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diff --git a/36508-8.txt b/36508-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8cd70cb --- /dev/null +++ b/36508-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2781 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Eight Harvard Poets, by +E. Estlin Cummings and S. Foster Damon and J. R. Dos Passos and Robert Hillyer and R. S. Mitchell + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Eight Harvard Poets + +Author: E. Estlin Cummings + S. Foster Damon + J. R. Dos Passos + Robert Hillyer + R. S. Mitchell + +Release Date: June 24, 2011 [EBook #36508] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK EIGHT HARVARD POETS *** + + + + +Produced by Meredith Bach, David Garcia and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +book was produced from scanned images of public domain +material from the Google Print project.) + + + + + + + + + + + +EIGHT HARVARD POETS + + E. ESTLIN CUMMINGS + S. FOSTER DAMON + J. R. DOS PASSOS + ROBERT HILLYER + R. S. MITCHELL + WILLIAM A. NORRIS + DUDLEY POORE + CUTHBERT WRIGHT + +[Illustration] + + NEW YORK + LAURENCE J. GOMME + 1917 + + + + + Copyright, 1917, by + LAURENCE J. GOMME + + VAIL-BALLOU COMPANY + BINGHAMTON AND NEW YORK + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + E. ESTLIN CUMMINGS + + Thou in Whose Sword-Great Story Shine the Deeds 3 + A Chorus Girl 4 + This is the Garden 5 + It May not Always be so 6 + Crepuscule 7 + Finis 8 + The Lover Speaks 9 + Epitaph 10 + + + S. FOSTER DAMON + + Incessu Patuit Deus 13 + You Thought I had Forgotten 15 + Venice 16 + The New Macaber 18 + To War 20 + Calm Day, with Rollers 21 + Phonograph--Tango 22 + Decoration 24 + Threnody 25 + + + J. R. DOS PASSOS + + The Bridge 29 + Salvation Army 30 + Incarnation 32 + Memory 34 + Saturnalia 37 + "Whan that Aprille" 39 + Night Piece 40 + + + ROBERT HILLYER + + Four Sonnets from a Sonnet-Sequence 45 + A Sea Gull 49 + Domesday 50 + To a Passepied by Scarlatti 52 + Elegy for Antinous 53 + Song 54 + "My Peace I Leave with You" 55 + The Recompense 56 + + + R. S. MITCHELL + + Poppy Song 59 + Love Dream 62 + The Island of Death 64 + From the Arabian Nights 66 + Threnody 68 + Helen 70 + Largo 72 + Lazarus 73 + A Crucifix 74 + Neith 75 + A Farewell 77 + + + WILLIAM A. NORRIS + + Of Too Much Song 81 + Wherever My Dreams Go 82 + Out of the Littleness 83 + Nahant 84 + Qui Sub Luna Errant 85 + Across the Taut Strings 86 + Escape 87 + On a Street Corner 88 + Sea-burial 89 + + + DUDLEY POORE + + A Renaissance Picture 93 + The Philosopher's Garden 95 + The Tree of Stars 96 + After Rain 97 + Cor Cordium 99 + The Withered Leaf, the Faded Flower be Mine 105 + + + CUTHBERT WRIGHT + + The End of It 109 + The New Platonist 110 + The Room Over the River 112 + The Fiddler 114 + Falstaff's Page 116 + A Dull Sunday 117 + + * * * * * + + + + +E. ESTLIN CUMMINGS + + + + +[THOU IN WHOSE SWORD-GREAT STORY SHINE THE DEEDS] + + + Thou in whose sword-great story shine the deeds + Of history her heroes, sounds the tread + Of those vast armies of the marching dead, + With standards and the neighing of great steeds + Moving to war across the smiling meads; + Thou by whose page we break the precious bread + Of dear communion with the past, and wed + To valor, battle with heroic breeds; + + Thou, Froissart, for that thou didst love the pen + While others wrote in steel, accept all praise + Of after ages, and of hungering days + For whom the old glories move, the old trumpets cry; + Who gav'st as one of those immortal men + His life that his fair city might not die. + + + + +A CHORUS GIRL + + + When thou hast taken thy last applause, and when + The final curtain strikes the world away, + Leaving to shadowy silence and dismay + That stage which shall not know thy smile again, + Lingering a little while I see thee then + Ponder the tinsel part they let thee play; + I see the red mouth tarnished, the face grey, + And smileless silent eyes of Magdalen. + + The lights have laughed their last; without, the street + Darkling, awaiteth her whose feet have trod + The silly souls of men to golden dust. + She pauses, on the lintel of defeat, + Her heart breaks in a smile--and she is Lust ... + Mine also, little painted poem of God. + + This is the garden: colors come and go, + Frail azures fluttering from night's outer wing, + Strong silent greens serenely lingering, + Absolute lights like baths of golden snow. + This is the garden: pursed lips do blow + Upon cool flutes within wide glooms, and sing, + Of harps celestial to the quivering string, + Invisible faces hauntingly and slow. + + This is the garden. Time shall surely reap, + And on Death's blade lie many a flower curled, + In other lands where other songs be sung; + Yet stand They here enraptured, as among + The slow deep trees perpetual of sleep + Some silver-fingered fountain steals the world. + + It may not always be so; and I say + That if your lips, which I have loved, should touch + Another's, and your dear strong fingers clutch + His heart, as mine in time not far away; + If on another's face your sweet hair lay + In such a silence as I know, or such + Great writhing words as, uttering overmuch, + Stand helplessly before the spirit at bay; + + If this should be, I say if this should be-- + You of my heart, send me a little word; + That I may go unto him, and take his hands, + Saying, Accept all happiness from me. + Then shall I turn my face, and hear one bird + Sing terribly afar in the lost lands. + + + + +CREPUSCULE + + + I will wade out + till my thighs are steeped in burn- + ing flowers + I will take the sun in my mouth + and leap into the ripe air + Alive + with closed eyes + to dash against darkness + in the sleeping curves of my + body + Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery + with chasteness of sea-girls + Will I complete the mystery + of my flesh + I will rise + After a thousand years + lipping + flowers + And set my teeth in the silver of the moon + + + + +FINIS + + + Over silent waters + day descending + night ascending + floods the gentle glory of the sunset + In a golden greeting + splendidly to westward + as pale twilight + trem- + bles + into + Darkness + comes the last light's gracious exhortation + Lifting up to peace + so when life shall falter + standing on the shores of the + eternal + god + May I behold my sunset + Flooding + over silent waters + + + + +THE LOVER SPEAKS + + + Your little voice + Over the wires came leaping + and I felt suddenly + dizzy + With the jostling and shouting of merry flowers + wee skipping high-heeled flames + courtesied before my eyes + or twinkling over to my side + Looked up + with impertinently exquisite faces + floating hands were laid upon me + I was whirled and tossed into delicious dancing + up + Up + with the pale important + stars and the Humorous + moon + dear girl + How I was crazy how I cried when I heard + over time + and tide and death + leaping + Sweetly + your voice + + + + +EPITAPH + + + Tumbling-hair + picker of buttercups + violets + dandelions + And the big bullying daisies + through the field wonderful + with eyes a little sorry + Another comes + also picking flowers + + * * * * * + + + + +S. FOSTER DAMON + + + + +INCESSU PATUIT DEUS + + + The little clattering stones along the street + Dance with each other round my swimming feet; + The street itself, as in some crazy dream, + Streaks past, a half-perceived material stream. + + Brighter than early dawn's most brilliant dye + Are blown clear bands of color through the sky, + That swirl and sweep and meet, to break and foam + Like rainbow veils upon a bubble's dome. + + Yours are the songs that burst about my ears, + Or blow away as many-colored spheres. + + You are the star that made the skies all bright, + Yet tore itself away in flaming flight; + You are the tree that suddenly awoke; + You are the rose that came to life and spoke.... + + Guided by you, how we might stroll towards death, + Our only music one another's breath, + Through gardens intimate with hollyhocks, + Where silent poppies burn between the rocks, + By pools where birches bend to confidants + Above green waters scummed with lily-plants. + + There we might wander, you and I alone, + Through gardens filled with marble seats moss-grown, + And fountains--water-threads that winds disperse-- + While in the spray the birds sit and converse. + + And when the fireflies mix their circling glow + Through the dark plants, then gently might I know + Your lips, light as the wings of the dragon-flies.... + + --Merely dreams, fluttering in my eyes.... + + + + +[YOU THOUGHT I HAD FORGOTTEN] + + + You thought I had forgotten. Well, I had! + (Although I never guessed I could forget + Those few great moments when we both went mad.) + + The other day at someone's tea we met, + Smiling gayly, bowed, and went our several ways, + Complacent with successful coldness.--Yet + + Suddenly I was back in the old days + Before you felt we ought to drift apart. + It was some trick--the way your eyebrows raise, + + Your hands--some vivid trifle. With a start + Then I remembered how I lived alone, + Writing bad poems and eating out my heart + + All for your beauty.--How the time has flown! + + + + +VENICE + + + In a sunset glowing of crimson and gold, + She lies, the glory of the world, + A beached king's galley, whose sails are furled, + Who is hung with tapestries rich and old. + + Beautiful as a woman is she, + A woman whose autumn of life is here, + Proud and calm at the end of the year + With the grace that now is majesty. + + The sleeping waters bathe her sides, + The warm, blue streams of the Adrian Sea; + She dreams and drowses languorously, + Swayed in the swaying of the tides. + + She is a goddess left for us, + Veiled with the softening veils of time; + Her blue-veined breasts are now sublime, + Her moulded torso glorious. + + The pity that we must come and go--! + While the old gold and the marble stays, + Forever gleaming its soft strong blaze, + Calm in the early evening glow. + + And still the sensitive silhouettes + Of the gondolas pass and leave no track, + Light on the tides as lilies, and black + In the rippling waters of long sunsets. + + + + +THE NEW MACABER + + + The pleasant graveyard of my soul + With sentimental cypress trees + And flowers is filled, that I may stroll + In meditation, at my ease. + + The little marble stones are lost + In flowers surging from the dead; + Nor is there any mournful ghost + To wail until the night is sped. + + And while night rustles through the trees, + Dragging the stars along, I know + The moon is rising on the breeze, + Quivering as in a river's flow. + + And ah! that moon of silver sheen! + It is my heart hung in the sky; + And no clouds ever float between + The grave-flowers and my heart on high. + + I do not read upon each stone + The name that once was carven there; + I merely note new blossoms blown + And breathe the perfume of the air. + + Thus walk I through my wonderland + While all the evening is atune, + Beneath the cypress trees that stand + Like candles to the barren moon. + + + + +TO WAR + + + The music beats, up the chasmed street, + Then flares from around the curve; + The cheers break out from the waving crowd: + --Our soldiers march, superb! + Over the track-lined city street + The young men, the grinning men, pass. + + Last night they danced to that very tune; + Today they march away; + Tomorrow, perhaps no band at all, + Or the band beside the grave. + Above, in the long blue strip of sky, + The whirling pigeons, the thoughtless pigeons, pass. + + Another band beats down the street; + Contending rhythms clash; + New melodies win place, then fade, + And the flashing legs move past. + Down the cheering, grey-paved street + The fringed flags, the erect flags, pass. + + + + +CALM DAY, WITH ROLLERS + + + Always the ships that move in mystery, on the dim horizon, + Shadow-filled sails of dreams, sliding over the blue-grey ocean, + Far from the rock-edged shore where willow-green waves are rushing, + And white foam-people leap, to stand erect for the moment. + + Ho! ye sails that seem to wander in dream-filled meadows, + Say, is the shore where I stand the only field of struggle, + Or are ye hit and battered out there by waves and wind-gusts + As ye tack over a clashing sea of watery echoes? + + + + +PHONOGRAPH--TANGO + + + Old dances are simplified of their yearning, bleached by Time. + Yet from one black disc + we tasted again the bite of crude Spanish passion. + + ... He had got into her courtyard. + She was alone that night. + Through the black night-rain, he sang to her window bars: + + _Love me, love--ah, love me!_ + _If you will not, I can follow_ + _Into the highest of mountains;_ + _And there, in the wooden cabin,_ + _I will strangle you for your lover._ + + --That was but rustling of dripping plants in the dark. + More tightly under his cloak, he clasped his guitar. + + _Love, ah-h! love me, love me!_ + _If you will do this, I can buy_ + _A fringed silk scarf of yellow,_ + _A high comb carved of tortoise;_ + _Then we will dance in the Plaza._ + + She was alone that night. + He had broken into her courtyard. + Above the gurgling gutters + he heard-- + surely-- + a door unchained? + + The passage was black; but he risked it-- + death in the darkness-- + or her hot arms--(_love--love me ah-h-h!_) + + "A good old tune," she murmured + --and I found we were dancing. + + + + +DECORATION + + + A little pagan child-god plays + Beyond the far horizon haze, + And underneath the twilight trees + He blows a bubble to the breeze, + Which is borne upward in the night + And makes the heavens shine with light. + But soon it sinks to earth again, + And, hitting hills, it bursts! And then + With foam the skies are splashed and sprayed; + And that's how all the stars are made. + + + + +THRENODY + + + She is lain with high things and with low. + She lies + With shut eyes, + Rocked in the eternal flow + Of silence evermore. + + Desperately immortal, she; + She stands + With wide hands + Dim through the veil of eternity, + Behind the supreme door. + + * * * * * + + + + +J. R. DOS PASSOS + + + + +THE BRIDGE + + + The lonely bridge cuts dark across the marsh + Whose long pools glow with the light + Of a flaring summer sunset. + At this end limp bushes overhang, + Palely reflected in the amber-colored water; + Among them a constant banjo-twanging of frogs, + And shrilling of toads and of insects + Rises and falls in chorus rhythmic and stirring. + + Dark, with crumbling railing and planks, + The bridge leads into the sunset. + Across it many lonely figures, + Their eyes a-flare with the sunset, + Their faces glowing with its colors, + Tramp past me through the evening. + + I am tired of sitting quiet + Among the bushes of the shore, + While the dark bridge stretches onward, + And the long pools gleam with light; + I am tired of the shrilling of insects + And the croaking of frogs in the rushes, + For the wild rice in the marsh-pools + Waves its beckoning streamers in the wind, + And the red sky-glory fades. + + + + +SALVATION ARMY + + + A drum pounds out the hymn, + Loud with gaudy angels, tinsel cherubim, + To drown the fanfare of the street, + And with exultant lilting beat, + To mingle the endless rumble of carts, + The scrape of feet, the noise of marts + And dinning market stalls, where women shout + Their wares, and meat hangs out-- + Grotesque, distorted by the gas flare's light-- + Into one sacred rhythm for the Devil's spite. + + A woman's thin, raucous voice + Carries the tune, bids men rejoice, + Bathe in God's mercy, + Draw near and learn salvation, see + With their own eyes the mystery. + Cymbals, at the hands of a tired girl, + Slim wisp amid the swirl + Of crowded streets, take up the tune, + Monotonously importune. + Faces are wan in the arc-light's livid glare; + A wind gust carries the band's flare + Of song, in noisy eddies echoing, + Round lonely black street-corners, + + Till, with distance dimming, + It fades away, + Among the silent, dark array + Of city houses where no soul stirs. + + The crowd thins, the players are alone; + In their faith's raucous monotone, + Loud with gaudy angels, tinsel cherubim, + A drum pounds out the hymn. + + + + +INCARNATION + + + Incessantly the long rain falls, + Slanting on black walls, + Which glisten gold where a street lamp shines. + + In a shop-window, spangled in long lines, + By rain-drops all a-glow, + An Italian woman's face + Flames into my soul as I go + Hastily by in the turbulent darkness;-- + An oval olive face, + With the sweetly sullen grace + Of the Virgin when first she sees, + Amid her garden's silver lilies, + The white-robed angel gleam, + And softly, as by a sultry dream, + Feels all her soul subdued unto the fire + And radiance of her ecstasy. + So in some picture, on which as on a lyre, + An old Italian painter laboriously has played + His soul away, his love, all his desire + For fragrant things afar from earth, + Shines the Madonna, as with a veil overlaid + By incense-smoke and dust age-old, + At whose feet, in time of dearth + Or need, a myriad men have laid + Their sorrows and arisen bold. + + Incessantly the long rain falls, + Slanting on black walls. + But through the dark interminable streets, + Along pavements where rain beats + Its sharp tattoo, and gas-lamps shine, + Greenish gold in the solitude, + The vision flames through my mood + Of that Italian woman's face, + Through the dripping window-pane. + + + + +MEMORY + + + Between rounded hills, + White with patches of buckwheat, whose fragrance fills + The little breeze that makes the birch-leaves quiver, + Beside a rollicking swift river, + Light green in the deeps,-- + Like your eyes in sunshine,-- + Winds the canal, + Lazy and brown as a water-snake, + Full of dazzle and sheen where the breeze sweeps + The water with gossamer garments, that shake + The reeds standing sentinel, + And the marginal line + Of birches and willows. + + Our little steamer pulls its way + With jingle of bells and panting throb + Of old engines. + In stiff array + The water-reeds wave, + And solemnly sway + To the wash and swell of our passing. + Among the reeds the ripples sob, + And die away, + 'Till the canal is still again, save + For a kingfisher's flashing + Across the noon shimmer. + + I stood beside you in the bow, + Watched the sunlight lose itself among your hair, + That the breeze tugged at. + Bright as the shattered sun-rays, where the prow + Cut the still water, + The warm light caught and tangled there, + Red gold amid your hair. + + You were very slim in your blue serge dress.... + We talked of meaningless things, education, + Agreed that unless, + Something were changed disaster would come to the nation. + You smiled when I pointed where + A group of birches shivered in the green wood-shadow, + Up to their knees in water, white and fair + As dryads bathing. + A row + Of flat white houses and a wharf + Glided in sight. + The hoarse whistle shrieked for a landing; + Bells jangled.... You were standing + A slim blue figure amid the wharf's crowd; + The little steamer creaked against the side, loud + Screamed the whistle again.... + + Monotonously the solemn reeds + Waved to our passing; + Ahead the canal shimmered, blotched green by the water-weeds. + With a grinding swing + And see-saw of sound, + The steamer slunk down the canal. + + I never even knew your name.... + + That night from a dingy hotel room, + I saw the moon, like a golden gong, + Redly loom + Across the lake; like a golden gong + In a temple, which a priest ere long + Will strike into throbbing song, + To wake some silent twinkling city to prayer. + The lake waves were flakes of red gold, + Burnished to copper, + Gold, red as the tangled gleam + Of sunlight in your hair. + + + + +SATURNALIA + + + In earth's womb the old gods stir, + Fierce chthonian dieties of old time. + With cymbals and rattle of castanets, + And shriek of slug-horns, the North Wind + Bows the oak and the moaning fir, + On russet hills and by roadsides stiff with rime. + + In nature, dead, the life gods stir, + From Rhadamanthus and the Isles, + Where Saturn rules the Age of Gold, + Come old, old ghosts of bygone gods; + While dim mists earth's outlines blur, + And drip all night from lichen-greened roof-tiles. + + In men's hearts the mad gods rise + And fill the streets with revelling, + With torchlight that glances on frozen pools, + With tapers starring the thick-fogged night, + A-dance, like strayed fireflies, + 'Mid dim mad throngs who Saturn's orisons sing. + + In driven clouds the old gods come, + When fogs the face of Apollo have veiled; + A fear of things, unhallowed, strange, + And a fierce free joy flares in the land. + Men mutter runes in language dead, + By night, with rumbling drum, + In quaking groves where the woodland spirits are hailed. + + To earth's brood of souls of old, + With covered heads and aspen wands, + Mist-shrouded priests do ancient rites; + The black ram's fleece is stained with blood, + That steams, dull red on the frozen ground; + And pale votaries shiver with the cold, + That numbs the earth, and etches patterned mirrors on the ponds. + + + + +"WHAN THAT APRILLE ..." + + + Is it the song of a meadow lark + Off the brown, sere salt marshes, + Or the eager patches in dooryards + Of yellow and pale lilac crocuses; + Or else the suburban street golden with sunlight, + And the bare branches of elm trees + Twined in the delicate sky? + Or is it the merry piping + Of a distant hurdy-gurdy?-- + That makes me so weary and faint with desire + For strange lands and new scents; + For the rough-rhythmed clank + Of train couplings at night, + And the stormy, gay-tinted sunrises + That shade with purple the contours + Of far-off, unfamiliar hills. + + + + +NIGHT PIECE + + + A silver web has the moon spun, + A silver web upon all the sky, + Where the frail stars quiver, every one + Like tangled gnats that hum and die. + + The moon has tangled the dull night + In her silver skein and set alight + Each dew-damp branch with milky flame. + And huge the moon broods on the night. + + My soul is caught in the web of the moon, + Like a shrilling gnat in a spider's web. + Importunate memories shrill in my ears + Like the gnats that die in the spider web. + + Lovely as death, in the moon's shroud, + Were town streets, grey houses, dim, + Full of strange peace in the silent night. + As we walked our footsteps clattered loud. + We felt the night as a troubled song ... + Oh, the triumphing sense of life a-throb. + Behind those walls, in those dark streets, + Like the sound of a river, swift, unseen, + Flowing in darkness. Oh, the hoarse + Half-heard murmur swirling beneath + The snowy beauty of moonlight.... + + And that other night, + When the river rippled with faint spears + Of street lights vaguely reflected. Grey + The evening, like an opal; low, + A grey moon shrouded in sea fog: + Air pregnant with spring; rasp of my steps + Beside the lapping water; within + The dark. Down the worn out years a sob + Of broken loves; old pain + Of dead farewells; and one face + Fading into grey.... + + A silver web has the moon spun, + A silver web over all the sky. + In her flooding glory, one by one, + Like gnats in a web the stars die. + + * * * * * + + + + +ROBERT HILLYER + + + + +FOUR SONNETS FROM A SONNET-SEQUENCE + + +I + + Quickly and pleasantly the seasons blow + Over the meadows of eternity, + As wave on wave the pulsings of the sea + Merge and are lost, each in the other's flow. + Time is no lover; it is only he + That is the one unconquerable foe, + He is the sudden tempest none can know, + Winged with swift winds the none may hope to flee. + + Fair child of loveliness, these endless fears + Are nought to us; let us be gods of stone, + And set our images beyond the years + On some high mount where we can be alone. + And thou shalt ever be as now thou art, + And I shall watch thee with untroubled heart. + + +II + + Then judge me as thou wilt, I cannot flee, + I cannot turn away from thee forever, + For there are bonds that wisdom cannot sever + And slaves with souls far freer than the free. + Such strong desires the universal Giver + With unknown plan has buried deep in me + That the exquisite joy of watching thee + Has dominated all my life's endeavor. + + Thou weariest of having me so near, + I feel the scorn thou hast within thy heart, + And yet thy face has never seemed so dear + As now, when I am minded to depart. + Though thou shouldst drive me hence, I love thee so + That I would watch thee when thou dost not know. + + +III + + Fly, joyous wind, through all the wakened earth + Now when the portals of the dawn outpour + A myriad wonders from the radiant store + Of spring's deep passion and loud-ringing mirth. + Cry to the world that I despair no more, + Heart greets my heart and hope has proved its worth; + Fly where the legions of the sun have birth, + Chant everywhere and everywhere adore. + + + Circle the basking hills in fragrant flight, + Shout Rapture! Rapture! if sweet sorrow passes, + And whisper low in intimate delight + My love-song to the undulating grasses. + Grief is no more, love rises with the spring, + O fly, free wind, and Rapture! Rapture! sing. + + +IV + + Long after both of us are scattered dust + And some strange souls perchance shall read of thee, + Finding the yearnings that have crushed from me + These poor confessions of my love and trust, + I know how misinterpreted will be + These lines, for men will laugh, or more unjust, + Thinking not once of love, but only lust, + Will stain the vesture of our memory. + + And yet a few there may be who will feel + My deep devotion and my true desires, + And know that these unhappy words reveal + Only new images in changeless fires; + And they perchance will linger with a sigh + To think that beauty such as thine must die. + + + + +A SEA GULL + + + Grey wings, O grey wings against a cloud, + Over the rough waves flashing, + Whose was the scream, startling and loud, + Keen through the skies,--was it thine, + Over the moaning wind and the whine + Of the wide seas dashing? + Whose was the scream that I heard + In the midst of the hurrying air? + Was it thine, lost bird, + Or the voice of an old despair + Chanting from years long dead, + Inexorable spirit flying + On tempest wings that passed and fled + Through the storm crying? + + + + +DOMESDAY + + + The garlands and the songs of May + Shall welcome in the Judgment Day; + About the basking country-side + Blossom the souls of them that died. + O Dead awake! Arise in bloom + Upon the joyous dawn of doom. + + They rise up from the bleeding earth + In gracious legions of re-birth, + Each as a flower or a tree + Of verdant immortality. + And hosts of glad-voiced angels sing + In the rippling groves of spring. + + From the grave of youth there grows + A passionately-petaled rose, + Where the virgin whitely lies + A lily fair as Paradise. + And in that old oak's leafy glee + Some gouty sire makes sport of me. + + O Dead of yore and yesterday + All hail the resurrecting May! + Beside you in the flowering grass + The feet of youth and love shall pass, + And we that greet you with a smile + Shall join you in a little while. + + + + +TO A PASSEPIED BY SCARLATTI + + + Strange little tune so thin and rare + Like scents of roses of long ago, + Quavering lightly upon the strings + Of a violin, and dying there + With a dancing flutter of delicate wings; + Thy courtly joy and thy gentle woe, + Thy gracious gladness and plaintive fears + Are lost in the clamorous age we know, + And pale like a moon in the lurid day; + A phantom of music, strangely fled + From the princely halls of the quiet dead, + Down the long lanes of the vanished years + Echoing frailly and far away. + + + + +ELEGY FOR ANTINOUS + + + Come, let us hasten hence and weep no more, + The sinking sea flows on its tranquil ways, + Night looms serenely at the eastern door + And trails the last cloud into lifeless haze. + Antinous is dead, we kneel before + The portals of our past in vain, nor raise + The laughing phantoms of our yesterdays + Upon this desolate and empty shore. + + Now deepening pools of shadow overflow + Into the sea of dark; a far-off bell + Sobs with a sweet vibration long and slow + A last farewell, forevermore, farewell; + And will He wake and hear? We cannot tell; + And will He answer? Ah, we do not know. + + + + +SONG + + + O crimson rose, O crimson rose, + Crushed lightly in two little hands; + A child's soft kiss was in your heart, + A child's warm breath was in your soul. + + The child is gone, O crimson rose, + And stained and hardened are the hands, + And who shall find your golden heart + And who shall kiss your withered soul? + + Happy are you, O crimson rose, + But I have stains upon my hands; + You died with kisses in your heart, + I live with sorrow in my soul. + + + + +"MY PEACE I LEAVE WITH YOU" + + + He pondered long, and watched the darkening space + Close the red portals whence the hours had run, + As like young wistful angels, one by one, + The stars cast timid flowers about His face. + "Yea, now another scarlet day is done!" + He cried in anguish, and with sudden grace + Stretched forth His arms, as though He would erase + The few, dim embers of the scattered sun. + + "The scarlet day is done, and soon the light + Will wake again my desecrated skies. + Oh, that another dawn might never rise!-- + My foolish children!" Through the vast of night + The young stars shivered in a silver horde + Before the Infinite Sorrow of their Lord. + + + + +THE RECOMPENSE + + + When the last song is sung, and the last spark + Of light dies out forever, and the dark, + The voiceless dark eternal shrouds the earth; + When the last cries of pain and shouts of mirth + Sink in the desolate silences of space; + Where then shall flower the beauty of your face, + O Love the laughing, Youth the rose-in-hand, + In what unknown and undiscovered land + Shall flower then the beauty of your face? + + I know not but I know that all returns + At last unchanged, and to the heart that yearns + Shall be repaid all loneliness and loss. + Sometime with shadowy sails shall fly across + The shoreless ocean of infinity + A ship from out the past, and the great sea + Of life shall bear you from the strange worlds over + The waves, and back again to the old lover. + + Yes, in some future far beyond surmise + You will dream here with half-remembering eyes, + And I shall write these words, content awhile + In the slow round of time to see you smile. + + * * * * * + + + + +R. S. MITCHELL + + + + +POPPY SONG + + +I + + Footsteps soft as fall the rose's + Petals on a dewy lawn, + Shaken when the wind uncloses + Golden gateways for the dawn; + + Laughter light as is the swallows' + Chatter in the evening sky, + Wafted upward from the hollows + Where the limpid waters lie; + + Weeping faint as is the willow's + By the margin of the lake, + Trembling into tiny billows + That the silent teardrops make; + + Phantoms fitful and uncertain + As the pearly autumn rain, + Sweeping on in cloudy curtain + Down the wide way of the plain. + + +II + + Oh, unhappy now to waken + When the dream had scarce begun! + Out of gentle twilight taken + Into realms of burning sun: + + Oh, unhappy now to find me + Lost 'neath heavens hot with noon; + All that fairy land behind me; + Poppy fields and rising moon! + + Drawbridge and portcullis screeching, + Bugles braying soon and late; + Who are they that come beseeching, + Calling at my castle gate? + + Drive them hence, for they encumber + Days and nights with waking pain; + Tell them that I lie and slumber + Under poppies, wet with rain. + + Who art thou that bendest praying + Over me with clasped palms; + Dim through surging darkness, saying + Words of prayer and murmured psalms? + + Who art thou that kneelest weeping + By the border of my bed? + Cease thou, for I was but sleeping-- + Dreaming, only, and not dead! + + +III + + Phantoms flitting and uncertain + Sweeping round the endless plain; + Autumn twilight's dusky curtain, + Drowsy poppies, drenched with rain. + + + + +LOVE DREAM + + + Strange that on warp and woof of dreams + Fancy should weave the web of truth, + And yet this fairy figment seems + Part of a half-forgotten youth + Stolen from days I thought were sped + Out of the world beyond the dead. + + Smiled she not when at the edge + Of evening we walked alone + Plucking spring's blossoms from the hedge + That she might wear them as her own, + Or do I hold a hopeless tryst + Here with a shadow, made of mist? + + Now as will crumpled rose leaves, pent + By fingers we can never know, + Rouse with the richness of their scent, + Thoughts of a summer long ago, + All the expanse of land and sea + Speaks with a thousand tongues to me. + + 'Twas from coast we watched slow form, + Out of the frosty ocean's breath, + The blue-gray ramparts of the storm + Flashing with signal fires of death, + Whilst with a murmur, far and wide, + Swept in the low wind with the tide. + + Then, at last, when lips were dumb + With fear of parting, did we wend + Along the meadow lanes that come + From nowhere, and in nothing end, + And, smiling, kiss, though ill at ease, + Under the rustling orchard trees. + + But will the promise given keep? + Can the heart love still when 'tis dead? + What if the spirit, waked from sleep, + Never recall the words it said? + Dwell in a dreamland, or else be + Lost in life's eternity? + + + + +THE ISLAND OF DEATH + + + There is an island in a silent sea + That rises--four, rough, rugged walls--on high + Above the ocean in calm majesty. + A mountain of despair against the sky! + About its summit soaring seagulls fly, + Or rest them in its lofty cypress trees, + And greet the black barge bearing those who die + Upon our earth to everlasting ease + And pleasant lives that know not man's eternities. + + White halls and palaces their dwellings stand; + These shadowy souls are all unknown to graves + And live, faint phantoms in a fairy land + Of dreams and idleness. They hear the waves + Sing, and the winds come calling from the caves + Of night beyond the ocean, and the cry + Of screaming gulls; stare at each ship that braves + This wilderness of waters, and glides by + In awe-struck silence, ever fearing to draw nigh. + + The sun, descending, sows the sea with gold, + And showers splendour through the fading skies, + Whilst from the murky waters they behold + The moon, a shape of silver, slow arise. + And every evening, as the daylight dies, + There comes that bark of death, whose white sail seems + An angel in the dark. A while it lies + Below them in the harbour, then there gleams + A new shape on the stairs up to that land of dreams. + + + + +FROM THE ARABIAN NIGHTS + + + Then, as the whispering evening crossed the sea, + Sweeping the waters with her veil of grey, + Wave-worn and weary of the ocean, we + Beheld the enchanted island far away-- + Half hidden in the twilight low it lay + On the horizon like a lazy cloud, + Its coasts encompassed with long lines of spray. + We spread the sails and swiftly the ship plowed + The purple path ahead until the surf sang loud. + + Between the cliffs, by the faint stars, we found + A gloomy gate, and boldly sailing in, + Watched the dark mountains slowly closing round, + And heard faint echoes of the ocean's din + Melting like spirits' voices, fleet and thin; + When of a sudden, as we faltered nigh, + Out of the hills where only night had been + A mist of minarets and towers high, + Rose like the yellow light of morning in the sky. + + Gazing we drifted toward that golden bloom + Of palaces whose light glowed on our sail; + There we floated wrapped in wild perfume; + Then music burst upon us in a gale; + Grave, deep-toned trumpets and the lyre's long wail, + And farther, the faint sound of singing men. + We grasped our oars--but slowly, as will pale + The morning star, the vision faded, then + The empty dark swept in and all was night again! + + + + +THRENODY + + + Have you forgotten me, + O my beloved? + Have you deserted me + Now in the autumn? + + See where the swallows fly + South o'er the ocean: + Soon will the winter wind + Sweep the Ægean. + + Up from the vineyard comes + Music of laughter; + Far through the valleys they + Gather the harvest. + + Westward the evening star + Sinks in the mountains; + Pale 'neath the rising moon + Lies Mytilene. + + Here where the headland looks + Wide o'er the water, + I have brought laurel leaves, + Decking your barrow. + + Why do I linger now + Vainly lamenting? + O it is lonely, love,-- + Lonely in Lesbos! + + + + +HELEN + + + Again the voices of the hunting horns + And the new moon, low lying on the hills, + Tell that the summer night is on its way.-- + O languid heart, shalt thou much longer watch + This pale procession of the silent hours + Melt into shadows of unending years? + Much longer feed on yearning and despair + And all the anguish of departed time? + Tomorrow is as yesterday; today + No nearer than the morning when there stood + In Leda's palace, asking for my hand, + Tall Menelaus with his yellow hair; + No nearer now than the first time these hands + Dared linger in caress upon the curls + Of him whose dark eyes laughed their love to mine. + 'Tis only as if one short, restless sleep + Lay over the wide chasm of the years + Beyond which loom lost faith and ruined Troy. + The night wind brings, as twenty summers since, + The silver-breasted swallows from the Nile + To quiet Sparta, nestled in her hills, + Locked inland from the voices of the sea; + And far across the porticos I hear + The ivory shuttle singing in the loom + 'Midst maidens' chatter, as in olden days; + And men still murmur as they pass me by: + "Lo, look on her, the wonder of the world, + Beauteous Helen, Lacedæmon's Queen!" + I watch them gaze intently on my face + As they would keep it in their memory + Forever, and the very while they gaze + I see the flame of Troy gleam in their eyes. + + I think sometimes I have already passed + Into the kingdom of untroubled death, + And wandering lonely amongst them I knew + In Hellas or that land beyond the seas, + Behold each shadow as it passes by + Shrink half involuntarily, and turn, + And veil its face and vanish in the gloom. + Whilst out of that dim distance whence my steps + Are moving and to which they shall return + After an interval of endless years, + There comes a voice that calls me from afar: + "Art thou not Helen, dowered of the gods + With all that man can covet? Wert thou not + Created the most beautiful of earth, + And is not beauty wisdom, wisdom power? + What hast thou done with their almighty gift?" + And then, ere I would answer, silence falls + Around me, and the dark divides, and I + See the blue twilight on the Spartan hills. + + + + +LARGO + + + Thou only from this sorrow wert relief, + Inviolate death, grave deity of rest, + Wherein all things past somehow seem the best + That ever could have come to be. Proud grief + Her lustrous torch hath lighted in this brief + Dim time before the dark, when the wide west + Fades where illimitable skies suggest + Days vanished in the beauty of belief. + + As one unto a battle come, that stands + Aloof awhile, beholding friend and foe + Clashing in conflict, till his soul commands + He, too, prest on whither the bugles blow, + Lifting his eyes sees over wasted lands + Life's dust and shadow drifting to and fro. + + + + +LAZARUS + + + At morn we passed a hall where song + And dance had been and wine flowed free, + And where, 'mid wrecks of revelry, + Had lain the feasters all night long. + + They saw us through the mist of dawn, + And, turning, called us to their feast-- + The sound of lutes and cymbals ceased-- + But one He fixed His gaze upon. + + In whose wide eyes there seemed to be-- + Behind the laughing, wine-flushed face + And tilted ivy-crown's gay grace-- + Faint glimpses of Eternity. + + Then sad, the Master bowed His head, + And, through the rosy twilight, dim, + Walked up and softly spake to him: + "Art thou not he that late was dead?" + + The drinker raised his cup on high, + And murmured: "Priest of Nazareth, + I am he thou didst raise from death-- + Lo, thus I wait again to die!" + + + + +A CRUCIFIX + + + This was the cross of God on which men's eyes + Dwelt with the love of dead divinity, + As they who by the desolate orient sea + In battle made their sainted sacrifice, + Dreaming their boundless striving should devise + A symbol whereby men might know that he + Who wins his way on earth to victory, + Thus in his consummated sorrow dies. + + All things are sacred to that tender sight: + Time's ancient altars whence strange incense curled + Innocent to the unknown gods; the light + Of love is thine; faith's banner is unfurled, + Even where the farthest watchmen, through the night, + Call on the cloud-wrapped ramparts of the world. + + + + +NEITH + + + Somehow the spirit of that day-- + Rain-clouded streets and brooding air-- + Determined me to live and dare, + Living, to laugh the world away. + + As in a crystal dreamers see + Out of unwinding mists arise + The splendors of some paradise + Woven of gold and ivory; + + Deep in the globe of thought I saw + Dawn from tempestuous dust that form + Toward which the endless ages storm + Uproarious--to break with awe. + + Of all things ignorant, yet wise, + Sitting enthroned at life's last goal, + Dividing body from the soul, + Looking at each with flameless eyes. + + Immutable, unknown, unsung, + Through triumph and delight unearned, + Through sorrow undeserved, I learned + Salvation from thy wordless tongue. + + Then flying the embracing gloom + Of burnt-out days and parched desire, + I built my soul an altar fire + Of laughter in the face of doom. + + + + +A FAREWELL + + + Nay: by this desolate sea our troubled ways + Shall separate forever; swift hath sped + The hour of youth, and yet to hang the head, + Lamenting lost things of departed days, + Were only from that shadowland to raise + A wraith, that whispering of the quiet dead, + Would mimic the strange life of love; instead, + Let us relent and hail the past with praise. + + Go, then; and should inevitable fate + Lead us at last beyond the world of men + Where laurel and applause content no more, + Whither the soul takes silence for its mate, + There might we meet, and, smiling, once again + Clasp hands and part upon some windy shore. + + * * * * * + + + + +WILLIAM A. NORRIS + + + + +OF TOO MUCH SONG + + + Sedges, have you sung too much, + Sedges gray along the shore? + Can this autumn tempest touch + Answering chords in you no more? + Is the summer all forgot?-- + Now the ice is dark and strong + That has bound you to the spot-- + Did you die of too much song? + + Something in me is a harp + Played by every wanton breeze. + Moaning soft and piping sharp + Are its wondrous melodies. + Is the playing over-fast + Though the answer now is strong? + Like the sedges at the last + Will it die of too much song? + + + + +[WHEREVER MY DREAMS GO] + + + Wherever my dreams go, you are always there, + And you and I have gone to many a land, + Seeing high hills at dawn and desert sand, + Temples and mosques and people bowed in prayer. + We too have prayed in many places where + Beauty has come as I have clasped your hand, + And through long silence learned to understand + The dumb sweet language of your eyes and hair. + + We have been lovers in all fair romances + Beyond the rising or the sunken sun. + There have been foes to meet, and I have done + Great deeds beneath the splendor of your glances.... + And yet I dreamed alone; you could not guess + What joy you brought into my loneliness. + + + + +[OUT OF THE LITTLENESS] + + + Out of the littleness that wraps my days, + The oppressive mist of gray and common things, + Sometimes my dream on its audacious wings, + Dripping with golden fire, above the haze, + Flashes and veers against the sudden blaze + Of sunlight. There no other wings may gleam + But only yours, companioning my dream + In its strange flight up new and radiant ways. + + And once, I thought, in a far solitude, + The black waves moaned and broke unutterably + On a stern cliff where hand in hand we stood. + There were none near us when the dark had gone,-- + Only the clean wind of a sailless sea, + And you and I alone in the great dawn. + + + + +NAHANT + + + Last night the sea was an enchanted moan + And a pale pathway that the moonlight made. + All night it sorrowed in the dark alone, + Groping with ghostly fingers, half afraid, + Up the great rocks and sobbing back again, + Weary of search, yet still unsatisfied. + It seemed to have the voice of all dead men + And all fair women who had ever died. + + But now the sun has risen, and the spray + Leaps into sudden light along the shore. + Each little wave has caught a golden ray-- + As if the dawn had never come before. + Beyond the cliffs brown fishing boats go by + Under the reach of the wide laughing sky. + + + + +QUI SUB LUNA ERRANT + + + In a strange land they dwell, too far away + From sunlight and the common mirth of men + Ever to come within our casual ken. + We see them not, but if by chance we stray + Down cypress aisles when the wan summer day + Draws to a thin and sickly close, we hear + Murmur of mad speech by some watery weir + Or languid laughter and faint sound of play. + + They never see the dawn; like the pale moths + That haunt lugubrious shadows of dim trees + They celebrate their lunar mysteries + At woodland shrines, where with green thyrsus rods + And weak limbs wrapped in silken sensuous cloths + They chant the names of their dead pagan gods. + + + + +[ACROSS THE TAUT STRINGS] + + + Across the taut strings of my yearning soul + Pass fingers of all fleet and beautiful things: + Comings of dawn and moonlight glimmerings, + Mid-summer hush and Sabbath bells that toll + Over broad fields, a sound of thrushes' wings + Near sunset hour, a girl with lips apart, + Wonder and laughter,--these have touched my heart + And left their music lingering on its strings. + + At twilight of some gray, eventual year, + A few late friends will turn, with trembling breath, + From the raw mound of earth that hides my face.... + Yet I shall still find beauty, even in death, + And some lone traveller of the night will hear + An echo of music in that quiet place. + + + + +ESCAPE + + + They danced beneath the stars, a crazy rout + With antic steps that had some little grace; + And one leapt high with song and frenzied shout, + And one ran silent with a gleaming face. + + They danced until the shy moon looking down + Deemed herself lost above some Grecian glade; + A mile away the trim New England town + Echoed the Bacchanalian din they made. + + And still they danced, until the moon sank low, + Blushing a little, and night's diadem + Of stars grew pale before the eastern glow.... + And with the dawn their keepers came for them. + + + + +ON A STREET CORNER + + + But all the time you spoke I did not hear + The words you said. I only heard a far + Faint sound of summer waters and a clear + Calling of music from some lonely star. + I thought I heard the lisp of falling dew + In a dark meadow where no breezes stirred.... + Then all at once the noisy street, and you + Smiling at me because I had not heard! + + + + +SEA-BURIAL + + + Over the sands the swollen tide came creeping, + Over the sands beneath the gleaming moon; + At first it seemed a child's uncertain croon, + And then a sound of many mourners weeping. + Then all at once a crested wave was sweeping + Around the still form in the moonlight there, + Twining its silver fingers in her hair.... + And yet it could not rouse her from her sleeping. + + With dawn the tide went seaward, bearing her + In its strong arms that clung so tenderly, + And laid her in a strange place far away + Where the tall seaweeds rise and never stir.... + And there she sleeps, while pass alternately + The brooding night and the green luminous day. + + * * * * * + + + + +DUDLEY POORE + + + + +A RENAISSANCE PICTURE + + + Calm little figure, ivy-crowned, + How long beneath the barren tree + Where this pale, martyred god has found + Surcease from his long agony, + You watch with an untroubled gaze + Life move on its accustomed ways! + + Within your childish heart there dwells + No sorrow that uprising dims + Your eye, whence not a teardrop wells + For pity of those writhen limbs, + Or for the travail of a race + Consummate in one lifeless face. + + Though tinkling caravans go by + Forever over twilight sands, + With myrrh and cassia laden high + For other shrines in other lands, + No weight of grief thereat you know, + But softly on your pan-pipes blow. + + From what dim mountain have you strayed, + Where, ringed by the Hellenic seas, + You dwelt in an untrodden glade + Sacred to woodland deities, + Along whose faint paths went at dawn + Endymion or a dancing faun? + + From groves where sacrificing throngs + Called you by some fair Grecian name, + With ritual meet and choric songs, + Strange, that to this dark hill you came + To seek, unmindful of their loss, + A refuge underneath the cross. + + There is some deeper secret lies + Hidden out of human sight + In keeping of those tranquil eyes + That shine with such immortal light, + And in their shadows gleam and glow + While still upon your pipes you blow. + + All but inscrutable, your gaze + Declares your place is even here, + Sharing this martyr's cup of praise, + And year by sadly westering year, + Till the last altar lights grow dim, + Dividing sovereignty with him. + + + + +THE PHILOSOPHER'S GARDEN + + + Some strange and exquisite desire + Has thrilled this flowering almond tree + Whose branches shake so wistfully, + Else wherefore does it bloom in fire? + Why scatter pollen on the air, + Marry its pale buds each to each, + The year's unkindly tempests bear, + Or to the calm clear sunlight reach? + + Yet I can give that hope no name, + Nor that divine emotion share, + For, though I see it flowering there, + Because our speech is not the same + The passionate secret must lie hid + Burdened with unexpressed delight, + Where none of all man's race can bid + It forth, or voice its beauty right. + + There's nought in earth or heaven knows + That hope for which our being longs, + The stars are busied with their songs, + The universal springtime flows + From sun to sun in scorn of man, + Careless if he be quick or dead, + Or if this earth, as it began, + Be voiceless and untenanted. + + + + +THE TREE OF STARS + + + There stands a tree where no man knows, + And like an earthly tree it grows, + Save that upon its branches wide + The earth and all the stars beside, + The chilly moon and the great sun, + The little planets, one by one, + Are hung like fruit to redden there + And ripen in the heavenly air. + + And when the seeds are round and full + The watchful gods will come and pull + The ripened fruit from off the tree; + And then that heavenly company + Will bear the shining planets in + And garner them in a deep bin + And sort them out, and save the seed + To plant new trees in time of need. + + + + +AFTER RAIN + + + All day the heavy skies have lowered, + Long beaten by autumnal rain; + The lilac's withered leaves lie showered + Where little rain-pools star the plain; + All things that for a season flowered + Sink back to earth again. + + Strange, then, that with the year's decrease + And out of gathering dusk you rise + Seeking love's ultimate surcease, + Phantom, whose memory-haunted eyes + Know that there never can be peace + Hoped-for, till memory dies. + + In vain where these dead leaves lie strown + Where all things, bending earthward, fail, + Like a young spirit newly flown, + Flower-fragile, blossom-like and pale, + You search; and must fly back, a blown + Rose leaf on the cold gale. + + You might have rested but for this: + That love's intense flame burning through + The shuddering body with a kiss + Woke in the prisoned spirit, too, + So keen an ecstasy of bliss + As could, for all they made amiss, + Nor life nor death undo. + + + + +_COR CORDIUM_ + + + Deep in a heart, beneath o'er-hanging boughs, + Love built himself a house, + And whoso entered in, Love bade him stay, + Nor ever from that feast to come away + Dissatisfied or weary of the fare + Love set him there. + + Forever through the groves and glades + Kind thoughts went softly to and fro, + And memories like white-footed maids + With gentle tread would come and go + Among the ever-garrulous trees. + And through the branches overhead + I know not what sweet spirits strayed, + Or what commandant spirit led + Their mazy dances, but one played + So deftly on a psaltery + That they for joy must needs keep singing; + All the chambers of Love's house + With that sweet minstrelsy were ringing. + Faces to the windows came, + Tears to happy eyelids started, + Feeling, as by sudden flame, + Their cares and their sad hearts disparted, + Each old clinging sorrow dead. + + All who ever guested there + To each other, murmuring, said: + "In this heart breathes purer air, + The thoughts that move across this sky + Have had a more mysterious birth, + Are lovelier, float more statelily + Than clouds across the sky of earth." + All guests within that heart's deep wood, + All friends together in that house, + High converse held with an ærial brood, + With spirit-folk kept delicate carouse; + None ever turned ungreeted from that door. + (Sorrow himself was guest a weary while,) + But yesterday when I passed by once more, + Met me no welcoming smile, + Nor any breath the unwavering branch to stir, + Silent each glad ærial chorister; + Three drowsy poppies brooded by the wall, + Lonely and tall. + + Then, as I leaned above their crimson bloom, + The flower of day grew old and witheréd, + Night with a sigh sat down beside her loom + Winding her shuttle with a silver thread. + Suddenly from the starlit plains of air + Ethereal tumult, airy tempest blew, + Immortal music showering everywhere, + Flashed to the earth in an harmonious dew, + Leaped jubilant from cloud to craggy cloud, + Binding the moon in a melodious chain, + Storming the troubled stars, a luminous crowd, + Dropping in fiery streaks to earth again. + From out the windows of God's house + Faint as a far-echoing wave, + The angels, bending their calm brows, + Song for song in answer gave; + And faster than a falcon flies, + Thronging spirits in a cluster + Passed before my dazzled eyes, + Shedding an ærial lustre, + Burning with translucent fire, + Shaking from their dewy wings + Wild, ineffable desire + Of starry and immortal things, + Torturing with delicious pain + Past telling sweet, the bewildered heart, + Piercing the poor mortal brain + With beauty, a keen fiery dart. + Ah! Even as an oracle + Whose soul a god has breathed upon, + The beauteousness unbearable + Possessed me so all strength was gone. + Smitten by a barbéd joy, + My sense with rapturous pain grew dim, + Joy pierced me as it would destroy. + Still higher rose the celestial hymn. + And then of all that starry throng + That streamed toward the upper sky, + One spirit darted down again, + And stood upon a bough near by. + "Even I unsealed thy sight," he said. + Alas, that shape I did not know, + For he was so transfigured, + So circled by the unearthly glow + Of his pulsating aureole; + I who so well the flesh had known + I did not know the soul. + With troubled eyes he bended down, + And all about me where I stood + Every blossom, every tree, + All the branches of that wood + Were trembling in their ecstasy. + They knew ere I had half divined. + But at his voice old dreams awoke + In dusty chambers of the mind, + And when again he softly spoke + With sudden tears mine eyes were wet. + And lowlier still he bent his head: + "Dost thou, dear friend, not know me yet?" + "Yes, for I know thy voice," I said. + "Dear Phantom, this immortal guise, + This disembodied self of thine, + Hath dazed mine unacquainted eyes. + Thou dweller on the steps divine, + Thou image of a god's desire, + Thou spark of the celestial flame + Art fashioned out of wind and fire + And elements without a name; + What sacred fingers mingled them + And trembled with a god's delight? + Thy body is a burning gem, + Thy limbs are chrysolite. + A glory hangs about thy head + For thou in thine immortal lot + In heaven's own light art garmented. + I know thee, yet I know thee not." + Then he, with shining eyes half shut, + Radiantly standing there: + "I did but change my leafy hut + For a mansion in the air, + The eerie wood, the enchanted ground, + The dim, bird-haunted glades we trod, + Grew all untuneful when I found + A dwelling in the heart of God. + I latched the gate at dawn of day, + I planted poppies by the door, + To His retreats I came away + And I shall wander thence no more. + The windy heights are all my love, + The spheral lights, the spheral chimes, + The trailing fires, the hosts that move + In concourse through sidereal climes; + I troop with the celestial choirs; + We have not any wish to be + Sad pilgrims, torn by sad desires, + Wayfarers of mortality. + The husk of flesh we have put by; + The dark seeds planted in the earth + Have blossomed in the upper sky, + In airy gardens have new birth." + + There did he make an end, for O + Those spirits, singing, darted by again, + And at the showering sound he trembled so + I saw his earthly dalliance gave him pain, + And cried in sorrow, "O my friend, farewell! + Now from the luminous, paradisal bands, + Gabriel, Israfel, Ithuriel, + Beckon to you with their exulting hands." + + + + +THE WITHERED LEAF, THE FADED FLOWER BE MINE + + + The withered leaf, the faded flower be mine, + The broken shrine, + All things that knowing beauty for a day + Have passed away + To dwell in the illimitable wood + Of quietude, + Undying, radiant, young, + Passed years among. + + No blighting wind upon their beauty blows, + The altar glows + With flames unquenchable and bright + By day, by night; + Secure from envious time's deflowering breath + They know no death, + But silently, imperishably fair, + Grow lovelier there. + + He who adores too much the impending hour, + The budding flower, + Who knows not with what dyes an hour that's dead + Is garmented, + Who walks with glimmering shapes companionless, + He cannot guess + With how great love and thankfulness I praise + The yesterdays. + + * * * * * + + + + +CUTHBERT WRIGHT + + + + +THE END OF IT + + + We met, and on the decorous drive touched hands, + "Good-bye; a pleasant trip to you," I said. + The sunlight slept upon the still uplands, + Your figure fading in the dusty red + I watched awhile, then turned with casual face + To where a torrent glimmered down a glade, + No human voice troubled the lovely place, + Only the fall a cruel music made. + + A time I lay and marked with curious stare + The keen sun-lances quiver on the lawn, + And thought on shrines all voiceless now and bare, + The holy genius of their boughs withdrawn, + Till with hoarse cry the train that you were on + Stabbed the indifference of the empty air ... + + Then I awoke and knew that you were gone. + + + + +THE NEW PLATONIST + +_Circa 1640_ + + + Our loves as flowers fall to dust; + The noblest singing hath an end; + No man to his own soul may trust, + Nor to the kind arms of his friend; + Yet have I glimpsed by lonely tree, + Bright baths of immortality. + + My faultless teachers bid me fare + The cypress path of blood and tears, + Treading the thorny wold to where + The painful Cross of Christ appears; + 'Twas on another, sunnier hill + I met you first, my miracle. + + The painted windows burn and flame + Up through the music-haunted air; + These were my gods--and then you came + With flowers crowned and sun-kissed hair, + Making this northern river seem + Some laughter-girdled Grecian stream. + + When the fierce foeman of our race + Marshals his lords of lust and pride, + You spring within a moment's space, + Full-armed and smiling to my side; + O golden heart! The love you gave me + Alone has saved and yet will save me. + + Perchance we have no perfect city + Beyond the wrack of these our wars, + Till Death alone in sacred pity + Wash with long sleep our wounds and scars; + So much the more I praise in measure + The generous gods for you, my treasure. + + + + +THE ROOM OVER THE RIVER + + + Good-night, my love, good-night; + The wan moon holds her lantern high, + And softly threads with nodding light + The violet posterns of the sky, + Below, the tides run swift and bright + Into the sea. + + Odours and sounds come in to us, + Faint with the passion of this night, + One little dream hangs luminous + Above you in the scented light; + Roses and mist, stars and bright dew + Draw down to you. + + How often in the dewy brake, + I've heard above the sighing weirs, + The night-bird singing for your sake + His lonely song of love and tears; + He too, sad heart, hath turned to rest, + And sleep is best. + + Flower of my soul! Let us be true + To youth and love and all delight, + Clean and refreshed and one with you + I would be ever as to-night, + And heed not what the day will bring, + Nor anything. + + And now the moon is safe away, + Far off her carriage lampions flare, + Lost in the sunken roads of day, + They vanish in the icy air. + Good-night, my love, good-night, + Good-night. + + + + +THE FIDDLER + + + Once more I thought I heard him plain, + That unseen fiddler in the lane, + Under the timid twilight moon, + Playing his visionary strain. + + No other soul was in the place + As up the hill I came apace; + Though once I heard him every day, + I never once have seen his face. + + It was my immemorial year, + When rhymes came fast and blood beat clear; + He too, perchance, was then alive, + Now separate ghosts, we wander here. + + Sometimes his ghostly rondelay + Broke on my dream at dawn of day, + And through my open window stole + The perfumed marvel of the May. + + Sometimes in midnight lanes I heard + The twitter of a darkling bird, + As hidden from the ashen moon, + The pathos of his music stirred. + + O happy time! How goodly seemed + The dauntless timeless dream I dreamed, + Those dear imaginary sins, + The joys that in one torrent streamed. + + When moon and stars go out for aye, + And I am dead and castaway, + This autumn city I have loved + Will know me not, but he will stay. + + In faded suburbs he will play. + Some other boy's brief morn away, + Till sapphire windows palely burn + Amid the undefeated gray. + + And yet--sometimes I seem to know + I shall not 'scape his phantom bow; + More paramount than death or pain, + This ghost will follow where I go. + + In some well-kept untroubled hell + Where frustrate souls like mine may dwell, + I shall look up and hear his note + Coming across the asphodel. + + No shades will gather at his tune + To dance their ghostly rigadoon, + Only that lonely voice will cleave + The everlasting afternoon. + + + + +FALSTAFF'S PAGE + +_To Reginald Sheffield_ + + + In blaze of curls and cowslip-colored coat + He pranks a way before the wheezing Knight. + Tall Windsor shows no blossom like this wight + By park or sedgy pool or bearded moat; + A skylark burbles in that milk-white throat, + And I have heard him down a singing stream, + Ere the brute morn shattered my happy dream + Upon the sill, and weeping I awoke. + + We had a music once; a poesie + Sweet as a maiden, lissome as this lad, + Full of rich merriment and gentle joy; + + That other England lives and laughs in thee, + A peal of morris-music, blithe and glad, + Thou spray of bloom! Thou flower of a boy! + + + + +A DULL SUNDAY + +(_After Debussy_) + + + It has been a long day, + A long, long day; + And now in floods of twilight, + In long green waves of sunset softly flowing, + Evening. + It is evening over the great towns, + It is evening in our hearts. + + And though the last frail tendrils + And flowers of incense + Have long ago uncurled themselves around + The cynical Cathedral, + I hear the thin white voices of children, + Little girls and little boys, + Calling the name of Jesus + And His most Sacred Heart, + Singing about a kind of parish heaven, + A little walled city, all golden and lilac, + Like the one seen by François Villon's mother + In an old, bituminous, smoke-bitten painting + Of the Middle Ages. + + And in this faith she wished to live and die. + + * * * * * + +[Transcriber's Note: Untitled poems whose titles are omitted in the body +of the text as originally published have had their conventional "first +line" titles (as seen in the table of contents) added to the body of this +transcription. They are enclosed in square brackets as an indication to +the reader.] + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Eight Harvard Poets, by +E. Estlin Cummings and S. Foster Damon and J. R. Dos Passos and Robert Hillyer and R. S. 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