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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: Songs and Satires + +Author: Edgar Lee Masters + +Release Date: May 18, 2011 [EBook #36149] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS AND SATIRES *** + + + + +Produced by David E. Brown, Bryan Ness and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries) + + + + + + +</pre> + +<p class="center"><span class="huge"><strong>SONGS AND SATIRES</strong></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[Pg i]</a></span><br/></p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[Pg ii]</a></span></p> + +<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/logo.png" alt="" /></div> + +<p class="center"><span class="big">THE MACMILLAN COMPANY</span><br/> +NEW YORK ˇ BOSTON ˇ CHICAGO ˇ DALLAS<br/> +ATLANTA ˇ SAN FRANCISCO</p> +<p> </p> +<p class="center"><span class="big"><span class="smcap">MACMILLAN & CO., Limited</span></span><br/> +LONDON ˇ BOMBAY ˇ CALCUTTA<br/> +MELBOURNE</p> +<p> </p> +<p class="center"><span class="big"><span class="smcap">THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd.</span></span><br/> +TORONTO</p> +<p> </p><p> </p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[Pg iii]</a></span></p> + + + + +<p class="center"><span class="huge">SONGS AND SATIRES</span></p> +<p> </p> +<p class="center"><span class="big"><i>By</i></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="big">EDGAR LEE MASTERS</span></p> +<p> </p> +<p class="center">AUTHOR OF</p> +<p class="center">"SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY"</p> +<p> </p> +<p class="center">New York</p> +<p class="center">THE MACMILLAN COMPANY</p> +<p class="center">1916</p> +<p class="center"><i>All rights reserved</i></p> +<p> </p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[Pg iv]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1916,</p> +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.</span></p> +<p> </p> +<p class="center">Set up and electrotyped. Published March, 1916.</p> +<p class="center">Reprinted March, June, 1916.</p> +<p> </p> +<p class="center">Norwood Press</p> +<p class="center">J. S. Cushing Co.—Berwick & Smith Co.</p> +<p class="center">Norwood, Mass., U.S.A</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[Pg v]</a></span></p> +<p class="blockquot">For permission to print in book form certain of +these poems I wish to acknowledge an indebtedness to <i>Poetry</i>, <i>The Smart Set</i>, <i>The Little Review</i>, +<i>The Cosmopolitan Magazine</i>, and William Marion Reedy, Editor of <i>Reedy's Mirror</i>.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[Pg vi]</a></span><br/></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">CONTENTS</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td> </td> + <td align="right"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Silence</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">St. Francis and Lady Clare</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_4">4</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Cocked Hat</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Vision</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_18">18</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">So We Grew Together</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Rain in My Heart</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Loop</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">When Under the Icy Eaves</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">In the Car</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Simon Surnamed Peter</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">All Life in a Life</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_47">47</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">What You Will</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The City</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Idiot</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Helen of Troy</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">O Glorious France</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">For a Dance</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">When Life is Real</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Question</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_78">78</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Answer</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_79">79</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Sign</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_80">80</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">William Marion Reedy</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">A Study</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_85">85</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Portrait of a Woman</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">In the Cage</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Saving a Woman: One Phase</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Love is a Madness</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">On a Bust</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_98">98</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Arabel</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Jim and Arabel's Sister</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_108">108</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Sorrow of Dead Faces</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Cry</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Helping Hand</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Door</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Supplication</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_122">122</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Conversation</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Terminus</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_130">130</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Madeline</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Marcia</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Altar</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Soul's Desire</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">Ballad of Launcelot and Elaine </span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_140">140</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Death of Launcelot</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_149">149</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">In Michigan</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Star</span></td> + <td align="right"><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td></tr> +</table> + +<hr style="width: 90%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">SONGS AND SATIRES</span></p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span></p> + +<hr style="width: 90%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">SONGS AND SATIRES</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 33%;" /> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">SILENCE</span><br/></p> + + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td><span style="margin-left: 1em;">I have known the silence of the stars and of the sea,</span><br /> +And the silence of the city when it pauses,<br /> +And the silence of a man and a maid,<br /> +And the silence for which music alone finds the word,<br /> +And the silence of the woods before the winds of spring begin,<br /> +And the silence of the sick<br /> +When their eyes roam about the room.<br /> +And I ask: For the depths<br /> +Of what use is language?<br /> +A beast of the field moans a few times<br /> +When death takes its young:<br /> +And we are voiceless in the presence of realities—<br /> +We cannot speak.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A curious boy asks an old soldier</span><br /> +Sitting in front of the grocery store,<br /> +"How did you lose your leg?"<br /> +And the old soldier is struck with silence,<br /> +Or his mind flies away,<br /> +Because he cannot concentrate it on Gettysburg.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span>It comes back jocosely<br /> +And he says, "A bear bit it off."<br /> +And the boy wonders, while the old soldier<br /> +Dumbly, feebly lives over<br /> +The flashes of guns, the thunder of cannon,<br /> +The shrieks of the slain,<br /> +And himself lying on the ground,<br /> +And the hospital surgeons, the knives,<br /> +And the long days in bed.<br /> +But if he could describe it all<br /> +He would be an artist.<br /> +But if he were an artist there would be deeper wounds<br /> +Which he could not describe.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There is the silence of a great hatred,</span><br /> +And the silence of a great love,<br /> +And the silence of a deep peace of mind,<br /> +And the silence of an embittered friendship.<br /> +There is the silence of a spiritual crisis,<br /> +Through which your soul, exquisitely tortured,<br /> +Comes with visions not to be uttered<br /> +Into a realm of higher life.<br /> +And the silence of the gods who understand each other without speech.<br /> +There is the silence of defeat.<br /> +There is the silence of those unjustly punished;<br /> +And the silence of the dying whose hand<br /> +Suddenly grips yours.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> +There is the silence between father and son,<br /> +When the father cannot explain his life,<br /> +Even though he be misunderstood for it.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">There is the silence that comes between husband and wife.</span><br /> +There is the silence of those who have failed;<br /> +And the vast silence that covers<br /> +Broken nations and vanquished leaders.<br /> +There is the silence of Lincoln,<br /> +Thinking of the poverty of his youth.<br /> +And the silence of Napoleon<br /> +After Waterloo.<br /> +And the silence of Jeanne d'Arc<br /> +Saying amid the flames, "Blessed Jesus"—<br /> +Revealing in two words all sorrow, all hope.<br /> +And there is the silence of age,<br /> +Too full of wisdom for the tongue to utter it<br /> +In words intelligible to those who have not lived<br /> +The great range of life.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And there is the silence of the dead.</span><br /> +If we who are in life cannot speak<br /> +Of profound experiences,<br /> +Why do you marvel that the dead<br /> +Do not tell you of death?<br /> +Their silence shall be interpreted<br /> +As we approach them.<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">ST. FRANCIS AND LADY CLARE</span><br/></p> + + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Antonio loved the Lady Clare.<br /> +He caught her to him on the stair<br /> +And pressed her breasts and kissed her hair,<br /> +And drew her lips in his, and drew<br /> +Her soul out like a torch's flare.<br /> +Her breath came quick, her blood swirled round;<br /> +Her senses in a vortex swound.<br /> +She tore him loose and turned around,<br /> +And reached her chamber in a bound<br /> +Her cheeks turned to a poppy's hue.<br /> +<br /> +She closed the door and turned the lock,<br /> +Her breasts and flesh were turned to rock.<br /> +She reeled as drunken from the shock.<br /> +Before her eyes the devils skipped,<br /> +She thought she heard the devils mock.<br /> +For had her soul not been as pure<br /> +As sifted snow, could she endure<br /> +Antonio's passion and be sure<br /> +Against his passion's strength and lure?<br /> +Lean fears along her wonder slipped.<br /> +<br /> +Outside she heard a drunkard call,<br /> +She heard a beggar against the wall<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>Shaking his cup, a harlot's squall<br /> +Struck through the riot like a sword,<br /> +And gashed the midnight's festival.<br /> +She watched the city through the pane,<br /> +The old Silenus half insane,<br /> +The idiot crowd that drags its chain—<br /> +And then she heard the bells again,<br /> +And heard the voices with the word:<br /> +<br /> +Ecco il santo! Up the street<br /> +There was the sound of running feet<br /> +From closing door and window seat,<br /> +And all the crowd turned on its way<br /> +The Saint of Poverty to greet.<br /> +He passed. And then a circling thrill,<br /> +As water troubled which was still,<br /> +Went through her body like a chill,<br /> +Who of Antonio thought until<br /> +She heard the Saint begin to pray.<br /> +<br /> +And then she turned into the room<br /> +Her soul was cloven through with doom,<br /> +Treading the softness and the gloom<br /> +Of Asia's silk and Persia's wool,<br /> +And China's magical perfume.<br /> +She sickened from the vases hued<br /> +In corals, yellows, greens, the lewd<br /> +Twined dragon shapes and figures nude,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>And tapestries that showed a brood<br /> +Of leopards by a pool!<br /> +<br /> +Candles of wax she lit before<br /> +A pier glass standing from the floor;<br /> +Up to the ceiling, off she tore<br /> +With eager hands her jewels, then<br /> +The silken vesture which she wore.<br /> +Her little breasts so round to see<br /> +Were budded like the peony.<br /> +Her arms were white as ivory,<br /> +And all her sunny hair lay free<br /> +As marigold or celandine.<br /> +<br /> +Her blue eyes sparkled like a vase<br /> +Of crackled turquoise, in her face<br /> +Was memory of the mad embrace<br /> +Antonio gave her on the stair,<br /> +And on her cheeks a salt tear's trace.<br /> +Like pigeon blood her lips were red.<br /> +She clasped her bands above her head.<br /> +Under her arms the waxlight shed<br /> +Delicate halos where was spread<br /> +The downy growth of hair.<br /> +<br /> +Such sudden sin the virgin knew<br /> +She quenched the tapers as she blew<br /> +Puff! puff! upon them, then she threw<br /> +Herself in tears upon her knees,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>And round her couch the curtain drew.<br /> +She called upon St. Francis' name,<br /> +Feeling Antonio's passion maim<br /> +Her body with his passion's flame<br /> +To save her, save her from the shame<br /> +Of fancies such as these!<br /> +<br /> +"Go by mad life and old pursuits,<br /> +The wine cup and the golden fruits,<br /> +The gilded mirrors, rosewood flutes,<br /> +I would praise God forevermore<br /> +With harps of gold and silver lutes."<br /> +She stripped the velvet from her couch<br /> +Her broken spirit to avouch.<br /> +She saw the devils slink and slouch,<br /> +And passion like a leopard crouch<br /> +Half mirrored on the polished floor.<br /> +<br /> +Next day she found the saint and said:<br /> +I would be God's bride, I would wed<br /> +Poverty and I would eat the bread<br /> +That you for anchorites prepare,<br /> +For my soul's sake I am in dread.<br /> +Go then, said Francis, nothing loth,<br /> +Put off this gown of green snake cloth,<br /> +Put on one somber as a moth,<br /> +Then come to me and make your troth<br /> +And I will clip your golden hair.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span><br /> +She went and came. But still there lay,<br /> +A gem she did not put away,<br /> +A locket twixt her breasts, all gay<br /> +In shimmering pearls and tints of blue,<br /> +And inlay work of fruit and spray.<br /> +St. Francis felt it as he slipped<br /> +His hand across her breast and whipped<br /> +Her golden tresses ere he clipped—<br /> +He closed his eyes then as he gripped<br /> +The shears, plunged the shears through.<br /> +<br /> +The waterfall of living gold.<br /> +The locks fell to the floor and rolled,<br /> +And curled like serpents which unfold.<br /> +And there sat Lady Clare despoiled.<br /> +Of worldly glory manifold.<br /> +She thrilled to feel him take and hide<br /> +The locket from her breast, a tide<br /> +Of passion caught them side by side.<br /> +He was the bridegroom, she the bride—<br /> +Their flesh but not their spirits foiled.<br /> +<br /> +Thus was the Lady Clare debased<br /> +To sack cloth and around her waist<br /> +A rope the jeweled belt replaced.<br /> +Her feet made free of silken hose<br /> +Naked in wooden sandals cased<br /> +Went bruised to Bastia's chapel, then<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>They housed her in St. Damian<br /> +And here she prayed for poor women<br /> +And here St. Francis sought her when<br /> +His faith sank under earthly woes.<br /> +<br /> +Antonio cursed St. Clare in rhyme<br /> +And took to wine and got the lime<br /> +Of hatred on his soul, in time<br /> +Grew healed though left a little lame,<br /> +And laughed about it in his prime;<br /> +When he could see with crystal eyes<br /> +That love is a winged thing which flies;<br /> +Some break the wings, some let them rise<br /> +From earth like God's dove to the skies<br /> +Diffused in heavenly flame.<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE COCKED HAT</span></p> + +<p class="center">Would that someone would knock Mr. Bryan into a cocked +hat.—<span class="smcap">Woodrow Wilson.</span><br/></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>It ain't really a hat at all, Ed:<br /> +You know that, don't you?<br /> +When you bowl over six out of the nine pins,<br /> +And the three that are standing<br /> +Are the triangular three in front,<br /> +You've knocked the nine into a cocked hat.<br /> +If it was really a hat, he would be knocked in, too.<br /> +Which he hardly is. For a man with money,<br /> +And a man who can draw a crowd to listen<br /> +To what he says, ain't all-in yet....<br /> +Oh yes, defeated<br /> +And killed off a dozen times, but still<br /> +He's one of the three nine pins that's standing ...<br /> +Eh? Why, the other is Teddy, the other<br /> +Wilson, we'll say. We'll see, perhaps.<br /> +But six are down to make the cocked hat—<br /> +That's me and thousands of others like me,<br /> +And the first-rate men who were cuffed about<br /> +After the Civil War,<br /> +And most of the more than six million men<br /> +Who followed this fellow into the ditch,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +While he walked down the ditch and stepped to the level—<br /> +Following an ideal!<br /> +<p><span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span></span></p> +Do you remember how slim he was,<br /> +And trim he was,<br /> +With black hair and pale brow,<br /> +And the hawk-like nose and flashing eyes,<br /> +Not turning slowly like an owl<br /> +But with a sudden eagle motion?...<br /> +<br /> +One time, in '96, he came here<br /> +And we had just a dollar and sixty cents<br /> +In the treasury of the organization.<br /> +So I stuck his lithograph on a pole<br /> +And started out for the station.<br /> +By the time we got back here to Clark street<br /> +Four thousand men were marching in line,<br /> +And a band that was playing for an opening<br /> +Of a restaurant on Franklin street<br /> +Had left the job and was following his carriage.<br /> +Why, it took all the money Mark Hanna could raise<br /> +To beat me, with nothing but a pole<br /> +And a lithograph.<br /> +And it wasn't because he was one of the prophets<br /> +Come back to earth again.<br /> +It shows how human hearts are hungry<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> +How wonderfully true they are—<br /> +And how they will rise and follow a man<br /> +Who seems to see the truth!<br /> +Well, these fellows who marched are the cocked hat,<br /> +And I am the cocked hat and the six millions,<br /> +And more are the cocked hat,<br /> +Who got themselves despised or suspected<br /> +Of ignorance or something for being with him.<br /> +But still, he's one of the pins that's standing.<br /> +He got the money that he went after,<br /> +And he has a place in history, perhaps—<br /> +Because we took the blow and fell down<br /> +When the ripping ball went wild on the alley.<br /> +<p><span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span></span></p> +For we were radicals,<br /> +And he wasn't a radical.<br /> +Eh? Why, a radical stands for freedom,<br /> +And for truth—which he never finds<br /> +But always looks for.<br /> +A radical is not a moralist.<br /> +A radical doesn't say:<br /> +"This is true and you must believe it;<br /> +This is good and you must accept it,<br /> +And if you don't believe it and accept it<br /> +We'll get a law and make you,<br /> +And if you don't obey the law, we'll kill you—"<br /> +Oh no! A radical stands for freedom.<br /> +<p><span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span></span></p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +Do you remember that banquet at the Tremont<br /> +In '97 on Jackson's day?<br /> +Bryan and Altgeld walked together<br /> +Out to the banquet room.<br /> +That's the time he said the bolters must<br /> +Bring fruits meet for repentance—ha! ha! Oh, Gawd!—<br /> +They never did it and they didn't have to,<br /> +For they had made friends of the mammon of unrighteousness,<br /> +Even as he did, a little later, in his own way.<br /> +Well, Darrow was there that night.<br /> +I thought it was terribly raw in him,<br /> +But he said to Bryan, there, in a group:<br /> +"You'd better go back to Lincoln and study<br /> +Science, history, philosophy,<br /> +And read Flaubert's Madam something-or-other,<br /> +And quit this village religious stuff.<br /> +You're head of the party before you are ready<br /> +And a leader should lead with thought."<br /> +And Bryan turned to the others and said:<br /> +"Darrow's the only man in the world<br /> +Who looks down on me for believing in God."<br /> +"Your kind of a God," snapped Darrow.<br /> +Honest, Ed, I didn't see this religious business<br /> +In Bryan in '96 or 1900.<br /> +Oh well, I knew he went to Church,<br /> +And talked as statesmen do of God—<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> +But McKinley did it, and I used to laugh:<br /> +"We've got a man to match McKinley,<br /> +And it's good for us, in a squeeze like this,<br /> +We didn't nominate some fellow<br /> +Ethical culture or Unitarian."<br /> +You see, the newspapers and preachers then<br /> +Were raising such a hullabaloo<br /> +About irreligion and dishonesty,<br /> +And calling old Altgeld an anarchist,<br /> +And comparing us to Robespierre<br /> +And the guillotine boys in France.<br /> +And a little of this religion came in handy.<br /> +The same as if you saw a Mason button on me,<br /> +You'd know, you see—but Gee!<br /> +He was 24-carat religious,<br /> +A cover-to-cover man....<br /> +He was a trained collie,<br /> +And he looked like a lion,<br /> +There in the convention of '96—What do you know about that?<br /> +<p><span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span></span></p> +But right here, I tell you he ain't a hypocrite,<br /> +This ain't a pose. But I'll tell you:<br /> +In '96 when they knocked him out,<br /> +I know what he said to himself as well<br /> +As if I heard him say it ...<br /> +I'll tell you in a minute.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> +But suppose you were giving a lecture on the constitution,<br /> +And you got mixed on your dates,<br /> +And the audience rotten-egged you,<br /> +And some one in the confusion<br /> +Stole the door receipts,<br /> +And there you were, disgraced and broke!<br /> +But suppose you could just change your clothes,<br /> +And lecture to the same audience<br /> +On the religious nature of Washington,<br /> +And be applauded and make money—<br /> +You'd do it, wouldn't you?<br /> +Well, this is what Bill said to himself:<br /> +"I'm naturally regular and religious.<br /> +I'm a moral man and I can prove it<br /> +By any one in Marion County,<br /> +Or Jacksonville or Lincoln, Nebraska.<br /> +I'm a radical, but a radical<br /> +Alone can be religious.<br /> +I belong to the church, if not to the bank,<br /> +Of the people who defeated me.<br /> +And I'll prove to religious people<br /> +That I'm a man to be trusted—<br /> +And just what a radical is.<br /> +And I'll make some money while winning the votes<br /> +Of the churches over the country."...<br /> +<br /> +That's it—it ain't hypocrisy,<br /> +It's using what you are for ends,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> +When you find yourself in trouble.<br /> +And this accounts for "The Prince of Peace"—<br /> +Except no one but him could write it—<br /> +And "The Value of an Ideal"—<br /> +(Which is money in bank and several farms) ...<br /> +<br /> +His place in history?<br /> +One time my grandfather, who was nearly blind,<br /> +Went out to sow some grass seed.<br /> +They had two sacks in the barn,<br /> +One with grass seed, one with fertilizer,<br /> +And he got the sack with fertilizer,<br /> +And scattered it over the ground,<br /> +Thinking he was sowing grass.<br /> +And as he was finishing up, a grandchild,<br /> +Dorothy, eight years old,<br /> +Followed him, dropping flower seeds.<br /> +Well, after a time<br /> +That was the greatest patch of weeds<br /> +You ever saw! And the old man sat,<br /> +Half blind, on the porch, and said:<br /> +"Good land, that grass is growing!"<br /> +And there was nothing but weeds except<br /> +A few nasturtiums here and there<br /> +That Dorothy had sown....<br /> +Well, I forgot.<br /> +There was a sunflower in one corner<br /> +That looked like a man with a golden beard<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +And a mass of tangled, curly hair—<br /> +And a pumpkin growing near it....<br /> +<p><span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span></span></p> +Say, Ed! lend me eighty dollars<br /> +To pay my life insurance.<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE VISION</span><br/></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Of that dear vale where you and I have lain<br /> +Scanning the mysteries of life and death<br /> +I dreamed, though how impassable the space<br /> +Of time between the present and the past!<br /> +This was the vision that possessed my mind;<br /> +I thought the weird and gusty days of March<br /> +Had eased themselves in melody and peace.<br /> +Pale lights, swift shadows, lucent stalks, clear streams,<br /> +Cool, rosy eves behind the penciled mesh<br /> +Of hazel thickets, and the huge feathered boughs<br /> +Of walnut trees stretched singing to the blast;<br /> +And the first pleasantries of sheep and kine;<br /> +The cautioned twitterings of hidden birds;<br /> +The flight of geese among the scattered clouds;<br /> +Night's weeping stars and all the pageantries<br /> +Of awakened life had blossomed into May,<br /> +Whilst she with trailing violets in her hair<br /> +Blew music from the stops of watery stems,<br /> +And swept the grasses with her viewless robes,<br /> +Which dreaming men thought voices, dreaming still.<br /> +Now as I lay in vision by the stream<br /> +That flows amidst our well beloved vale,<br /> +I looked throughout the vista stretched between<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>Two ranging hills; one meadowed rich in grass;<br /> +The other wooded, thick and quite obscure<br /> +With overgrowth, rank in the luxury<br /> +Of all wild places, but ever growing sparse<br /> +Of trees or saplings on the sudden slope<br /> +That met the grassy level of the vale;—<br /> +But still within the shadow of those woods,<br /> +Which sprinkled all beneath with fragrant dew,<br /> +There grew all flowers, which tempted little paths<br /> +Between them, up and on into the wood.<br /> +Here, as the sun had left his midday peak<br /> +The incommunicable blue of heaven blent<br /> +With his fierce splendor, filling all the air<br /> +With softened glory, while the pasturage<br /> +Trembled with color of the poppy blooms<br /> +Shook by the steps of the swift-sandaled wind.<br /> +Nor any sound beside disturbed the dream<br /> +Of Silence slumbering on the drowsy flowers.<br /> +Then as I looked upon the widest space<br /> +Of open meadow where the sunlight fell<br /> +In veils of tempered radiance, I saw<br /> +The form of one who had escaped the care<br /> +And equal dullness of our common day.<br /> +For like a bright mist rising from the earth<br /> +He made appearance, growing more distinct<br /> +Until I saw the stole, likewise the lyre<br /> +Grasped by the fingers of the modeled hand.<br /> +Yea, I did see the glory of his hair<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>Against the deep green bay-leaves filleting<br /> +The ungathered locks. And so throughout the vale<br /> +His figure stood distinct and his own shade<br /> +Was the sole shadow. Deeming this approach<br /> +Augur of good, as if in hidden ways<br /> +Of loveliness the gods do still appear<br /> +The counselors of men, and even where<br /> +Wonder and meditation wooed us oft,<br /> +I cried, "Apollo"—and his form dissolved,<br /> +As if the nymphs of echo, who took up<br /> +The voice and bore it to the hollow wood,<br /> +By that same flight had startled the great god<br /> +To vanishment. And thereupon I woke<br /> +And disarrayed the figment of my thought.<br /> +For of the very air, magic with hues,<br /> +Blent with the distant objects, I had formed<br /> +The splendid apparition, and so knew<br /> +It was, alas! a dream within a dream!<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">"SO WE GREW TOGETHER"</span><br/></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Reading over your letters I find you wrote me</span><br /> +"My dear boy," or at times "dear boy," and the envelope<br /> +Said "master"—all as I had been your very son,<br /> +And not the orphan whom you adopted.<br /> +Well, you were father to me! And I can recall<br /> +The things you did for me or gave me:<br /> +One time we rode in a box car to Springfield<br /> +To see the greatest show on earth;<br /> +And one time you gave me redtop boots,<br /> +And one time a watch, and one time a gun.<br /> +Well, I grew to gawkiness with a voice<br /> +Like a rooster trying to crow in August<br /> +Hatched in April, we'll say.<br /> +And you went about wrapped up in silence<br /> +With eyes aflame, and I heard little rumors<br /> +Of what they were doing to you, and how<br /> +They wronged you—and we were poor—so poor!<br /> +And I could not understand why you failed,<br /> +And why if you did good things for the people<br /> +The people did not sustain you.<br /> +And why you loved another woman than Aunt Susan,<br /> +So it was whispered at school, and what could be baser,<br /> +Or so little to be forgiven?...<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">They crowded you hard in those days.</span><br /> +But you fought like a wounded lion<br /> +For yourself I know, but for us, for me.<br /> +At last you fell ill, and for months you tottered<br /> +Around the streets as thin as death,<br /> +Trying to earn our bread, your great eyes glowing<br /> +And the silence around you like a shawl!<br /> +But something in you kept you up.<br /> +You grew well again and rosy with cheeks<br /> +Like an Indian peach almost, and eyes<br /> +Full of moonlight and sunlight, and a voice<br /> +That sang, and a humor that warded<br /> +The arrows off. But still between us<br /> +There was reticence; you kept me away<br /> +With a glittering hardness; perhaps you thought<br /> +I kept you away—for I was moving<br /> +In spheres you knew not, living through<br /> +Beliefs you believed in no more, and ideals<br /> +That were just mirrors of unrealities.<br /> +As a boy can be I was critical of you.<br /> +And reasons for your failures began to arise<br /> +In my mind—I saw specific facts here and there<br /> +With no philosophy at hand to weld them<br /> +And synthesize them into one truth—<br /> +And a rush of the strength of youth<br /> +Deluded me into thinking the world<br /> +Was something so easily understood and managed<br /> +While I knew it not at all in truth.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +And an adolescent egotism<br /> +Made me feel you did not know me<br /> +Or comprehend the all that I was.<br /> +All this you divined....<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">So it went. And when I left you and passed</span><br /> +To the world, the city—still I see you<br /> +With eyes averted, and feel your hand<br /> +Limp with sorrow—you could not speak.<br /> +You thought of what I might be, and where<br /> +Life would take me, and how it would end—<br /> +There was longer silence. A year or two<br /> +Brought me closer to you. I saw the play now<br /> +And the game somewhat and understood your fights<br /> +And enmities, and hardnesses and silences,<br /> +And wild humor that had kept you whole—<br /> +For your soul had made it as an antitoxin<br /> +To the world's infections. And you swung to me<br /> +Closer than before—and a chumship began<br /> +Between us....<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">What vital power was yours!</span><br /> +You never tired, or needed sleep, or had a pain,<br /> +Or refused a delight. I loved the things now<br /> +You had always loved, a winning horse,<br /> +A roulette wheel, a contest of skill<br /> +In games or sports ... long talks on the corner<br /> +With men who have lived and tell you<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>Things with a rich flavor of old wisdom or humor;<br /> +A woman, a glass of whisky at a table<br /> +Where the fatigue of life falls, and our reserves<br /> +That wait for happiness come up in smiles,<br /> +Laughter, gentle confidences. Here you were<br /> +A man with youth, and I a youth was a man,<br /> +Exulting in your braveries and delight in life.<br /> +How you knocked that scamp over at Harry Varnell's<br /> +When he tried to take your chips! And how I,<br /> +Who had thought the devil in cards as a boy,<br /> +Loved to play with you now and watch you play;<br /> +And watch the subtle mathematics of your mind<br /> +Prophecy, divine the plays. Who was it<br /> +In your ancestry that you harked back to<br /> +And reproduced with such various gifts<br /> +Of flesh and spirit, Anglo-Saxon, Celt?—<br /> +You with such rapid wit and powerful skill<br /> +For catching illogic and whipping Error's<br /> +Fangéd head from the body?...<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">I was really ahead of you</span><br /> +At this stage, with more self-consciousness<br /> +Of what man is, and what life is at last,<br /> +And how the spirit works, and by what laws,<br /> +With what inevitable force. But still I was<br /> +Behind you in that strength which in our youth,<br /> +If ever we have it, squeezes all the nectar<br /> +From the grapes. It seemed you'd never lose<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> +This power and sense of joy, but yet at times<br /> +I saw another phase of you....<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">There was the day</span><br /> +We rode together north of the old town,<br /> +Past the old farm houses that I knew—<br /> +Past maple groves, and fields of corn in the shock,<br /> +And fields of wheat with the fall green.<br /> +It was October, but the clouds were summer's,<br /> +Lazily floating in a sky of June;<br /> +And a few crows flying here and there,<br /> +And a quail's call, and around us a great silence<br /> +That held at its core old memories<br /> +Of pioneers, and dead days, forgotten things!<br /> +I'll never forget how you looked that day. Your hair<br /> +Was turning silver now, but still your eyes<br /> +Burned as of old, and the rich olive glow<br /> +In your cheeks shone, with not a line or wrinkle!—<br /> +You seemed to me perfection—a youth, a man!<br /> +And now you talked of the world with the old wit,<br /> +And now of the soul—how such a man went down<br /> +Through folly or wrong done by him, and how<br /> +Man's death cannot end all,<br /> +There must be life hereafter!...<br /> +<br /> +As you were that day, as you looked and spoke,<br /> +As the earth was, I hear as the soul of it all<br /> +Godard's <i>Dawn</i>, Dvorák's <i>Humoresque</i>,<br /> +The Morris Dances, Mendelssohn's <i>Barcarole</i>,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +And old Scotch songs, <i>When the Kye Come Hame</i>,<br /> +And <i>The Moon Had Climbed the Highest Hill</i>,<br /> +The Musseta Waltz and Rudolph's Narrative;<br /> +Your great brow seemed Beethoven's<br /> +And the lust of life in your face Cellini's,<br /> +And your riotous fancy like Dumas.<br /> +I was nearer you now than ever before,<br /> +And finding each other thus I see to-day<br /> +How the human soul seeks the human soul<br /> +And finds the one it seeks at last.<br /> +For you know you can open a window<br /> +That looks upon embowered darkness,<br /> +When the flowers sleep and the trees are still<br /> +At Midnight, and no light burns in the room;<br /> +And you can hide your butterfly<br /> +Somewhere in the room, but soon you will see<br /> +A host of butterfly mates<br /> +Fluttering through the window to join<br /> +Your butterfly hid in the room.<br /> +It is somehow thus with souls....<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">This day then I understood it all:</span><br /> +Your vital democracy and love of men<br /> +And tolerance of life; and how the excess of these<br /> +Had wrought your sorrows in the days<br /> +When we were so poor, and the small of mind<br /> +Spoke of your sins and your connivance<br /> +With sinful men. You had lived it down,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span> +Had triumphed over them, and you had grown.<br /> +Prosperous in the world and had passed<br /> +Into an easy mastery of life and beyond the thought<br /> +Of further conquests for things.<br /> +As the Brahmins say, no more you worshiped matter,<br /> +Or scarcely ghosts, or even the gods<br /> +With singleness of heart.<br /> +This day you worshiped Eternal Peace<br /> +Or Eternal Flame, with scarce a laugh or jest<br /> +To hide your worship; and I understood,<br /> +Seeing so many facets to you, why it was<br /> +Blind Condon always smiled to hear your voice,<br /> +And why it was in a greenroom years ago<br /> +Booth turned to you, marking your face<br /> +From all the rest, and said, "There is a man<br /> +Who might play Hamlet—better still Othello";<br /> +And why it was the women loved you; and the priest<br /> +Could feed his body and soul together drinking<br /> +A glass of beer and visiting with you....<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">Then something happened:</span><br /> +Your face grew smaller, your brow more narrow,<br /> +Dull fires burned in your eyes,<br /> +Your body shriveled, you walked with a cynical shuffle,<br /> +Your hands mixed the keys of life,<br /> +You had become a discord.<br /> +A monstrous hatred consumed you—<br /> +You had suffered the greatest wrong of all,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +I knew and granted the wrong.<br /> +You had mounted up to sixty years, now breathing hard,<br /> +And just at the time that honor belonged to you<br /> +You were dishonored at the hands of a friend.<br /> +I wept for you, and still I wondered<br /> +If all I had grown to see in you and find in you<br /> +And love in you was just a fond illusion—<br /> +If after all I had not seen you aright as a boy:<br /> +Barbaric, hard, suspicious, cruel, redeemed<br /> +Alone by bubbling animal spirits—<br /> +Even these gone now, all of you smoke<br /> +Laden with stinging gas and lethal vapor....<br /> +Then you came forth again like the sun after storm—<br /> +The deadly uric acid driven out at last<br /> +Which had poisoned you and dwarfed your soul—<br /> +So much for soul!<br /> +<br /> +The last time I saw you<br /> +Your face was full of golden light,<br /> +Something between flame and the richness of flesh.<br /> +You were yourself again, wholly yourself.<br /> +And oh, to find you again and resume<br /> +Our understanding we had worked so long to reach—<br /> +You calm and luminant and rich in thought!<br /> +This time it seemed we said but "yes" or "no"—<br /> +That was enough; we smoked together<br /> +And drank a glass of wine and watched<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> +The leaves fall sitting on the porch....<br /> +Then life whirled me away like a leaf,<br /> +And I went about the crowded ways of New York.<br /> +<br /> +And one night Alberta and I took dinner<br /> +At a place near Fourteenth Street where the music<br /> +Was like the sun on a breeze-swept lake<br /> +When every wave is a patine of fire,<br /> +And I thought of you not at all<br /> +Looking at Alberta and watching her white teeth<br /> +Bite off bits of Italian bread,<br /> +And watching her smile and the wide pupils<br /> +Of her eyes, electrified by wine<br /> +And music and the touch of our hands<br /> +Now and then across the table.<br /> +We went to her house at last.<br /> +And through a languorous evening.<br /> +Where no light was but a single candle,<br /> +We circled about and about a pending theme<br /> +Till at last we solved it suddenly in rapture<br /> +Almost by chance; and when I left<br /> +She followed me to the hall and leaned above<br /> +The railing about the stair for the farewell kiss—<br /> +And I went into the open air ecstatically,<br /> +With the stars in the spaces of sky between<br /> +The towering buildings, and the rush<br /> +Of wheels and clang of bells,<br /> +Still with the fragrance of her lips and cheeks<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span> +And glinting hair about me, delicate<br /> +And keen in spite of the open air.<br /> +And just as I entered the brilliant car<br /> +Something said to me you are dead—<br /> +I had not thought of you, was not thinking of you.<br /> +But I knew it was true, as it was,<br /> +For the telegram waited me at my room....<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">I didn't come back.</span><br /> +I could not bear to see the breathless breath<br /> +Over your brow—nor look at your face—<br /> +However you fared or where<br /> +To what victories soever—<br /> +Vanquished or seemingly vanquished!<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">RAIN IN MY HEART</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>There is a quiet in my heart<br /> +Like one who rests from days of pain.<br /> +Outside, the sparrows on the roof<br /> +Are chirping in the dripping rain.<br /> +<br /> +Rain in my heart; rain on the roof;<br /> +And memory sleeps beneath the gray<br /> +And windless sky and brings no dreams<br /> +Of any well remembered day.<br /> +<br /> +I would not have the heavens fair,<br /> +Nor golden clouds, nor breezes mild,<br /> +But days like this, until my heart<br /> +To loss of you is reconciled.<br /> +<br /> +I would not see you. Every hope<br /> +To know you as you were has ranged.<br /> +I, who am altered, would not find<br /> +The face I loved so greatly changed.<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE LOOP</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>From State street bridge a snow-white glimpse of sea<br /> +Beyond the river walled in by red buildings,<br /> +O'ertopped by masts that take the sunset's gildings,<br /> +Roped to the wharf till spring shall set them free.<br /> +Great floes make known how swift the river's current.<br /> +Out of the north sky blows a cutting wind.<br /> +Smoke from the stacks and engines in a torrent<br /> +Whirls downward, by the eddying breezes thinned.<br /> +Enskyed are sign boards advertising soap,<br /> +Tobacco, coal, transcontinental trains.<br /> +A tug is whistling, straining at a rope,<br /> +Fixed to a dredge with derricks, scoops and cranes.<br /> +Down in the loop the blue-gray air enshrouds,<br /> +As with a cyclops' cape, the man-made hills<br /> +And towers of granite where the city crowds.<br /> +Above the din a copper's whistle shrills.<br /> +There is a smell of coffee and of spices.<br /> +We near the market place of trade's devices.<br /> +Blue smoke from out a roasting room is pouring.<br /> +A rooster crows, geese cackle, men are bawling.<br /> +Whips crack, trucks creak, it is the place of storing,<br /> +And drawing out and loading up and hauling<br /> +Fruit, vegetables and fowls and steaks and hams,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> +Oysters and lobsters, fish and crabs and clams.<br /> +And near at hand are restaurants and bars,<br /> +Hotels with rooms at fifty cents a day,<br /> +Beer tunnels, pool rooms, places where cigars<br /> +And cigarettes their window signs display;<br /> +Mixed in with letterings of printed tags,<br /> +Twine, boxes, cartels, sacks and leather bags,<br /> +Wigs, telescopes, eyeglasses, ladies' tresses,<br /> +Or those who manicure or fashion dresses,<br /> +Or sell us putters, tennis balls or brassies,<br /> +Make shoes, pull teeth, or fit the eye with glasses.<br /> +<br /> +And now the rows of windows showing laces,<br /> +Silks, draperies and furs and costly vases,<br /> +Watches and mirrors, silver cups and mugs,<br /> +Emeralds, diamonds, Indian, Persian rugs,<br /> +Hats, velvets, silver buckles, ostrich-plumes,<br /> +Drugs, violet water, powder and perfumes.<br /> +Here is a monstrous winking eye—beneath<br /> +A showcase by an entrance full of teeth.<br /> +Here rubber coats, umbrellas, mackintoshes,<br /> +Hoods, rubber boots and arctics and galoshes.<br /> +Here is half a block of overcoats,<br /> +In this bleak time of snow and slender throats.<br /> +Then windows of fine linen, snakewood canes,<br /> +Scarfs, opera hats, in use where fashion reigns.<br /> +As when the hive swarms, so the crowded street<br /> +Roars to the shuffling of innumerable feet.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> +Skyscrapers soar above them; they go by<br /> +As bees crawl, little scales upon the skin<br /> +Of a great dragon winding out and in.<br /> +Above them hangs a tangled tree of signs,<br /> +Suspended or uplifted like dćdalian<br /> +Hieroglyphics when the saturnalian<br /> +Night commences, and their racing lines<br /> +Run fire of blue and yellow in a puzzle,<br /> +Bewildering to the eyes of those who guzzle,<br /> +And gourmandize and stroll and seek the bubble<br /> +Of happiness to put away their trouble.<br /> +<br /> +Around the loop the elevated crawls,<br /> +And giant shadows sink against the walls<br /> +Where ten to twenty stories strive to hold<br /> +The pale refraction of the sunset's gold.<br /> +Slop underfoot, we pass beneath the loop.<br /> +The crowd is uglier, poorer; there are smells<br /> +As from the depths of unsuspected hells,<br /> +And from a groggery where beer and soup<br /> +Are sold for five cents to the thieves and bums.<br /> +Here now are huge cartoons in red and blue<br /> +Of obese women and of skeleton men,<br /> +Egyptian dancers, twined with monstrous snakes,<br /> +Before the door a turbaned lithe Hindoo,<br /> +A bagpipe shrilling, underneath a den<br /> +Of opium, whence a man with hand that shakes,<br /> +Rolling a cigarette, so palely comes.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +The clang of car bells and the beat of drums.<br /> +Draft horses clamping with their steel-shod hoofs.<br /> +The buildings have grown small and black and worn;<br /> +The sky is more beholden; o'er the roofs<br /> +A flock of pigeons soars; with dresses torn<br /> +And yellow faces, labor women pass<br /> +Some Chinese gabbling; and there, buying fruit,<br /> +Stands a fair girl who is a late recruit<br /> +To those poor women slain each year by lust.<br /> +'Tis evening now and trade will soon begin.<br /> +The family entrance beckons for a glass<br /> +Of hopeful mockery, the piano's din<br /> +Into the street with sounds of rasping wires<br /> +Filters, and near a pawner's window shows<br /> +Pistols, accordions; and, luring buyers,<br /> +A Jew stands mumbling to the passer-by<br /> +Of jewelry and watches and old clothes.<br /> +A limousine gleams quickly—with a cry<br /> +A legless man fastened upon a board<br /> +With casters 'neath it by a sudden shove<br /> +Darts out of danger. And upon the corner<br /> +A lassie tells a man that God is love,<br /> +Holding a tambourine with its copper hoard<br /> +To be augmented by the drunken scorner.<br /> +A woman with no eyeballs in her sockets<br /> +Plays "Rock of Ages" on a wheezy organ.<br /> +A newsboy with cold hands thrust in his pockets<br /> +Cries, "All about the will of Pierpont Morgan!"<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> +The roofline of the street now sinks and dwindles.<br /> +The windows are begrimed with dust and beer.<br /> +A child half clothed, with legs as thin as spindles,<br /> +Carries a basket with some bits of coal.<br /> +Between lace curtains eyes of yellow leer,<br /> +The cheeks splotched with white places like the skin<br /> +Inside an eggshell—destitute of soul.<br /> +One sees a brass lamp oozing kerosene<br /> +Upon a stand whereon her elbows lean;<br /> +Lighted, it soon will welcome negroes in.<br /> +<br /> +The railroad tracks are near. We almost choke<br /> +From filth whirled from the street and stinging vapors.<br /> +Great engines vomit gas and heavy smoke<br /> +Upon a north wind driving tattered papers,<br /> +Dry dung and dust and refuse down the street.<br /> +A circumambient roar as of a wheel<br /> +Whirring far off—a monster's heart whose beat<br /> +Is full of murmurs, comes as we retreat<br /> +Towards Twenty-second. And a man with jaw<br /> +Set like a tiger's, with a dirty beard,<br /> +Skulks toward the loop, with heavy wrists red-raw<br /> +Glowing above his pockets where his hands<br /> +Pushed tensely round his hips the coat tails draw,<br /> +And show what seems a slender piece of metal<br /> +In his hip pocket. On these barren strands<br /> +He waits for midnight for old scores to settle<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +Against his ancient foe society,<br /> +Who keeps the soup house and who builds the jails.<br /> +Switchmen and firemen with their dinner pails<br /> +Go by him homeward, and he wonders if<br /> +These fellows know a hundred thousand workers<br /> +Walk up and down the city's highways, stiff<br /> +From cold and hunger, doomed to poverty,<br /> +As wretched as the thieves and crooks and shirkers.<br /> +He scurries to the lake front, loiters past<br /> +The windows of wax lights with scarlet shades,<br /> +Where smiling diners back of ambuscades<br /> +Of silk and velvet hear not winter's blast<br /> +Blowing across the lake. He has a thought<br /> +Of Michigan, where once at picking berries<br /> +He spent a summer—then his eye is caught<br /> +At Randolph street by written light which tarries,<br /> +Then like a film runs into sentences.<br /> +He sees it all as from a black abyss.<br /> +Taxis with skid chains rattle, limousines<br /> +Draw up to awnings; for a space he catches<br /> +A scent of musk or violets, sees the patches<br /> +On powdered cheeks of furred and jeweled queens.<br /> +The color round his cruel mouth grows whiter,<br /> +He thrusts his coarse hands in his pockets tighter:<br /> +He is a thief, he knows he is a thief,<br /> +He is a thief found out, and, as he knows,<br /> +The whole loop is a kingdom held in fief<br /> +By men who work with laws instead of blows<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span> +From sling shots, so he curses under breath<br /> +The money and the invisible hand that owns<br /> +From year to year, in spite of change and death,<br /> +The wires for the lights and telephones,<br /> +The railways on the streets, and overhead<br /> +The railways, and beneath the winding tunnel<br /> +Which crooks stole from the city for a runnel<br /> +To drain her nickels; and the pipes of lead<br /> +Which carry gas, wrapped round us like a snake,<br /> +And round the courts, whose grip no court can break.<br /> +He curses bitterly all those who rise,<br /> +And rule by just the spirit which he plies<br /> +Coarsely against the world's great store of wealth;<br /> +Bankers and usurers and cliques whose stealth<br /> +Works witchcraft through the market and the press,<br /> +And hires editors, or owns the stock<br /> +Controlling papers, playing with finesse<br /> +The city's thinking, that they may unlock<br /> +Treasures and powers like burglars in the dark.<br /> +And thinking thus and cursing, through a flurry<br /> +Of sudden snow he hastens on to Clark.<br /> +In a cheap room there is an eye to mark<br /> +His coming and be glad. His footsteps hurry.<br /> +She will have money, earned this afternoon<br /> +Through men who took her from a near saloon<br /> +Wherein she sits at table to dragoon<br /> +Roughnecks or simpletons upon a lark.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> +Within a little hall a fierce-eyed youth<br /> +Rants of the burdens on the people's backs—<br /> +He would cure all things with the single tax.<br /> +A clergyman demands more gospel truth,<br /> +Speaking to Christians at a weekly dinner.<br /> +A parlor Marxian, for a beginner<br /> +Would take the railways. And amid applause<br /> +Where lawyers dine, a judge says all will be<br /> +Well if we hand down to posterity<br /> +Respect for courts and judges and the laws.<br /> +An anarchist would fight. Upon the whole,<br /> +Another thinks, to cultivate one's soul<br /> +Is most important—let the passing show<br /> +Go where it wills, and where it wills to go.<br /> +<br /> +Outside the stars look down. Stars are content<br /> +To be so quiet and indifferent.<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">WHEN UNDER THE ICY EAVES</span></p> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> + +<tr><td>When under the icy eaves<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The swallow heralds the sun,</span><br /> +And the dove for its lost mate grieves<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the young lambs play and run;</span><br /> +When the sea is a plane of glass,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the blustering winds are still,</span><br /> +And the strength of the thin snows pass<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In mists o'er the tawny hill—</span><br /> +The spirit of life awakes<br /> +In the fresh flags by the lakes.<br /> +<br /> +When the sick man seeks the air,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the graves of the dead grow green,</span><br /> +Where the children play unaware<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the faces no longer seen;</span><br /> +When all we have felt or can feel,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all we are or have been,</span><br /> +And all the heart can hide or reveal,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Knocks gently, and enters in:—</span><br /> +The spirit of life awakes,<br /> +In the fresh flags by the lakes.<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">IN THE CAR</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> + +<tr><td>We paused to say good-by,<br /> +As we thought for a little while,<br /> +Alone in the car, in the corner<br /> +Around the turn of the aisle.<br /> +<br /> +A quiver came in your voice,<br /> +Your eyes were sorrowful too;<br /> +'Twas over—I strode to the doorway,<br /> +Then turned to wave an adieu.<br /> +<br /> +But you had not come from the corner,<br /> +And though I had gone so far,<br /> +I retraced, and faced you coming<br /> +Into the aisle of the car.<br /> +<br /> +You stopped as one who was caught<br /> +In an evil mood by surprise.—<br /> +I want to forget, I am trying<br /> +To forget the look in your eyes.<br /> +<br /> +Your face was blank and cold,<br /> +Like Lot's wife turned to salt.<br /> +I suddenly trapped and discovered<br /> +Your soul in a hidden fault.<br /> +<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +Your eyes were tearless and wide,<br /> +And your wide eyes looked on me<br /> +Like a Mćnad musing murder,<br /> +Or the mask of Melpomene.<br /> +<br /> +And there in a flash of lightning<br /> +I learned what I never could prove:<br /> +That your heart contained no sorrow,<br /> +And your heart contained no love.<br /> +<br /> +And my heart is light and heavy,<br /> +And this is the reason why:<br /> +I am glad we parted forever,<br /> +And sad for the last good-by.<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">SIMON SURNAMED PETER</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Time that has lifted you over them all—<br /> +O'er John and o'er Paul;<br /> +Writ you in capitals, made you the chief<br /> +Word on the leaf—<br /> +How did you, Peter, when ne'er on His breast<br /> +You leaned and were blest—<br /> +And none except Judas and you broke the faith<br /> +To the day of His death,—<br /> +You, Peter, the fisherman, worthy of blame,<br /> +Arise to this fame?<br /> +<br /> +'Twas you in the garden who fell into sleep<br /> +And the watch failed to keep,<br /> +When Jesus was praying and pressed with the weight<br /> +Of the oncoming fate.<br /> +'Twas you in the court of the palace who warmed<br /> +Your hands as you stormed<br /> +At the damsel, denying Him thrice, when she cried:<br /> +"He walked at his side!"<br /> +You, Peter, a wave, a star among clouds, a reed in the wind,<br /> +A guide of the blind,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +Both smiter and flyer, but human alway, I protest,<br /> +Beyond all the rest.<br /> +<br /> +When at night by the boat on the sea He appeared<br /> +Did you wait till he neared?<br /> +You leaped in the water, not dreading the worst<br /> +In your joy to be first<br /> +To greet Him and tell Him of all that had passed<br /> +Since you saw Him the last.<br /> +You had slept while He watched, but fierce were you, fierce and awake<br /> +When they sought Him to take,<br /> +And cursing, no doubt, as you smote off, as one of the least,<br /> +The ear of the priest.<br /> +Then Andrew and all of them fled, but you followed Him, hoping for strength<br /> +To save him at length<br /> +Till you lied to the damsel, oh penitent Peter, and crept,<br /> +Into hiding and wept.<br /> +<br /> +Oh well! But he asked all the twelve, "Who am I?"<br /> +And who made reply?<br /> +As you leaped in the sea, so you spoke as you smote with the sword;<br /> +"Thou art Christ, even Lord!"<br /> +John leaned on His breast, but he asked you, your strength to foresee,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +"Nay, lovest thou me?"<br /> +Thrice over, as thrice you denied Him, and chose you to lead<br /> +His sheep and to feed;<br /> +And gave you, He said, the keys of the den and the fold<br /> +To have and to hold.<br /> +You were a poor jailer, oh Peter, the dreamer, who saw<br /> +The death of the law<br /> +In the dream of the vessel that held all the four-footed beasts,<br /> +Unclean for the priests;<br /> +And heard in the vision a trumpet that all men are worth<br /> +The peace of the earth<br /> +And rapture of heaven hereafter,—oh Peter, what power<br /> +Was yours in that hour:<br /> +You warder and jailer and sealer of fates and decrees,<br /> +To use the big keys<br /> +With which to reveal and fling wide all the soul and the scheme<br /> +Of the Galilee dream,<br /> +When you flashed in a trice, as later you smote with the sword:<br /> +"Thou art Christ, even Lord!"<br /> +<br /> +We men, Simon Peter, we men also give you the crown<br /> +O'er Paul and o'er John.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> +We write you in capitals, make you the chief<br /> +Word on the leaf.<br /> +We know you as one of our flesh, and 'tis well<br /> +You are warder of hell,<br /> +And heaven's gatekeeper forever to bind and to loose—<br /> +Keep the keys if you choose.<br /> +Not rock of you, fire of you make you sublime<br /> +In the annals of time.<br /> +You were called by Him, Peter, a rock, but we give you the name<br /> +Of Peter the Flame.<br /> +For you struck a spark, as the spark from the shock<br /> +Of steel upon rock.<br /> +The rock has his use but the flame gives the light<br /> +In the way in the night:—<br /> +Oh Peter, the dreamer, impetuous, human, divine,<br /> +Gnarled branch of the vine!<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">ALL LIFE IN A LIFE</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>His father had a large family<br /> +Of girls and boys and he was born and bred<br /> +In a barn or kind of cattle shed.<br /> +But he was a hardy youngster and grew to be<br /> +A boy with eyes that sparkled like a rod<br /> +Of white hot iron in the blacksmith shop.<br /> +His face was ruddy like a rising moon,<br /> +And his hair was black as sheep's wool that is black.<br /> +And he had rugged arms and legs and a strong back.<br /> +And he had a voice half flute and half bassoon.<br /> +And from his toes up to his head's top<br /> +He was a man, simple but intricate.<br /> +And most men differ who try to delineate<br /> +His life and fate.<br /> +<br /> +He never seemed ashamed<br /> +Of poverty or of his origin. He was a wayward child,<br /> +Nevertheless though wise and mild,<br /> +And thoughtful but when angered then he flamed<br /> +As fire does in a forge.<br /> +When he was ten years old he ran away<br /> +To be alone and watch the sea, and the stars<br /> +At midnight from a mountain gorge.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span><br /> +When he returned his parents scolded him<br /> +And threatened him with bolts and bars.<br /> +Then they grew soft for his return and gay<br /> +And with their love would have enfolded him.<br /> +But even at ten years old he had a way<br /> +Of gazing at you with a look austere<br /> +Which gave his kinfolk fear.<br /> +He had no childlike love for father or mother,<br /> +Sister or brother,<br /> +They were the same to him as any other.<br /> +He was a little cold, a little queer.<br /> +<br /> +His father was a laborer and now<br /> +They made the boy work for his daily bread.<br /> +They say he read<br /> +A book or two during these years of work.<br /> +But if there was a secret prone to lurk<br /> +Between the pages under the light of his brow<br /> +It came forth. And if he had a woman<br /> +In love or out of love, or a companion or a chum,<br /> +History is dumb.<br /> +So far as we know he dreamed and worked with hands<br /> +And learned to know his genius' commands<br /> +Or what is called one's dćmon.<br /> +<br /> +And this became at last the city's call.<br /> +He had now reached the age of thirty years,<br /> +And found a Dream of Life and a solution<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +For slavery of soul and even all<br /> +Miseries that flow from things material.<br /> +To free the world was his soul's resolution.<br /> +But his family had great fears<br /> +For him, knowing the evil<br /> +Which might befall him, seeing that the light<br /> +Of his own dream had blinded his mind's eyes.<br /> +They could not tell but what he had a devil.<br /> +But still in their tears despite,<br /> +And warnings he departed with replies<br /> +That when a man's genius calls him<br /> +He must obey no matter what befalls him.<br /> +<br /> +What he had in his mind was growth<br /> +Of soul by watching,<br /> +And the creation of eyes<br /> +Over your mind's eyes to supervise<br /> +A clear activity and to ward off sloth.<br /> +What he had in his mind was scotching<br /> +And killing the snake of Hatred and stripping the glove<br /> +From the hand of Hypocrisy and quenching the fire<br /> +Of Falsehood and Unbrotherly Desire.—<br /> +What he had in his mind was simply Love.<br /> +And it was strange he preached the sword and force<br /> +To establish Love, but it was not strange,<br /> +Since he did this, his life took on a change.<br /> +And what he taught seems muddled at its source<br /> +With moralizing and with moral strife.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +For morals are merely the Truth diluted<br /> +And sweetened up and suited<br /> +To the business and bread of Life.<br /> +<br /> +And now this City was just what you'd find<br /> +A city anywhere,<br /> +A turmoil and a Vanity Fair,<br /> +A sort of heaven and a sort of Tophet.<br /> +There were so many leaders of his kind<br /> +The city didn't care<br /> +For one additional prophet.<br /> +He said some extravagant things<br /> +And planted a few stings<br /> +Under the rich man's hide.<br /> +And one of the sensational newspapers<br /> +Gave him a line or two for cutting capers<br /> +In front of the Palace of Justice and the Church.<br /> +But all of the first grade people took the other side<br /> +Of the street when they saw him coming<br /> +With a rag tag crowd singing and humming,<br /> +And curious boys and men up in a perch<br /> +Of a tree or window taking the spectacle in,<br /> +And the Corybantic din<br /> +Of a Salvation Army as it were.<br /> +And whatever he dreamed when he lived in a little town<br /> +The intelligent people ignored him, and this is the stir<br /> +And the only stir he made in the city.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +But there was a certain sinister<br /> +Fellow who came to him hearing of his renown<br /> +And said "You can be Mayor of this city,<br /> +We need a man like you for Mayor."<br /> +And others said "You'd make a lawyer or a politician,<br /> +Look how the people follow you;<br /> +Why don't you hire out as a special writer,<br /> +You could become a business man, a rhetorician,<br /> +You could become a player,<br /> +You can grow rich. There's nothing for a fighter,<br /> +Fighting as you are, but to end in ruin."<br /> +But he turned from them on his way pursuing<br /> +The dream he had in view.<br /> +<br /> +He had a rich man or two<br /> +Who took up with him against the powerful frown<br /> +Which looked him down.<br /> +For you'll always find a rich man or two<br /> +To take up with anything.<br /> +There are those who can't get into society or bring<br /> +Their riches to a social recognition;<br /> +Or ill-formed souls who lack the real patrician<br /> +Spirit for life.<br /> +But as for him he didn't care, he passed<br /> +Where the richness of living was rife.<br /> +And like wise Goethe talking to the last<br /> +With cabmen rather than with lords<br /> +He sat about the markets and the fountains,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +He walked about the country and the mountains,<br /> +Took trips upon the lakes and waded fords<br /> +Barefooted, laughing as a young animal<br /> +Disports itself amid the festival<br /> +Of warm winds, sunshine, summer's carnival—<br /> +With laborers, carpenters, seamen<br /> +And some loose women.<br /> +And certain notable sinners<br /> +Gave him dinners.<br /> +And he went to weddings and to places where youth slakes<br /> +Its thirst for happiness, and they served him cakes<br /> +And wine wherever he went.<br /> +And he ate and drank and spent<br /> +His time in feasting and in telling stories,<br /> +And singing poems of lilies and of trees,<br /> +With crowds of people crowded around his knees<br /> +That searched with lightning secrets hidden<br /> +Of life and of life's glories,<br /> +Of death and of the soul's way after death.<br /> +<br /> +Time makes amends usually for scandal's breath,<br /> +Which touched him to his earthly ruination.<br /> +But this city had a Civic Federation,<br /> +And a certain social order which intrigues<br /> +Through churches, courts, with an endless ramification<br /> +Of money and morals to save itself.<br /> +And this city had a Bar Association,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> +Also its Public Efficiency Leagues<br /> +For laying honest men upon the shelf<br /> +While making private pelf<br /> +Secure and free to increase.<br /> +And this city had illustrious Pharisees<br /> +And this city had a legion<br /> +Of men who make a business of religion,<br /> +With eyes one inch apart,<br /> +Dark and narrow of heart,<br /> +Who give themselves and give the city no peace,<br /> +And who are everywhere the best police<br /> +For Life as business.<br /> +And when they saw this youth<br /> +Was telling the truth,<br /> +And that his followers were multiplying,<br /> +And were going about rejoicing and defying<br /> +The social order and were stirring up<br /> +The dregs of discontent in the cup<br /> +With the hand of their own happiness,<br /> +They saw dynamic mysteries<br /> +In the poems of lilies and trees,<br /> +Therefore they held him for a felony.<br /> +<br /> +If you will take a kernel of wheat<br /> +And first make free<br /> +The outer flake and then pare off the meat<br /> +Of edible starch you'll find at the kernel's core<br /> +The life germ. And this young man's words were dim<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +With blasphemy, sedition at the rim,<br /> +Which fired the heads of dreamers like new wine.<br /> +But this was just the outward force of him.<br /> +For this young man's philosophy was more<br /> +Than such external ferment, being divine<br /> +With secrets so profound no plummet line<br /> +Can altogether sound it. It means growth<br /> +Of soul by watching,<br /> +And the creation of eyes<br /> +Over your mind's eyes to supervise<br /> +A clear activity and to ward off sloth.<br /> +What he had in mind was scotching<br /> +And killing the snake of Hatred and stripping the glove<br /> +From the hand of Hypocrisy and quenching the fire<br /> +Of falsehood and unbrotherly Desire.<br /> +What he had in mind was simply Love.<br /> +<br /> +But he was prosecuted<br /> +As a rebel and as a rebel executed<br /> +Right in a public place where all could see.<br /> +And his mother watched him hang for the felony.<br /> +He hated to die being but thirty-three,<br /> +And fearing that his poems might be lost.<br /> +And certain members of the Bar Association,<br /> +And of the Civic Federation,<br /> +And of the League of Public Efficiency,<br /> +And a legion<br /> +Of men devoted to religion,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> +With policemen, soldiers, roughs,<br /> +Loose women, thieves and toughs,<br /> +Came out to see him die,<br /> +And hooted at him giving up the ghost<br /> +In great despair and with a fearful cry!<br /> +<br /> +And after him there was a man named Paul<br /> +Who almost spoiled it all.<br /> +<br /> +And protozoan things like hypocrites,<br /> +And parasitic things who make a food<br /> +Of the mysteries of God for earthly power<br /> +Must wonder how before this young man's hour<br /> +They lived without his blood,<br /> +Shed on that day, and which<br /> +In red cells is so rich.<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">WHAT YOU WILL</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>April rain, delicious weeping,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Washes white bones from the grave,</span><br /> +Long enough have they been sleeping.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They are cleansed, and now they crave</span><br /> +Once more on the earth to gather<br /> +Pleasure from the springtime weather.<br /> +<br /> +The pine trees and the long dark grass<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Feed on what is placed below.</span><br /> +Think you not that there doth pass<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In them something we did know?</span><br /> +This spell—well, friends, I greet ye once again<br /> +With joy—but with a most unuttered pain.<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE CITY</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>The Sun hung like a red balloon<br /> +As if he would not rise;<br /> +For listless Helios drowsed and yawned.<br /> +He cared not whether the morning dawned,<br /> +The brother of Eos and the Moon<br /> +Stretched him and rubbed his eyes.<br /> +<br /> +He would have dreamed the dream again<br /> +That found him under sea:<br /> +He saw Zeus sit by Hera's side,<br /> +He saw Hćphestos with his bride;<br /> +He traced from Enna's flowery plain<br /> +The child Persephone.<br /> +<br /> +There was a time when heaven's vault<br /> +Cracked like a temple's roof.<br /> +A new hierarchy burst its shell,<br /> +And as the sapphire ceiling fell,<br /> +From stern Jehovah's mad assault,<br /> +Vast spaces stretched aloof:<br /> +<br /> +Great blue black depths of frozen air<br /> +Engulfed the soul of Zeus.<br /> +And then Jehovah reigned instead.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +For Judah was living and Greece was dead.<br /> +And Hope was born to nurse Despair,<br /> +And the Devil was let loose.<br /> +<p><span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span></span></p> +Far off in the waste empyrean<br /> +The world was a golden mote.<br /> +And the Sun hung like a red balloon,<br /> +Or a bomb afire o'er a barracoon.<br /> +And the sea was drab, and the sea was green<br /> +Like a many colored coat.<br /> +<br /> +The sea was pink like cyclamen,<br /> +And red as a blushing rose.<br /> +It shook anon like the sensitive plant,<br /> +Under the golden light aslant.<br /> +The little waves patted the shore again<br /> +Where the restless river flows.<br /> +<br /> +And thus it has been for ages gone—<br /> +For a hundred thousand years;<br /> +Ere Buddha lived or Jesus came,<br /> +Or ever the city had place or name,<br /> +The sea thrilled through at the kiss of dawn<br /> +Like a soul of smiles and tears.<br /> +<br /> +When the city's seat was a waste of sand,<br /> +And the hydra lived alone,<br /> +The sound of the sea was here to be heard,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> +And the moon rose up like a great white bird,<br /> +Sailing aloft from the yellow strand<br /> +To her silent midnight throne.<br /> +<br /> +Now Helios eyes the universe,<br /> +And he knows the world is small.<br /> +Of old he walked through pagan Tyre,<br /> +Babylon, Sodom destroyed by fire,<br /> +And sought to unriddle the primal curse<br /> +That holds the race in thrall.<br /> +<br /> +So he stepped from the Sun in robes of flame<br /> +As the city woke from sleep.<br /> +He walked the markets, walked the squares,<br /> +He walked the places of sweets and snares,<br /> +Where men buy honor and barter shame,<br /> +And the weak are killed as sheep.<br /> +<br /> +He saw the city is one great mart<br /> +Where life is bought and sold.<br /> +Men rise to get them meat and bread<br /> +To barter for drugs or coffin the dead.<br /> +And dawn is but a plucked-up heart<br /> +For the dreary game of gold.<br /> +<br /> +"Ho! ho!" said Helios, "father Zeus<br /> +Would never botch it so.<br /> +If he had stolen Joseph's bride,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +And let his son be crucified<br /> +The son's blood had been put to use<br /> +To ease the people's woe."<br /> +<br /> +"He of the pest and the burning bush,<br /> +Of locusts, lice, and frogs,<br /> +Who made me stand, veiling my light,<br /> +While Joshua slaughtered the Amorite,<br /> +Who blacked the skin of the sons of Cush,<br /> +And builded the synagogues."<br /> +<br /> +"And Jehovah the great is omnipotent,<br /> +While Zeus was bound by Fate.<br /> +But Athens fell when Peter took Rome,<br /> +And Chicago is made His hecatomb.<br /> +And since from the hour His son was sent<br /> +The hypocrite holds the state."<br /> +<br /> +Helios traversed the city streets<br /> +And this is what he saw:<br /> +Some sold their honor, some their skill,<br /> +The soldier hired himself to kill,<br /> +The judges bartered the judgment seats<br /> +And trafficked in the law.<br /> +<br /> +The starving artist sold his youth,<br /> +The writer sold his pen;<br /> +The lawyer sharpened up his wits<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> +Like a burglar filing auger bits,<br /> +And Jesus' vicar sold the truth<br /> +To the famished sons of men.<br /> +<br /> +In every heart flamed cruelty<br /> +Like a little emerald snake.<br /> +And each one knew if he should stand<br /> +In another's way the dagger-hand<br /> +Would make the stronger the feofee<br /> +Of the coveted wapentake.<br /> +<br /> +There's not a thing men will not do<br /> +For honor, gold, or power.<br /> +We smile and call the city fair,<br /> +We call life lovely and debonair,<br /> +But Proserpina never grew<br /> +So deadly a passion flower.<br /> +<br /> +Go live for an hour in a tropic land<br /> +Hid near a sinking pool:<br /> +The lion and tiger come to drink,<br /> +The boa crawls to the water's brink,<br /> +The elephant bull kneels down in the sand<br /> +And drinks till his throat is cool.<br /> +<br /> +Jehovah will keep you awhile unseen<br /> +As you lie behind the rocks.<br /> +But go, if you dare, to slake your thirst,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> +Though Jesus died for our life accursed<br /> +Your bones by the tiger will be licked clean<br /> +As he licks the bones of an ox.<br /> +<br /> +And the sky may be blue as fleur de lis,<br /> +And the earth be tulip red;<br /> +And God in heaven, and life all good<br /> +While you lie hid in the underwood:<br /> +And the city may leave you sorrow free<br /> +If you ask it not for bread.<br /> +<br /> +One day Achilles lost a horse<br /> +While the pest at Troy was rife,<br /> +And a million maggots fought and ate<br /> +Like soldiers storming a city's gate,<br /> +And Thersites said, as he looked at the corse,<br /> +"Achilles, that is life." +<p><span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span></span></p> +Day fades and from a million cells<br /> +The office people pour.<br /> +Like bees that crawl on the honeycomb<br /> +The workers scurry to what is home,<br /> +And trains and traffic and clanging bells<br /> +Make the cańon highways roar.<br /> +<br /> +Helios walked the city's ways<br /> +Till the lights began to shine.<br /> +Then the janitor women start to scrub<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +And the Pharisees up and enter the club,<br /> +And the harlot wakes, and the music plays<br /> +And the glasses glow with wine.<br /> +<br /> +Now we're good fellows one and all,<br /> +And the buffet storms with talk.<br /> +"The market's closed and trade's at end<br /> +We had our battle, now I'm your friend."<br /> +And thanks to the spirit of alcohol<br /> +Men go for a ride or walk.<br /> +<br /> +Oh but traffic is not all done<br /> +Nor everything yet sold.<br /> +There's woman to win, and plots to weave,<br /> +There's a heart to hurt, or one to deceive,<br /> +And bargains to bind ere rise of Sun<br /> +To garner the morrow's gold.<br /> +<br /> +The market at night is as full of fraud<br /> +As the market kept by day.<br /> +The courtesan buys a soul with a look,<br /> +A dinner tempers the truth in a book,<br /> +And love is sold till love is a bawd,<br /> +And falsehood froths in the play.<br /> +<br /> +And men and women sell their smiles<br /> +For friendship's lifeless dregs.<br /> +For fear of the morrow we bend and bow<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +To moneybags with the slanting brow.<br /> +For the heart that knows life's little wiles<br /> +Seldom or never begs.<br /> +<br /> +"Poor men," sighed Helios, "how they long<br /> +For the ultimate fire of love.<br /> +They yearn, through life, like the peacock moth,<br /> +And die worn out in search of the troth.<br /> +For love in the soul is the siren song<br /> +That wrecks the peace thereof." +<p><span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span></span></p> +Helios turned from the world and fled<br /> +As the convent bell tolled six.<br /> +For he caught a glimpse of an agéd crone<br /> +Who knelt beside a coffin alone;<br /> +She had sold her cloak to shrive the dead<br /> +And buy a crucifix!<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE IDIOT</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Two children in a garden<br /> +Shouting for joy<br /> +Were playing dolls and houses,<br /> +A girl and boy.<br /> +I smiled at a neighbor window,<br /> +And watched them play<br /> +Under a budding oak tree<br /> +On a wintry day.<br /> +<br /> +And then a board half broken<br /> +In the high fence<br /> +Fell over and there entered,<br /> +I know not whence,<br /> +A jailbird face of yellow<br /> +With a vacant sulk,<br /> +His body was a sickly<br /> +Thing of bulk.<br /> +<br /> +His open mouth was slavering,<br /> +And a green light<br /> +Turned disc-like in his eyeballs,<br /> +Like a dog's at night.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +His teeth were like a giant's,<br /> +And far apart;<br /> +I saw him reel on the children<br /> +With a stopping heart.<br /> +He trampled their dolls and ruined<br /> +The house they made;<br /> +He struck to earth the children<br /> +With a dirty spade.<br /> +As a tiger growls with an antelope<br /> +After the hunt,<br /> +Over the little faces<br /> +I heard him grunt.<br /> +<br /> +I stood at the window frozen,<br /> +And short of breath,<br /> +And then I saw the idiot<br /> +Was Master Death!<br /> +<br /> +A bird in the lilac bushes<br /> +Began to sing.<br /> +The garden colored before me<br /> +To the kiss of spring.<br /> +And the yellow face in a moment<br /> +Was a mystic white;<br /> +The matted hair was softened<br /> +To starry light.<br /> +The ragged coat flowed downward<br /> +Into a robe;<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> +He carried a sword and a balance<br /> +And stood on a globe.<br /> +I watched him from the window<br /> +Under a spell;<br /> +The idiot was the angel<br /> +Azrael!<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">HELEN OF TROY</span></p> + +<p class="center">On an ancient vase representing in bas-relief the flight +of Helen.</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>This is the vase of Love<br /> +Whose feet would ever rove<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">O'er land and sea;</span><br /> +Whose hopes forever seek<br /> +Bright eyes, the vermeiled cheek,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And ways made free.</span><br /> +<br /> +Do we not understand<br /> +Why thou didst leave thy land,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy spouse, thy hearth?</span><br /> +Helen of Troy, Greek art<br /> +Hath made our heart thy heart,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy mirth our mirth.</span><br /> +<br /> +For Paris did appear,—<br /> +Curled hair and rosy ear<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And tapering hands.</span><br /> +He spoke—the blood ran fast,<br /> +He touched, and killed the past,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And clove its bands.</span><br /> +<br/> +And this, I deem, is why<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span><br /> +The restless ages sigh,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Helen, for thee.</span><br /> +Whate'er we do or dream,<br /> +Whate'er we say or seem,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We would be free.</span><br /> +<br /> +We would forsake old love,<br /> +And all the pain thereof,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all the care;</span><br /> +We would find out new seas,<br /> +And lands more strange than these,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And flowers more fair.</span><br /> +<br /> +We would behold fresh skies<br /> +Where summer never dies<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And amaranths spring;</span><br /> +Lands where the halcyon hours<br /> +Nest over scented bowers<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On folded wing.</span><br /> +<br /> +We would be crowned with bays,<br /> +And spend the long bright days<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">On sea or shore;</span><br /> +Or sit by haunted woods,<br /> +And watch the deep sea's moods,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And hear its roar.</span><br /> +<br/> +Beneath that ancient sky<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span><br /> +Who is not fain to fly<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As men have fled?</span><br /> +Ah! we would know relief<br /> +From marts of wine and beef,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And oil and bread.</span><br /> +<br /> +Helen of Troy, Greek art<br /> +Hath made our heart thy heart,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thy love our love.</span><br /> +For poesy, like thee,<br /> +Must fly and wander free<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As the wild dove.</span><br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">O GLORIOUS FRANCE</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>You have become a forge of snow white fire,<br /> +A crucible of molten steel, O France!<br /> +Your sons are stars who cluster to a dawn<br /> +And fade in light for you, O glorious France!<br /> +They pass through meteor changes with a song<br /> +Which to all islands and all continents<br /> +Says life is neither comfort, wealth, nor fame,<br /> +Nor quiet hearthstones, friendship, wife nor child<br /> +Nor love, nor youth's delight, nor manhood's power,<br /> +Nor many days spent in a chosen work,<br /> +Nor honored merit, nor the patterned theme<br /> +Of daily labor, nor the crowns nor wreaths<br /> +Or seventy years.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">These are not all of life,</span><br /> +O France, whose sons amid the rolling thunder<br /> +Of cannon stand in trenches where the dead<br /> +Clog the ensanguinéd ice. But life to these<br /> +Prophetic and enraptured souls is vision,<br /> +And the keen ecstasy of fated strife,<br /> +And divination of the loss as gain,<br /> +And reading mysteries with brightened eyes<br /> +In fiery shock and dazzling pain before<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> +The orient splendor of the face of Death,<br /> +As a great light beside a shadowy sea;<br /> +And in a high will's strenuous exercise,<br /> +Where the warmed spirit finds its fullest strength<br /> +And is no more afraid. And in the stroke<br /> +Of azure lightning when the hidden essence<br /> +And shifting meaning of man's spiritual worth<br /> +And mystical significance in time<br /> +Are instantly distilled to one clear drop<br /> +Which mirrors earth and heaven.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 13em;">This is life</span><br /> +Flaming to heaven in a minute's span<br /> +When the breath of battle blows the smoldering spark.<br /> +And across these seas<br /> +We who cry Peace and treasure life and cling<br /> +To cities, happiness, or daily toil<br /> +For daily bread, or trail the long routine<br /> +Of seventy years, taste not the terrible wine<br /> +Whereof you drink, who drain and toss the cup<br /> +Empty and ringing by the finished feast;<br /> +Or have it shaken from your hand by sight<br /> +Of God against the olive woods.<br /> +<br /> +As Joan of Arc amid the apple trees<br /> +With sacred joy first heard the voices, then<br /> +Obeying plunged at Orleans in a field<br /> +Of spears and lived her dream and died in fire,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span> +Thou, France, hast heard the voices and hast lived<br /> +The dream and known the meaning of the dream,<br /> +And read its riddle: How the soul of man<br /> +May to one greatest purpose make itself<br /> +A lens of clearness, how it loves the cup<br /> +Of deepest truth, and how its bitterest gall<br /> +Turns sweet to soul's surrender.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">And you say:</span><br /> +Take days for repetition, stretch your hands<br /> +For mocked renewal of familiar things:<br /> +The beaten path, the chair beside the window,<br /> +The crowded street, the task, the accustomed sleep,<br /> +And waking to the task, or many springs<br /> +Of lifted cloud, blue water, flowering fields—<br /> +The prison house grows close no less, the feast<br /> +A place of memory sick for senses dulled<br /> +Down to the dusty end where pitiful Time<br /> +Grown weary cries Enough!<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">FOR A DANCE</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>There is in the dance<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The joy of children on a May day lawn.</span><br /> +The fragments of old dreams and dead romance<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come to us from the dancers who are gone.</span><br /> +<br /> +What strains of ancient blood<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Move quicker to the music's passionate beat?</span><br /> +I see the gulls fly over a shadowy flood<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Munster fields of barley and of wheat.</span><br /> +<br /> +And I see sunny France,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the vine's tendrils quivering to the light,</span><br /> +And faces, faces, yearning for the dance<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With wistful eyes that look on our delight.</span><br /> +<br /> +They live through us again<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And we through them, who wish for lips and eyes</span><br /> +Wherewith to feel, not fancy, the old pain<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Passed with reluctance through the centuries</span><br /> +<br /> +To us, who in the maze<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of dancing and hushed music woven afresh</span><br /> +Amid the shifting mirrors of hours and days<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Know not our spirit, neither know our flesh;</span><br /> +<br/> +Nor what ourselves have been,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through the long way that brought us to the dance:</span><br /> +I see a little green by Camolin<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And odorous orchards blooming in Provence.</span><br /> +<br /> +Two listen to the roar<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of waves moon-smitten, where no steps intrude.</span><br /> +Who knows what lips were kissed at Laracor?<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or who it was that walked through Burnham wood?</span><br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">WHEN LIFE IS REAL</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>We rode, we rode against the wind.<br /> +The countless lights along the town<br /> +Made the town blacker for their fire,<br /> +And you were always looking down.<br /> +<br /> +To 'scape the blustering breath of March,<br /> +Or was it for your mind's disguise?<br /> +Still I could shut my eyes and see<br /> +The turquoise color of your eyes.<br /> +<br /> +Surely your ermine furs were warm,<br /> +And warm your flowing cloak of red;<br /> +Was it the wild wind kept you thus<br /> +Pensive and with averted head?<br /> +<br /> +I scarcely spoke, my words were swept<br /> +Like winged things in the wind's despite.<br /> +We rode, and with what shadow speed<br /> +Across the darkness of the night!<br /> +<br /> +Without a word, without a look.<br /> +What was the charm and what the spell<br /> +That made one hour of life become<br /> +A memory ever memorable?<br/> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span><span class="spacer">*</span></span></p> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +All craft, all labor, all desire,<br/> +All toil of age, all hope of youth<br /> +Are shadows from the fount of fire<br /> +And mummers of the truth.<br /> +<br /> +How bloodless books, how pulseless art,<br /> +Vain kingly and imperial zeal,<br /> +Vain all memorials of the heart!<br /> +When Life itself is real!<br /> +<br /> +We traced the golden clouds of spring,<br /> +We roved the beach, we walked the land.<br /> +What was the world? A Phantom thing<br /> +That vanished in your hand.<br /> +<br /> +You were as quiet as the sky.<br /> +Your eyes were liquid as the sea.<br /> +And in that hour that passed us by<br /> +We lived eternally.<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE QUESTION</span></p> +<p class="center">I</p> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> + + +<tr><td>The sea moans and the stars are bright,<br /> +The leaves lisp 'neath a rolling moon.<br /> +I shut my eyes against the night<br /> +And make believe the time is June—<br /> +The June that left us over-soon.<br /> +<br /> +This is the path and this the place<br /> +We sat and watched the moving sea,<br /> +And I the moonlight on your face.<br /> +We were not happy—woe is me,<br /> +Happiness is but memory!<br /> +<br /> +It seemeth, now that you are gone,<br /> +My heart a measured pain doth keep:—<br /> +Are you now, as I am, alone?<br /> +Do you make merry, do you weep?<br /> +In whose arms are you now asleep?<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE ANSWER</span></p> + + +<p class="center">II</p> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>I made my bed beneath the pines<br /> +Where the sea washed the sandy bars;<br /> +I heard the music of the winds,<br /> +And blest the aureate face of Mars.<br /> +All night a lilac splendor throve<br /> +Above the heaven's shadowy verge;<br /> +And in my heart the voice of love<br /> +Kept music with the dreaming surge.<br /> +<br /> +A little maid was at my side—<br /> +She slept—I scarcely slept at all;<br /> +Until toward the morning-tide<br /> +A dream possessed me with its thrall.<br /> +She sweetly breathed; around my breast<br /> +I felt her warmth like drowsy bliss,<br /> +Then came the vision of unrest—<br /> +I saw your face and felt your kiss.<br /> +<br /> +I woke and knew with what dismay<br /> +She read my secret and surprise;<br /> +She only said, "Again 'tis day!<br /> +How red your cheeks, how bright your eyes!"<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE SIGN</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>There's not a soul on the square,<br /> +And the snow blows up like a sail,<br /> +Or dizzily drifts like a drunken man<br /> +Falling, before the gale.<br /> +<br /> +And when the wind eddies it rifts<br /> +The snow that lies in drifts;<br /> +And it skims along the walk and sifts<br /> +In stairways, doorways all about<br /> +The steps of the church in an angry rout.<br /> +And one would think that a hungry hound<br /> +Was out in the cold for the sound.<br /> +<br /> +But I do not seem to mind<br /> +The snow that makes one blind,<br /> +Nor the crying voice of the wind—<br /> +I hate to hear the creak of the sign<br /> +Of Harmon Whitney, attorney at law:<br /> +With its rhythmic monotone of awe.<br /> +And neither a moan nor yet a whine,<br /> +Nor a cry of pain—one can't define<br /> +The sound of a creaking sign.<br /> +<br/> +Especially if the sky be bleak,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span><br /> +And no one stirs however you seek,<br /> +And every time you hear it creak<br /> +You wonder why they leave it stay<br /> +When a man is buried and hidden away<br /> +Many a day!<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">WILLIAM MARION REEDY</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>He sits before you silent as Buddha,<br /> +And then you say<br /> +This man is Rabelais.<br /> +And while you wonder what his stock is,<br /> +English or Irish, you behold his eyes<br /> +As big and brown as those desirable crockies<br /> +With which as boys we used to play.<br /> +And then you see the spherical light that lies<br /> +Just under the iris coloring,<br /> +Before which everything,<br /> +Becomes as plain as day.<br /> +<br /> +If you have noticed the rolling jowls<br /> +And the face that speaks its chief<br /> +Delight in beer and roast beef<br /> +Before you have seen his eyes, you see<br /> +A man of fleshly jollity,<br /> +Like the friars of old in gowns and cowls<br /> +To make a show of scowls.<br /> +And when he speaks from an orotund depth that growls<br /> +In a humorous way like Fielding or Smollett<br /> +That turns in a trice to Robert La Follette<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +Or retraces to Thales of Crete,<br /> +And touches upon Descartes coming back<br /> +Through the intellectual Zodiac<br /> +That's something of a feat.<br /> +And you see that the eyes are really the man,<br /> +For the thought of him proliferates<br /> +This way over to Hindostan,<br /> +And that way descanting on Yeats.<br /> +With a word on Plato's symposium,<br /> +And a little glimpse of Theocritus,<br /> +Or something of Bruno's martyrdom,<br /> +Or what St. Thomas Aquinas meant<br /> +By a certain line obscure to us.<br /> +And then he'll take up Horace's odes<br /> +Or the Roman civilization;<br /> +Or a few of the Iliad's episodes,<br /> +Or the Greek deterioration.<br /> +Or skip to a word on the plasmic jelly,<br /> +Which Benjamin Moore and others think<br /> +Is the origin of life. Then Shelley<br /> +Comes in a for a look of understanding.<br /> +Or he'll tell you about the orientation<br /> +Of the ancient dream of Zion.<br /> +Or what's the matter with Bryan.<br /> +And while the porter is bringing a drink<br /> +Something into his fancy skips<br /> +And he talks about the Apocalypse,<br /> +Or a painter or writer now unknown<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> +In France or Germany who will soon<br /> +Have fame of him through the whole earth blown.<br /> +<br /> +It's not so hard a thing to be wise<br /> +In the lore of books.<br /> +It's a different thing to be all eyes,<br /> +Like a lighthouse which revolves and looks<br /> +Over the land and out to sea:<br /> +And a lighthouse is what he seems to me!<br /> +Sitting like Buddha spiritually cool,<br /> +Young as the light of the sun is young,<br /> +And taking the even with the odd<br /> +As a matter of course, and the path he's trod<br /> +As a path that was good enough.<br /> +With a sort of transcendental sense<br /> +Whose hatred is less than indifference,<br /> +And a gift of wisdom in love.<br /> +And who can say as he classifies<br /> +Men and ages with his eyes<br /> +With cool detachment: this is dung,<br /> +And that poor fellow is just a fool.<br /> +And say what you will death is a rod.<br /> +But I see a light that shines and shines<br /> +And I rather think it's God.<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">A STUDY</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>If your thoughts were as clear as your eyes,<br /> +And the whole of your heart were true,<br /> +You were fitter by far for winning—<br /> +But then that would not be you.<br /> +<br /> +If your pulse beat time to love<br /> +As fast as you think and plan,<br /> +You could kindle a lasting passion<br /> +In the breast of the strongest man.<br /> +<br /> +If you felt as much as you thought,<br /> +And dreamed what you seem to dream,<br /> +A world of elysian beauty<br /> +Your ruined heart would redeem.<br /> +<br /> +If you thought in the light of the sun,<br /> +Or the blood in your veins flowed free,<br /> +If you gave your kisses but gladly,<br /> +We two could better agree.<br /> +<br /> +If you were strong where I counted,<br /> +And weak where yourself were at stake,<br /> +You would have my strength for your giving,<br /> +You would gain and not lose for my sake.<br /> +<br/> +If your heart overruled your head,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span><br /> +Or your head were lord of your heart,<br /> +Or the two were lovingly balanced,<br /> +I think we never should part.<br /> +<br /> +If you came to me spite of yourself,<br /> +And staid not away through design,<br /> +These days of loving and living<br /> +Were sweet as Olympian wine.<br /> +<br /> +If you could weep with another,<br /> +And tears for yourself controlled,<br /> +You could waken and hold to a pity<br /> +You waken, but do not hold.<br /> +<br /> +If your lips were as fain to speak<br /> +As your face is fashioned to hide—<br /> +You would know that to lay up treasure<br /> +A woman's heart must confide.<br /> +<br /> +If your bosom were something richer,<br /> +Or your hands more fragile and thin,<br /> +You would call what the world calls evil,<br /> +Or sin and be glad of the sin.<br /> +<br /> +If your soul were aflame with love,<br /> +Or your head were devoted to truth,<br /> +You never would toss on your pillow<br /> +Bewildered 'twixt rapture and ruth.<br /> +<br/> +If you were the you of my dreams,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span><br /> +And the you of my dreams were mine,<br /> +These days, half sweet and half bitter,<br /> +Would taste like Olympian wine.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, subtle and mystic Egyptians!<br /> +Who chiseled the Sphinx in the East,<br /> +With head and the breasts of a woman,<br /> +And body and claws of a beast.<br /> +<br /> +And gave her a marvellous riddle<br /> +That the eyeless should read as he ran:<br /> +What crawls and runs and is baffled<br /> +By woman, the sphinx—but a man?<br /> +<br /> +Many look in her face and are conquered,<br /> +Where one all her heart has explored;<br /> +A thousand have made her their sovereign,<br /> +But one is her sovereign and lord.<br /> +<br /> +For him she leaps from her standard<br /> +And fawns at his feet in the sand,<br /> +Who sees that himself is her riddle,<br /> +And she but the work of his hand.<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">PORTRAIT OF A WOMAN</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>The pathos in your face is like a peace,<br /> +It is like resignation or a grace<br /> +Which smiles at the surcease<br /> +Of hope. But there is in your face<br /> +The shadow of pain, and there is a trace<br /> +Of memory of pain.<br /> +<br /> +I look at you again and again,<br /> +And hide my looks lest your quick eye perceives<br /> +My search for your despair.<br /> +I look at your pale hands—I look at your hair;<br /> +And I watch you use your hands, I watch the flare<br /> +Of thought in your eyes like light that interweaves<br /> +A flutter of color running under leaves—<br /> +Such anguished dreams in your eyes!<br /> +And I listen to you speak<br /> +Words like crystals breaking with a tinkle,<br /> +Or a star's twinkle.<br /> +Sometimes as we talk you rise<br /> +And leave the room, and then I rub a streak<br /> +Of a tear from my cheek.<br /> +<br /> +You tell me such magical things<br /> +Of pictures, books, romance<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> +And of your life in France<br /> +In the varied music of exquisite words,<br /> +And in a voice that sings.<br /> +<br /> +All things are memory now with you,<br /> +For poverty girds<br /> +Your hopes, and only your dreams remain.<br /> +And sometimes here and there<br /> +I see as you turn your head a whitened hair,<br /> +Even when you are smiling most.<br /> +And a light comes in your eyes like a passing ghost,<br /> +And a color runs through your cheeks as fresh<br /> +As burns in a girl's flesh.<br /> +Then I can shut my eyes and feel the pain<br /> +That has become a part of you, though I feign<br /> +Laughter myself. One sees another's bruise<br /> +And shakes his thought out of it shuddering.<br /> +So I turn and clamp my will lest I bring<br /> +Your sorrow into my flesh, who cannot choose<br /> +But hear your words and laughter,<br /> +And watch your hands and eyes.<br /> +<br /> +Then as I think you over after<br /> +I have gone from you, and your face<br /> +Comes to me with its grace<br /> +Of memory of unfound love:<br /> +You seem to me the image of all women<br /> +Who dream and keep under smiles the grief thereof,<br /> +Or sew, or sit by windows, or read books<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +To hide their Secret's looks.<br /> +And after a time go out of life and leave<br /> +No uttered words but in their silence grieve<br /> +For Life and for the things no tongue can tell:<br /> +Why Life hurts so, and why Love haunts and hurts<br /> +Poor men and women in this demi-hell.<br /> +<br /> +Perhaps your pathos means that it is well<br /> +Death in his time the aspiring torch inverts,<br /> +And all tired flesh and haunted eyes and hands<br /> +Moving in painéd whiteness are put under<br /> +The soothing earth to brighten April's wonder.<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">IN THE CAGE</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>The sounds of mid-night trickle into the roar<br /> +Of morning over the water growing blue.<br /> +At ten o'clock the August sunbeams pour<br /> +A blinding flood on Michigan Avenue.<br /> +<br /> +But yet the half-drawn shades of bottle green<br /> +Leave the recesses of the room<br /> +With misty auras drawn around their gloom<br /> +Where things lie undistinguished, scarcely seen.<br /> +<br /> +You, standing between the window and the bed<br /> +Are edged with rainbow colors. And I lie<br /> +Drowsy with quizzical half-open eye<br /> +Musing upon the contour of your head,<br /> +Watching you comb your hair,<br /> +Clothed in a corset waist and skirt of silk,<br /> +Tied with white braid above your slender hips<br /> +Which reaches to your knees and makes your bare<br /> +And delicate legs by contrast white as milk.<br /> +And as you toss your head to comb its tresses<br /> +They flash upon me like long strips of sand<br /> +Between a moonlit sea, pale as your hand,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +And a red sun that on a high dune stresses<br /> +Its sanguine heat.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">And then at times your lips,</span><br /> +Protruding half unconscious half in scorn<br /> +Engage my eyes while looking through the morn<br /> +At the clear oval of your brow brought full<br /> +Over the sovereign largeness of your eyes;<br /> +Or at your breasts that shake not as you pull<br /> +The comb through stubborn tangles, only rise<br /> +Scarcely perceptible with breath or signs,<br /> +Firm unmaternal like a young Bacchante's,<br /> +Or at your nose profoundly dipped like Dante's<br /> +Over your chin that softly melts away.<br /> +<br /> +Now you seem fully under my heart's sway.<br /> +I have slipped through the magic of your mesh<br /> +Freed once again and strengthened by your flesh,<br /> +You seem a weak thing for a strong man's play.<br /> +Yet I know now that we shall scarce have parted<br /> +When I shall think of you half heavy hearted.<br /> +I know our partings. You will faintly smile<br /> +And look at me with eyes that have no guile,<br /> +Or have too much, and pass into the sphere<br /> +Where you keep independent life meanwhile.<br /> +How do you live without me, is the fear?<br /> +You do not lean upon me, ask my love, or wonder<br /> +Of other loves I may have hidden under<br /> +These casual renewals of our love.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +And if I loved you I should lie in flame,<br /> +Ari, go about re-murmuring your name,<br /> +And these are things a man should be above.<br /> +<br /> +And as I lie here on the imminent brink<br /> +Of soul's surrender into your soul's power,<br /> +And in the white light of the morning hour<br /> +I see what life would be if we should link<br /> +Our lives together in a marriage pact:<br /> +For we would walk along a boundless tract<br /> +Of perfect hell; but your disloyalty<br /> +Would be of spirit, for I have not won<br /> +Mastered and bound your spirit unto me.<br /> +And if you had a lover in the way<br /> +I have you it would not by half betray<br /> +My love as does your vague and chainless thought,<br /> +Which wanders, soars or vanishes, returns,<br /> +Changes, astonishes, or chills or burns,<br /> +Is unresisting, plastic, freely wrought<br /> +Under my hands yet to no unison<br /> +Of my life and of yours. Upon this brink<br /> +I watch you now and think<br /> +Of all that has been preached or sung or spoken<br /> +Of woman's tragedy in woman's fall;<br /> +And all the pictures of a woman broken<br /> +By man's superior strength.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">And there you stand</span><br /> +Your heart and life as firmly in command<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> +Of your resolve as mine is, knowing all<br /> +Of man, the master, and his power to harm,<br /> +His rulership of spheres material,<br /> +Bread, customs, rules of fair repute—<br /> +What are they all against your slender arm?<br /> +Which long since plucked the fruit<br /> +Of good and evil, and of life at last<br /> +And now of Life. For dancing you have cast<br /> +Veil after veil of ideals or pretense<br /> +With which men clothe the being feminine<br /> +To satisfy their lordship or their sense<br /> +Of ownership and hide the things of sin—<br /> +You have thrown them aside veil after veil;<br /> +And there you stand unarmored, weirdly frail,<br /> +Yet strong as nature, making comical<br /> +The poems and the tales of woman's fall....<br /> +You nod your head, you smile, I feel the air<br /> +Made by the closing door. I lie and stare<br /> +At the closed door. One, two, your tuftčd steps<br /> +Die on the velvet of the outer hall.<br /> +You have escaped. And I would not pursue.<br /> +Though we are but caged creatures, I and you—<br /> +A male and female tiger in a zoo.<br /> +For I shall wait you. Life himself will track<br /> +Your wanderings and bring you back,<br /> +And shut you up again with me and cage<br /> +Our love and hatred and our silent rage.<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">SAVING A WOMAN: ONE PHASE</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>To a lustful thirst she came at first<br /> +And gave him her maiden's pride;<br /> +And the first man scattered the flower of her love,<br /> +Then turned to his chosen bride.<br /> +<br /> +She waned with grief as a fading star,<br /> +And waxed as a shining flame;<br /> +And the second man had her woman's love,<br /> +But the second was playing the game.<br /> +<br /> +With passion she stirred the man who was third;<br /> +Woe's me! what delicate skill<br /> +She plied to the heart that knew her art<br /> +And fled from her wanton will.<br /> +<br /> +Now calm and demure, oh fair, oh pure,<br /> +Oh subtle, patient and wise,<br /> +She trod the weary round of life,<br /> +With a sorrow deep in her eyes.<br /> +<br /> +Now a hero who knew how false, how true<br /> +Was the speech that fell from her lips,<br /> +With a Norseman's strength took sail with her,<br /> +And landed and burnt his ships.<br /> +<br/> +He gave her pity, he gave her mirth,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span><br /> +And the hurt in her heart he nursed;<br /> +But under the silence of her brows<br /> +Was a dream of the man who was first.<br /> +<br /> +And all the deceit and lust of men<br /> +Had sharpened her own deceit;<br /> +And down to the gates of hell she led<br /> +Her friend with her flying feet.<br /> +<br /> +For a bitten bud will never bloom,<br /> +And a woman lost is lost!<br /> +And the first and the third may go unscathed,<br /> +But some man pays the cost.<br /> +<br /> +And the books of life are full of the rune,<br /> +And this is the truth of the song:<br /> +No man can save a woman's soul,<br /> +Nor right a woman's wrong.<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">LOVE IS A MADNESS</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Love is a madness, love is a fevered dream,<br /> +A white soul lost in a field of scarlet flowers—<br /> +Love is a search for the lost, the ever vanishing gleam<br /> +Of wings, desires and sorrows and haunted hours.<br /> +<br /> +Will the look return to your eyes, the warmth to your hand?<br /> +Love is a doubt, an ache, love is a writhing fear.<br /> +Love is a potion drunk when the ship puts out from land,<br /> +Rudderless, sails at full, and with none to steer.<br /> +<br /> +The end is a shattered lamp, a drunken seraph asleep,<br /> +The upturned face of the drowned on a barren beach.<br /> +The glare of noon is o'er us, we are ashamed to weep—<br /> +The beginning and end of love are devoid of speech.<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">ON A BUST</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Your speeches seemed to answer for the nonce—<br /> +They do not justify your head in bronze!<br /> +Your essays! talent's failures were to you<br /> +Your philosophic gamut, but things true,<br /> +Or beautiful, oh never! What's the pons<br /> +For you to cross to fame?—Your head in bronze?<br /> +<br /> +What has the artist caught? The sensual chin<br /> +That melts away in weakness from the skin,<br /> +Sagging from your indifference of mind;<br /> +The sullen mouth that sneers at human kind<br /> +For lack of genius to create or rule;<br /> +The superficial scorn that says "you fool!"<br /> +The deep-set eyes that have the mud-cat look<br /> +Which might belong to Tolstoi or a crook.<br /> +The nose half-thickly fleshed and half in point,<br /> +And lightly turned awry as out of joint;<br /> +The eyebrows pointing upward satyr-wise,<br /> +Scarce like Mephisto, for you scarcely rise<br /> +To cosmic irony in what you dream—<br /> +More like a tomcat sniffing yellow cream.<br /> +The brow! 'Tis worth the bronze it's molded in<br /> +Save for the flat-top head and narrow thin<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +Backhead which shows your spirit has not soared.<br /> +You are a Packard engine in a Ford,<br /> +Which wrecks itself and turtles with its load,<br /> +Too light and powerful to keep the road.<br /> +The master strength for twisting words is caught<br /> +In the swift turning wheels of iron thought.<br /> +With butcher knives your hands can vivisect<br /> +Our butterflies, but you can not erect<br /> +Temples of beauty, wisdom. You can crawl<br /> +Hungry and subtle over Eden's wall,<br /> +And shame half grown up truth, or make a lie<br /> +Full grown as good. You cannot glorify<br /> +Our dreams, or aspirations, or deep thirst.<br /> +To you the world's a fig tree which is curst.<br /> +You have preached every faith but to betray;<br /> +The artist shows us you have had your day.<br /> +<br /> +A giant as we hoped, in truth a dwarf;<br /> +A barrel of slop that shines on Lethe's wharf,<br /> +Which seemed at first a vessel with sweet wine<br /> +For thirsty lips. So down the swift decline<br /> +You went through sloven spirit, craven heart<br /> +And cynic indolence. And here the art<br /> +Of molding clay has caught you for the nonce<br /> +And made your shame our shame—your head in bronze!<br /> +Some day this bust will lie amid old metals<br /> +Old copper boilers, wires, faucets, kettles.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> +Some day it will be melted up and molded<br /> +In door knobs, inkwells, paper knives, or folded<br /> +In leaves and wreaths around the capitals<br /> +Of marble columns, or for arsenals<br /> +Fashioned in something, or in course of time<br /> +Successively made each of these, from grime<br /> +Rescued successively, or made a bell<br /> +For fire or worship, who on earth can tell?<br /> +One thing is sure, you will not long be dust<br /> +When this bronze will be broken as a bust<br /> +And given to the junkman to re-sell.<br /> +You know this and the thought of it is hell!<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">ARABEL</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Twists of smoke rise from the limpness of jewelled fingers,<br /> +The softness of Persian rugs hushes the room.<br /> +Under a dragon lamp with a shade the color of coral<br /> +Sit the readers of poems one by one.<br /> +And all the room is in shadow except for the blur<br /> +Of mahogany surface, and tapers against the wall.<br /> +<br /> +And a youth reads a poem of love: forever and ever<br /> +Is his soul the soul of the loved one; a woman sings<br /> +Of the nine months which go to the birth of a soul.<br /> +And after a time under the lamp a man<br /> +Begins to read a letter having no poem to read.<br /> +And the words of the letter flash and die like a fuse<br /> +Dampened by rain—it's a dying mind that writes<br /> +What Byron did for the Greeks against the Turks.<br /> +And a sickness enters our hearts. The jewelled hands<br /> +Clutch at the arms of the chairs—about the room<br /> +One hears the parting of lips, and a nervous shifting<br /> +Of feet and arms.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 7em;">And I look up and over</span><br /> +The reader's shoulder and see the name of the writer.<br /> +What is it I see? The name of a man I knew!<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>You are an ironical trickster, Time, to bring<br /> +After so many years and into a place like this<br /> +This face before me: hair slicked down and parted<br /> +In the middle and cheeks stuck out with fatness,<br /> +Plump from camembert and clicquot, eyelids<br /> +Thin as skins of onions, cut like dough 'round the eyes.<br /> +Such was your look in a photograph I saw<br /> +In a silver frame on a woman's dresser—and such<br /> +Your look in life, you thing of flesh alone!<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">And then</span><br /> +As a soul looks down on the body it leaves—<br /> +A body by fever slain—I look on myself<br /> +As I was a decade ago, while the letter is read:<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">I enter a box</span><br /> +Of a theater with Jim, my friend of fifty,<br /> +I being twenty-two. Two women are in the box<br /> +One of an age for Jim and one of an age for me.<br /> +And mine is dressed in a dainty gown of dimity,<br /> +And she fans herself with a fan of silver spangles<br /> +Till a subtle odor of delicate powder or of herself<br /> +Enters my blood and I stare at her snowy neck,<br /> +And the glossy brownness of her hair until<br /> +She feels my stare, and turns half-view and I see<br /> +How like a Greek's is her nose, with just a little<br /> +Aquiline touch; and I catch the flash of an eye,<br /> +And the glint of a smile on the richness of her lips.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>The company now discourses upon the letter<br /> +But my dream goes on:<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">I re-live a rapture</span><br /> +Which may be madness, and no man understands<br /> +Until he feels it no more. The youth that was I<br /> +From the theater under the city's lights follows the girl<br /> +Desperate lest in the city's curious chances<br /> +He never sees her again. And boldly he speaks.<br /> +And she and the older woman, her sister<br /> +Smile and speak in turn, and Jim who stands<br /> +While I break the ice comes up—and so<br /> +Arm in arm we go to the restaurant,<br /> +I in heaven walking with Arabel,<br /> +And Jim with her older sister.<br /> +We drive them home under a summer moon,<br /> +And while I explain to Arabel my boldness,<br /> +And crave her pardon for it, Jim, the devil,<br /> +Laughs apart with her sister while I wonder<br /> +What Jim, the devil, is laughing at. No matter<br /> +To-morrow I walk in the park with Arabel.<br /> +<br /> +Just now the reader of the letter<br /> +Tells of the writer's swift descent<br /> +From wealth to want.<br /> +<br /> +We are in the park next afternoon by the water.<br /> +I look at her white throat full as it were of song.<br /> +And her rounded virginal bosom, beautiful!<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +And I study her eyes, I search to the depths her eyes<br /> +In the light of the sun. They are full of little rays<br /> +Like the edge of a fleur de lys, and she smiles<br /> +At first when I fling my soul at her feet.<br /> +<br /> +But when I repeat I love her, love her only,<br /> +A cloud of wonder passes over her face,<br /> +She veils her eyes. The color comes to her cheeks.<br /> +And when she picks some clover blossoms and tears them<br /> +Her hand is trembling. And when I tell her again<br /> +I love her, love her only, she blots her eyes<br /> +With a handkerchief to hide a tear that starts.<br /> +<br /> +And she says to me: "You do not know me at all,<br /> +How can you love me? You never saw me before<br /> +Last night." "Well, tell me about yourself."<br /> +And after a time she tells me the story:<br /> +About her father who ran away from her mother;<br /> +And how she hated her father, and how she grieved<br /> +When her mother died; and how a good grandmother<br /> +Helped her and helps her now. And how her sister<br /> +Divorced her husband. And then she paused a moment:<br /> +"I am not strong, you'd have to guard me gently,<br /> +And that takes money, dear, as well as love.<br /> +Two years ago I was very ill, and since then<br /> +I am not strong."<br /> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">"Well I can work," I said.</span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span><br /> +"And what would you think of a little cottage<br /> +Not too far out with a yard and hosts of roses,<br /> +And a vine on the porch, and a little garden,<br /> +And a dining room where the sun comes in,<br /> +When a morning breeze blows over your brow,<br /> +And you sit across the table and serve me<br /> +And neither of us can speak for happiness<br /> +Without our voices breaking, or lips trembling."<br /> +<br /> +She is looking down with little frowns on her brow.<br /> +"But if ever I had to work, I could not do it,<br /> +I am not really well."<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">"But I can work," I said.</span><br /> +I rise and lift her up, holding her hand.<br /> +She slips her arm through mine and presses it.<br /> +"What a good man you are," she said. "Just like a brother—<br /> +I almost love you, I believe I love you."<br /> +<br /> +The reader of the letter, being a doctor,<br /> +Is talking learnedly of the writer's case<br /> +Which has the classical marks of paresis.<br /> +<br /> +Next day I look up Jim and rhapsodize<br /> +About a cottage with roses and a garden,<br /> +And a dining room where the sun comes in,<br /> +And Arabel across the table. Jim is smoking<br /> +And flicking the ashes, but never says a word<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +Till I have finished. Then in a quiet voice:<br /> +"Arabel's sister says that Arabel's straight,<br /> +But she isn't, my boy—she's just like Arabel's sister.<br /> +She knew you had the madness for Arabel.<br /> +That's why we laughed and stood apart as we talked.<br /> +And I'll tell you now I didn't go home that night,<br /> +I shook you at the corner and went back,<br /> +And staid that night. Now be a man, my boy,<br /> +Go have your fling with Arabel, but drop<br /> +The cottage and the roses."<br /> +<br /> +They are still discussing the madman's letter.<br /> +<br /> +And memory permeates me like a subtle drug:<br /> +The memory of my love for Arabel,<br /> +The torture, the doubt, the fear, the restless longing,<br /> +The sleepless nights, the pity for all her sorrows,<br /> +The speculation about her and her sister,<br /> +And what her illness was;<br /> +And whether the man I saw one time was leaving<br /> +Her door or the next door to it, and if her door<br /> +Whether he saw my Arabel or her sister....<br /> +<br /> +The reader of the letter is telling how the writer<br /> +Left his wife chasing the lure of women.<br /> +<br /> +And it all comes back to me as clear as a vision:<br /> +The night I sat with Arabel strong but conquered.<br /> +Whatever I did, I loved her, whatever she was.<br /> +Madness or love the terrible struggle must end.<br /> +She took my hand and said, "You must see my room."<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> +We stood in the doorway together and on her dresser<br /> +Was a silver frame with the photograph of a man—<br /> +I had seen him in life: hair slicked down and parted<br /> +In the middle and cheeks stuck out with fatness<br /> +Plump from camembert and clicquot, eyelids<br /> +Thin as skins of onions, cut like dough 'round the eyes.<br /> +"There is his picture," she said, "ask me whatever you will.<br /> +Take me as mistress or wife, it is yours to decide.<br /> +But take me as mistress and grow like the picture before you,<br /> +Take me as wife and be the good man you can be.<br /> +Choose me as mistress—how can I do less for dearest?<br /> +Or make me your wife—fate makes me your mistress or wife."<br /> +"I can leave you," I said. "You can leave me," she echoed,<br /> +"But how about hate in your heart."<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">"You are right," I replied.</span><br /> +The company is now discussing the subject of love—<br /> +They seem to know little about it.<br /> +<br /> +But my wife, who is sitting beside me, exclaims:<br /> +"Well, what is this jangle of madness and weakness,<br /> +What has it to do with poetry, tell me?"<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">"Well, it's life," Arabel.</span><br /> +"There's the story of Hamlet, for instance," I added.<br /> +Then fell into silence.<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">JIM AND ARABEL'S SISTER</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Last night a friend of mine and I sat talking,<br /> +When all at once I found 'twas one o'clock.<br /> +So we came out and he went home to wife<br /> +And children, and I started for the club<br /> +Which I call home; and then just like a flash<br /> +You came into my mind. I bought a slug<br /> +And stood, in the booth, with doubtful heart and heard<br /> +The buzzer buzz. Well, it was sweet to me<br /> +To hear your voice at last—it was so drowsy,<br /> +Like a child's voice. And I could see your eyes<br /> +Heavy with sleep, and I could see you standing<br /> +In nightgown with head leaned against the wall....<br /> +<br /> +Julia! the welcome of your drowsy voice<br /> +Went through me like the warmth of priceless wine—<br /> +It showed your understanding, that you know<br /> +How it is with a man, and how it is with me<br /> +Who work by day and sometimes drift by night<br /> +About this hellish city. Though you know<br /> +That I am fifty-one, can you imagine<br /> +My feeling with no children growing up?<br /> +My feeling as of one who sees a play<br /> +And afterwards sits somewhere at a table<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> +And talks with friends about the different parts<br /> +Over a sandwich and a glass of beer?<br /> +My feeling with this money which I've made<br /> +And cannot use? Sometimes the stress of working<br /> +The money dulls the fancy which could use it<br /> +In splendid dreams or in the art of life.<br /> +Well, here was I ringing your bell at last<br /> +At half-past one, and there you stood before me<br /> +With a sleepy voice and a sleepy smile, with hands<br /> +So warm, and cheeks so red from sleep, not vexed,<br /> +But like a child, awakened, who smiles at you<br /> +With half-shut eyes and kisses you, so you<br /> +Gave me a kiss. The world seems better, Julia,<br /> +For that kiss which you gave me at the door....<br /> +<br /> +Breakfast? Why, toast and coffee, not too strong,<br /> +My heart acts queer of late....<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">I want to say</span><br /> +Lest I forget it, if you ever hear<br /> +From Arabel or Francis what I said<br /> +To Francis when he told me he intended<br /> +To marry Arabel, why just remember<br /> +Our talk this morning and forget I said it—<br /> +I'm sorry that I said it. But, you see,<br /> +That night we met, I being fifty-one<br /> +And old at what men call the game, looked on<br /> +With steady eye and quiet nerve, I saw you<br /> +Just as I'd see a woman anywhere;<br /> +Just as I'd see a woman anywhere;<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +And I found you as I'd found others before you,<br /> +But with this difference so it seemed to me:<br /> +What had been false with them was real with you,<br /> +What had been shame with them with you was life,<br /> +What had been craft with them with you was nature,<br /> +What had been sin with them to you was good,<br /> +What had been vice with them to you the honest<br /> +And uncorrupted innocence of a human<br /> +Heart so human looking on our souls.<br /> +What had been coarse to them to you was clean<br /> +As rain is, or fresh flowers, all things that grow<br /> +And move and sing along creation's way.<br /> +You came to me like friendship, what you gave<br /> +Was friendship's gift, when friends think least of self<br /> +And least of motive. And it is through you<br /> +That I have risen out of the pit where sneers<br /> +And laughter, looks and words obscene,<br /> +Blaspheme our nature. It is through you, Julia,<br /> +As one amid great beach trees where soft mosses<br /> +Pillow our heads and where we see the clouds<br /> +Upon their infinite sailings and the lake<br /> +Washes beneath us, and we lie and think<br /> +How this has been forever and will be<br /> +When we are dust a thousand, thousand years,<br /> +Yet how life is eternal—just as one<br /> +Who there falls into prayer for ecstasy<br /> +Of wonder, prophecy could not blaspheme<br /> +The Eternal Power (as he might well blaspheme<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> +The gospel hymns and ritual) that I<br /> +Cannot blaspheme you, Julia.<br /> +For what is our communion, yours and mine,<br /> +If it be not a way of laying hold<br /> +On that mysterious essence which makes one<br /> +Of heaven and earth, makes kindred human hands....<br /> +Tears are not like you, Julia; laugh, that's right!<br /> +Pour me a little coffee, if you please.<br /> +<br /> +I'll take from my herbarium certain species<br /> +To make my points: Now here there is the woman<br /> +Of life promiscuous, or nearly so.<br /> +She fixes her design upon a man,<br /> +Who's married and the riotous game begins.<br /> +They go along a year or two perhaps.<br /> +Then psychic chemistry performs its part:<br /> +They are in love, or he's in love with her.<br /> +What shall be done with love? Now watch the woman:<br /> +That which she gave without love at the first<br /> +She now withdraws in spite of love unless<br /> +He breaks his life up, cuts all former ties<br /> +And weds her. Do you wonder sometimes men<br /> +Kill women with a knife or strangle them?<br /> +Well, here's another: She has been to Ogontz,<br /> +You meet her at a dinner-dance, we'll say.<br /> +She has green eyes and hair as light as jonquils;<br /> +She wears black velvet and a salmon sash.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +And when you dance with her she has a way<br /> +Of giving you her flesh beneath thin silk,<br /> +Which almost lisps as she caresses you<br /> +With legs that scarcely touch you; and she says<br /> +Things with a double meaning, and she smiles<br /> +To carry out her meaning. Well, you think<br /> +The girl is yours, and after weeks of chasing<br /> +She lands you up at the appointed place<br /> +With mamma, who looks at you with big eyes,<br /> +That have a nervous way of opening<br /> +And closing slowly like a big wax doll's,<br /> +From which great clouds of wrath and wonder come;<br /> +Which meeting is a way of saying to you:<br /> +The girl is yours if you will marry her,<br /> +And let her have your money.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Julia, be still;</span><br /> +I can't go on while you are laughing so.<br /> +I know that men are easy, but to see<br /> +Women as women see them is a gift<br /> +That comes to men who reach my age in life....<br /> +<br /> +Well, here's another, here's the type of woman<br /> +Whose power of motherhood conceals the art<br /> +By which she thrives, through which she reaches also<br /> +An apotheosis in society.<br /> +Her dream is children conscious or unconscious.<br /> +And her strength is the race's, and she draws<br /> +The urgings of posterity and leans<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +Upon the hopes and ideals of the day.<br /> +To her a man must sacrifice his life.<br /> +But women, Julia, of whatever type,<br /> +Are still but waiting ovules seeking man,<br /> +And man's life to develop, even to live.<br /> +And like the praying mantis who's devoured<br /> +In the embrace, man is devoured by women<br /> +In some way, by some sort. Love is a flame<br /> +In man's life where he warms him but to suck<br /> +The invisible heat and perish. Life is cramped,<br /> +Bound down with many ropes, shut in by gates—<br /> +Love is not free which should be wholly free<br /> +For Life's sake.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">On Michigan Avenue</span><br /> +At lunch time, or at five o'clock, you'll see<br /> +In rain or shine a certain tailor walk<br /> +In modish coat and trousers, with a cane.<br /> +That fellow is the pitifulest man I know.<br /> +He has no woman, cannot find a woman,<br /> +Because all women, seeing him, divine<br /> +What surges through him, and within their hearts<br /> +Laugh slyly and deny him for the fun<br /> +Of seeing how denial keeps him walking<br /> +All up and down the boulevard. He's found<br /> +No hand of human friendship like yours, Julia.<br /> +I use him for my point. If we could make<br /> +Some fine erotometer one could sit<br /> +And watch its trembling springs and nervous hands<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span> +Record the waves of longing in the city,<br /> +And the urge of life that writhes beneath the blows<br /> +Of custom and of fear. Love is not free,<br /> +Which should be wholly free for Life's sake.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">Julia.</span><br /> +So much for all these things, and now for you<br /> +To whom they lead.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">You'll find among the marshes</span><br /> +The sundew and the pitcher plant; in shallows,<br /> +Where the green scum floats languidly you'll find<br /> +The water lily with white petals and<br /> +A sickly perfume. But the sundew catches<br /> +The midges flitting by with rainbow wings,<br /> +Impales them on its tiny spines, in time<br /> +Devours them. And the pitcher plant holds out<br /> +Its cup of green for larger bugs, which fall<br /> +Into the water, treasured there like tears<br /> +Of women, and so drowned are soon absorbed<br /> +Into the verdant vesture of its leaves.<br /> +The pitcher plant and sundew, water lily<br /> +Well typify the nature of most women<br /> +Who must have blood or soul of man to live—<br /> +Except you, Julia. For my friend at Hinsdale<br /> +Who raises flowers laid out a primrose bed.<br /> +He read somewhere that primroses will change<br /> +Under your eyes sometimes to something else,<br /> +Become another flower and not a primrose,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> +Another species even. So he watched<br /> +And saw it, saw this miracle! The seed<br /> +Has somewhere in its vital self the power<br /> +Of this mutation. What is the origin<br /> +Of spiritual species? For you're a primrose, Julia,<br /> +Who has mutated: You are not a mother;<br /> +Nor are you yet the woman seeking marriage;<br /> +Nor yet the woman thriving by her sex;<br /> +Nor yet the woman spoken of by Solomon<br /> +Who waits and watches and whose steps lead down<br /> +To death and hell. Nor yet Delilah who<br /> +Rejoices in the secret of man's strength<br /> +And in subduing it.<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">You are a flower</span><br /> +Designed to comfort such poor men as I,<br /> +And show the world how love can be a thing<br /> +That asks no more than what it freely gives,<br /> +And gives all—all some women call the prize<br /> +For life or honor, riches, power or place.<br /> +You are a blossom in the primrose bed<br /> +So raised to subtler color, sweeter scent.<br /> +You have mutated, Julia, that is it,<br /> +This flower of you is what I call <i>The Lover</i>!<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE SORROW OF DEAD FACES</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>I have seen many faces changed by the Sculptor Death—<br /> +But never a face like Harold's who passed in a throe of pain.<br /> +There were maidens and youths in the bud, and men in the lust of life;<br /> +And women whom child-birth racked till the crying soul slipped through;<br /> +Patriarchs withered with age and nuns ascetical white;<br /> +And one who wasted her virgin wealth in a riot of joy.<br /> +Brothers and sisters at last in a quiet and purple pall,<br /> +Fellow voyagers bound to a port on an ash-blue sea,<br /> +Locked in an utterless grief, in a mystery fearful to dream.<br /> +All of these I have seen—but the face of Harold the bold<br /> +Looked with a penitent pallor and stared with a sad surprise.<br /> +<br /> +For now at last he was still who never knew rest in life.<br /> +And the ardent heat of his blood was cold as the sweat of a stone.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> +Life came in an evil hour and stabbed with a poisoned word<br /> +The heart of a girl who faintly smiled through her tears.<br /> +And her little life was tossed as the eddies that whirl in the hollows<br /> +From the great world-currents that wreck the battle ships at sea.<br /> +And the face of dead Lillian seemed like a rain-ruined flower.<br /> +<br /> +Or what is writ on the brow of the babe as the mother wails for the day<br /> +When it leaped in the light of the sun and babbled its pure delight?<br /> +<br /> +But the face of William the Great was fashioned by life and thought;<br /> +And death made it massive as bronze, and deepened the lines thereof:<br /> +Some for the will and some for patience, and some for hope—<br /> +Hope for the weal of the world wherein he mightily strove—<br /> +Yet what did it all bespeak—what but submission and awe,<br /> +And a trace of pain as one with a sword in his side?<br /> +<br/> +I have seen many faces changed by the Sculptor Death<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span><br /> +But the sorrow thereof is dumb like the cloth that lies on the brow.<br /> +So what should be said of the faun surprised in the woodland dances,<br /> +Of Harold the light of heart who fought with fear to the last?<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE CRY</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>There's a voice in my heart that cries and cries for tears.<br /> +It is not a voice, but a pain of many fears.<br /> +It is not a pain, but the rune of far-off spheres.<br /> +<br /> +It may be a dćmon of pent and high emprise,<br /> +That looks on my soul till my soul hides and cries,<br /> +Loath to rebuke my soul and bid it arise.<br /> +<br /> +It may be myself as I was in another life,<br /> +Fashioned to lead where strife gives way to strife,<br /> +Pinioned here in failure by knife thrown after knife.<br /> +<br /> +The child turns o'er in the womb; and perhaps the soul<br /> +Nurtures a dream too strong for the soul's control,<br /> +When the dream hath eyes, and senses its destined goal.<br /> +<br /> +Deep in darkness the bulb under mould and clod<br /> +Feels the sun in the sky and pushes above the sod;<br /> +Perhaps this cry in my heart is nothing but God!<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE HELPING HAND</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Mother, my head is bloody, my breast is red with scars.<br /> +Well, foolish son, I told you so, why went you to the wars?<br /> +<br /> +Mother, my soul is crucified, my thirst is past belief.<br /> +How are you crucified, my son, betwixt a thief and thief?<br /> +<br /> +Mother, I feel the terror and the loveliness of life.<br /> +Tell me of the children, son, and tell me of the wife.<br /> +<br /> +Mother, your face is but a face among a million more.<br /> +You're standing on the deck, my son, and looking at the shore.<br /> +<br /> +I lean against the wall, mother, and struggle hard for breath.<br /> +You must have heard the step, my son, of the patrolman Death.<br /> +<br /> +Mother, my soul is weary, where is the way to God?<br /> +Well, kiss the crucifix, my son, and pass beneath the rod.<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE DOOR</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>This is the room that thou wast ushered in.<br /> +Wouldst thou, perchance, a larger freedom win?<br /> +Wouldst thou escape for deeper or no breath?<br /> +There is no door but death.<br /> +<br /> +Do shadows crouch within the mocking light?<br /> +Stand thou! but if thy terrored heart takes flight<br /> +Facing maimed Hope and wide-eyed Nevermore,<br /> +There is no less one door.<br /> +<br /> +Dost thou bewail love's end and friendship's doom,<br /> +The dying fire, drained cup, and gathering gloom?<br /> +Explore the walls, if thy soul ventureth—<br /> +There is no door but death.<br /> +<br /> +There is no window. Heaven hangs aloof<br /> +Above the rents within the stairless roof.<br /> +Hence, soul, be brave across the ruined floor—<br /> +Who knocks? Unbolt the door!<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">SUPPLICATION</span></p> + +<p class="center"><i>For He knoweth our frame, He remembereth that we are dust.</i>—<span class="smcap">Psalm +ciii. 14.</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Oh Lord, when all our bones are thrust<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Beyond the gaze of all but Thine;</span><br /> +And these blaspheming tongues are dust<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which babbled of Thy name divine,</span><br /> +How helpless then to carp or rail<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Against the canons of Thy word;</span><br /> +Wilt Thou, when thus our spirits fail,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Have mercy, Lord?</span><br /> +<br /> +Here from this ebon speck that floats<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As but a mote within Thine eye,</span><br /> +Vain sneers and curses from our throats<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rise to the vault of Thy fair sky:</span><br /> +Yet when this world of ours is still<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of this all-wondering, tortured horde,</span><br /> +And none is left for Thee to kill—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Have mercy, Lord!</span><br /> +<br /> +Thou knowest that our flesh is grass;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ah! let our withered souls remain</span><br /> +Like stricken reeds of some morass,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bleached, in Thy will, by ceaseless rain.</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> +Have we not had enough of fire,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Enough of torment and the sword?—</span><br /> +If these accrue from Thy desire—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Have mercy, Lord!</span><br /> +<br /> +Dost Thou not see about our feet<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The tangles of our erring thought?</span><br /> +Thou knowest that we run to greet<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">High hopes that vanish into naught.</span><br /> +We bleed, we fall, we rise again;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">How can we be of Thee abhorred?</span><br /> +We are Thy breed, we little men—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Have mercy, Lord!</span><br /> +<br /> +Wilt Thou then slay for that we slay,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wilt Thou deny when we deny?</span><br /> +A thousand years are but a day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A little day within Thine eye:</span><br /> +We thirst for love, we yearn for life;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">We lust, wilt Thou the lust record?</span><br /> +We, beaten, fall upon the knife—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Have mercy, Lord!</span><br /> +<br /> +Thou givest us youth that turns to age;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And strength that leaves us while we seek.</span><br /> +Thou pourest the fire of sacred rage<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In costly vessels all too weak.</span><br /> +Great works we planned in hopes that Thou<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fit wisdom therefor wouldst accord;</span><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +Thou wrotest failure on our brow—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Have mercy, Lord!</span><br /> +<br /> +Could we but know, as Thou dost know—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hold the whole scheme at once in mind!</span><br /> +Yet, dost Thou watch our anxious woe<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who piece with palsied hands and blind</span><br /> +The fragments of our little plan,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To thrive and earn Thy blest reward,</span><br /> +And make and keep the world of man—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Have mercy, Lord!</span><br /> +<br /> +Thou settest the sun within his place<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To light the world, the world is Thine,</span><br /> +Put in our hands and through Thy grace<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To be subdued and made divine.</span><br /> +Whether we serve Thee ill or well,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Thou knowest our frame, nor canst afford</span><br /> +To leave Thy own for long in hell—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Have mercy, Lord!</span><br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE CONVERSATION</span></p> +<p class="center"><i>The Human Voice</i></p> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> + +<tr><td>You knew then, starting let us say with ether,<br /> +You would become electrons, out of whirling<br /> +Would rise to atoms; then as an atom resting<br /> +Till through Yourself in other atoms moving<br /> +And by the fine affinity of power<br /> +Atom with atom massed, You would go on<br /> +Over the crest of visible forms transformed,<br /> +Would be a molecule, a little system<br /> +Wherein the atoms move like suns and planets<br /> +With satellites, electrons. So as worlds build<br /> +From star-dust, as electron to electron,<br /> +The same attraction drawing, molecules<br /> +Would wed and pass over the crest again<br /> +Of visible forms, lying content as crystals,<br /> +Or colloids—ready now to use the gleam<br /> +Of life. As 'twere I see You with a match,<br /> +As one in darkness lights a candle, and one<br /> +Sees not his friend's form in the shadowed room<br /> +Until the candle's lighted? Even his form<br /> +Is darkened by the new-made light, he stands<br /> +So near it! Well, I add to all I've asked<br /> +Whether You knew the cell born to the glint<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +Of that same lighted candle would not rest<br /> +Even as electrons rest not—but would surge<br /> +Over the crest of visible forms, become<br /> +Beneath our feet things hidden from the eye<br /> +However aided,—as above our heads<br /> +Beyond the Milky Way great systems whirl<br /> +Beyond the telescope,—become bacilli,<br /> +Amœba, starfish, swimming things, on land<br /> +The serpent, and then birds, and beasts of prey<br /> +The tiger (You in the tiger) on and on<br /> +Surging above the crest of visible forms until<br /> +The ape came—oh what ages they are to us—<br /> +But still creation flies on wings of light—<br /> +Then to the man who roamed the frozen fields<br /> +Neither man nor ape,—we found his jaw, You know,<br /> +At Heidelberg, in a sand-pit. On and on<br /> +Till Babylon was builded, and arose<br /> +Jerusalem and Memphis, Athens, Rome,<br /> +Venice and Florence, Paris, London, Berlin,<br /> +New York, Chicago—did You know, I ask,<br /> +All this would come of You in ether moving?<br /> +<br /> +<p class="center"><i>A Voice</i></p><br /> +I knew.<br /> +<br /> +<p class="center"><i>The Human Voice</i></p><br /> +You knew that man was born to be destroyed,<br /> +That as an atom perfect, whole, at ease,<br /> +Drawn to some other atom, is broken, changed<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> +And rises o'er the crest of visible things<br /> +To something else—that man must pass as well<br /> +Through equal transformation. And You knew<br /> +The unutterable things of man's life: From the first<br /> +You saw his wracked Deucalion-soul that looks<br /> +Backward on life that rises, where he rose<br /> +Out of the stones. You saw him looking forward<br /> +Over the purple mists that hide the gulf.<br /> +Ere the green cell rose, even in the green cell<br /> +You saw the sequences of thought—You saw<br /> +That one would say, "All's matter" and another,<br /> +"All's mind," and man's mind which reflects the image,<br /> +Could not envision it. That even worship<br /> +Of what you are would be confused by cries<br /> +From India or Palestine. That love<br /> +Which sees itself beginning in the seeds,<br /> +Which fly and seek each other, maims<br /> +The soul at the last in loss of child or friend<br /> +Father or mother. And You knew that sex,<br /> +Ranging from plants through beasts and up to us<br /> +Had ties of filth—And out of them would rise<br /> +Diverse philosophies to tear the world.<br /> +You knew, when the green cell arose, that even<br /> +The You which formed it moving on would bring<br /> +Races and breeds, madmen, tyrants, slaves,<br /> +The idiot child, the murderer, the insane—<br /> +All springing from the action of one law.<br /> +You knew the enmity that lies between<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span> +The lives of micro-beings and our own. You knew<br /> +How man would rise to vision of himself:<br /> +Immortal only in the race's life.<br /> +And past the atom and the first glint of life,<br /> +Saw him with soul enraptured, yet o'ershadowed<br /> +Amid self-consciousness!<br /> +<br /> +<p class="center"><i>A Voice</i></p><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">I knew.</span><br /> +But this your fault: You see me as apart,<br /> +Over, removed, at enmity with You.<br /> +You are in Me, and of Me, even at one<br /> +With Me. But there's your soul—your soul may be<br /> +The germinal cell of vaster evolution.<br /> +Why try to tell you? If I gave a cell<br /> +Voice to inquire, and it should ask you this:<br /> +"After me what, a stalk, a flower, life<br /> +That swims or crawls?" And if I gave to you<br /> +Wisdom to say: "You shall become a reed<br /> +By the water's edge"—how could the cell foresee<br /> +What the reed is, bending beneath the wind<br /> +When the lake ripples and the skies are blue<br /> +As larkspur? Therefore I, who moved in darkness<br /> +Becoming light in suns and light in souls<br /> +And mind with thought—for what is thought but light<br /> +Sprung from the clash of ether?—I am with you.<br /> +And if beyond this stable state that stands<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> +For your life here (as cells are whole and balanced<br /> +Till the inner urge bring union, then a breaking<br /> +And building up to higher life), there is<br /> +No memory of this world nor of your thought,<br /> +Nor sense of life on this world lived and borne;<br /> +Or whether you remember, know yourself<br /> +As one who lived here, suffered here, aspired—<br /> +What does it matter?—you cannot be lost,<br /> +As I am lost not. Therefore be at peace.<br /> +And from the laws whose orbits cross and run<br /> +To seeming tangles, find the law through which<br /> +Your soul shall be perfected till it draw,—<br /> +As the green cell the sunlight draws and turns<br /> +Its chemical effulgence into life—<br /> +My inner splendor. All the rest is mine<br /> +In infinite time. For if I should unroll<br /> +The parchment of the future, it were vain—<br /> +You could not read it.<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">TERMINUS</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Terminus shows the ways and says,<br /> +"All things must have an end."<br /> +Oh, bitter thought we hid away<br /> +When first you were my friend.<br /> +<br /> +We hid it in the darkest place<br /> +Our hearts had place to hide,<br /> +And took the sweet as from a spring<br /> +Whose waters would abide.<br /> +<br /> +For neither life nor the wide world<br /> +Has greater store than this:—<br /> +The thought that runs through hands and eyes<br /> +And fills the silences.<br /> +<br /> +There is a void the agéd world<br /> +Throws over the spent heart;<br /> +When Life has given all she has,<br /> +And Terminus says depart.<br /> +<br /> +When we must sit with folded hands,<br /> +And see with inward eye<br /> +A void rise like an arctic breath<br /> +To hollow the morrow's sky.<br /> +<br/> +To-morrow is, and trembling leaves,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span><br /> +And 'wildered winds from Thrace<br /> +Look for you where your face has bloomed,<br /> +And where may bloom your face.<br /> +<br /> +Beyond the city, over the hill,<br /> +Under the anguished moon,<br /> +The winds and my dreams seek after you<br /> +By meadow, water and dune.<br /> +<br /> +All things must have an end, we know;<br /> +But oh, the dreaded end;<br /> +Whether in life, whether in death,<br /> +To lose the cherished friend.<br /> +<br /> +To lose in life the cherished friend,<br /> +While the myrtle tree is green;<br /> +To live and have the cherished friend<br /> +With only the world between.<br /> +<br /> +With only the wide, wide world between,<br /> +Where memory has mortmain.<br /> +Life pours more wine in the heart of man<br /> +Than the heart of man can contain.<br /> +<br /> +Oh, heart of man and heart of woman,<br /> +Thirsting for blood of the vine,<br /> +Life waits till the heart has lived too much<br /> +And then pours in new wine!<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">MADELINE</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>I almost heard your little heart<br /> +Begin to beat, and since that hour<br /> +Your life has grown apace and blossomed,<br /> +Fed by the same miraculous power,<br /> +<br /> +That moved the rivulet of your life,<br /> +And made your heart begin to beat.<br /> +Now all day your steps are a-patter.<br /> +Oh, what swift and musical feet!<br /> +<br /> +You sleep. I wait to see you wake,<br /> +With wonder-eyes and hands that reach.<br /> +I laugh to hear your thoughts that gather<br /> +Too fast on your budding lips for speech.<br /> +<br /> +Your sunny hair is cut as if<br /> +'Twere trimmed around a yellow crock.<br /> +How gay the ribbon, and oh, how cunning<br /> +The flaring skirt of the little frock!<br /> +<br /> +You build and play and search and pry,<br /> +And hunt for dolls and forgotten toys.<br /> +Why do you never tire of playing,<br /> +Or cease from mischief, or cease from noise?<br /> +<br/> +You will not sleep? You are tired of the house?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span><br /> +You are just as naughty as you can be.<br /> +Madeline, Madeline, come to the garden,<br /> +And play with Marcia under the tree!<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">MARCIA</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Madeline's hair is straight and yours<br /> +Is just as curly as tendril vines;<br /> +And she is fair, but a deeper color<br /> +Your cheeks of olive incarnadines.<br /> +<br /> +A serious wisdom burns and glows<br /> +Steadily in your dark-eyed look.<br /> +Already a wit and a little stoic—<br /> +Perhaps you are going to write a book,<br /> +<br /> +Or paint a picture, or sing or act<br /> +The part of Katherine or Juliet.<br /> +I believe you were born with the gift of knowing<br /> +When to remember and when to forget.<br /> +<br /> +And when to stifle and kill a grief,<br /> +And clutch your heart when it beats in vain.<br /> +The heart that has most strength for feeling<br /> +Must have the strength to conquer the pain.<br /> +<br /> +You understand? It seems that you do—<br /> +Though you cannot utter a word to me.<br /> +Marcia, Marcia, look at Madeline<br /> +Building a doll-house under the tree!<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE ALTAR</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>My heart is an altar whereon<br /> +Many sacrificial fires have been kindled<br /> +In praise of spring and Aphrodite.<br /> +<br /> +My heart is an altar of chalcedony,<br /> +Crowned with a tablet of bronze,<br /> +Blacked with smoke, scarred with fire,<br /> +And scented with the aromatic bitterness<br /> +Of dead incense.<br /> +<br /> +Albeit let us murmur a little Doric prayer<br /> +Over the ashes which lie scattered around the altar;<br /> +For the April rain has wept over them,<br /> +And from them the crocus smelts its Roman gold.<br /> +<br /> +What though there are remnants here<br /> +Of faded coronals,<br /> +And bits of silver string<br /> +Torn from forgotten harps?<br /> +Perfect amid the ashes sleeps a cup of amethyst.<br /> +Let us take it and pour the sea from it,<br /> +And while the savor of dead lips is washed away,<br /> +Let us lift our hands to this sky of hyacinth.<br /> +Let us light the altar newly, for lo! it is spring.<br /> +<br/> +Bring from the re-kindled woodland<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span><br /> +Flames of columbine, jewel-weed and trumpet-creeper,<br /> +There where the woodman burns the fallen tree,<br /> +And scented smoke arises<br /> +On azure wings between the branches,<br /> +Budding with adolescent life.<br /> +With these let us light the altar,<br /> +That a scarlet flame may lean<br /> +Against the silver sea.<br /> +<br /> +For thou art fire also,<br /> +And air, and water, and the resurgent earth,<br /> +For thou art woman, thou art love.<br /> +Thou art April of the Arcadian moon,<br /> +Thou art the swift sun racing through snowy clouds,<br /> +Thou art the creative silence of flowering valleys.<br /> +Thy face is the apple tree in bloom;<br /> +Thine eyes the glimpses of green water<br /> +When the tree's blossoms shake<br /> +As soft winds fan them.<br /> +Thy hair is flame blown against the sea's mist—<br /> +Thou art spring.<br /> +<br /> +The fire on the altar burns brightly,<br /> +And the sea sparkles in the sun.<br /> +Let us murmur a Doric prayer<br /> +For the gift of love,<br /> +For the gift of life,<br /> +Oh Life! Oh Love! We lift our hands to thee!<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">SOUL'S DESIRE</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Her soul is like a wolf that stands<br /> +Where sunlight falls between the trees<br /> +Of a sparse forest's leafless edge,<br /> +When Spring's first magic moveth these.<br /> +<br /> +Her soul is like a little brook,<br /> +Thin edged with ice against the leaves,<br /> +Where the wolf drinks and is alone,<br /> +And where the woodbine interweaves.<br /> +<br /> +A bank late covered by the snow,<br /> +But lighted by the frozen North;<br /> +Her soul is like a little plot<br /> +That one white blossom bringeth forth.<br /> +<br /> +Her soul is slim, like silver slips,<br /> +And straight, like flags beside a stream.<br /> +Her soul is like a shape that moves<br /> +And changes in a wonder dream.<br /> +<br /> +Who would pursue her clasps a cloud,<br /> +And taketh sorrow for his zeal.<br /> +Memory shall sing him many songs<br /> +While bound upon the torture wheel.<br /> +<br/> +Her soul is like a wolf that glides<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span><br /> +By moonlight o'er a phantom ridge;<br /> +Her face is like a light that runs<br /> +Beneath the shadow of a bridge.<br /> +<br /> +Her voice is like a woodland cry<br /> +Heard in a summer's desolate hour.<br /> +Her eyes are dim; her lips are faint,<br /> +And tinctured like the cuckoo flower.<br /> +<br /> +Her little breasts are like the buds<br /> +Of tulips in a place forlorn.<br /> +Her soul is like a mandrake bloom<br /> +Standing against the crimson moon.<br /> +<br /> +Her dream is like the fenny snake's,<br /> +That warms him in the noonday's fire.<br /> +She hath no thought, nor any hope,<br /> +Save of herself and her desire.<br /> +<br /> +She is not life; she is not death;<br /> +She is not fear, or joy or grief.<br /> +Her soul is like a quiet sea<br /> +Beneath a ruin-haunted reef.<br /> +<br /> +She is the shape the sailor sees,<br /> +That slips the rock without a sound.<br /> +She is the soul that comes and goes<br /> +And leaves no mark, yet makes a wound.<br /> +<br/> +She is the soul that hunts and flies;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span><br /> +She is a world-wide mist of care.<br /> +She is the restlessness of life,<br /> +Its rapture and despair.<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">BALLAD OF LAUNCELOT AND ELAINE</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>It was a hermit on Whitsunday<br /> +That came to the Table Round.<br /> +"King Arthur, wit ye by what Knight<br /> +May the Holy Grail be found?"<br /> +<br /> +"By never a Knight that liveth now;<br /> +By none that feasteth here."<br /> +King Arthur marvelled when he said,<br /> +"He shall be got this year."<br /> +<br /> +Then uprose brave Sir Launcelot<br /> +And there did mount his steed,<br /> +And hastened to a pleasant town<br /> +That stood in knightly need.<br /> +<br /> +Where many people him acclaimed,<br /> +He passed the Corbin pounte,<br /> +And there he saw a fairer tower<br /> +Than ever was his wont.<br /> +<br /> +And in that tower for many years<br /> +A dolorous lady lay,<br /> +Whom Queen Northgalis had bewitched,<br /> +And also Queen le Fay.<br /> +<br/> +And Launcelot loosed her from those pains,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span><br /> +And there a dragon slew.<br /> +Then came King Pelles out and said,<br /> +"Your name, brave Knight and true?"<br /> +<br /> +"My name is Pelles, wit ye well,<br /> +And King of the far country;<br /> +And I, Sir Knight, am cousin nigh<br /> +To Joseph of Armathie."<br /> +<br /> +"I am Sir Launcelot du Lake."<br /> +And then they clung them fast;<br /> +And yede into the castle hall<br /> +To take the king's repast.<br /> +<br /> +Anon there cometh in a dove<br /> +By the window's open fold,<br /> +And in her mouth was a rich censer,<br /> +That shone like Ophir gold.<br /> +<br /> +And therewithal was such savor<br /> +As bloweth over sea<br /> +From a land of many colored flowers<br /> +And trees of spicery.<br /> +<br /> +And therewithal was meat and drink,<br /> +And a damsel passing fair,<br /> +Betwixt her hands of tulip-white,<br /> +A golden cup did bear.<br /> +<br/> +"O, Jesu," said Sir Launcelot,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span><br /> +"What may this marvel mean?"<br /> +"That is," said Pelles, "richest thing<br /> +That any man hath seen."<br /> +<br /> +"O, Jesu," said Sir Launcelot,<br /> +"What may this sight avail?"<br /> +"Now wit ye well," said King Pelles,<br /> +"That was the Holy Grail."<br /> +<br /> +Then by this sign King Pelles knew<br /> +Elaine his fair daughter<br /> +Should lie with Launcelot that night,<br /> +And Launcelot with her.<br /> +<br /> +And that this twain should get a child<br /> +Before the night should fail,<br /> +Who would be named Sir Galahad,<br /> +And find the Holy Grail.<br /> +<br /> +Then cometh one hight Dame Brisen<br /> +With Pelles to confer,<br /> +"Now, wit ye well, Sir Launcelot<br /> +Loveth but Guinevere."<br /> +<br /> +"But if ye keep him well in hand,<br /> +The while I work my charms,<br /> +The maid Elaine, ere spring of morn,<br /> +Shall lie within his arms."<br /> +<br/> +Dame Brisen was the subtlest witch<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span><br /> +That was that time in life;<br /> +She was as if Beelzebub<br /> +Had taken her to wife.<br /> +<br /> +Then did she cause one known of face<br /> +To Launcelot to bring,<br /> +As if it came from Guinevere,<br /> +Her wonted signet ring.<br /> +<br /> +"By Holy Rood, thou comest true,<br /> +For well I know thy face.<br /> +Where is my lady?" asked the Knight,<br /> +"There in the Castle Case?"<br /> +<br /> +"'Tis five leagues scarcely from this hall,"<br /> +Up spoke that man of guile.<br /> +"I go this hour," said Launcelot,<br /> +"Though it were fifty mile."<br /> +<br /> +Then sped Dame Brisen to the king<br /> +And whispered, "An we thrive,<br /> +Elaine must reach the Castle Case<br /> +Ere Launcelot arrive."<br /> +<br /> +Elaine stole forth with twenty knights<br /> +And a goodly company.<br /> +Sir Launcelot rode fast behind,<br /> +Queen Guinevere to see.<br /> +<br/> +Anon he reached the castle door.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span><br /> +Oh! fond and well deceived.<br /> +And there it seemed the queen's own train<br /> +Sir Launcelot received.<br /> +<br /> +"Where is the queen?" quoth Launcelot,<br /> +"For I am sore bestead,"<br /> +"Have not such haste," said Dame Brisen,<br /> +"The queen is now in bed."<br /> +<br /> +"Then lead me thither," saith he,<br /> +"And cease this jape of thine."<br /> +"Now sit thee down," said Dame Brisen,<br /> +"And have a cup of wine."<br /> +<br /> +"For wit ye not that many eyes<br /> +Upon you here have stared;<br /> +Now have a cup of wine until<br /> +All things may be prepared."<br /> +<br /> +Elaine lay in a fair chamber,<br /> +'Twixt linen sweet and clene.<br /> +Dame Brisen all the windows stopped,<br /> +That no day might be seen.<br /> +<br /> +Dame Brisen fetched a cup of wine<br /> +And Launcelot drank thereof.<br /> +"No more of flagons," saith he,<br /> +"For I am mad for love."<br /> +<br/> +Dame Brisen took Sir Launcelot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span><br /> +Where lay the maid Elaine.<br /> +Sir Launcelot entered the bed chamber<br /> +The queen's love for to gain.<br /> +<br /> +Sir Launcelot kissed the maid Elaine,<br /> +And her cheeks and brows did burn;<br /> +And then they lay in other's arms<br /> +Until the morn's underne.<br /> +<br /> +Anon Sir Launcelot arose<br /> +And toward the window groped,<br /> +And then he saw the maid Elaine<br /> +When he the window oped.<br /> +<br /> +"Ah, traitoress," saith Launcelot,<br /> +And then he gat his sword,<br /> +"That I should live so long and now<br /> +Become a knight abhorred."<br /> +<br /> +"False traitoress," saith Launcelot,<br /> +And then he shook the steel.<br /> +Elaine skipped naked from the bed<br /> +And 'fore the knight did kneel.<br /> +<br /> +"I am King Pelles own daughter<br /> +And thou art Launcelot,<br /> +The greatest knight of all the world.<br /> +This hour we have begot."<br /> +<br/> +"Oh, traitoress Brisen," cried the knight,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span><br /> +"Oh, charmed cup of wine;<br /> +That I this treasonous thing should do<br /> +For treasures such as thine."<br /> +<br /> +"Have mercy," saith maid Elaine,<br /> +"Thy child is in my womb."<br /> +Thereat the morning's silvern light<br /> +Flooded the bridal room.<br /> +<br /> +That light it was a benison;<br /> +It seemed a holy boon,<br /> +As when behind a wrack of cloud<br /> +Shineth the summer moon.<br /> +<br /> +And in the eyes of maid Elaine<br /> +Looked forth so sweet a faith,<br /> +Sir Launcelot took his glittering sword,<br /> +And thrust it in the sheath.<br /> +<br /> +"So God me help, I spare thy life,<br /> +But I am wretch and thrall,<br /> +If any let my sword to make<br /> +Dame Brisen's head to fall."<br /> +<br /> +"So have thy will of her," she said,<br /> +"But do to me but good;<br /> +For thou hast had my fairest flower,<br /> +Which is my maidenhood."<br /> +<br/> +"And we have done the will of God,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span><br /> +And the will of God is best."<br /> +Sir Launcelot lifted the maid Elaine<br /> +And hid her on his breast.<br /> +<br /> +Anon there cometh in a dove,<br /> +By the window's open fold,<br /> +And in her mouth was a rich censer<br /> +That shone like beaten gold.<br /> +<br /> +And therewithal was such savor,<br /> +As bloweth over sea,<br /> +From a land of many colored flowers,<br /> +And trees of spicery.<br /> +<br /> +And therewithal was meat and drink,<br /> +And a damsel passing fair,<br /> +Betwixt her hands of silver white<br /> +A golden cup did bear.<br /> +<br /> +"O Jesu," said Sir Launcelot,<br /> +"What may this marvel mean?"<br /> +"That is," she said, "the richest thing<br /> +That any man hath seen."<br /> +<br /> +"O Jesu," said Sir Launcelot,<br /> +"What may this sight avail?"<br /> +"Now wit ye well," said maid Elaine,<br /> +"This is the Holy Grail."<br /> +<br/> +And then a nimbus light hung o'er<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span><br /> +Her brow so fair and meek;<br /> +And turned to orient pearls the tears<br /> +That glistered down her cheek.<br /> +<br /> +And a sound of music passing sweet<br /> +Went in and out again.<br /> +Sir Launcelot made the sign of the cross,<br /> +And knelt to maid Elaine.<br /> +<br /> +"Name him whatever name thou wilt,<br /> +But be his sword and mail<br /> +Thrice tempered 'gainst a wayward world,<br /> +That lost the Holy Grail."<br /> +<br /> +Sir Launcelot sadly took his leave<br /> +And rode against the morn.<br /> +And when the time was fully come<br /> +Sir Galahad was born.<br /> +<br /> +Also he was from Jesu Christ,<br /> +Our Lord, the eighth degree;<br /> +Likewise the greatest knight this world<br /> +May ever hope to see.<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE DEATH OF SIR LAUNCELOT</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>Sir Launcelot had fled to France<br /> +For the peace of Guinevere,<br /> +And many a noble knight was slain,<br /> +And Arthur lay on his bier.<br /> +<br /> +Sir Launcelot took ship from France<br /> +And sailed across the sea.<br /> +He rode seven days through fair England<br /> +Till he came to Almesbury.<br /> +<br /> +Then spake Sir Bors to Launcelot:<br /> +The old time is at end;<br /> +You have no more in England's realm<br /> +In east nor west a friend.<br /> +<br /> +You have no friend in all England<br /> +Sith Mordred's war hath been,<br /> +And Queen Guinevere became a nun<br /> +To heal her soul of sin.<br /> +<br /> +Sir Launcelot answered never a word<br /> +But rode to the west countree<br /> +Until through the forest he saw a light<br /> +That shone from a nunnery.<br /> +<br/> +Sir Launcelot entered the cloister,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span><br /> +And the queen fell down in a swoon.<br /> +Oh blessed Jesu, saith the queen,<br /> +For thy mother's love, a boon.<br /> +<br /> +Go hence, Sir Launcelot, saith the queen,<br /> +And let me win God's grace.<br /> +My heavy heart serves me no more<br /> +To look upon thy face.<br /> +<br /> +Through you was wrought King Arthur's death,<br /> +Through you great war and wrake.<br /> +Leave me alone, let me bleed,<br /> +Pass by for Jesu's sake.<br /> +<br /> +Then fare you well, saith Launcelot,<br /> +Sweet Madam, fare you well.<br /> +And sythen you have left the world<br /> +No more in the world I dwell.<br /> +<br /> +Then up rose sad Sir Launcelot<br /> +And rode by wold and mere<br /> +Until he came to a hermitage<br /> +Where bode Sir Bedivere.<br /> +<br /> +And there he put a habit on<br /> +And there did pray and fast.<br /> +And when Sir Bedivere told him all<br /> +His heart for sorrow brast.<br /> +<br/> +How that Sir Mordred, traitorous knight +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span><br/> +Betrayed his King and sire;<br /> +And how King Arthur wounded, died<br /> +Broken in heart's desire.<br /> +<br /> +And so Sir Launcelot penance made,<br /> +And worked at servile toil;<br /> +And prayed the Bishop of Canterbury<br /> +His sins for to assoil.<br /> +<br /> +His shield went clattering on the wall<br /> +To a dolorous wail of wind;<br /> +His casque was rust, his mantle dust<br /> +With spider webs entwined.<br /> +<br /> +His listless horses left alone<br /> +Went cropping where they would,<br /> +To see the noblest knight of the world<br /> +Upon his sorrow brood.<br /> +<br /> +Anon a Vision came in his sleep,<br /> +And thrice the Vision saith:<br /> +Go thou to Almesbury for thy sin,<br /> +Where lieth the queen in death.<br /> +<br /> +Sir Launcelot cometh to Almesbury<br /> +And knelt by the dead queen's bier;<br /> +Oh none may know, moaned Launcelot,<br /> +What sorrow lieth here.<br /> +<br/> +What love, what honor, what defeat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span><br /> +What hope of the Holy Grail.<br /> +The moon looked through the latticed glass<br /> +On the queen's face cold and pale.<br /> +<br /> +Sir Launcelot kissed the ceréd cloth,<br /> +And none could stay his woe,<br /> +Her hair lay back from the oval brow,<br /> +And her nose was clear as snow.<br /> +<br /> +They wrapped her body in cloth of Raines,<br /> +They put her in webs of lead.<br /> +They coffined her in white marble,<br /> +And sang a mass for the dead.<br /> +<br /> +Sir Launcelot and seven knights<br /> +Bore torches around the bier.<br /> +They scattered myrrh and frankincense<br /> +On the corpse of Guinevere.<br /> +<br /> +They put her in earth by King Arthur<br /> +To the chant of a doleful tune.<br /> +They heaped the earth on Guinevere<br /> +And Launcelot fell in a swoon.<br /> +<br /> +Sir Launcelot went to the hermitage<br /> +Some Grace of God to find;<br /> +But never he ate, and never he drank<br /> +And there he sickened and dwined.<br /> +<br/> +Sir Launcelot lay in a painful bed,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span><br /> +And spake with a dreary steven;<br /> +Sir Bishop, I pray you shrive my soul<br /> +And make it clean for heaven.<br /> +<br /> +The Bishop houseled Sir Launcelot,<br /> +The Bishop kept watch and ward.<br /> +Bury me, saith Sir Launcelot,<br /> +In the earth of Joyous Guard.<br /> +<br /> +Three candles burned the whole night through<br /> +Till the red dawn looked in the room.<br /> +And the white, white soul of Launcelot<br /> +Strove with a black, black doom.<br /> +<br /> +I see the old witch Dame Brisen,<br /> +And Elaine so straight and tall—<br /> +Nay, saith the Bishop of Canterbury,<br /> +The shadows dance on the wall.<br /> +<br /> +I see long hands of dead women,<br /> +They clutch for my soul eftsoon;<br /> +Nay, saith the Bishop of Canterbury,<br /> +'Tis the drifting light of the moon.<br /> +<br /> +I see three angels, saith he,<br /> +Before a silver urn.<br /> +Nay, saith the Bishop of Canterbury,<br /> +The candles do but burn.<br /> +<br/> +I see a cloth of red samite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span><br /> +O'er the holy vessels spread.<br /> +Nay, saith the Bishop of Canterbury,<br /> +The great dawn groweth red.<br /> +<br /> +I see all the torches of the world<br /> +Shine in the room so clear.<br /> +Nay, saith the Bishop of Canterbury,<br /> +The white dawn draweth near.<br /> +<br /> +Sweet lady, I behold the face<br /> +Of thy dear son, our Lord,<br /> +Nay, saith the Bishop of Canterbury,<br /> +The sun shines on your sword.<br /> +<br /> +Sir Galahad outstretcheth hands<br /> +And taketh me ere I fail—<br /> +Sir Launcelot's body lay in death<br /> +As his soul found the Holy Grail.<br /> +<br /> +They laid his body in the quire<br /> +Upon a purple pall.<br /> +He was the meekest, gentlest knight<br /> +That ever ate in hall.<br /> +<br /> +He was the kingliest, goodliest knight<br /> +That ever England roved,<br /> +The truest lover of sinful man<br /> +That ever woman loved.<br /> +<br/> +I pray you all, fair gentlemen,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span><br /> +Pray for his soul and mine.<br /> +He lived to lose the heart he loved<br /> +And drink but bitter wine.<br /> +<br /> +He wrought a woe he knew not of,<br /> +He failed his fondest quest,<br /> +Now sing a psalter, read a prayer<br /> +May all souls find their rest.<br /> +<p class="right">Amen.</p></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">IN MICHIGAN</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>You wrote:<br /> +"Come over to Saugatuck<br /> +And be with me on the warm sand,<br /> +And under cool beeches and aromatic cedars."<br /> +And just then no one could do a thing in the city<br /> +For the lure of far places, and something that tugged<br /> +At one's heart because of a June sky,<br /> +And stretches of blue water,<br /> +And a warm wind blowing from the south.<br /> +What could I do but take a boat<br /> +And go to meet you?<br /> +<br /> +And when to-day is not enough,<br /> +But you must live to-morrow also;<br /> +And when the present stands in the way<br /> +Of something to come,<br /> +And there is but one you would see,<br /> +All the interval of waiting is a wall.<br /> +And so it was I walked the landward deck<br /> +With flapping coat and hat pulled down;<br /> +And I sat on the leeward deck and looked<br /> +At the streaming smoke of the funnels,<br /> +And the far waste of rhythmical water,<br /> +And at the gulls flying by our side.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> +There was music on board and dancing,<br /> +But I could not take part.<br /> +For above all there was the bluest sky,<br /> +And around us the urge of magical distances.<br /> +And just because you were in the violins,<br /> +And in everything, and were wholly the world<br /> +Of sense and sight,<br /> +It was too much. One could not live it<br /> +And make it all his own—<br /> +It was too much.<br /> +And I wondered where the rest could be going,<br /> +Or what they thought of water and sky<br /> +Without knowing you.<br /> +<br /> +But at four o'clock there was a rim,<br /> +A circled edge of rainbow color<br /> +Which suspired, widened and narrowed under your gaze:<br /> +It was the phantasy of straining eyes,<br /> +Or land—and it was land.<br /> +It was distant trees.<br /> +And then it was dunes, bluffs of yellow sand.<br /> +We began to wonder how far it was—<br /> +Five miles, or ten miles—<br /> +Surely only five miles!—<br /> +But at last whatever it was we swung to the end.<br /> +We rounded the lighthouse pier,<br /> +Almost before we knew.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> +We slowed our speed in a dizzy river of black,<br /> +We drifted softly to dock.<br /> +<br /> +I took the ferry,<br /> +I crossed the river,<br /> +I ran almost through the little batch<br /> +Of fishermen's shacks.<br /> +I climbed the winding road of the hill,<br /> +And dove in a shadowy quiet<br /> +Of paths of moss and dancing leaves,<br /> +And straight stretched limbs of giant pines<br /> +On patches of sky.<br /> +I ran to the top of the bluff<br /> +Where the lodge-house stood.<br /> +And there the sunlit lake burst on me<br /> +And wine-like air.<br /> +And below me was the beach<br /> +Where the serried lines of hurrying water<br /> +Came up like rank on rank of men<br /> +And fell with a shout on the rocks!<br /> +I plunged, I stumbled, I ran<br /> +Down the hill,<br /> +For I thought I saw you,<br /> +And it was you, you were there!<br /> +And I shall never forget your cry,<br /> +Nor how you raised your arms and cried,<br /> +And laughed when you saw me.<br /> +And there we were with the lake<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> +And the sun with his ruddy search-light blaze<br /> +Stretching back to lost Chicago.<br /> +The sun, the lake, the beach, and ourselves<br /> +Were all that was left of Time,<br /> +All else was lost.<br /> +<br /> +You were making a camp.<br /> +You had bent from the bank a cedar bough<br /> +And tied it down.<br /> +And over it flung a quilt of many colors,<br /> +And under it spread on the voluptuous silt<br /> +Gray blankets and canvas pillows.<br /> +I saw it all in a glance.<br /> +And there in dread of eyes we stood<br /> +Scanning the bluff and the beach,<br /> +Lest in the briefest touch of lips<br /> +We might be seen.<br /> +<br /> +For there were eyes, or we thought<br /> +There were eyes, on the porch of the lodge,<br /> +And eyes along the forest's rim on the hill,<br /> +And eyes on the shore.<br /> +But a minute past there was no sun,<br /> +Only a star that shone like a match which lights<br /> +To a blue intenseness amid the glow of a hearth.<br /> +And we sat on the sand as dusk came down<br /> +In a communion of silence and low words.<br /> +Till you said at last: "We'll sup at the lodge,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> +Then say good night to me and leave<br /> +As if to stay overnight in the village.<br /> +But instead make a long detour through the wood<br /> +And come to the shore through that ravine,<br /> +Be here at the tent at midnight."<br /> +<br /> +And so I did.<br /> +I stole through echoless ways,<br /> +Where no twigs broke and where I heard<br /> +My heart beat like a watch under a pillow.<br /> +And the whippoorwills were singing.<br /> +And the sound of the surf below me<br /> +Was the sound of silver-poplar leaves<br /> +In a wind that makes no pause....<br /> +I hurried down the steep ravine,<br /> +And a bat flew up at my feet from the brush<br /> +And crossed the moon.<br /> +To my left was the lighthouse,<br /> +And black and deep purples far away,<br /> +And all was still.<br /> +Till I stood breathless by the tent<br /> +And heard your whispered welcome,<br /> +And felt your kiss.<br /> +<br /> +Lovers lay at mid-night<br /> +On roofs of Memphis and Athens<br /> +And looked at tropical stars<br /> +As large as golden beetles.<br /> +Nothing is new, save this,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> +And this is always new.<br /> +And there in your tent<br /> +With the balm of the mid-night breeze<br /> +Sweeping over us,<br /> +We looked at one great star<br /> +Through a flap of your many-colored tent,<br /> +And the eternal quality of rapture<br /> +And mystery and vision flowed through us.<br /> +<br /> +Next day we went to Grand Haven,<br /> +For my desire was your desire,<br /> +Whatever wish one had the other had.<br /> +And up the Grand River we rowed,<br /> +With rushes and lily pads about us,<br /> +And the sand hills back of us,<br /> +Till we came to a quiet land,<br /> +A lotus place of farms and meadows.<br /> +And we tied our boat to Schmitty's dock,<br /> +Where we had a dinner of fish.<br /> +And where, after resting, to follow your will<br /> +We drifted back to Spring Lake—<br /> +And under a larger moon,<br /> +Now almost full,<br /> +Walked three miles to The Beeches,<br /> +By a winding country road,<br /> +Where we had supper.<br /> +And afterwards a long sleep,<br /> +Waking to the song of robins.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> +And that day I said:<br /> +There are wild places, blue water, pine forests,<br /> +There are apple orchards, and wonderful roads<br /> +Around Elk Lake—shall we go?<br /> +And we went, for your desire was mine.<br /> +And there we climbed hills,<br /> +And ate apples along the shaded ways,<br /> +And rolled great boulders down the steeps<br /> +To watch them splash in the water.<br /> +And we stood and wondered what was beyond<br /> +The farther shore two miles away.<br /> +And we came to a place on the shore<br /> +Where four great pine trees stood,<br /> +And underneath them wild flowers to the edge<br /> +Of sand so soft for naked feet.<br /> +And here, for not a soul was near,<br /> +We stripped and swam far out, laughing, rejoicing,<br /> +Rolling and diving in those great depths<br /> +Of bracing water under a glittering sun.<br /> +<br /> +There were farm houses enough<br /> +For food and shelter.<br /> +But something urged us on.<br /> +One knows the end and dreads the end<br /> +Yet seeks the end.<br /> +And you asked, "Is there a town near?<br /> +Let's see a town."<br /> +So we walked to Traverse City<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> +Through cut-over land and blasted<br /> +Trunks and stumps of pine,<br /> +And by the side of desolate hills.<br /> +But when we got to Traverse City<br /> +You were not content, nor was I.<br /> +Something urged us on.<br /> +Then you thought of Northport<br /> +And of its Norse and German fishermen,<br /> +And its quaint piers where they smoke fish.<br /> +So we drove for thirty miles<br /> +In a speeding automobile<br /> +Over hills, around sudden curves, into warm coverts,<br /> +Or hollows, sometimes at the edge of the Bay,<br /> +Again on the hill,<br /> +From where we could see Old Mission<br /> +Amid blues and blacks, across a score of miles of the Bay,<br /> +Waving like watered silk under the moon!<br /> +And by meadows of clover newly cut,<br /> +And by peach orchards and vineyards.<br /> +But when we came to the little town<br /> +Already asleep, though it was but eight o'clock,<br /> +And only a few drowsy lamps<br /> +With misty eyelids shone from a store or two,<br /> +I said, "Do you see those twinkling lights?<br /> +That's Northport Point, that's the Cedar Cabin—<br /> +Let's go to the Cedar Cabin."<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> +And so we crossed the Bay<br /> +Amid great waves in a plunging launch,<br /> +And a roaring breeze and a great moon,<br /> +For now the moon was full.<br /> +<br /> +So here was the Cedar Cabin<br /> +On a strip of land as wide as a house and lawn,<br /> +And on one side Lake Michigan,<br /> +And on one side the Bay.<br /> +There were distances of color all around,<br /> +And stars and darknesses of land and trees,<br /> +And at the point the lighthouse.<br /> +And over us the moon,<br /> +And over the balcony of our room<br /> +All of these, where we lay till I slept,<br /> +Listening to the water of the lake,<br /> +And the water of the Bay.<br /> +And we saw the moon sink like a red bomb,<br /> +And we saw the stars change<br /> +As the sky wheeled....<br /> +Now this was the end of the earth,<br /> +For this strip of land<br /> +Ran out to a point no larger than one of the stumps<br /> +We saw on the desolate hills.<br /> +And moreover it seemed to dive under,<br /> +Or waste away in a sudden depth of water.<br /> +And around it was a swirl,<br /> +To the north the bounding waves of the Lake,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +And to the south the Bay which seemed the Lake.<br /> +But could we speak of it, even though<br /> +I saw your eyes when you thought of it?<br /> +A sigh of wind blew through the rustic temple<br /> +When we saw this symbol together,<br /> +And neither spoke.<br /> +But that night, somewhere in the beginning of drowsiness,<br /> +You said: "There is no further place to go,<br /> +We must retrace."<br /> +And I awoke in a torrent of light in the room,<br /> +Hearing voices and steps on the walk:<br /> +I looked for you,<br /> +But you had arisen.<br /> +Then I dressed and searched for you,<br /> +But you were gone.<br /> +Then I stood for long minutes<br /> +Looking at a sail far out at sea<br /> +And departed too.<br /></td></tr></table> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">THE STAR</span></p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="5" summary="table"> +<tr><td>I am a certain god<br /> +Who slipped down from a remote height<br /> +To a place of pools and stars.<br /> +And I sat invisible<br /> +Amid a clump of trees<br /> +To watch the madmen.<br /> +<br /> +There were cries and groans about me,<br /> +And shouts of laughter and curses.<br /> +Figures passed by with self-absorbed contempt,<br /> +Wrinkling in bitter smiles about their lips.<br /> +Others hurried on with set eyes<br /> +Pursuing something.<br /> +Then I said this is the place for mad Frederick—<br /> +Mad Frederick will be here.<br /> +<br /> +But everywhere I could see<br /> +Figures sitting or standing<br /> +By little pools.<br /> +Some seemed grown into the soil<br /> +And were helpless.<br /> +And of these some were asleep.<br /> +Others laughed the laughter<br /> +That comes from dying men<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> +Trying to face Death.<br /> +And others said "I should be content,"<br /> +And others said "I will fly."<br /> +Whereupon sepulchral voices muttered,<br /> +As of creatures sitting or hanging head down<br /> +From limbs of the trees,<br /> +"We will not let you."<br /> +And others looked in their pools<br /> +And clasped hands and said "Gone, all gone."<br /> +By other pools there were dead bodies:<br /> +Some of youth, some of age.<br /> +They had given up the fight,<br /> +They had drunk poisoned water,<br /> +They had searched<br /> +Until they fell—<br /> +All had gone mad!<br /> +<br /> +Then I, a certain god,<br /> +Curious to know<br /> +What it is in pools and stars<br /> +That drives men and women<br /> +Over the earth in this quest<br /> +Waited for mad Frederick.<br /> +And then I heard his step.<br /> +<br /> +I knew that long ago<br /> +He sat by one of these pools<br /> +Enraptured of a star's image.<br /> +And that hands, for his own good,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> +As they said,<br /> +Dumped clay into the pool<br /> +And blotted his star.<br /> +And I knew that after that<br /> +He had said, "They will never spy again<br /> +Upon my ecstasy.<br /> +They will never see me watching one star.<br /> +I will fly by rivers,<br /> +And by little brooks,<br /> +And by the edge of lakes,<br /> +And by little bends of water,<br /> +Where no wind blows,<br /> +And glance at stars as I pass.<br /> +They will never spy again<br /> +Upon my ecstasy."<br /> +<br /> +And I knew that mad Frederick<br /> +In this flight<br /> +Through years of restless and madness<br /> +Was caught by the image of a star<br /> +In a mere beyond a meadow<br /> +Down from a hill, under a forest,<br /> +And had said,<br /> +"No one sees;<br /> +Here I can find life,<br /> +Through vision of eternal things."<br /> +But they had followed him.<br /> +They stood on the brow of the hill,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> +And when they saw him gazing in the water<br /> +They rolled a great stone down the hill,<br /> +And shattered the star's image.<br /> +Then mad Frederick fled with laughter.<br /> +It echoed through the wood.<br /> +And he said, "I will look for moons,<br /> +I will punish them who disturb me,<br /> +By worshiping moons."<br /> +But when he sought moons<br /> +They left him alone,<br /> +And he did not want the moons.<br /> +And he was alone, and sick from the moons,<br /> +And covered as with a white blankness,<br /> +Which was the worst madness of all.<br /> +<br /> +And I, a certain god,<br /> +Waiting for mad Frederick<br /> +To enter this place of pools and stars,<br /> +Saw him at last.<br /> +With a sigh he looked about upon his fellows<br /> +Sitting or standing by their pools.<br /> +And some of the pools were covered with scum,<br /> +And some were glazed as of filth,<br /> +And some were grown with weeds,<br /> +And some were congealed as of the north wind,<br /> +And a few were yet pure,<br /> +And held the star's image.<br /> +And by these some sat and were glad,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> +Others had lost the vision.<br /> +The star was there, but its meaning vanished.<br /> +And mad Frederick, going here and there,<br /> +With no purpose,<br /> +Only curious and interested<br /> +As I was, a certain god,<br /> +Came by a certain pool<br /> +And saw a star.<br /> +<br /> +He shivered,<br /> +He clasped his hands,<br /> +He sank to his knees,<br /> +He touched his lips to the water.<br /> +<br /> +Then voices from the limbs of the trees muttered:<br /> +"There he is again."<br /> +"He must be driven away."<br /> +"The pool is not his."<br /> +"He does not belong here."<br /> +So as when bats fly in a cave<br /> +They swooped from their hidings in the trees<br /> +And dashed themselves in the pool.<br /> +Then I saw what these flying things were—<br /> +But no matter.<br /> +They were illusions, evil and envious<br /> +And dull,<br /> +But with power to destroy.<br /> +And mad Frederick turned away from the pool<br /> +And covered his eyes with his arms.<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> +Then a certain god,<br /> +Of less power than mine,<br /> +Came and sat beside me and said:<br /> +"Why do you allow this to be?<br /> +They are all seeking,<br /> +Why do you not let them find their heart's delight?<br /> +Why do you allow this to be?"<br /> +But I did not answer.<br /> +The lesser god did not know<br /> +That I have no power,<br /> +That only the God has the power.<br /> +And that this must be<br /> +In spite of all lesser gods.<br /> +<br /> +And I saw mad Frederick<br /> +Arise and ascend to the top of a high hill,<br /> +And I saw him find the star<br /> +Whose image he had seen in the pool.<br /> +Then he knelt and prayed:<br /> +"Give me to understand, O Star,<br /> +Your inner self, your eternal spirit,<br /> +That I may have you and not images of you,<br /> +So that I may know what has driven me through the world,<br /> +And may cure my soul.<br /> +For I know you are Eternal Love,<br /> +And I can never escape you.<br /> +And if I cannot escape you,<br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> +Then I must serve you.<br /> +And if I must serve you,<br /> +It must be to good and not ill—<br /> +You have brought me from the forest of pools<br /> +And the images of stars,<br /> +Here to the hill's top.<br /> +Where now do I go?<br /> +And what shall I do?"<br /></td></tr></table> + + +<p class="center">THE END</p> + +<p class="center">Printed in the United States of America.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span><br/></p> +<p class="center">The following pages contain advertisements of +books by the same author or on kindred subjects</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span><br/></p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p class="center"><span class="big"><i>EDGAR LEE MASTERS' REMARKABLE BOOK</i></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"><span class="huge">Spoon River Anthology</span></p> + +<p><i>Mr. Masters' book is considered by many to be the most striking and +important contribution to American letters in recent years</i>:—</p> + + +<p class="blockquot">"An American 'Comedie Humaine' brings more characters into its +pages than any American novel.... Takes its place among the masterpieces +which are not of a time or a locality."—<i>Boston Transcript.</i></p> + +<p class="blockquot">"A work splendid in observation, marvelous in the artistry of exclusion, +yet of democratic inclusiveness, piercingly analytic of character, of plastic +facility of handling, sympathetic underneath irony, humorous, pathetic, tragic, +comic, particular yet universal—a Comedie Humaine—a creation of +a whole community of personalities."—<i>William Marion Reedy.</i></p> + +<p class="blockquot">"We find a strange impressiveness, akin to greatness, in the 'Spoon +River Anthology' of Edgar Lee Masters.... It is a book which, whether +one likes it or not, one must respect."—<i>The New Republic.</i></p> + +<p class="blockquot">"Mr. Masters speaks with a new and authentic voice. It is an illuminating +piece of work, and an unforgettable one."—<i>Chicago Evening Post.</i></p> + +<p class="blockquot">"The natural child of Wait Whitman ... the only poet with true Americanism +in his bones."—<i>New York Times.</i></p> + +<p class="right"><i>Cloth, $1.25; leather, $1.50</i><br /></p> + + +<p class="center"><span class="big">THE MACMILLAN COMPANY</span><br/> +Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York</p> +<hr style="width: 33%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="center"><span class="huge">Good Friday and Other Poems</span></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By</span> JOHN MASEFIELD</p> + +<p class="center">Author of "The Everlasting Mercy" and "The Widow in the Bye +Street," etc.</p> + +<p class="right"><i>Cloth, 12mo, $1.25</i><br /></p> + +<p>The title piece in this volume is a dramatic poem +of sixty pages, the action of which takes place in the +time of Christ. The characters introduced include +Pontius Pilate, Joseph of Ramah and Herod. The +play, for it is really such, is written in rhyme and is +one of Mr. Masefield's most interesting and important +contributions to literature. In addition to this there +are in the book many sonnets and short poems.</p> + +<p class="blockquot">"Reveals an interesting development in poetic thought and expression +... a new Masefield ... who has never written with more dignity, nor +with more artistry. Those who go in quest of Beauty will find her here.... +Here is beauty of impression, beauty of expression, beauty of thought, +and beauty of phrase."—<i>The New York Times.</i></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="big">THE MACMILLAN COMPANY</span><br/> +Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York</p> + +<hr style="width: 33%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="huge">The Man Against the Sky</span></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By</span> EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON</p> + +<p class="center">Author of "The Porcupine," "Captain Craig and Other Poems," etc.</p> + +<p class="right"><i>Cloth, 12mo, $1.00</i><br /></p> + +<p>It has been some years since Mr. Robinson has +given us a new collection of poems. Those who +remember "Captain Craig and Other Poems," a volume +which brought to its author the heartiest of congratulations, +placing him at once in the rank of those +American writers whose contributions to literature +are of permanent value, will welcome this new work +and will find that their anticipation of it and hopes +for it are to be pleasantly realized. It is a book +which well carries out that early promise and which +helps to maintain Mr. Robinson's position in letters +to-day.</p> + +<p class="center"><span class="big">THE MACMILLAN COMPANY</span><br/> +Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York</p> + +<hr style="width: 33%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="center"><span class="huge">Battle and Other Poems</span></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By</span> WILFRID WILSON GIBSON</p> + +<p class="center">Author of "Daily Bread," "Fires," etc.</p> + +<p class="right"><i>Cloth, 12mo</i><br /></p> + +<p>Here with that intensely human note exhibited +in his poems of the working classes, Mr. Gibson +sings of the life of the soldier. There are many +moods in the book, for the author has well caught +the flow of spirits from gaiety to despair which +makes up the soldier's days. The chief characteristic +of the little pen pictures is their vividness, the +way in which they bring before the reader the +thoughts and feelings of those whose lives may be +offered up for their country any moment. In addition +to these poems of battle there are others in the +collection on varying themes.</p> + + +<p class="center"><span class="big">THE MACMILLAN COMPANY</span><br/> +Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York</p> +<hr style="width: 33%;" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p> + + +<p class="center"><span class="huge">Six French Poets</span></p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">By</span> AMY LOWELL</p> + +<p class="center">Author of "Sword Blades and Poppy Seed," "A Dome of Many-Coloured +Glass," etc.</p> + +<p class="right"><i>Cloth, 8vo, $2.50</i><br /></p> + +<p>A brilliant series of biographical and critical essays dealing +with Émile Verhaeren, Albert Samain, Remy de Gourmont, +Henri de Régnier, Francis Jammes, and Paul Fort, by one of the +foremost living American poets.</p> + +<p>The translations make up an important part of the book, and +together with the French originals constitute a representative +anthology of the poetry of the period.</p> + +<p>Professor Barrett Wendell, of Harvard University, says:</p> + +<p class="blockquot">"Seems to me as unusual—in the happiest sense of the word, +... I find the book a model, in total effect, of what a work +with such purpose ought to be."</p> + +<p>William Lyon Phelps, Professor of English Literature, Yale University, says:</p> + +<p class="blockquot">"This is, I think, the most valuable work on contemporary +French literature that I have seen for a long time. It is written +by one who has a thorough knowledge of the subject and who is +herself an American poet of distinction. She has the knowledge, +the sympathy, the penetration, and the insight—all necessary +to make a notable book of criticism. It is a work that +should be widely read in America."<br/></p> + + +<p class="center"><span class="big">OTHER BOOKS BY AMY LOWELL</span></p> + +<p><span class="huge">Sword Blades and Poppy Seed</span></p> + +<p class="right"><i>Boards, 12mo, $1.25</i><br /></p> + +<p class="blockquot">"From the standard of pure poetry, Miss Lowell's poem, 'The +Book of the Hours of Sister Clotilde' is one of the loveliest in +our poetry, worthy of companionship to the great romantic +lyrics of Coleridge."—<i>Boston Transcript.</i><br/></p> +<p> </p> +<p><span class="huge">A Dome of Many-Coloured Glass</span></p> + +<p class="right"><i>Boards, 12mo, $1.25</i><br /></p> + +<p class="blockquot">"Such verse as this is delightful, has a sort of personal flavor, +a loyalty to the fundamentals of life and nationality.... The +child poems are particularly graceful."—<i>Boston Transcript.</i></p> + + +<p class="center"><span class="big">THE MACMILLAN COMPANY</span><br/> +Publishers 64-66 Fifth Avenue New York</p> +<hr style="width: 75%;" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p class="big">Transcriber's Notes:</p> + +<p>Punctuation has been corrected without note.</p> + +<p>Inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation have been retained from the +original.</p> + +<p>It is not always possible to determine if a new stanza begins at the top +of a printed page, but every effort has been made by the transcriber to +retain stanza breaks where appropriate.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Songs and Satires, by Edgar Lee Masters + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SONGS AND SATIRES *** + +***** This file should be named 36149-h.htm or 36149-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/1/4/36149/ + +Produced by David E. 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