed + The flesh which caught my soul, a flying seed, + Out of the to and fro + Of scattering hands where the seedsman Mage, + Stooping from star to star and age to age + Sings as he sows! + That underneath this breast + Nine moons I fed + Deep of divine unrest, + While over and over in the dark she said, + "Blessed! but not as happier children blessed"-- + That this should be + Even she.... + God, how with time and change + Thou makest thy footsteps strange! + Ah, now I know + They play upon me, and it is not so. + Why, 't is a girl I never saw before, + A little thing to flatter and make weep, + To tease until her heart is sore, + Then kiss and clear the score; + A gypsy run-the-fields, + A little liberal daughter of the earth, + Good for what hour of truancy and mirth + The careless season yields + Hither-side the flood o' the year and yonder of the neap; + Then thank you, thanks again, and twenty light good-byes.-- + O shrined above the skies, + Frown not, clear brow, + Darken not, holy eyes! + Thou knowest well I know that it is thou! + Only to save me from such memories + As would unman me quite, + Here in this web of strangeness caught + And prey to troubled thought + Do I devise + These foolish shifts and slight; + Only to shield me from the afflicting sense + Of some waste influence + Which from this morning face and lustrous hair + Breathes on me sudden ruin and despair. + In any other guise, + With any but this girlish depth of gaze, + Your coming had not so unsealed and poured + The dusty amphoras where I had stored + The drippings of the winepress of my days. + I think these eyes foresee, + Now in their unawakened virgin time, + Their mother's pride in me, + And dream even now, unconsciously, + Upon each soaring peak and sky-hung lea + You pictured I should climb. + Broken premonitions come, + Shapes, gestures visionary, + Not as once to maiden Mary + The manifest angel with fresh lilies came + Intelligibly calling her by name; + But vanishingly, dumb, + Thwarted and bright and wild, + As heralding a sin-defiled, + Earth-encumbered, blood-begotten, passionate man-child, + Who yet should be a trump of mighty call + Blown in the gates of evil kings + To make them fall; + Who yet should be a sword of flame before + The soul's inviolate door + To beat away the clang of hellish wings; + Who yet should be a lyre + Of high unquenchable desire + In the day of little things.-- + Look, where the amphoras, + The yield of many days, + Trod by my hot soul from the pulp of self + And set upon the shelf + In sullen pride + The Vineyard-master's tasting to abide-- + O mother mine! + Are these the bringings-in, the doings fine, + Of him you used to praise? + Emptied and overthrown + The jars lie strown. + These, for their flavor duly nursed, + Drip from the stopples vinegar accursed; + These, I thought honied to the very seal, + Dry, dry,--a little acid meal, + A pinch of mouldy dust, + Sole leavings of the amber-mantling must; + These, rude to look upon, + But flasking up the liquor dearest won, + Through sacred hours and hard, + With watching and with wrestlings and with grief, + Even of these, of these in chief, + The stale breath sickens, reeking from the shard. + Nothing is left. Ay, how much less than naught! + What shall be said or thought + Of the slack hours and waste imaginings, + The cynic rending of the wings, + Known to that froward, that unreckoning heart + Whereof this brewage was the precious part, + Treasured and set away with furtive boast? + O dear and cruel ghost, + Be merciful, be just! + See, I was yours and I am in the dust. + Then look not so, as if all things were well! + Take your eyes from me, leave me to my shame, + Or else, if gaze they must, + Steel them with judgment, darken them with blame; + But by the ways of light ineffable + You bade me go and I have faltered from, + By the low waters moaning out of hell + Whereto my feet have come, + Lay not on me these intolerable + Looks of rejoicing love, of pride, of happy trust! + + Nothing dismayed? + By all I say and all I hint not made + Afraid? + O then, stay by me! Let + These eyes afflict me, cleanse me, keep me yet. + Brave eyes and true! + See how the shriveled heart, that long has lain + Dead to delight and pain, + Stirs, and begins again + To utter pleasant life, as if it knew + The wintry days were through; + As if in its awakening boughs it heard + The quick, sweet-spoken bird. + Strong eyes and brave, + Inexorable to save! + + + + + +--------------------------------------------------------------------+ + | | + | Transcriber's Note: | + | | + | | + | Spacing for contractions has been retained to match the original | + | 1901 text. | + | | + | Both "gray" and "grey" are used in this text, as per the original. | + | | + +--------------------------------------------------------------------+ + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Gloucester Moors and Other Poems, by +William Vaughn Moody + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLOUCESTER MOORS AND OTHER POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 27912.txt or 27912.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/9/1/27912/ + +Produced by David Garcia, C. 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