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diff --git a/33552-h/33552-h.htm b/33552-h/33552-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..702537d --- /dev/null +++ b/33552-h/33552-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2524 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of Acanthus and Wild Grape, by F. O. Call +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; } + +P.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Acanthus and Wild Grape, by F. O. Call + +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: Acanthus and Wild Grape + +Author: F. O. Call + +Release Date: August 27, 2010 [EBook #33552] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ACANTHUS AND WILD GRAPE *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +Acanthus and Wild Grape +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +By +</H4> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +F. O. Call +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +Author of "In a Belgian Garden" +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +McCLELLAND & STEWART +<BR> +Publishers — Toronto +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H5 ALIGN="center"> +COPYRIGHT, CANADA, 1920 +<BR> +BY MCCLELLAND & STEWART, LIMITED, TORONTO +</H5> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P STYLE="margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%"> +NOTE: Many of these poems were first published in Canadian Magazines, +and the Author wishes to thank the publishers of the <I>University +Magazine</I>, the <I>Canadian Magazine</I>, the <I>Westminster</I>, the <I>Canadian +Bookman</I>, <I>Canada West</I>, and the <I>Mitre</I> for permission to reprint. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS +</H2> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +ACANTHUS +</H3> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#foreword">Foreword</A><BR> +<A HREF="#acanthus">Acanthus</A><BR> +<A HREF="#gods">The Old Gods</A><BR> +<A HREF="#obelisk">The Obelisk</A><BR> +<A HREF="#graybirds">Gray Birds</A><BR> +<A HREF="#tea">After Tea</A><BR> +<A HREF="#cloister">Through a Long Cloister</A><BR> +<A HREF="#vespers">Cathedral Vespers</A><BR> +<A HREF="#lotus">The Lotus-Worshippers</A><BR> +<A HREF="#mast">The Broken Mast</A><BR> +<A HREF="#bruges">The Lace-maker of Bruges</A><BR> +<A HREF="#rheims">Rheims</A><BR> +<A HREF="#calvary">Calvary</A><BR> +<A HREF="#west">Gone West</A><BR> +<A HREF="#peace">Peace</A><BR> +<A HREF="#treasure">Hidden Treasure</A><BR> +<A HREF="#sunset">A River Sunset</A><BR> +<A HREF="#madonna">The Madonna</A><BR> +<A HREF="#idol">An Idol in a Shop Window</A><BR> +<A HREF="#forest">In a Forest</A><BR> +<A HREF="#bowl">The Golden Bowl</A><BR> +<A HREF="#mountain">On a Swiss Mountain</A><BR> +<A HREF="#garden">The Nun's Garden</A><BR> +<A HREF="#summertime">You Went Away in Summertime</A><BR> +<A HREF="#poet">To a Modern Poet</A><BR> +<A HREF="#mystic">The Mystic</A><BR> +<A HREF="#episcopi">Ad Episcopi Collegium</A><BR> +<A HREF="#song">A Song of the Homeland</A><BR> +<A HREF="#mirror">The Mirror</A><BR> +<A HREF="#littlesong">I Made a Little Song</A><BR> +<A HREF="#birds">Birds</A><BR> +<A HREF="#bluebird">The Bluebird's Wing</A><BR> +<A HREF="#answer">The Answer</A><BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +WILD GRAPE +</H3> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#grape">Wild Grape</A><BR> +<A HREF="#statue">To a Greek Statue</A><BR> +<A HREF="#omnipresence">Omnipresence</A><BR> +<A HREF="#cathedral">My Cathedral</A><BR> +<A HREF="#foundry">The Foundry</A><BR> +<A HREF="#swiss">Swiss Sketches—</A><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 2em">(I) After Sunset on Jura</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1.5em">(II) Lucerne</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">(III) Lake Leman</SPAN><BR> +<A HREF="#visions">Visions—</A><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">I, II, III, IV</SPAN><BR> +<A HREF="#prints">Japanese Prints—</A><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 2em">(I) The Lady with the Yellow Fan</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1.5em">(II) Caged Birds</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">(III) Wisteria</SPAN><BR> +<A HREF="#palace">A Venetian Palace</A><BR> +<A HREF="#iris">Japanese Iris</A><BR> +<A HREF="#lovesongs">Japanese Love-Songs</A><BR> +<A HREF="#jade">Cups of Jade</A><BR> +<A HREF="#loon">The Loon's Cry</A><BR> +<A HREF="#prayer">Prayer</A><BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="foreword"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +FOREWORD +</H3> + +<P> +Poetry has been defined as "Thought touched by Emotion," and I know no +better working definition, although no doubt more scientific and +accurate ones could be found. The best poets of all ages seem to have +had this ideal plainly before them, whether consciously or +unconsciously, and I cannot see how modern poets can dispense with +either thought or emotion if they are to write real poetry. For one is +not enough without the other. Take for example the first lines of +Master's "Spoon River Anthology." +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Where are Elmer, Herman, Bert, Tom and Charley,<BR> +The weak of will, the strong of arm, the clown, the boozer, the fighter?<BR> +All, all, are sleeping on the hill,<BR> +One passed in a fever,<BR> +One was buried in a mine,<BR> +One was killed in a brawl,<BR> +One died in a jail,<BR> +One fell from a bridge toiling for children and wife,<BR> +All, all are sleeping on the hill."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +This sounds tragic indeed, but seems to have aroused no emotion on the +part of the poet and excites none in his readers. In fact, through the +whole poem, emotion is held in check with a strong hand, and only +allowed to show itself in some distorted cynicism. +</P> + +<P> +Let us take an example of the opposite extreme where emotion, whether +real or fancied, has stifled thought. +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +O World! O Men! O Sun! to you I cry,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">I raise my song defiant, proud, victorious,</SPAN><BR> +And send this clarion ringing down the sky:<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">"I love, I love, I love, and Love is glorious!"</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The definition chosen need not hamper the most "modern" poet nor +restrict his choice of subject, for there are few things that cannot +awaken both thought and emotion if looked at in the right way. An iron +foundry and a Venetian palace have immense possibilities of arousing +both elements, and perhaps the foundry has the greater power. +</P> + +<P> +The modern poet has joined the great army of seekers after freedom, +that is, he refuses to observe the old conventions in regard to his +subjects and his method of treating them. He refuses to be bound by +the old restrictions of rhyme and metre, and goes far afield in search +of material on which to work. The boldest of the new school would +throw overboard all the old forms and write only in free verse, rythmic +prose or whatever he may wish to call it. The conservative, on the +other hand, clings stubbornly to the old conventions, and will have +nothing to do with vers libre or anything that savours of it. +</P> + +<P> +But vers libre, like the motor-car and aeroplane, has come to stay +whether we like it or no. It is not really a new thing, although put +to a new use, for some of the greatest poetry of the Hebrews and other +Oriental nations was written in a form of free verse. At the present +time the number of those using it as medium of expression is steadily +increasing. In France, Italy, the United States, and even in +conservative England, the increase in the number of poems recently +published in this form has been remarkable. The modernists hail this +tendency as the dawn of a new era of freedom, while the conservatives +see poetry falling into decadence and ruin. The right view of the case +probably lies, as it generally does, between the extremes. There is +much beauty to be found in walking in beaten paths or rambling in +fenced-in fields and woods, but perhaps one who sails the skies in an +aeroplane may see visions and feel emotions that never come to those +who wander on foot along the old paths of the woods and fields below. +</P> + +<P> +But it seems to me that it matters little in what form a poem is cast +so long as the form suits the subject, and does not hinder the freedom +of the poet's thought and emotion. And I am old-fashioned enough to +expect that beauty will be revealed as well. Out of this union of +thought, emotion and beauty, we could scarcely fail to get strength +also, which term many modern poets use to cover an ugliness that is +often nothing but disguised weakness. But form alone will not make +even a semblance of poetry as the following lines, unimpeachable in +form, from Sir Walter Scott plainly show: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Then filled with pity and remorse,<BR> +He sorrowed o'er the expiring horse."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Nor can I conceive of more beautiful poetry than the following, by +Richard Aldington, although rhyme and regular metre are absent: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"And we turn from the music of old,<BR> +And the hills that we loved and the meads,<BR> +And we turn from the fiery day,<BR> +And the lips that were over-sweet;<BR> +For silently<BR> +Brushing the fields with red-shod feet,<BR> +With purple robe<BR> +Searing the grass as with a sudden flame,<BR> +Death,<BR> +Thou hast come upon us."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +And this brings me to the real purpose of this Foreword—the +explanation of the title of this book. On the hills and plains of +Southern Europe there grows a plant with beautiful indented leaves—the +Acanthus. The Greek artist saw the beauty of these leaves, and, having +arranged and conventionalized them, carved them upon the capitals of +the columns which supported the roofs and pediments of his temples and +public buildings. Since that time, wherever pillars are used in +architecture, one does not have far to look to find acanthus leaves +carved upon them. In the Roman Forum, in Byzantine churches like Saint +Sophia or Saint Mark's, in the Mediæval Cathedrals of France. England +and Spain, in the Renaissance buildings scattered throughout the world, +and even in the most modern office-buildings of our great cities, this +decoration of acanthus is to be found. And the reason is not far to +seek. +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"A thing of beauty ... will never<BR> +Pass into nothingness."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +I recently saw a picture of a Corinthian column of a ruined Greek +temple standing against the sky, and broken fragments of its fellows +lying at its foot, with wild vines climbing over them. And who could +say that one was more beautiful than the other? The carved acanthus +leaves upon the column were beautiful because of their symmetry, +harmony of light and shade and clear-cut outline, but the wild grape +was perhaps more beautiful still in its natural freedom. +</P> + +<P> +So in this little book will be found some poems in the old conventional +forms and some others in free rhythms, in which the author has tried in +a humble way, to mingle elements of thought, emotion and beauty. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +F.O.C. +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +BISHOP'S COLLEGE<BR> + LENNOXVILLE, QUE.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="acanthus"></A> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +ACANTHUS +</H2> + +<BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +ACANTHUS<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Beneath the sculptured marble portico<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Of a Greek temple, white against the sky,</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Carved capitals on pillars rising high</SPAN><BR> +Gleam like great blossoms in the noonday's glow.<BR> +Proudly each column in the stately row<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Its crown of beauty wears; the sunbeams die</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Among acanthus leaves that nestling lie</SPAN><BR> +Where they were carved two thousand years ago.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Eternal Beauty, thou wilt not be bound<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">By time-forged fetters, but dost find a home</SPAN><BR> +Where Gothic pillars rise acanthus-crowned<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Beneath gray northern spires or southern dome,</SPAN><BR> +Eternal Beauty, Everlasting Truth,<BR> +Thou hast the secret of undying youth.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="gods"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE OLD GODS<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Old gods are dead; their broken shrines are lying<BR> +Profaned with blood and trampled to the ground;<BR> +I see lost beauty with each sunset dying,<BR> +I hear lost music in each echoing sound.<BR> +Old gods are dead; triumphant stands the scoffer<BR> +Beside old altars where our offerings lay,—<BR> +False gods perhaps,—but what have you to offer<BR> +Who batter down old temples in a day?<BR> +Old gods are dead; but still the sunset lingers,<BR> +The moonlight still its store of treasure yields,<BR> +Dawn touches darkness with its magic fingers,<BR> +And bluebirds wing their flight across green fields,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">The sea-tides ebb and flow, stars shine above,</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">And human hearts still long for human love.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="obelisk"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE OBELISK<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +(<I>Place de la Concorde, Paris</I>)<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +There rise the palace walls as fair to-day,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">As when with arms and banners gleaming bright,</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">The pageantry of royal pomp and might</SPAN><BR> +Passed through the guarded gates and went its way.<BR> +The blue, translucent beams of morning play<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">On arch triumphal, veiled in silver light;</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">And here, where blind red fury reached its height,</SPAN><BR> +An ancient column rises grim and gray.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Slumbering in mystic sleep it seems to be,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">And dreaming dreams of Egypt long ago,</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Unmindful of the ceaseless ebb and flow</SPAN><BR> +About its feet of life's unresting sea;<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">But 'mid the roar, I hear it murmur low:</SPAN><BR> +Poor fools, they know not all is vanity!<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="graybirds"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +GRAY BIRDS<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Gray birds of passage from another sky<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Are those long hours I sit and wait for you;</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Borne by strong wings across the sunlit blue</SPAN><BR> +They go—dark flecks of shadow drifting by.<BR> +Sometimes they bring a song—a joyful cry,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">As morn and eve your coming used to do;</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">But sometimes plaintive notes of sorrow too,</SPAN><BR> +Amid the joyful echoes wail and die.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Then as I watch the beating of the wings<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">That seek a haven by far northern lakes,</SPAN><BR> +And catch the note of some bird-heart that sings,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Or hear the plaintive cry of one that breaks,</SPAN><BR> +I turn once more to half-forgotten things,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">And the old longing in my heart awakes.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="tea"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +AFTER TEA<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +See how the agèd trembling hands of Day<BR> +Spill over the white cloth and tea-cups blue,<BR> +Red wine from his last goblet poured away;<BR> +So let me by the window sit with you,<BR> +And watch the sun drop down behind the trees,<BR> +Or gleam across the snow—a crimson bar;<BR> +For in still, mystic moments such as these<BR> +Down unknown by-ways we may wander far.<BR> +The crimson turns to purple on the snow,<BR> +The orange sky grown gray, and glimmering lights<BR> +Of scattered star-lamps through the darkness glow;<BR> +But neither Night nor Death my soul affrights,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">For clear there gleams, all earthly dark above,</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">The ever-burning star-lamp of your love.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="cloister"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THROUGH A LONG CLOISTER<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Through a long cloister where the gloom of night<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Lingers in sombre silence all the day,</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Across worn pavements crumbling to decay</SPAN><BR> +We wandered, blindly groping for the light.<BR> +A door swung wide, and splendour infinite<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Streamed through the painted glass, and drove away</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">The lingering gloom from choir, nave and bay,</SPAN><BR> +And a great minster's glory met our sight.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Blindly along life's cloister do we grope,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">We seek a gate that leads to life immortal,</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 2em">We see it loom before us dim and vast,</SPAN><BR> +And doubt's dark shadow's veil the light of hope:<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">When lo, Death's hand flings wide the sombre portal,</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 2em">And light unfading meets our gaze at last.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="vespers"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CATHEDRAL VESPERS<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The gloom of night creeps down the shadowy choir,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">But through the great rose-window's gorgeous bloom</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Red shafts of sunset fall upon a tomb,</SPAN><BR> +And makes the gray stone burn—a crimson pyre.<BR> +The creeping tide of darkness rises higher,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Tall ghostly pillars through the shadows loom,</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">And from dim altars through the minster's gloom,</SPAN><BR> +Pale yellow gleams the guttering candles' fire.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Sudden from out the shadow streams a song,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">—A sword of sound that cleaves the dark in twain—</SPAN><BR> +And rings and glows triumphant, swift and strong,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Victorious over sorrow, death and pain;</SPAN><BR> +And golden visions pass before my soul<BR> +As through dim arches the last echoes roll.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="lotus"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE LOTUS-WORSHIPPERS<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +With silent feet in trailing robes of white<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">They crept from shadowy temples, far beyond</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Tall bamboo groves, to seek the lotus-pond</SPAN><BR> +That gleamed like some dark jewel through the night<BR> +Upon great Buddha's breast. The crimson height<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Echoed their chanting as the morning dawned,</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">And each bud, breaking from its silver bond,</SPAN><BR> +Lifted its cup to catch the golden light.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And here beside this mist-bound northern lake,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Encircled by tall spires of Gothic firs,</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">The ancient beauty-worship wakes and stirs</SPAN><BR> +Within me, as I watch the morning break<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Upon white lily-buds, whose lips agleam</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Whisper the secret of the world-old dream.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="mast"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE BROKEN MAST<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +It lies alone upon a tide-swept shore,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Above a crescent beach of silver sand,</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Flung high upon the rocks by some great hand</SPAN><BR> +Stretched from the dark, whose fingers clutched and tore<BR> +The main-mast from the ship. Above it soar<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">White gulls, and near in wild-rose tangle stand</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Old twisted pines, where song-birds of the land</SPAN><BR> +Mingle soft singing with the ocean's roar.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And through long summer days it dreams old dreams<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Of far-off southern forests, and the sighing</SPAN><BR> +Of wind-blown boughs above bird-haunted streams;<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">But when the storm sets the white spindrift flying</SPAN><BR> +It thrills and trembles with the old unrest,<BR> +And shakes the wild-rose petals from its breast.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="bruges"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE LACE-MAKER OF BRUGES<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Her age-worn hands upon her apron lie<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Idle and still. Against the sunset glow</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Tall poplars stand, and silent barges go</SPAN><BR> +Along the green canal that wanders by.<BR> +A lean, red finger pointing to the sky,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">The spire of Notre Dame. Above a row</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Of dim, gray arches where the sunbeams die,</SPAN><BR> +The ancient belfry guards the square below.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +One August eve she stood in that same square<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">And gazed and listened, proud beneath her tears,</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 2em">To see her soldier passing down the street.</SPAN><BR> +To-night the beat of drums and trumpets' blare<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">With bursts of fiendish music smite her ears,</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 2em">And mingle with the tread of trampling feet.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +AUGUST, 1915.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="rheims"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +RHEIMS<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +In royal splendour rose the house of prayer,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Its mystic gloom arched over by the flight</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Of soaring vault; above the nave's dim night</SPAN><BR> +Rich gleamed the painted windows wondrous fair.<BR> +Sweet chimes and chanting mingled in the air;<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Blue clouds of incense dimmed the vaulted height;</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">And on the altar, like a beacon light,</SPAN><BR> +The gold cross glittered in the candles' glare.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +To-day no bells, no choirs, no incense cloud,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">For thou, O Rheims art prey of evil powers;</SPAN><BR> +But with a voice a thousand times more loud<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Than siege-guns echoing round thy shattered towers,</SPAN><BR> +Do thy mute bells to all the world proclaim<BR> +Thy martyred glory and thy foeman's shame.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +JUNE, 1916.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="calvary"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CALVARY<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The women stood and watched while thick, black night<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Enclosed the awful tragedy. Afar</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Three crosses stood, against a single bar</SPAN><BR> +Of crimson-glowing, black-encircled light.<BR> +No hint of Easter dawn. In all the height<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Of that dark heaven, not a single star</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">To whisper;—Love and Life the victors are.</SPAN><BR> +It seemed to them that wrong had conquered right.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +O ye who watch and wait, the night is long.<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">A curtain of spun fire and woven gloom</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 2em">Across the mighty tragedy is drawn.</SPAN><BR> +But soon your ears shall hear a triumph song,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">And golden light shall touch each sacred tomb,</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 2em">And voices shout at last—The Dawn! The Dawn.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +AUGUST, 1916.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="west"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +GONE WEST<BR> +</H3> + +<P STYLE="margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%"> +<I>Dedicated to Lieutenant Rodolphe Lemieux, killed in action August 29, +1918.</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +I do not think of them—our glorious dead—<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">As laying tired heads upon the breast</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Of a kind mother to be lulled to rest;</SPAN><BR> +I do not see them in a narrow bed<BR> +Of alien earth by their own blood dyed red,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">But see in their own simple phrase—Gone West—</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">The words of knights upon a holy quest,</SPAN><BR> +Who saw the light and followed where it led.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Gone West! Scarred warrior hosts go marching by,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Their longing faces turned to greet the light</SPAN><BR> +That glows and burns upon the western sky.<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Leaving behind the darkness of the night,</SPAN><BR> +The long day over and the battle won,<BR> +They seek for rest beyond the setting sun.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="peace"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +PEACE<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Now Peace at last is hovering o'er the world<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">On silver wings, and golden trumpets blow.</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Home from the long crusade the warriors go,—</SPAN><BR> +Victorious knights with banners wide unfurled,<BR> +Bow down your head, for these have passed where swirled<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Great tides of darkness ebbing too and fro;</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Their eyes have seen, 'mid fiery tempests' glow,</SPAN><BR> +How youth at Death its dauntless challenge hurled.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And these are they who saw the Holy Grail,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Brimming with youthful blood like ruddy wine</SPAN><BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Poured out in sacrifice. The light divine</SPAN><BR> +Before whose awful glow they did not quail<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Now beckons us; and shall our footsteps fail</SPAN><BR> +To follow where they set the blood-stained sign?<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +NOVEMBER, 1918.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="treasure"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +HIDDEN TREASURE<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +O sun-browned boy with the wondering eyes,<BR> +Do you see the blue of the summer skies?<BR> +Do you hear the song of the drowsy stream,<BR> +As it winds by the shore where the birches gleam?<BR> +Then come, come away<BR> +From the shadowy bay,<BR> +And we'll drift with the stream where the rapids play;<BR> +For we are two pirates, fierce and bold,<BR> +And we'll capture the hoard of the morning's gold.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +A roving craft is our red canoe,<BR> +O pirate chief with the eyes of blue;<BR> +So hoist your flag with the skull on high,<BR> +And out we'll sail where the treasures lie.<BR> +For in days of old<BR> +Came pirates bold,<BR> +With a Spanish galleon's captured gold;<BR> +And their boat was wrecked on the river strand,<BR> +And its treasures strewn on the silver sand.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Now steady all as we dash along,<BR> +The rapids are swift but our paddles are strong;<BR> +And soon we'll drift with the water's flow<BR> +Where the treasure lies hid in the shallows below.<BR> +O, cool and dim,<BR> +'Neath its foam-flecked brim,<BR> +Is the pool where the swallows dip and skim;<BR> +So we'll plunge by the prow of our red canoe<BR> +For the treasure that lies in the quivering blue.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Now home once more to the shadowy bay,<BR> +For we've captured the gold of the summer's day,<BR> +And emeralds green from the banks along,<BR> +And silver bars from the white-throat's song.<BR> +No pirates bore<BR> +Such a glittering store<BR> +From the treasure ships of the days of yore,<BR> +As the spoils we have won on the shining stream,<BR> +While we drifted along in a golden dream.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="sunset"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A RIVER SUNSET<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Red sunlight fades from wood and town,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">The western sky is crimson-dyed,</SPAN><BR> +Gaunt shadow-ships drift silent down<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Upon the river's gleaming tide.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The hills' clear outlines melt away<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Or veil themselves in purple light,</SPAN><BR> +And burning thoughts that vexed the day<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Become fair visions of the night.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="madonna"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE MADONNA<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +She shivered and crouched in the immigrant shed<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">In the midst of the surging crowd;</SPAN><BR> +Her hands were warped with the years of toil,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">And her young form bent and bowed.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Her eyes looked forth with a frightened glance<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">At the throng that round her pressed;</SPAN><BR> +But her face was the face of the Mother of God<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">As she looked at the babe on her breast.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="idol"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +AN IDOL IN A SHOP WINDOW<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Old Lohan peers through the dusty glass,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">From a jumble of curios quaint and rare;</SPAN><BR> +And he watches the hurrying crowds that pass<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">The whole day long, through the ancient square.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Wrapped in his robe of gold and jade,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Here by the window he patiently waits</SPAN><BR> +For the sound that the gongs and the conches made,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">In the days of old at the temple gates.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +He heaves no sighs and he sheds no tears,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">For his heart is bronze, and he does not know</SPAN><BR> +That his temple has been for a thousand years<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">But a mound of dust where the bamboos grow.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +So here he sits through the nights and the days,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">And the sun goes up and down the sky;</SPAN><BR> +But he often looks with a wistful gaze<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">At the crowds that always pass him by.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And his eyes half closed in a mystic dream<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Of his poppy-land of long ago,</SPAN><BR> +Turn back to the shores of the sacred stream<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">And the kneeling throng he used to know.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +But he sometimes smiles as he sees the crowd<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Of human folks that pass him by;</SPAN><BR> +Then he wraps himself in his mystic shroud,—<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">And the sun once more goes down the sky.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="forest"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +IN A FOREST<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Silver birch and dusky pine,<BR> +Reaching up to find the light<BR> +From the forest's gloomy night,<BR> +From the thicket where entwine<BR> +Stunted shrub and creeping vine,<BR> +From the damp where witch-fire glows<BR> +And the poison fungus grows,<BR> +High you lift your heads, O trees,<BR> +To the kisses of the breeze,<BR> +To the far-off vaulted sky,<BR> +To the clouds that pass you by,<BR> +To the sun that shines on high.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +From the dusk of earthly night<BR> +Strive, O soul, to reach the light.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="bowl"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE GOLDEN BOWL<BR> +</H3> + +<P STYLE="margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%"> +<I>On seeing a picture of a boy gazing at a golden bowl which among +Eastern nations was a symbol of life.</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +In a dream he seems to lie<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Gazing at the golden bowl,</SPAN><BR> +Where dim visions passing by<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Whisper vaguely to his soul.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Restless phantoms come and go<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Crowned with cypress or with bay;</SPAN><BR> +Sad or merry, swift or slow,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Tread they down the winding way.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Still the pageant winds along,—<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Youth and age and love and lust,</SPAN><BR> +Till at last the motley throng<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Fades and crumbles into dust.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +All in vain upon the bowl<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Gaze the wondering, boyish eyes;</SPAN><BR> +He shall read its hidden scroll<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Only when it shattered lies.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +For a wondrous light shall gleam<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">From the scattered fragments born.</SPAN><BR> +Boy, dream on, for life's a dream,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Followed by a golden morn.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="mountain"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +ON A SWISS MOUNTAIN<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Lad, the mighty hills are calling,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Hills of promise gleaming bright,</SPAN><BR> +And the floods of sunshine falling<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Fill their deepest vales with light.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +There the young dawn's golden fire<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Beckons to a brighter day,</SPAN><BR> +Untrod paths of youth's desire,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Heights unconquered far away.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Steep and dark and spectre-haunted<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Winds the pathway to the height;</SPAN><BR> +Sturdy youth with heart undaunted<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Deems the toiling short and light.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Short or long, an easy Master,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Gives each tired toiler rest,</SPAN><BR> +Counts not failure or disaster<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">If the striving be the best.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Go lad, go, 'tis Life that calls you,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Mates of old must soothe their pain,</SPAN><BR> +Mindless of whate'er befalls you<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">If but honour still remain.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="garden"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE NUN'S GARDEN<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +They have made me a lovely garden<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">With walls that are rugged and gray;</SPAN><BR> +They have filled it with pinks and roses<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">And lilies that bloom but a day;</SPAN><BR> +But the walls are so high and frowning,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">And the paths are so smooth and straight,</SPAN><BR> +And even their smallest winding<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Leads straight to the chapel gate.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +I have planted a bed of pansies<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Along by the chapel wall,</SPAN><BR> +But though I have watered and weeded<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">They never have blossomed at all.</SPAN><BR> +The sunshine of God cannot fall there,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">For the chapel tower is too high;</SPAN><BR> +So under its cold, gray shadow<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">My poor little blossoms die.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The Mother of God—in marble—<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Gleams white where the willows toss,</SPAN><BR> +And at the far end of the pathway<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">The dear Christ hangs on the cross;</SPAN><BR> +And when the vespers are over,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">If I have not sinned all day,</SPAN><BR> +I may walk to the end of the garden<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">And kneel by the cross and pray.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +But oh, for the wild, wild garden<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">That I knew in the days gone by,</SPAN><BR> +Where the birches and elms and maples<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Stretched up to the wind-swept sky;</SPAN><BR> +Where, murmuring silver music,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">The brook through the ferny dell</SPAN><BR> +Ran down to the fields of clover,—<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">But hush, there's the vesper bell!</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="summertime"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +YOU WENT AWAY IN SUMMERTIME<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +You went away in summertime<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">When leaves and flowers were young,</SPAN><BR> +And birds still lingered in the fields<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">With many songs unsung.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +I'm glad it was in summertime<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">When skies were clear and blue,</SPAN><BR> +I could not say good-bye to you<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">And bear the winter too.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="poet"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +TO A MODERN POET<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Why must you sing of sorrow<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">When the world is so full of woe?</SPAN><BR> +Why must you sing of the ugly?<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">For the ugly and sad I know.</SPAN><BR> +Why will you sing of railways,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Of Iron and Steel and Coal,</SPAN><BR> +And the din of the smoky cities?<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">For these will not feed my soul.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +But sing to me songs of beauty<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">To gladden my tired eyes,—</SPAN><BR> +The beauty of waving forest,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Of meadows and sunlit skies;</SPAN><BR> +Sing me of childish laughter,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Of cradles and painted toys,</SPAN><BR> +Of the sea and the brooks and the rivers,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">And the shouting of bathing boys.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +For the earth has a store of beauty<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Deep hid from our blinded eyes,</SPAN><BR> +And only the true-born poet<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Knows just where the treasure lies.</SPAN><BR> +So lead me from paths that are ugly,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">From the dust of the city street.</SPAN><BR> +To paths that are fringed with flowers,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Where the sky and the meadows meet.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And though Sorrow may walk beside me<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">To the far, far end of the road,</SPAN><BR> +If Beauty but beckon me onward,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Less heavy will seem my load;</SPAN><BR> +And led in the paths of beauty,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">The world from its strife will cease;</SPAN><BR> +For I know that the paths of beauty<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Lead on to the paths of peace.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="mystic"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE MYSTIC<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The mystic sits by the sacred stream<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Watching the sun as it mounts the sky;</SPAN><BR> +And life to him is a haunting dream<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Or a motley pageant passing by.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Sorrow and joy go on their way,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Passion and lust and love and hate;</SPAN><BR> +Only a band of mummers they,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Blindly led by the hand of fate.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Though the pageant is real and himself the dream,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Though men are born and strive and die,</SPAN><BR> +Yet the mystic sits by the sacred stream<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Watching the sun go down the sky.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="episcopi"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +AD EPISCOPI COLLEGIUM<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Here in the beautiful valley, here where the fair rivers meeting,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Mingle their waters in silence and wander afar to the sea,</SPAN><BR> +Now does thy son returning offer thee homage and greeting,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Now do my wandering footsteps turn, O Mother, to thee.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Gleam in the light of the sunset cross and turret and tower,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Mirrored majestic and silent down by the willow-clad shore;</SPAN><BR> +Far through the valley resounding, telling the evensong hour,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Echoes the old bell's tolling, calling me back once more.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Here in the halls where I lingered, there in the woods where I wandered,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">On campus and river and hillside other young lives are aglow,</SPAN><BR> +Dreaming the dreams that I dreamed, thinking the thoughts that I pondered<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Deeming the pathway long and the swift-footed hours slow.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Rejoice young hearts in your youth, morn is the time for gladness,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Time to sow for a harvest which all too soon you must reap;</SPAN><BR> +Bright be the hour of your noontide with never a shadow of sadness,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Golden the gleam of your evening with silence and rest and sleep.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Glows the west crimson and gold far down the glorious river,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Cross and tower and turret fade in the gloom of the night;</SPAN><BR> +Yet will my heart remember both Mother and sons forever,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Far though the pathway may lead me, swift though the years in their flight.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="song"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A SONG OF THE HOMELAND<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +I'll sing you a song of the Homeland,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Though the strains be of little worth,</SPAN><BR> +A song of our own loved Homeland,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Of the noblest land upon earth;</SPAN><BR> +Where the tide of the sea from oceans three<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Beats high in its triple might,</SPAN><BR> +Where the winds are born in a southern morn<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">And die in a polar night.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +I'll sing you a song of the Eastland,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Of the land where our fathers died,</SPAN><BR> +Where Saxon and Frank, their feuds long dead,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Are sleeping side by side;</SPAN><BR> +Where their sons still toil on the hard-won soil<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Of the mighty river plain,</SPAN><BR> +Where the censer swings and the Angelus rings,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">And the old faith lives again.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +I'll sing you a song of the Westland<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Where the magic cities rise,</SPAN><BR> +And the prairies clothed with their golden grain<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Stretch under the azure skies;</SPAN><BR> +Where the mountains grim in the clouds grow dim<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Far north in the arctic land,</SPAN><BR> +And the northern light in its mystic flight<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Flares over the golden strand.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And I'll sing of the men of the Homeland<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">From the north and east and west,</SPAN><BR> +The men who went to the Homeland's call,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">(Ah, God, we have given our best!)</SPAN><BR> +But not in vain are our heroes slain<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">If under the darkened skies,</SPAN><BR> +All hand in hand from strand to strand<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">A sin-purged nation rise.</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="mirror"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE MIRROR<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Your mirror, love, reflects your smile<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">As morn-flushed skies the coming dawn,</SPAN><BR> +But oh, how blank the weary while<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">When you are gone!</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +My life's a mirror; with you near<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">'Tis filled with joy the live-long day,</SPAN><BR> +But oh, how meaningless and drear<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">With you away!</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="littlesong"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> + I MADE A LITTLE SONG +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +I made a little song to-day,<BR> +And then I wandered down Broadway,<BR> +And saw the strange mad people run<BR> +And dance about me in the sun,<BR> +Or dive into the Underground<BR> +Like rabbits frightened by the sound<BR> +Of their own scampering through the grass;<BR> +I watched a thousand people pass,<BR> +But not a one did I hear say—<BR> +I made a little song to-day.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +I made a little song to-day,<BR> +It sang beside me all the way<BR> +Until I reached the lower town,<BR> +Where crowds went surging up and down.<BR> +Their eyes were hard and faces white,<BR> +But some of them looked glad and bright,<BR> +Because the Bulls—or was it Bears?—<BR> +Had brought them gold for worthless shares;<BR> +But I was happier than they;—<BR> +I made a little song to-day.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="birds"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BIRDS<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +I lie beneath a dark green pine<BR> +Where sunbeams scarcely ever shine,<BR> +And if I'm still as still can be<BR> +Shy forest birds come down to me.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Brown thrushes run along the ground,<BR> +Goldfinches flit without a sound,<BR> +And humming-birds with ruby throats<BR> +Alight to smooth their emerald coats.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And when some day alone I lie<BR> +Beneath the ever-changing sky,<BR> +I'm glad to know the birds will come<BR> +To welcome me to my new home.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +For I will lie so still that they<BR> +Will linger by me all the day,<BR> +And lulled at evening by their song<BR> +I shall not find the darkness long.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="bluebird"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE BLUEBIRD'S WING<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +One day I saw the bluebird's wing<BR> +Agleam upon a waving sea<BR> +Of emerald-coloured timothy.<BR> +We walked together—you and I—<BR> +We saw the bluebird gliding by;<BR> +He came so near—the mad, wild thing—<BR> +We almost touched his sapphire wing,<BR> +But ere across our path he flew<BR> +He rose and vanished in the blue.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +To-day I saw the bluebird's wing;<BR> +I heard wood-thrushes round me sing;<BR> +Wind-blown across the April sky,<BR> +Great swelling cloud-sails drifted by;<BR> +And on the sky-line's silver sheen<BR> +White birches danced in frills of green,<BR> +And all the world was mad with spring.<BR> +But you were miles and miles away;<BR> +The bluebird's wing was dull and gray.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="answer"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE ANSWER<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Why do I lie upon the ground<BR> +And listen to the silver sound<BR> +Of water flowing from a spring?<BR> +It sings a song I cannot sing.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Why am I gazing at the sky<BR> +To watch the clouds go trailing by?<BR> +—Pearl ships upon a sapphire sea—<BR> +They seek a land unknown to me.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Why do I listen to the song<BR> +Of pine-boughs singing all day long?<BR> +The secret that their songs unfold<BR> +Ten thousand bards have left untold.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="grape"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +WILD GRAPE +</H2> + +<BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +WILD GRAPE<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Beneath the crawling shadow<BR> +Of a crumbling temple to gods long-forgotten,<BR> +The wild grape twines amid the fragments<BR> +Of shattered pillars prone upon the ground,<BR> +And its dark leaves hide from sight the broken sculptures<BR> +Of faun and youth and maiden,<BR> +That once stood in the temple pediment,<BR> +Young, naked, beautiful.<BR> +In wild freedom it climbs over the carved acanthus<BR> +leaves of the crumbling columns,<BR> +And weaves a funeral wreath over their dead beauty.<BR> +The wild bees hum and buzz<BR> +Among the grape-flowers, heavy with honeyed perfume,<BR> +Under the drowsy noonday sun,<BR> +That spills its amber wine from a full goblet over the thirsting hillside.<BR> +Wanton and wild,<BR> +Like an unhappy lover<BR> +Clinging to the breast of his dead mistress,<BR> +The vine clings in voluptuous embrace<BR> +About the naked, pallid forms,<BR> +And mingles there with the eternal beauty<BR> +Of youth and age<BR> +And life and death.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="statue"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +TO A GREEK STATUE<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Beautiful statue of Parian marble,<BR> +Dreaming alone in the northern sunlight,<BR> +Ivory-tinted, your slender arms beckon;<BR> +I follow, I follow.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Slender and white is your beautiful body,<BR> +Gleaming against the gray walls that surround you;<BR> +Like hyacinth-flowers beneath the snow sleeping<BR> +Is the dream you emprison;—<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +A dream of beauty that lingers forever,<BR> +A dream of the amethyst sky of midnight,<BR> +A dream of the jacinth blue of still waters,<BR> +Reflecting white temples.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Your white arms beckon, I follow, I follow,<BR> +My dream goes forth with your dream to wander;<BR> +You lead me into a moonlit garden<BR> +Beside the Ægean.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +White in the moonlight gleams the temple<BR> +Cutting the purple sky with its pediment;<BR> +Diamonds and sapphires fall from the fountain;<BR> +Black are the cypress trees.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The gods are asleep in the silent temple;<BR> +Only the lapping of waves on the sea-sand<BR> +Mingles its drowsy rhythmical beating<BR> +With the bells of the fountain.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Soft lie the panther-skins on the cool grasses,<BR> +Not in vain are your white arms lifted;<BR> +And my dream of beauty and your dream eternal<BR> +Embrace in the moonlight.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="omnipresence"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +OMNIPRESENCE<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +What are the great pine boughs<BR> +That stretch over me so lovingly<BR> +Shielding me from the heat?<BR> +They are the sheltering arms of God,<BR> +Visible<BR> +Against white drifting clouds.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And the trailing white clouds,—<BR> +What are they?<BR> +They are the tattered, worn-out clothes,<BR> +Bordered with broken pearls,<BR> +Cast off by the angels and archangels,<BR> +And by God himself.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="cathedral"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +MY CATHEDRAL<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +All my life long I have loved cathedrals;<BR> +Their gray, mysterious vaults and arches<BR> +Are the home of peace and beauty,<BR> +And sometimes, too, of hope.<BR> +Their roofs of stone and walls of painted glass<BR> +Shut out the noisy world,<BR> +And protect tired eyes from the glare of day.<BR> +Their singing-boys and organs thrill lonely hearts;<BR> +Their blue welling clouds of incense<BR> +Bring a pungent smell as of burning flowers,<BR> +And their gleaming candles<BR> +Beckon like lights of home across the twilight.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And now I have a cathedral all my own.<BR> +It has great pine trunks for pillars,<BR> +For painted windows red and golden leaves;<BR> +White slender birches are the singing-boys,<BR> +And the great organ the winds of God<BR> +Playing among the pine-boughs.<BR> +The prim little spruces are virgin nuns,<BR> +Telling their beads in drops of dew;<BR> +And the bare broken tree-stumps<BR> +Are hooded monks shattered by worldly storms,<BR> +But now in a safe refuge beneath my cathedral dome.<BR> +The white-throated sparrows chant prime for me;<BR> +The wood-thrush rings the vesper bell;<BR> +From beds of fern roll perfumed clouds of incense;<BR> +And from the great high altar of eternal rock,<BR> +God himself looks forth<BR> +In the red glory of the dawn.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="foundry"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE FOUNDRY<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Two monsters,<BR> +Iron and Coal,<BR> +Sleep in the darkness.<BR> +A poisonous scarlet breath blows over them,<BR> +And they awake hissing and writhing,<BR> +And spew forth blood-red vomit<BR> +In streams like fiery serpents.<BR> +Then from the reeking pools<BR> +A monstrous brood is born,<BR> +Black, strong, beautiful.<BR> +But we turn away our tired eyes,<BR> +And try to find the sky above the smoke-clouds.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="swiss"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SWISS SKETCHES<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +I.—AFTER SUNSET ON JURA<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The Alps—<BR> +A mighty string of pearls<BR> +Which Day has laid aside—<BR> +Flaunt their alluring beauty<BR> +Upon the purple velvet of deep valleys,<BR> +Until night,<BR> +Stretching out black greedy fingers,<BR> +Steals them one by one.<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +II.—LUCERNE<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +From staring eyes<BR> +Of hotel windows,<BR> +From flaunting rich<BR> +And cringing poor,<BR> +From men and women<BR> +Drunken with wine, passion and money,<BR> +From tired Cook's tourists<BR> +Doing Switzerland on sixteen pounds,<BR> +From shrieking steamers<BR> +Tearing the shadow of Mount Pilatus into shreds,<BR> +From bands beating out brazen music<BR> +Under the twisted plane-trees,<BR> +From all that is poor and rich and ugly,<BR> +I lift my eyes unto the eternal hills<BR> +Which are outlined upon orange and crimson<BR> +By a Supreme Master with a brush of sunlight,<BR> +And there my soul finds peace.<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +III.—LAKE LEMAN<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Like the High Priest of Jehovah<BR> +The lake, for the Festival of Beauty<BR> +Puts upon its blue garment<BR> +A gorgeous jewelled breast-plate bordered with gold.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Behind the cloudy pillar glows a fire;<BR> +My eyes can scarcely bear its glory,<BR> +As it burns crimson and scarlet<BR> +On jasper and flame-colored sard,<BR> +On ruby, red as sunset flame,<BR> +And topaz shot with golden lights.<BR> +Like the eternal fire of distant stars—<BR> +Blue, green and white,<BR> +Gleam diamond, emerald, sapphire,<BR> +Jacinth and beryl,<BR> +Onyx and green-banded agate,<BR> +And amethyst purple as wild iris-flowers.<BR> +Morning and evening<BR> +On the day of the great Festival<BR> +The High Priest of Beauty wears his jewelled breastplate,<BR> +And the chosen people, blinded by its glory,<BR> +Bow down and worship.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="visions"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +VISIONS<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +I.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +I saw a vision of beauty.<BR> +My eyes looked through the mists of ages,<BR> +Back to the glorious years when Beauty itself was God.<BR> +And I saw the waves of the blue Ægean,<BR> +Turquoise, sapphire, jacinth and amethyst mingled,<BR> +And I heard the singing of the water,<BR> +As of playing of distant pipes<BR> +By slender shepherd lads among the hills.<BR> +Then I turned away from the shore<BR> +And I saw the pediment of a great temple<BR> +Standing white against the sky,<BR> +And beneath the pediment rows of marble columns<BR> +Like giant trees in a forest of frozen beauty.<BR> +Statues gleamed amid the dark foliage of cypress and olive trees,<BR> +Statues of gods and goddesses, youths and maidens,<BR> +Horses of ruddy bronze and chariots of beaten brass.<BR> +My feet trod the steps of the marble stairway,<BR> +And I went a worshipper to the great temple,<BR> +Whose burnished doors stood wide ajar<BR> +Gleaming like the portal of a dream city;<BR> +I lifted my arms in adoration,<BR> +And my soul drank its fill<BR> +From the pure Greek fountain-head of beauty.<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +II.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +I saw a vision of faith.<BR> +My eyes were turned to a mediæval city<BR> +Of crowded low-roofed houses,<BR> +From which there rose a great cathedral,<BR> +With walls of chiselled stone<BR> +And spires that pierced into the blue.<BR> +Here men had wrought with hands and heart and brain<BR> +Long years in wood and stone,<BR> +Until they reared a gorgeous temple to do honour to their God.<BR> +I entered in,<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And saw the walls agleam with painted glass,<BR> +More brilliant than the jewels of eastern kings;<BR> +I heard the organ like winds sweeping across the sea,<BR> +And the voices of the singing-boys<BR> +Like soft ripples on the velvet sand.<BR> +With golden cross and smoking censers<BR> +And priests in robes of scarlet and purple,<BR> +The procession passed along;<BR> +Then the great sweating throng<BR> +Bowed low upon the stony floor before the Host,<BR> +And when the echoing music<BR> +Had vanished in the soaring vault above,<BR> +The crowd went forth from the gorgeous gloom<BR> +Comforted, into the golden sun-light.<BR> +My soul, too, was comforted,<BR> +For it had drunk deep<BR> +From the pure mediæval well of faith.<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +III.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +I saw a vision of love.<BR> +Upon the field of battle<BR> +Amid dust and smoke and shrouds of poisonous vapour<BR> +Red streams of youthful blood were poured upon the ground,<BR> +Generously,<BR> +Joyfully,<BR> +That the world might not die from its festering wounds,<BR> +But might drink health and life<BR> +From these pure, youthful streams.<BR> +Then I stood awed and dumb,<BR> +For here was love supreme.<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +IV.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +I saw a vision of death.<BR> +Silence held my feet with clinging hands,<BR> +And Darkness put heavy fingers across my eyes.<BR> +Then Darkness raised her hands, and I saw in the gray shadows<BR> +A great night-moth with sable folded wings;<BR> +It seemed asleep upon a purple flower,<BR> +But as I watched,<BR> +Slowly it spread its wings,<BR> +And from them shone a gleam of crimson dawn,<BR> +And all the world was drenched in showers of light.<BR> +Then with his flaming wings outspread<BR> +The great moth sailed away,<BR> +Like a scarlet boat upon a dawn-swept sea,<BR> +Leaving behind a wake of golden light.<BR> +And I know that my vision of death<BR> +Was only a vision of beauty.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="prints"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +JAPANESE PRINTS<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +I.—THE LADY WITH THE YELLOW FAN<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +O little lady with the yellow fan<BR> +Why are you so sad?<BR> +Why does a tear stand<BR> +Like a tea-flower bud upon your cheek?<BR> +Your dress is of blue and scarlet silk,<BR> +Your slippers are embroidered with gems,<BR> +A gold and emerald butterfly has lighted in your hair,<BR> +Your serving-maid stands near<BR> +Awaiting your command,<BR> +And if you lifted but one slender finger<BR> +A chariot would come and carry you away to your father's palace.<BR> +Why are you so sad?<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +It is because the ships beside the shore<BR> +Spread their dark sails to the sea-blowing breeze;<BR> +The tide is high, and soon will set toward the distant islands,<BR> +And there is a gleam of swords and armour,<BR> +For the soldiers go to war beyond the seas.<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +II.—CAGED BIRDS<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +There are yellow birds within the cage;<BR> +Beside its gilded bars there stand the women<BR> +Whom the Great Prince loves to honour.<BR> +They wear silken robes and jewels in their hair,<BR> +And live in a pretty pink and yellow house.<BR> +But the women look not at the captive singing-birds,<BR> +Nor listen to their song,<BR> +Their eyes follow the flight of two white-breasted doves,<BR> +Winging their way towards the wind-torn clouds.<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +III.—WISTERIA<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Why do you peer at me, old man,<BR> +With eyes half shut,<BR> +From underneath the purple lanterns of your wisteria vine?<BR> +Your face is but a mask,<BR> +Showing neither joy nor sorrow;<BR> +But I know you bend your head to listen<BR> +When the wild geese go honking towards the south,<BR> +And your eyes grow wide with sadness,<BR> +When the last petal falls from the wisteria flower.<BR> +You, too, love beauty,<BR> +Or else why twine the purple wisteria about your door-posts,<BR> +Or pin a yellow gem upon your lilac gown?<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="palace"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A VENETIAN PALACE<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +In quivering translucent light,<BR> +Her head resting upon the blue pillow of the sky,<BR> +Her feet upon the floor of the smoke-blue water,<BR> +Sleeps Beauty,<BR> +Turned to stone by a miracle of art.<BR> +And though she never stirs,<BR> +But slumbers on in a worn and faded robe<BR> +Rose-colored and bordered with old lace of ivory white,<BR> +We come from far-off cities,<BR> +And we turn to her our hungry eyes,<BR> +Even away from sunlit sky and sea.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="iris"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +JAPANESE IRIS<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +A great prince of the ancient days<BR> +Once loved a little geisha girl,<BR> +Who wore a silken robe,<BR> +Blue as the waters of the lily-pond.<BR> +But the Great Prince was sent to a distant island,<BR> +And the little geisha girl<BR> +Never put on her robe of blue again.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +And you, O purple iris with the golden bands,<BR> +Are the soul of the Great Prince;<BR> +And you, O slender one,<BR> +Blue as lapis lazuli,<BR> +Are the soul of the little dancing-girl;<BR> +And you nestle at last<BR> +Beside your stately purple Prince,<BR> +Here in the sunshine of my northern garden.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="lovesongs"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +JAPANESE LOVE-SONGS<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +(<I>In the Hokku manner</I>)<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +I.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The white lotus-flower<BR> +Grows in the depths of the pool,<BR> +Love grows in my heart.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +II.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The peony flames crimson.<BR> +My heart's blood is far redder<BR> +Than its flame.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +III.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Sere iris leaves and dead blossoms.<BR> +Mist and drizzle of rain.<BR> +Where art thou?<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +IV.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Darkness. Shadows in my soul.<BR> +The vision of your face.<BR> +Dawn and music.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +V.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Hush of night. Perfumed breath of night.<BR> +A moth with flaming wings.<BR> +Come beloved.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="jade"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CUPS OF JADE<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +The mists lie along the iris-purple valleys;<BR> +The little wooden bridge,<BR> +Where the waterfall rings its silver bells,<BR> +Is a bow of darkness;<BR> +The dust of the highway is gray as ashes under our feet;<BR> +A cloud of night-birds<BR> +Dots the orange sky.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +All day our paths have led us side by side<BR> +Along the steep hot highways.<BR> +It is cool evening now,<BR> +And the temple bells call you one way<BR> +And the silence calls me another.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +We come to the white door-posts of your house,<BR> +We leave our dusty shoes beside the little pool among the iris leaves.<BR> +We sit upon woven mats and you give me tea to drink<BR> +From a cup of sea-green jade.<BR> +Now is my tongue heavy with thoughts I cannot utter,<BR> +For I know that to-morrow<BR> +My path will not lead over the steep hill,<BR> +Nor yours down to the deep valley,<BR> +For we have drunk together from cups of sea-green jade.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="loon"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE LOON'S CRY<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Outside the tent<BR> +Darkness and giant trees swaying in the wind.<BR> +The lake is moaning in its troubled sleep.<BR> +And far across the lazy lapping waves,<BR> +Above the crooning of the wind,<BR> +I hear a wild loon crying,<BR> +Like a weary soul alone on the dark water.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Inside the tent<BR> +Your gentle breathing,<BR> +Untroubled by crooning wind or wailing loon;<BR> +Your face is lighted by the embers of the fire.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Fainter and farther away echoes the loon's cry,<BR> +But now it is only the voice of Loneliness<BR> +Bidding me farewell,<BR> +As it passes away into the night.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +You stir in your sleep softly<BR> +And turn your face to me,—<BR> +And the loon cries no more.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="prayer"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +PRAYER<BR> +</H3> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +I.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +A wind-bell hung at the gateway of an ancient temple<BR> +And played the music taught it by the wind,<BR> +At times soft, like bubbles breaking in a fountain,<BR> +When the breeze of summer night caressed it,<BR> +Then loud and jangling when the typhoon swept across the sea,<BR> +Or low and moaning when the temple gongs sounded for prayer.<BR> +And the people,<BR> +Who never heard the music of the wind,<BR> +Paused to listen to the wind-bell,<BR> +And then passed on through the temple gate,<BR> +With music echoing in their ears.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +O Maker of all music,<BR> +Let me be as the wind-bell by the temple.<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +II.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +Beyond the temple gate<BR> +A gleaming pool lay among the iris leaves.<BR> +At dawn it glowed like a great rose upon the garden's breast,<BR> +At sunset flamed like a crimson peony.<BR> +And the people,<BR> +Who never lifted up their eyes to see the beauty of the sky,<BR> +Would linger as they passed from prayer<BR> +To watch the sunrise or the sunset fade upon the pool,<BR> +And then turn their steps to the gray dusty streets,<BR> +With rose and gold and crimson in their eyes.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +O Maker of all beauty,<BR> +Let me be as the iris-bordered pool.<BR> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H5 ALIGN="center"> +Warwick Bro's & Rutter, Limited,<BR> +Printers and Bookbinders, Toronto, Canada.<BR> +</H5> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Acanthus and Wild Grape, by F. 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