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diff --git a/43406-8.txt b/43406-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index c0e1cac..0000000 --- a/43406-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2390 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Herbs and Apples, by Helen Hay Whitney - -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/license - - -Title: Herbs and Apples - -Author: Helen Hay Whitney - -Illustrator: Lucretia Van Horn - -Release Date: August 6, 2013 [EBook #43406] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HERBS AND APPLES *** - - - - -Produced by Greg Bergquist, Diane Monico, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - - -HERBS AND APPLES - -[Illustration: "TO BE ALONE, TO WATCH THE DUSK AND WEEP"] - - - - -HERBS AND APPLES - -BY - -HELEN HAY WHITNEY - -AUTHOR OF "SONGS AND SONNETS," -"GYPSY VERSES," ETC. - -[Illustration] - -NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY -LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD -MCMX - -Copyright, 1910 -BY JOHN LANE COMPANY - -THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. - -I give you this, the bitter and the sweet. -It holds my heart, can you not hear it beat? -So poor a gift to put within your hand-- -Apples and Herbs!--but you will understand. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - -TO NEIGHBOR LIFE 1 - -THE UNBURIED 2 - -UP A LITTLE ROAD 3 - -ON CEDAR STREET, NEW YORK 4 - -CHE SARÀ SARÀ 5 - -THE DEAD WANTON 6 - -LEAVEN 7 - -QUAERITUR 8 - -LOVE LAND 9 - -BY THE WESTERN GATE 10 - -FOR MUSIC 11 - -THE LITTLE GHOST 12 - -MADONNA EVE 13 - -A CONVERSATION 14 - -BE BRAVE 15 - -FORFEITURE 16 - -THE SEARCH 17 - -DUST 18 - -NATURE'S CHILD 19 - -VERITATIS 20 - -THE PEACOCK 21 - -ANTICIPATION 22 - -THE WAYFARER 23 - -RENUNCIATION 24 - -ARABESQUE 25 - -THE ARCHITECTS 26 - -AMBUSH 27 - -THE SCALES 28 - -THE OLD TRAGEDY 29 - -TABOO 30 - -THE RIVALS 31 - -ALONE 32 - -BENEATH THE MASK 33 - -THOTH 34 - -LITTLE DANCER 35 - -SIC ITUR AD ASTRA 36 - -THE JUDGES 37 - -THE SPRING PLANTING 38 - -AN IMPRESSIONIST PICTURE 39 - -SUCH HELP FOR SINGING 40 - -TEMPUS EDAX RERUM 41 - -THE COWARD 42 - -THE LOST ROMANY 43 - -COMPENSATION 44 - -UNTAMED 45 - -TO PERVANCHE 46 - -THE BELLE 47 - -RELEASE 48 - -THE THIEF 49 - -I WILL WRITE LETTERS TO THE GRASS 50 - -ONLY THIS 51 - -THE SURVIVOR 52 - -MEGAERA 53 - -THE SONG OF MOKAI 54 - -TO THE GYPSY MAN 55 - -THERE IS NO DANGER IN DISDAIN 56 - -THE PLAYMATE 57 - -AFTERWARDS 58 - -THE OLD MAID 59 - -MADNESS? 60 - -THE SCHOLAR 61 - -WISDOM'S SECRET 62 - -CAGED 63 - -THE WIFE SPEAKS 64 - -THE ALTAR 65 - - _Acknowledgment is made to Messrs. Harper & Bros., the - Century Company, The Metropolitan Magazine, and Collier's - Weekly, for courteous permission to reproduce certain of - the verses included in this volume._ - - - - -LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - - PAGE - -"TO BE ALONE, TO WATCH THE DUSK AND WEEP" 32 - _Frontispiece_ - -"SMILING SHE FLOUTS DEMOSTHENES" 6 - -THE PEACOCK 21 - -LITTLE DANCER 35 - -THE ROMANY 43 - -PERVANCHE 46 - -"AND WRAP MY HEART CLOSE SHROUDED IN THE HOURS" 50 - - - - -HERBS AND APPLES - - - - -TO NEIGHBOR LIFE - - -Neighbor Life, I love you well, -Have you any goods to sell? -Let me buy or let me borrow -Joy, to tide me o'er the morrow; -I will give you in exchange -Baskets full of thoughts that range, -Bright utensils of my brain; -Coins of feeling you shall gain. -All I ask in equal measure -Is your store of joy and pleasure. -Neighbor Life, I love you well, -Have you any joy to sell? - - - - -THE UNBURIED - - -In the wood the dead trees stand, -Dead and living, hand to hand, -Being Winter, who can tell -Which is sick and which is well? -Standing upright, day by day -Sullenly their hearts decay -Till a wise wind lays them low, -Prostrate, empty, then we know. - -So thro' forests of the street, -Men stand dead upon their feet, -Corpses without epitaph; -God withholds his wind of wrath, -So we greet them, and they smile, -Dead and doomed a weary while, -Only sometimes thro' their eyes -We can see the worm that plies. - - - - -UP A LITTLE ROAD - - -Up a little road with the morning in my arms, - Drenched with dew and tipsy with the madness of the May, -Leafy fingers on my face, I stop not for your charms! - Love is waiting round the turn, to be my Love to-day. - -Shouting as I ride on the springing ringing sod, - Ah! my pony knows the goal to which his course is laid, -Galloping thro' dawn he knows he bears a little god - Bacchus-mad with happiness who burns to meet his maid. - - - - -ON CEDAR STREET, NEW YORK - - -I, whose totem was a tree - In the days when earth was new, -Joyous leafy ancestry - Known of twilight and of dew, -Now within this iron wall - Slave of tasks that irk the soul, -To my parents send one call-- - That they give me of their dole. - -Thro' the roar of alien sound - Grimy noise of work-a-day, -Secretly a voice, half drowned, - Whispers thro' the evening's grey, -"Child, we know the path you tread, - Ghost and manes, we are true; -Cedar spirits, long since dead, - Calm and sweet abide with you." - - - - -CHE SARÀ SARÀ - - -Deep as the permanent earth is deep, - Fierce as its central fire, -Man is his own conclusion, - Woman her great desire. - - - - -THE DEAD WANTON - - -She was so light, so frail a thing, - She had no wisdom but her face, -Which caught men's fancy like the Spring - Yet held them but a moment's space. - -She is the youngest of the dead, - And so the great lean round her feet; -They strive to learn from her fair head - Why far-forgotten life was sweet. - -For now she knows what Plato knows, - And lapped in languor she agrees -With Kant, and as her soft hair blows, - Smiling, she flouts Demosthenes. - -[Illustration: "SMILING, SHE FLOUTS DEMOSTHENES"] - - - - -LEAVEN - - -Others furnish bread and meat, -Busy hucksters on the street, -They will give you what you need, -All the facts your life to feed. - -Mine are not these wares of earth, -I can give my love but mirth; -Let, oh let this part be mine, -I would be your salt and wine. - - - - -QUAERITUR - - -What if to-day, when I have made so sure - That love is utterly and wholly mine, -What if I found that faith should not endure - And all my trust in you I should resign; - -That when I send my thoughts like homing birds - To your dear heart they find no resting place, -But all misunderstood, far, foreign words, - They die away like strangers at your face. - -Love, make me certain, make the circuit true, - And when I wonder, give the faith I seek -Perfectly trusting, let me end in you - Heart against heart, and cheek upon your cheek. - - - - -LOVE LAND - - -Where is El Dorado? - Where is bright Cathay? -These are lands where we should go - To live and love to-day. - -Miles of glistening beaches - Over all the sun, -Tropic, spicy-laden breeze - To lull when day is done. - -Gypsy lass and lover - With the tides we'd rove; -We be natives of no land - Save the land of love. - - - - -BY THE WESTERN GATE - - -You and you only!--By the Western gate - That fronts the falling sun I shade my face - And watch for you. As one who's lost the race -Tries to demand no further gift from Fate -Lest he be hurled more low, so I, who wait - And want you, ask no pity of your grace - On my defeat, I only long to trace -My lost heart; come to me, my need is great. - -I see the young men with their crystal eyes, - They stand about my door, their hearts, I know - Are breaking in the poppies that they bring. -I cannot love them for I am not wise; - Ah, come, or else forever let me go, - I grow so tired with waiting in the Spring. - - - - -FOR MUSIC - - -The Indian Summer and Love have fled, - Oh, red, red lips like a crimson rose, -Oh, slender hands with the tips of red, - You are lost in the land of Nobody-knows. - -The sweet breeze blows but it comes not back, - The water flows in a silver stream, -But never returns on its moon-white track, - They are gone, past recall, like a lovely dream. - -Ah, crimson lips like a tilted flower, - Where sweetest honey awaits the bee; -Come back, come back for a single hour, - Dear Love, my Summer, come back to me. - - - - -THE LITTLE GHOST - - -The little one who loved the sun - Who only lived for play, -Ah, why was she the one condemned - To dark and dreams for aye! - -The perfect perfume of her life - Was as a rose's breath, -And now she treads eternally - The gusty walks of Death. - - - - -MADONNA EVE - - -From what far spicery derives your hair - The sweet faint fragrance that enslaves my sense? -What subtle love trick taught you to be fair - With overt lure and covert reticence? - -Madonna Eve, you bear upon your breast - A hungry emerald like the desiring sea, -But warm upon your heart lie pearls of rest - What man could exorcise such witchery? - - - - -A CONVERSATION - - -"Laddy, leave your pedant's task, - Rove the world with me. -Fields and towns and pretty lands - Together we would see. -There be workers everywhere, - You would not be missed. -Come, ah come, and take for yours - The mouth you never kissed!" - -"Lady, I am fain for play, - So I may not go. -Only those who hate to toil - The true enjoyment know; -But could you love a larrikin - Whose task he'd so resign?" -"Yes!--I'd love a larrikin - If only he were mine." - - - - -BE BRAVE - - -Be brave about yourselves, you little ones, - If in the crazy warp and woof you gleam -With the insistence of determined suns, - Shine, being true and modest in your dream. - -If to the peace of nature you respond - Draw from her breast your milk, nor weep the high -Duties for lack of which you now despond, - Made for historic planets thro' the sky. - -Knowing yourself a gay and careless weed, - Be you courageous in your light despair; -Sure that you fill a space of unknown need, - Idle and green in the bright coat you wear. - -Strive to the uttermost to find your worth, - Jester or Gypsy, Body, Brain or Soul, -Filling with perfect cheer your place on earth, - So shall the tapestry of Time be whole. - - - - -FORFEITURE - - -So I have lost you. When the utter ache - Shall fade at length to mere despondency - What will the answer to this problem be? -They say that nothing dies, that all we stake -Brings some unknown return; what then shall make - An adequate exchange for love, to see - Your hand held out in friendship?--as for me -The episode is ended, for life's sake. - -You want me still for that small joy I gave, - But now it ends for you. I am not brave -To love you seared; I have no happy days - To brood upon at dusk, and so I claim, -As all the wager that good fortune pays, - Complete obliteration of your name. - - - - -THE SEARCH - - -I tire of the struggle, the search for the ultimate I, -There hangs the chalice of sapphire, the infinite sky, -Why thro' the space of despair should my spirit be hurled -Seeking for truth, when beneath lies this pearl of a world? - -Seers may direct us thro' pain to discover the soul, -Comforting joy may not give us the absolute whole, -But if the seers should be wrong, may the truth not be ours -Thanking dear Life for its light and its beautiful hours? - - - - -DUST - - -Motes of the city dust, could this thing be -That midst your myriad particles for me -Might come one atom out of Ispahan, -One spiced far memory of caravan. - -Indrawn upon my breath I'd know an urge -To dissipate monotony, and purge -The spirit of its spleen; one with the man -Who takes the sun blue air of Ispahan. - - - - -NATURE'S CHILD - - -I had a friend whose soul was very fair, - His word was wisdom and his strength was sure; -His courage in the ills he had to bear - Made others strong and able to endure. -I asked no love, no tribute of the sense -For his companionship was recompense. - -I thought I was beloved, but did not care, - He smiled on me as he on others smiled, -But one grey day a chill was in the air - And then to prove that I was Nature's child, -He spoke--"I do not love you very much--" -And all my friendship shattered at the touch. - - - - -VERITATIS - - -Seated among the shards of Potiphar - I pondered. Shall we still strive on? forsooth -There is no better, that is good as Best, - There is no truer that is true as Truth. - -[Illustration: THE PEACOCK] - - - - -THE PEACOCK - - -She was more beautiful than tropic night, - Luring, compelling as the smile of Fate; -Like a poor wastrel, I for her delight - Squandered my soul and gained her idle hate. -Peacock and paroquet!--at last I know -The sorriest songsters make the bravest show. - - - - -ANTICIPATION - - -The joy is in the making. While we sow - Our dream is wonderful with flowers, we name - The purlieus of our garden and the aim -Is worth the effort, yet we cannot know -The garden will be just a garden, so - The dream is heaven. This way mothers frame - The child's high dedication to its fame, -Repaid for all reality may show. - -God knows this, so He lets us have the best, - The vast anticipation, rugged man -Joys in the struggle, triumphs over throes, -Vanquished a thousand times he still finds zest - In hope and all his pleasure in a plan -To be fulfilled at length in Heaven?--who knows. - - - - -THE WAYFARER - - -Half way to happiness, - The whole way back again, -Stumbling up the stubborn hill - From the luring lane. - -Little sunset House of Hearts - Standing all alone, -I could come and sweep the leaves - From your stepping stone. - -I, and he, could light your fires - Laughing at the rain -But O it's far to Happiness, - A short way back again. - - - - -RENUNCIATION - - -Not what I ask, but what I do not ask, - O my Beloved, proves my love for you. -And love can set to love no harder task - Than wistful silence, reticence to sue. - -I lock my lips, I force a wise content - With all my being wailing for a sign. -Ah, if men knew what woman's smiling meant - When fierce and hard the heart cries out "He's mine." - -Mothers of men are we, we barren ones - Who say "Be happy, dear, and play your part." -What matter how we yearn, you are our sons - Whose every footfall breaks a woman's heart. - - - - -ARABESQUE - - -Gold fish, rose and red - As lady Lillith's hair, -Mauve and blue as curling smoke - And water-sapphires there. - -At the fountain's brim - I built a little dream, -As a goldsmith cunningly - I made it flash and gleam. - -I wrought a maiden shape, - I colored it with love, -Scarlet mouth and breast of pearl - And eyes of turtle dove. - -Thro' hours of moony dark, - I woo'd her for my bride -But ah! I could not build her soul, - So with the dawn she died. - - - - -THE ARCHITECTS - - -How shall we build it curiously well, - Our house to live and love in?--Shall it be - Only significant to you and me, -Or shall it be a palace where may dwell -Those whom our spirits notice? May we tell - An architect to loose his fancy free - To toss up towers in soaring ecstasy -With Doric dignity or temple bell? -Or shall we build it with our hands, alone, - Working together over wood and stone -To learn an art we never knew, and strive, - Patient, to raise with faith and trust and love, -Fashioned so cunningly it must survive, - A secret cottage in a silent grove? - - - - -AMBUSH - - -Crafty Chieftain, where you lie -You can see the clouds drift by, -Waiting in the dusky fern -For your enemy's return. - -Does the beauty of that place -Never tell you of my face, -I, you left, to plot and plan -For the ending of a man?-- - -You had better sought my aid, -I have met him unafraid, -We have wandered all alone -Underneath a yellow moon. - -We have found the end of strife -Is the waking up to life-- -Therefore you, who forced my vow, -Take my all of wisdom now. - -Love has taught me but one truth-- -Love is merry, love is youth, -We be children, he and I. -Where is your sagacity? - - - - -THE SCALES - - -I wonder if the store of joy - And love is limited, -And if because my heart is glad - Some other heart has bled. - -Believing this, a balance just - Of recompense, I pray -That my beloved gained the joy - I did not have to-day. - - - - -THE OLD TRAGEDY - - -Did I allure you?--I only meant to love you, - I only meant to be so dear you could not let me go. -I held you close against my heart, bending down above you, - As mothers brood above their babes, I loved you, loved you so. - -'T was passion that moved you, called to you and caught you; - You never felt my tenderness full launched on your desire. -You never knew the friendship and sympathy I brought you. - Ah, Mary pity women when their veins are filled with fire. - -And so I have lost you, I who never won you; - You thought me but a siren by your crafty arts beguiled. -I hate myself and scorn you for the honor I have done you. - I leave you, bitter woman, and I came to you a child. - - - - -TABOO - - -Now am I sacred, for that holy thing, - Your touch, has made me as a god; to-day -I am magnificent, I am a king - To whom my fellow men must cringe and pray. - -Such is taboo; but when to-morrow comes - I may look once upon the sun and you; -Then, thro' the dawn, with wailing and sad drums - I pay the utter price.--Such is taboo! - - - - -THE RIVALS - - -Seated in my ingle nook - With Duty by my side, -How I strove to see her charms - And take her for my bride! - -"Sweet," I said, "I love you so"-- - And suddenly I heard -The laughing call of Beauty's voice - And all my soul was stirred. - -Once again she cried my name - And gone was every doubt, -For who could stay at Duty's side - When Beauty calls without? - - - - -ALONE - - -I only wanted room to be alone. - I saw the days like little silver moons - Cool and restrained shine forth; there were no noons -To make me glad with glory, to atone. -I dreamed of solitude. When one has known - Ardent and eager verity, the tunes - Of semi-truths are sweet, as subtle runes -Attest the bud more dear than flower full blown. - -To be alone, to watch the dusk and weep - For beauty's face that is so veiled, to know - How exquisite the earth breaths come and go, -To feel my life a silent, empty room -Where lovely thoughts might take new shape and bloom,-- -This is the dream that is more dear than sleep. - - - - -BENEATH THE MASK - - -I said that men were cowards, - I thought that men were brave, -I said that women gained no faith - For all the love they gave. - -Beneath a mask of scorning - I wore a heart of trust, -But laughed in all my lovers' eyes - And vowed their vows were dust. - -Time showed my words were true ones, - My thoughts have proved no test, -But still beneath my mask, I say - I know my dreams were best. - - - - -THOTH - - -Hewn from basalt, black as sin, - Blind eyes staring, hands on knees,-- -This is Thoth, who shall survive - All your fair divinities. - -Mars and Venus, piping Pan, - White Diana, Cupid sweet,-- -All their beauty, all their pride, - Lie like ashes round his feet. - -Vast and calm and ultimate - Ere this orb dissolves in space -Life's last glimpse to man shall be - Thoth, with his impassive face. - -[Illustration: LITTLE DANCER] - - - - -LITTLE DANCER - - -O little dancer, slim as a new moon, -A candle flame blown by the wind--how soon -Will all this be forgotten! Do you care -The pagan poppies dying in your hair; -Do you despair to think that even as they -Your lovely life will tarnish in a day? -How can we keep you, butterfly!--O must -Such lovely grace resolve itself in dust? -We must believe that some day when you lie -Hid from the lights, beneath the open sky -The trees will bend more perfectly above you, -The flowers dance gayer for they'll know and love you, -And we will mind a little less the cold, -Remembering your grace when we are old. - - - - -SIC ITUR AD ASTRA - - -If it be educational to breast - Salt lipped the wave that is the woe of Earth, -Who could be called a fool? There is no rest - From sorrow in this island of re-birth. - -And yet, ringed 'round with shadow as we are, - In the penumbra we may all discern -Glowing and gay the promise of a star - For the adventurer with faith to yearn. - - - - -THE JUDGES - - -Watch me, eyes of the wind and rain, - See if I come to the dusk with stain, -Search me, eyes of the soaring sun, - See what mischief my hands have done. - -If there be beauty of word or deed, - If there be truth or a scorn of greed, -Give me the peace of your dark, sweet hours, - Let me be still as your moon and flowers. - -If there be harm to a heart that trusts, - If there be pander to sordid lusts, -Curse and condemn me to wide-eyed pain, - Judge, and pay me, eyes of the rain. - - - - -THE SPRING PLANTING - - -"What shall we plant for our Summer, my boy,-- - Seeds of enchantment and seedlings of joy? -Brave little cuttings of laughter and light? - Then shall our Summer be flowery and bright." - -"Nay!--You are wrong in your planting," said he, - "Have we not grass and the weeds and a tree? -Why should we water and weary away - For sake of a flower that lives but a day!" - -So she made gardens which he would not dig, - Tended her apricot, apple and fig. -Then, when one morning he chanced to appear, - Sadly he noticed--"No trespassing here." - - - - -AN IMPRESSIONIST PICTURE - - -"How do you do," I said; the yellow coat - She wore was like a golden serpent's skin. - I took her white gloved hand, my voice grew thin -As tho' her hand were tight about my throat. -The air was green with heat, a flaccid note - I did not fail to see, for heat might win - My cause; her weary soul looked from within -And saw the white sails flapping on my boat. - -"Coolness and rest" my eyes were whispering, - In Isles where morn grows never afternoon, - Where Passion buds forever with the Spring, - Nor wanes with shifting tides of sea and moon, -But--"How are you?" she said, and that was all, -And tho' she smiled, she passed beyond recall. - - - - -SUCH HELP FOR SINGING - - -Such help I have for singing! - The little winds a-stir -Touch gently on the lisping leaves - Like dainty dulcimer. - -The sights and scents of April-- - What dreams, what themes they bring-- -While gaunt crows cry their gasconade - Down all the ways of Spring. - -Such happy help for singing! - And round, below, above -The air is thrilling with my joy - Of love, love, love. - - - - -TEMPUS EDAX RERUM - - -Upon the silence of my unconcern - The little noise that was your name falls dead. - I can remember how your mouth was red, -In the lost years, but tho' the senses yearn -For some unguessed desire, they never turn - To that vitality, your face!--We sped - So swiftly thro' our burning hour. We said -Drink deep, 't will never end; too late we learn -That lovely passion's face so soon is grey, - That notes too often pressed upon grow dumb, -That after the high climax crowns a day - The dusk seems long and empty. We who come -To taste again Life's feast, why must it be -We meet such ghosts to chill our revelry? - - - - -THE COWARD - - -Wishful of many honors, - He was too lame to climb, -And so he sat to wait for Death, - Forgetting to be brave. - -He never saw the windfalls, - From off the trees of Time, -Drop down in mellow chance to him - The while he digged his grave. - -[Illustration: THE ROMANY] - - - - -THE LOST ROMANY - - -The Romany has gone, he has taken all my kisses, - I knew I could not keep him, so I laughed and let him go. -I do not know the road where his freedom and his bliss is, - So take my sober spinning where no gypsy winds can blow. - -I will find my life serene, I will wed a pleasant lover, - I may think no more of perfume and the lingering in the lane; -I will rear me sturdy children, and my soul I will discover, - For I will not love a Romany in all this world again. - - - - -COMPENSATION - - -If one grew blind thro' gazing - Wide-eyed upon the sun, -What matter when such memoried light - Would last till life were done. - -If one should die of loving, - Divinely wild, and brave, -What matter with such dreams to dream - Within the quiet grave. - - - - -UNTAMED - - -Ah, we weary so with kisses, - Weary so with your caresses, -As the hooded hawk returning - To its tinkling bells and jesses, -So we flutter to the prison - Of your arms, in meek surrender, -And we grieve when you are angry, - And we smile when you are tender, -But our souls, untamed, are soaring -Where no blandishments can teach them, - Free our hearts, and free our spirits, -Where your hands can never reach them. - - - - -TO PERVANCHE - - -If you were mine--(for all the little flowers - That see you, weary of their innocence)-- - If prayers that have been pale with penitence -Grew purple with our passion, all the hours - From sun to sun would be unique with bliss, - Little red mouth that is not mine to kiss! - -You are not mine and you will never be, - And so I am magnanimous, I give - My love and you to Time, and you shall live -Bride of his avid passion. I will see - The moon of all this lure and beauty set, - And I will turn from you and quite forget. - -[Illustration: PERVANCHE] - - - - -THE BELLE - - -She spread her atlas petticoat - So rare, so fine to see. -Her bonnet was of Tuscan straw, - Her shawl was Turkey red. -She peacocked gay before men's eyes, - This lady of degree, -On slippered tiny feet, and ah! - She wished that she were dead. - -At every ball, at every rout - She was the toast of town; -But no one knew who called her cold - What cruel wound had she. -The laughing gallant that she loved - Had scorned her high renown, -And now another bore his babe, - And held it on her knee. - - - - -RELEASE - - -How may we be released from memories? - One dreads each green renewal of the grain, - Reviving ancient life. If but the brain -Might be made clean of last year's withered lies, -Blown like brown leaves across the April skies - In hateful resurrection, and retain - Only the springs of promise, fine and sane, -And a kind, leading hand to make us wise. - -If with the running sap a royal birth - Each year might be accomplished, strong and free -With the sweet prescience of virginity, - Then were we true inheritors of earth, -And the large lonely stars no more should see - The age worn phoenix-lives that make our dearth. - - - - -THE THIEF - - -Did you see the rascal with the rain-grey eyes? - He robbed me of my happiness before I knew its worth. -He stole into my garden and took it by surprise, - When midnight hid his wicked ways upon the sleeping earth. - -How shall I arrest him, for he took away my Spring, - Took away my April 'neath his cloak of steaming rain. -Tho' he left his Summer and a choir of birds that sing, - Nothing will content me for I want my Spring again. - - - - -I WILL WRITE LETTERS TO -THE GRASS - - -I will write letters to my friend the grass, - I will sing all my songs to lilac flowers -Gather the spices in the airs that pass, - And wrap my heart close shrouded in the hours. - -I dread man's huge impertinence; he creeps - Thro' the inviolate silences of Spring -Like a marauder, waking that which sleeps - To gather strength for lyric blossoming. - -I will write all my letters to the grass. - The world shall be resolved into a cry -Faint as a little voice that cries Alas! - And I will laugh alone beneath the sky. - -[Illustration: "AND WRAP MY HEART CLOSE SHROUDED IN THE HOURS"] - - - - -ONLY THIS - - -We need demand no further gift from Heaven, - We might dispense with documents and creeds, -If but this one great grace to us were given-- - The strength to follow where our reason leads. - - - - -THE SURVIVOR - - -Beauty will crumble with tasking, - Love rarely lasts for a year, -Virtue is sold for the asking, - Bravery fades before fear. - -Youth never lives till the morrow, - One thing of all is alive, -Joy cannot quench it, or sorrow, - Folly alone shall survive. - -Folly, from cradle to burning, - Toys for the great and the small, -None shall escape her by learning-- - Folly has rattles for all! - - - - -MEGAERA - - -Always to suffer so, to want and weep -With woe that groweth every day more deep; -To don the green robe of tormented scorn, -And ever curse the hour that love was born! -Furies, my Sisters! have you no surcease -For me to whom no death shall bring release? - -They name me Jealous One. They hate my name, -The ages hold me high to endless shame; -How, if I suffer so, does no one care -And pity, for the wrath that I must bear? -Gods! let me go, your service wrecks and sears, -The vase must break that holds so many tears. - - - - -THE SONG OF MOKAI - - -He's dead, I watched him die. - He cast a spell on my mate, -They loved, and the moon whirled 'round the sky, - They mocked at my rage and hate. - -Blood red from the burning sea - The sun rose, and I knew! -My soul whined wild little songs to me, - I did what I had to do. - -I have taken the bone of his thigh, - I have fashioned it into a horn; -And I sing my soul's song, shrill and high, - And curse the day he was born. - - - - -TO THE GYPSY MAN - - -Is there no room in your gypsy heart - Where a woman's love might lie -Warm and sheltered, your prize and song, - As you wander beneath the sky? - -No, for you say, "I'll carry no weight, - I must be free, be free; -I'll carry no love in my gypsy heart - To make a drag for me." - -Little you know, then, love is the cloak - That shelters you from the storm; -Love makes the shoes for your gypsy feet, - Love is your coat so warm. - -Though you take no purse and you take no staff - You cannot escape the load -Of a woman's longing and woman's love - That follows you down the road. - - - - -THERE IS NO DANGER IN -DISDAIN - - -There is no danger in disdain, - No grief in perfidy; -The meek they are who taste of pain - And matchless misery. - -The hearts who give, and giving, die, - Could they but learn the way -To take, and laugh and then deny, - They still might live their day. - - - - -THE PLAYMATE - - -Brown boy running on a wide wet beach, - Free as the water and the wind are free; -Eyes of an odalisque and skin of a peach, - O for such a playmate to play with me!-- - -Drenched with the sunshine of the long brave hours, - How we would tumble in the white wild spray; -Then, drowsy children, fall asleep like the flowers, - And wake keen and merry to a new clean day. - - - - -AFTERWARDS - - -You know how I came to you, - World beaten, tossed aside; -Ready for death at a hangman's hand, - Stript of all hope or pride. - -Leaning, you gathered me up - Close to your great sweet heart, -Lulled me and told me to be a man, - Taught me your wonderful art. - -Now I am very wise, - Proud with your love's true vow; -Glorious with power,--I am more than a man, - What will you do with me now! - - - - -THE OLD MAID - - -Ah, Heaven! How soon my body will be old! - I powder and I perfume and I tire - With the long wasting of my one desire. -I choose fair colors, furs, and antique gold -To draw men's eyes and hands, and yet how cold, - How careless are their eyes. I see the fire -Flame from my neighbor, and I can aspire -To only friendship. I have tried the bold, -The luring attitude, the timid mien, - The boyish, wise, or simple, all in vain. -I know the women laugh at me, but oh, -How can I let my dreamed perfection go? - I am a woman, I must have a man - Only to ratify my nature's plan. - - - - -MADNESS? - - -They say I'm mad because I stare -And look as tho' they were not there, -Because I only speak when aught -Occurs to me by way of thought. - -Instead of serving Fashion's creeds, -I cut my coat to fit my needs. -I laugh at grief and only weep -When noisy life disturbs my sleep. - -My dreams are delicate and wild; -Was ever wise man so beguiled?-- -Mad, am I mad!--then pray that you -May some day hope for madness too! - - - - -THE SCHOLAR - - -From what sweet masters have I fathomed doubt, - What love and laughter taught me to be blind; -How patient did they point the letters out - Latin and Greek to my bewildered mind. - -Now I am very wise, I know the 'a' - The little 'a' of doubt's first faint distress -Then, letter perfect, I recall the way - Thro' all the alphabet of bitterness. - - - - -WISDOM'S SECRET - - -Coerced by Furies who persuaded me - That life was imminent with idleness, -Their jibes made mad, their lashes aided me - To grasp the accident of bitterness. - -Come storm! I cried, come passion and despair, - For calm inhibits growth!--I called on fire -To sear my comfortable days, and wear - The nights to wastes of torment and desire. - -Then pausing breathless, in a little wood - I met with Wisdom laughing in the sun; -She said, "Lie still, for idleness is good, - And grow in peace as I myself have done." - - - - -CAGED - - -Once I had wings--I had no heart to fly, -They put me in a cage, I did not die. -They tamed me, taught me tricks and bade me sing; -I waited, bore it patiently; one thing -I knew, that some day it might be -The cage would open and I should be free. -I waited endlessly,--at last the day! -Faint with delight I thought to fly away, -Ah, but the mockery of that open door!-- -My wings were powerless, I could fly no more. - - - - -THE WIFE SPEAKS - - -Not all those women you have loved and left, - O my Beloved, can stir my jealousy; - Not the light loves which you forgot for me, -For my heart's fingers made by life most deft -Have mended all the rents their arrows cleft - And from their old enchantments set you free. - But one is my despair, and only she, -The one who loved you, hopeless and bereft. - -How can I give as much, who hold your heart - As she, unloved who gave with scorn of gain? -So do the angels; at her name I smart -And feel a sordid bargainer who gives - For fair exchange; I cannot heal the pain, -I am defeated by her while she lives. - - - - -THE ALTAR - - -Some take comfort from a star, - Thro' the slow grey surge of Time, -Some take joy from ruddy war, - Lust of conflict, heat of crime. - -In these days of codes and creeds, - Gods may wander newly born, -Every day for each man's needs - Bringing blessings thro' the morn. - -I will take a happy word, - Open heart and hand for play, -And a song which none have heard - For my altar of the day. - -[Illustration] - - * * * * * - - - - -RECENT POETRY - -THE COMPLETE WORKS OF -WILLIAM WATSON - - UNIFORM EDITION. 3 vols. Cloth. 12 mo. $4.00 net per set. - Postage 25 cents. Half Morocco. $12.00 net. Postage 25 - cents. - -_Sold separately as follows_ - - -POEMS. 2 vols. $2.50 net. Half Morocco, $7.50 net. Photogravure -Portrait. Postage and packing 20 cents. - - The lover of poetry cannot fail to rejoice in this handsome - edition.--_Philadelphia Press._ - - A glow of inspiration that merits better than that of any - living poet the high adjective, Vergilian.--_New York - Evening Post._ - - Work which will live, one may venture to say, as long as - the language.--_Philadelphia Public Ledger._ - - -NEW POEMS. $1.50 net. Half Morocco, $5.00 net. Postage and packing 12 -cents. - -Contains "On Hearing Samaroff Play," "Vivisection," "Leopold of -Belgium," "To Richard Watson Gilder," "To the Invincible Republic," -"Sonnets to Miranda," and "The Woman With the Serpent's Tongue." - - "To the Invincible Republic" is full of a generous and - admiring appreciation. All of these poems are explicit, - strong, and interesting.--_New York Sun._ - - _Times_--William Watson is, above all things, an artist who - is proud of his calling and conscientious in every syllable - that he writes. To appreciate his work you must take it as - a whole, for he is in line with the high priests of poetry, - reared, like Ion, in the shadow of the Delphic presences - and memories, and weighing every word of his utterance - before it is given to the world. - - _Athenæum_--His poetry is a "criticism of life," and, - viewed as such, it is magnificent in its lucidity, its - elegance, its dignity.... We revere and admire Mr. Watson's - pursuit of a splendid ideal; and we are sure that his - artistic self-mastery will be rewarded by a secure place in - the ranks of our poets.... We may express our belief that - Mr. Watson will keep his high and honorable station when - many showier but shallower reputations have withered away, - and must figure in any representative anthology of English - poetry.... "Wordsworth's Grave" is, in our judgment, Mr. - Watson's masterpiece ... its music is graver and deeper, - its language is purer and clearer, than the frigid - droning and fugitive beauties of the "Elegy in a Country - Churchyard." - - -SABLE AND PURPLE. $1.25 net. Postage 10 cents. - - _Boston Transcript_--Still the poet whose inspirational - fantasy gives distinction to modern English Literature. - - _Spectator_--A great artist, "Sable and Purple" is of a - high excellence. - - - - -THE WORKS OF LAURENCE HOPE - - - INDIA'S LOVE LYRICS, including "The Garden of Kama." - - 12mo. $1.50 net. Postage 10 cents. Half morocco, $4.00 net. - - - STARS OF THE DESERT: POEMS. - - 12mo. $1.50 net. Postage 10 cents. Half morocco, $4.00 net. - - LAST POEMS. - - Translations from the "Book of Indian Love." 12mo. $1.50 - net. Postage 10 cents. Half morocco, $4.00 net. - - - COMPLETE WORKS. - - Uniform Edition. 3 volumes. In box. - -INDIA'S LOVE LYRICS. -STARS OF THE DESERT. -LAST POEMS. - - Cloth, $4.50 net. Postage 35 cents. Half morocco, $12.00 - net. Postage 50 cents. - - - SONGS FROM THE GARDEN OF KAMA. - - Illustrated from photographs by Mrs. Eardsley Wilmot. - Cloth. 4to. $3.00 net. Postage 15 cents. - - -INDIA'S LOVE LYRICS - -BY LAURENCE HOPE - -_The New York Commercial_: - -Its colors are elemental, silver and gold and red. It is heavy with -the breath of citron groves, cool with the tinkling of temple bells, -and the air of night, and the cries of wild peacocks and parrots.... -In many ways this volume of translation is the most important -contribution to poetry that the season has as yet brought forth. - -_The Baltimore Sun_: - -There is nothing stale or hackneyed in this book; newness, freshness, -and variety are found on every page. These poems are true lyrics, for -they give us true glimpses into the hearts of men. - -_The Chicago Tribune_: - -A volume of passionate love poems written by a true poet. - -_The Chicago Inter-Ocean_: - -They are in several metres, handled always with graceful ease, and -often with intensity. The coloring is vivid and the music subtle. The -book is redolent with the atmosphere of the Arabian Nights. - -_The Boston Evening Transcript_: - -Mr. Hope is a thorough artist to his fingertips, and his choice of -words and images is as keen and exact as his ability to adapt Indian -literature to the more prosaic mood and tongue of the Anglo-Saxon. - -_The Athenæum_: - -Mr. Hope has caught admirably the dominant notes of this Indian love -poetry, its delirious absorption in the instant, its out-of-door air, -its melancholy. - - -STARS OF THE DESERT - -BY LAURENCE HOPE - -_The Washington Mirror_: - -The author has so completely infused the charm of the Orient into this -volume that one is transported for the time and lost in the poetic -beauty of his surroundings, finds no jarring chord nor is disposed to -shrink from the frankness of this translation of oriental verse. - -_The Chicago Tribune_: - -It is still a question whether these are direct translations or -whether they are written in the Hindu style by Laurence Hope. Perhaps -she has done for the Hindu poets what FitzGerald did for Omar. - -_The Conservator_: - -He seems to exhale an oriental atmosphere. He sings musically. I can -follow the delicate strain by which Hope saves himself from stepping -beyond the bounds of a vital reserve. - -_The New York Star_: - -The author is imbued with the glowing passion of Eastern romance. - -_The New York Globe_: - -The theme, in almost every instance love, is treated with feverish -abandon. - - - - -KING ALFRED'S JEWEL - -_THIRD EDITION_ - -BY KATRINA TRASK. Author of "Night and Morning," "Mors et -Victoria," etc. Cloth, 12mo. $1.25 net. Postage 10 cents. With Colored -Frontispiece reproducing the Jewel now at Oxford. - -The English speaking world has waited a thousand years for a worthy -dramatic impersonation of King Alfred. And here it is.... The play -will stand not alone upon the grateful response it wins from the -English national heart, but as a work of art.... The author is -supremely a poet, the master of metaphor not less than of melody.... -It is a play not only to be read but to be acted.... This vivid drama -is not cast in the conventional classic mould. It is distinctly and -wholly English in spirit and form, and intensely modern--but breathing -the air of morning, of springtime, of fresh adventure.--HENRY -MILLS ALDEN, _The New York Times Saturday Review_. - -King Alfred's noble and vigorous character is limned with great skill, -while Elfreda, a graceful and innocent maiden, flits through the play -like a woodland fairy.--_The Glasgow Evening News_, Scotland. - -The living Alfred lives in this gracious play, for the author has -fashioned his great spirit out of the mist of time.--JAMES -DOUGLAS, _The Star_, London. - - - - -ARTHUR SYMONS - - -POEMS - -A Collected Edition of the Poet's work, issued in two volumes, with a -Photogravure Portrait as Frontispiece. 8vo. $3.00 _net_. Postage 24 -cents. 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The poem deserves a wide reading on - account of its intrinsic merit and interest. - - -HEROD: A Tragedy. By STEPHEN PHILLIPS. - -12mo Twenty-First Thousand $1.25 net - - _Times_--Here, then, is a noble work of dramatic - imagination dealing greatly with great passions; - multicolored and exquisitely musical. Mr. Stephen Phillips - is not only a poet, but that still rarer thing, a dramatic - poet. - - MR. WILLIAM ARCHER (in _The World_)--The elder - Dumas speaking with the voice of Milton. - - _Athenæum_--Not unworthy of the author of "The Duchess of - Malfi." - - - POEMS. By STEPHEN PHILLIPS. Including "Marpessa" - and "Christ in Hades." - -12mo Thirteenth Edition $1.25 net - - _Times_--Mr. Phillips is a poet, one of the half dozen - men of the younger generation, whose writings contain the - indefinable quality which makes for permanence. - - _Spectator_--In his new volume Mr. Stephen Phillips more - than sustains the promise made by his "Christ in Hades"; - here is real poetic achievement--the veritable gold of song. - - _Literature_--No such remarkable book of verse as this has - appeared for several years. - - - MARPESSA. By STEPHEN PHILLIPS. With Illustrations - by PHILIP CONNARD. - -Cloth, 50 cents net Leather, 75 cents net - - WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS--Tennyson at his age had not - done better. - - - NEW POEMS. Including "Iole: A Tragedy in One Act"; - "Launcelot and Guinevere," "Endymion," and many other - hitherto unpublished poems. - -12mo. Cloth, $1.25 net. Half mor., $4.00 net. Postage 10 cts. - - - - -RECENT POETRY - - -SELECTED POEMS OF JOHN DAVIDSON - -12mo - -Leather, $1.50 net Cloth, $1.25 net - -_The Nation_--An uncommonly masculine volume. - -_Chicago Record-Herald_--What every admirer of this virile poet -desires, a brief summary of his important work from which an adequate -conception of his style and versatility can be obtained. - -_Athenæum_--There is urgent need for a collected edition of Mr. -Davidson's poems and plays. The volume and variety of his poetry ought -to win for it wider acceptance. It is indeed curious that poetry so -splendid as Mr. Davidson's should fail to get fuller recognition. -There are many aspects of his genius which ought to make his work -popular in the best sense of the word. He has almost invented the -modern ballad.... He handles the metre with masterly skill, filling it -with imaginative life and power. - -_Times_--There are not more than two or three living writers of -English verse out of whose poems so good a selection could be made. -The poems in the selection are not only positive--they are visible. - -_Literary World_--We count ourselves among those to whom Mr. Davidson -has made himself indispensable. - -_Daily Mail_--Mr. Davidson is our most individual singer. His variety -is as surprising as his virility of diction and thought. - -_St. James's Gazette_--This volume may serve as an introduction to a -poet of noble and distinctive utterance. - -_New Age_--The book contains much that Mr. Davidson's warmest admirers -would best wish to remember him by. There is a subtle charm about -these poems which eludes definition, which defies analysis. - -_T. P.'s Weekly_--Mr. Davidson is one of the most individual of living -poets; he has a rare lyrical faculty. - -_Morning Post_--Mr. Davidson is as true a poet as we have now among us -... he has included nothing that we do not admire. - -_Daily Graphic_--This delightful volume. - -_Dundee Advertiser_--Its poetry gives out a masterful note.... Mr. -Davidson's poem pictures. - - - - -Transcriber's Notes - -In _The Chicago Tribune_ review for STARS OF THE DESERT by -Laurence Hope, "she" may be a typo for "he." - (Perhaps she has done for the Hindu poets what FitzGerald did) - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Herbs and Apples, by Helen Hay Whitney - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HERBS AND APPLES *** - -***** This file should be named 43406-8.txt or 43406-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/4/0/43406/ - -Produced by Greg Bergquist, Diane Monico, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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