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diff --git a/6618-0.txt b/6618-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d14e3fa --- /dev/null +++ b/6618-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2786 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Poems of Purpose, by Ella Wheeler Wilcox + + +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: Poems of Purpose + + +Author: Ella Wheeler Wilcox + + + +Release Date: August 14, 2014 [eBook #6618] +[This file was first posted on December 31, 2002] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF PURPOSE*** + + +Transcribed from the 1919 Gay and Hancock edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + [Picture: Book cover] + + + + + + POEMS OF PURPOSE + + + BY + ELLA WHEELER WILCOX + + [Picture: Decorative graphic] + + GAY AND HANCOCK, LTD. + 54 HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN + LONDON + 1919 + + _All rights reserved_ + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE + A Good Sport 1 + A Son Speaks 5 + The Younger Born 9 + Happiness 14 + Seeking for Happiness 18 + The Island of Endless Play 20 + The River of Sleep 23 + The Things that Count 25 + Limitless 27 + What They Saw 28 + The Convention 32 + Protest 35 + A Bachelor to a Married Flirt 37 + The Superwoman 40 + Certitude 43 + Compassion 44 + Love 45 + Three Souls 46 + When Love is Lost 49 + Occupation 50 + The Valley of Fear 53 + What would it be? 55 + America 57 + War Mothers 60 + A Holiday 64 + The Undertone 66 + Gypsying 69 + Song of the Road 71 + The Faith we Need 73 + The Price he Paid 76 + Divorced 79 + The Revealing Angels 83 + The Well-born 87 + Sisters of Mine 89 + Answer 91 + The Graduates 93 + The Silent Tragedy 95 + The Trinity 99 + The Unwed Mother to the Wife 101 + Father and Son 104 + Husks 107 + Meditations 109 + The Traveller 113 + What Have You Done? 115 + + * * * * * + +N.B.—_The only volumes of my Poems issued with my approval in the British +Empire are published by Messrs. Gay & Hancock_. + + _ELLA WHEELER WILCOX_. + + + + +A GOOD SPORT + + + I WAS a little lad, and the older boys called to me from the pier: + They called to me: ‘Be a sport: be a sport! Leap in and swim!’ + I leaped in and swam, though I had never been taught a stroke. + Then I was made a hero, and they all shouted: + ‘Well done! Well done, + Brave boy, you are a sport, a good sport!’ + And I was very glad. + + But now I wish I had learned to swim the right way, + Or had never learned at all. + Now I regret that day, + For it led to my fall. + + I was a youth, and I heard the older men talking of the road to + wealth; + They talked of bulls and bears, of buying on margins, + And they said, ‘Be a sport, my boy, plunge in and win or lose it all! + It is the only way to fortune.’ + So I plunged in and won; and the older men patted me on the back, + And they said, ‘You are a sport, my boy, a good sport!’ + And I was very glad. + + But now I wish I had lost all I ventured on that day— + Yes, wish I had lost it all. + For it was the wrong way, + And pushed me to my fall. + + I was a young man, and the gay world called me to come; + Gay women and gay men called to me, crying: + ‘Be a sport; be a good sport! + Fill our glasses and let us fill yours. + We are young but once; let us dance and sing, + And drive the dull hours of night until they stand at bay + Against the shining bayonets of day.’ + So I filled my glass, and I filled their glasses, over and over again, + And I sang and danced and drank, and drank and danced and sang, + And I heard them cry, ‘He is a sport, a good sport!’ + As they held their glasses out to be filled again. + And I was very glad. + + Oh the madness of youth and song and dance and wine, + Of woman’s eyes and lips, when the night dies in the arms of dawn! + And now I wish I had not gone that way. + Now I wish I had not heard them say, + ‘He is a sport, a good sport!’ + For I am old who should be young. + The splendid vigour of my youth I flung + Under the feet of a mad, unthinking throng. + My strength went out with wine and dance and song; + Unto the winds of earth I tossed like chaff, + With idle jest and laugh, + The pride of splendid manhood, all its wealth + Of unused power and health— + Its dream of looking into some pure girl’s eyes + And finding there its earthly paradise— + Its hope of virile children free from blight— + Its thoughts of climbing to some noble height + Of great achievement—all these gifts divine + I cast away for song and dance and wine. + Oh, I have been a sport, a good sport; + But I am very sad. + + + + +A SON SPEAKS + + + MOTHER, sit down, for I have much to say + Anent this widespread ever-growing theme + Of woman and her virtues and her rights. + + I left you for the large, loud world of men, + When I had lived one little score of years. + I judged all women by you, and my heart + Was filled with high esteem and reverence + For your angelic sex; and for the wives, + The sisters, daughters, mothers of my friends + I held but holy thoughts. To fallen stars + (Of whom you told me in our last sweet talk, + Warning me of the dangers in my path) + I gave wide pity as you bade me to, + Saying their sins harked back to my base sex. + + Now listen, mother mine: Ten years have passed + Since that clean-minded and pure-bodied youth, + Thinking to write his name upon the stars, + Went from your presence. He returns to you + Fallen from his altitude of thought, + Hiding deep scars of sins upon his soul, + His fair illusions shattered and destroyed. + And would you know the story of his fall? + + He sat beside a good man’s honoured wife + At her own table. She was beautiful + As woods in early autumn. Full of soft + And subtle witcheries of voice and look— + His senior, both in knowledge and in years. + + The boyish admiration of his glance + Was white as April sunlight when it falls + Upon a blooming tree, until she leaned + So close her rounded body sent quick thrills + Along his nerves. He thought it accident, + And moved a little; soon she leaned again. + The half-hid beauties of her heaving breast + Rising and falling under scented lace, + The teasing tendrils of her fragrant hair, + With intermittent touches on his cheek, + Changed the boy’s interest to a man’s desire. + She saw that first young madness in his eyes + And smiled and fanned the flame. That was his fall; + And as some mangled fly may crawl away + And leave his wings behind him in the web, + So were his wings of faith in womanhood + Left in the meshes of her sensuous net. + + The youth, forced into sudden manhood, went + Seeking the lost ideal of his dreams. + He met, in churches and in drawing-rooms, + Women who wore the mask of innocence + And basked in public favour, yet who seemed + To find their pleasure playing with men’s hearts, + As children play with loaded guns. He heard + (Until the tale fell dull upon his ears) + The unsolicited complaints of wives + And mothers all unsatisfied with life, + While crowned with every blessing earth can give + Longing for God knows what to bring content, + And openly or with appealing look + Asking for sympathy. (The first blind step + That leads from wifely honour down to shame, + Is ofttimes hid with flowers of sympathy.) + + He saw proud women who would flush and pale + With sense of outraged modesty if one + Spoke of the ancient sin before them, bare + To all men’s sight, or flimsily conceal + By veils that bid adventurous eyes proceed, + Charms meant alone for lover and for child. + He saw chaste virgins tempt and tantalise, + Lure and deny, invite—and then refuse, + And drive men forth half crazed to wantons’ arms. + + Mother, you taught me there were but two kinds + Of women in the world—the good and bad. + But you have been too sheltered in the safe, + Old-fashioned sweetness of your quiet life, + To know how women of these modern days + Make licence of their new-found liberty. + Why, I have been more tempted and more shocked + By belles and beauties in the social whirl, + By trusted wives and mothers in their homes, + Than by the women of the underworld + Who sell their favours. Do you think me mad? + No, mother; I am sane, but very sad. + + I miss my boyhood’s faith in woman’s worth— + Torn from my heart, by ‘good folks’ of the earth. + + + + +THE YOUNGER BORN + + +The modern English-speaking young girl is the astonishment of the world +and the despair of the older generation. Nothing like her has ever been +seen or heard before. Alike in drawing-rooms and the amusement places of +the people, she defies conventions in dress, speech, and conduct. She is +bold, yet not immoral. She is immodest, yet she is chaste. She has no +ideals, yet she is kind and generous. She is an anomaly and a paradox. + + _WE are the little daughters of Time and the World his wife_, + _We are not like the children_, _born in their younger life_, + _We are marred with our mother’s follies and torn with our father’s + strife_. + + We are the little daughters of the modern world, + And Time, her spouse. + She has brought many children to our father’s house + Before we came, when both our parents were content + + With simple pleasures and with quiet homely ways. + Modest and mild + Were the fair daughters born to them in those fair days, + Modest and mild. + + _But Father Time grew restless and longed for a swifter pace_, + _And our mother pushed out beside him at the cost of her tender + grace_, + _And life was no more living but just a headlong race_. + + And we are wild— + Yea, wild are we, the younger born of the World + Into life’s vortex hurled. + With the milk of our mother’s breast + We drank her own unrest, + And we learned our speech from Time + Who scoffs at the things sublime. + Time and the World have hurried so + They could not help their younger born to grow; + We only follow, follow where they go. + + _They left their high ideals behind them as they ran_; + _There was but one goal_, _pleasure_, _for Woman or for Man_, + _And they robbed the nights of slumber to lengthen the days’ brief + span_. + + We are the demi-virgins of the modern day; + All evil on the earth is known to us in thought, + But yet we do it not. + We bare our beauteous bodies to the gaze of men, + We lure them, tempt them, lead them on, and then + Lightly we turn away. + By strong compelling passion we are never stirred; + To us it is a word— + A word much used when tragic tales are told; + We are the younger born, yet we are very old + In understanding, and our knowledge makes us bold. + Boldly we look at life, + Loving its stress and strife, + And hating all conventions that may mean restraint, + Yet shunning sin’s black taint. + + We know wine’s taste; + And the young-maiden bloom and sweetness of our lips + Is often in eclipse + Under the brown weed’s stain. + Yet we are chaste; + We have no large capacity for joy or pain, + But an insatiable appetite for pleasure. + We have no use for leisure + And never learned the meaning of that word ‘repose.’ + Life as it goes + Must spell excitement for us, be the cost what may. + Speeding along the way, + + We ofttimes pause to do some generous little deed, + And fill the cup of need; + For we are kind at heart, + Though with less heart than head, + Unmoral, not immoral, when the worst is said; + We are the product of the modern day. + + _We are the little daughters of Time and the World his wife_, + _We are not like the children_, _born in their younger life_, + _We are marred with our mother’s follies and torn with our father’s + strife_. + + + + +HAPPINESS + + + _THERE are so many little things that make life beautiful_. + I can recall a day in early youth when I was longing for happiness. + Toward the western hills I gazed, watching for its approach. + The hills lay between me and the setting sun, and over them led a + highway. + When some traveller crossed the hill, always a fine grey dust rose + cloudless against the sky. + The traveller I could not distinguish, but the dust-cloud I could see. + + And the dust-cloud seemed formed of hopes and possibilities—each speck + an embryo event. + At sunset, when the skies were fair, the dust-cloud grew radiant and + shone with visions. + The happiness for which I waited came not to me adown that western + slope, + But now I can recall the cloud of golden dust, the sunset, and the + highway leading over the hill, + The wonderful hope and expectancy of my heart, the visions of youth in + my eyes; and I know this was happiness. + + _There are so many little things that make life beautiful_. + I can recall another day when I rebelled at life’s monotony. + Everywhere about me was the commonplace; and nothing seemed to happen. + Each day was like its yesterday, and to-morrow gave no promise of + change. + My young heart rose rebellious in my breast; and I ran aimlessly into + the sunlight—the glowing sunlight of June. + I sent out a dumb cry to Fate, demanding larger joys and more delight. + I ran blindly into a field of blooming clover. + It was breast-high, and billowed about me like rose-red waves of a + fragrant sea. + + The bees were singing above it; and their little brown bodies were + loaded with honey-dew, extracted from the clover blossoms. + The sun reeled in the heavens dizzy with its own splendour. + The day went into night, without bringing any new event to change my + life. + But now I recall the field of blooming clover, and the honey-laden + bees, the glorious June sunlight, and the passion of youth in my + heart; and I know that was happiness. + + _There are so many little things that make life beautiful_. + Yesterday a failure stared me in the face, where I had thought to + welcome proud success. + There was no radiant cloud of dust against the western sky, and no + clover field lying fragrant under mid-June suns, + Neither was youth with me any more. + + But under the vines that clung against my walls, a flock of birds + sought shelter just at twilight; + And, standing at my casement, I could hear the twitter of their voices + and the soft, sweet flutter of their wings. + Then over me there fell a sense of peace and calm, and love for all + created things, and trust illimitable. + + And that I knew was happiness. + + _There are so many little things to make life beautiful_. + + + + +SEEKING FOR HAPPINESS + + + SEEKING for happiness we must go slowly; + The road leads not down avenues of haste; + But often gently winds through by ways lowly, + Whose hidden pleasures are serene and chaste + Seeking for happiness we must take heed + Of simple joys that are not found in speed. + + Eager for noon-time’s large effulgent splendour, + Too oft we miss the beauty of the dawn, + Which tiptoes by us, evanescent, tender, + Its pure delights unrecognised till gone. + Seeking for happiness we needs must care + For all the little things that make life fair. + + Dreaming of future pleasures and achievements + We must not let to-day starve at our door; + Nor wait till after losses and bereavements + Before we count the riches in our store. + Seeking for happiness we must prize this— + Not what will be, or was, but that which _is_. + + In simple pathways hand in hand with duty + (With faith and love, too, ever at her side), + May happiness be met in all her beauty + The while we search for her both far and wide. + Seeking for happiness we find the way + Doing the things we ought to do each day. + + + + +THE ISLAND OF ENDLESS PLAY + + + SAID Willie to Tom, ‘Let us hie away + To the wonderful Island of Endless Play. + + It lies off the border of “No School Land,” + And abounds with pleasure, I understand. + + There boys go swimming whenever they please + In a lovely river right under the trees. + + And marbles are free, so you need not buy; + And kites of all sizes are ready to fly. + + We sail down the Isthmus of Idle Delight— + We sail and we sail for a day and a night. + + And then, if favoured by billows and breeze, + We land in the Harbour of Do-as-You-Please. + + And there lies the Island of Endless Play, + With no one to say to us, Must, or Nay. + + Books are not known in that land so fair, + Teachers are stoned if they set foot there. + + Hurrah for the Island, so glad and free, + That is the country for you and me.’ + + So away went Willie and Tom together + On a pleasure boat, in the lazy weather, + And they sailed in the teeth of a friendly breeze + Right into the harbour of ‘Do-as-You-Please.’ + Where boats and tackle and marbles and kites + Were waiting them there in this Land of Delights. + They dwelt on the Island of Endless Play + For five long years; then one sad day + A strange, dark ship sailed up to the strand, + And ‘Ho! for the voyage to Stupid Land,’ + The captain cried, with a terrible noise, + As he seized the frightened and struggling boys + And threw them into the dark ship’s hold; + And off and away sailed the captain bold. + They vainly begged him to let them out, + He answered only with scoff and shout. + ‘Boys that don’t study or work,’ said he, + ‘Must sail one day down the Ignorant Sea + To Stupid Land by the No-Book Strait, + With Captain Time on the Pitiless Fate.’ + + He let out the sails and away went the three + Over the waters of Ignorant Sea, + Out and away to Stupid Land; + And they live there yet, I understand. + And there’s where every one goes, they say, + Who seeks the Island of Endless Play. + + + + +THE RIVER OF SLEEP + + + THERE are curious isles in the River of Sleep, + Curious isles without number. + We’ll visit them all as we leisurely creep + Down the winding stream whose current is deep, + In our beautiful barge of Slumber. + + The very first isle in this wonderful stream + Quite close to the shore is lying, + And after a supper of cakes and cream + We come to the Night-Mare-Isle with a scream, + And hurry away from it crying. + + And next is the Island-of-Lullaby, + And every one there rejoices. + The winds are only a perfumed sigh, + And the birds that sing in the treetops try + To imitate Mothers’ voices. + + A little beyond is the Isle-of-Dreams; + Oh, that is the place to be straying. + Everything there is just as it seems; + Dolls are real and sunshine gleams, + And no one calls us from playing. + + And then we come to the drollest isle, + And the funniest sounds come pouring + Down from its borderlands once in a while, + And we lean o’er our barge and listen and smile; + For that is the Isle-of-Snoring. + + And the very last isle in the River of Sleep + Is the sunshiny Isle-of-Waking. + We see it first with our eyes a-peep, + And we give a yawn—then away we leap, + The barge of Slumber forsaking. + + + + +THE THINGS THAT COUNT + + + NOW, dear, it isn’t the bold things, + Great deeds of valour and might, + That count the most in the summing up of life at the end of the day. + But it is the doing of old things, + Small acts that are just and right; + And doing them over and over again, no matter what others say; + In smiling at fate, when you want to cry, and in keeping at work when + you want to play— + Dear, those are the things that count. + + And, dear, it isn’t the new ways + Where the wonder-seekers crowd + That lead us into the land of content, or help us to find our own. + But it is keeping to true ways, + Though the music is not so loud, + And there may be many a shadowed spot where we journey along alone; + In flinging a prayer at the face of fear, and in changing into a song + a groan— + Dear, these are the things that count. + + My dear, it isn’t the loud part + Of creeds that are pleasing to God, + Not the chant of a prayer, or the hum of a hymn, or a jubilant shout + or song. + But it is the beautiful proud part + Of walking with feet faith-shod; + And in loving, loving, loving through all, no matter how things go + wrong; + In trusting ever, though dark the day, and in keeping your hope when + the way seems long— + Dear, these are the things that count. + + + + +LIMITLESS + + + WHEN the motive is right and the will is strong + There are no limits to human power; + For that great Force back of us moves along + And takes us with it, in trial’s hour. + + And whatever the height you yearn to climb, + Though it never was trod by the foot of man, + And no matter how steep—I say you _can_, + If you will be patient—and use your time. + + + + +WHAT THEY SAW + + + _Sad man_, _Sad man_, _tell me_, _pray_, + _What did you see to-day_? + + I saw the unloved and unhappy old, waiting for slow delinquent death + to come; + Pale little children toiling for the rich, in rooms where sunlight is + ashamed to go; + The awful almshouse, where the living dead rot slowly in their hideous + open graves. + And there were shameful things. + Soldiers and forts, and industries of death, and devil-ships, and + loud-winged devil-birds, + All bent on slaughter and destruction. These and yet more shameful + things mine eyes beheld: + Old men upon lascivious conquest bent, and young men living with no + thought of God, + And half-clothed women puffing at a weed, aping the vices of the + underworld, + Engrossed in shallow pleasures and intent on being barren wives. + These things I saw. + (How God must loathe His earth!) + + _Glad man_, _Glad man_, _tell me_, _pray_. + _What did you see to-day_? + + I saw an agèd couple, in whose eyes + Shone that deep light of mingled love and faith, + Which makes the earth one room of paradise, + And leaves no sting in death. + + I saw vast regiments of children pour, + Rank after rank, out of the schoolroom door + By Progress mobilised. They seemed to say: + ‘Let ignorance make way. + We are the heralds of a better day.’ + + I saw the college and the church that stood + For all things sane and good. + I saw God’s helpers in the shop and slum + Blazing a path for health and hope to come, + And True Religion, from the grave of creeds, + Springing to meet man’s needs. + + I saw great Science reverently stand + And listen for a sound from Border-land, + No longer arrogant with unbelief— + Holding itself aloof— + But drawing near, and searching high and low + For that complete and all-convincing proof + Which shall permit its voice to comfort grief, + Saying, ‘We know.’ + + I saw fair women in their radiance rise + And trample old traditions in the dust. + Looking in their clear eyes, + I seemed to hear these words as from the skies: + ‘He who would father our sweet children must + Be worthy of the trust.’ + + Against the rosy dawn, I saw unfurled + The banner of the race we usher in, + The supermen and women of the world, + Who make no code of sex to cover sin; + Before they till the soil of parenthood, + They look to it that seed and soil are good. + + And I saw, too, that old, old sight, and best— + Pure mothers, with dear babies at the breast. + These things I saw. + (How God must love His earth!) + + + + +THE CONVENTION + + + FROM the Queen Bee mother, the mother Beast, and the mother Fowl in + the fen, + A call went up to the human world, to Woman, the mother of men. + The call said, ‘Come: for we, the dumb, are given speech for a day, + And the things we have thought for a thousand years we are going at + last to say.’ + + Much they marvelled, these women of earth, at the strange and curious + call, + And some of them laughed, and some of them sneered, but they answered + it one and all, + For they wanted to hear what never before was heard since the world + began— + The spoken word of Beast and Bird, and the message it held for Man. + + ‘A plea for shelter,’ the woman said, ‘or food in the wintry weathers, + Or a foolish request that we be dressed without their furs or + feathers. + We will do what we can for the poor dumb things, but they must be + sensible.’ Then + The meeting was called and a she-bear stood and voiced the thought of + the fen. + + ‘Now this is the message we give to you’ (it was thus the she-bear + spake): + ‘You the creatures of homes and shrines, and we of the wold and brake, + We have no churches, we have no schools, and our minds you question + and doubt, + But we follow the laws which some Great Cause, alike for us all, laid + out. + + ‘We eat and we drink to live; we shun the things that poison and kill, + And we settle the problems of sex and birth by the law of the female + will, + _For never was one of us known by a male_, _or made to mother its + kind_, + _Unless there went from our minds consent_ (_or from what we call the + mind_). + + ‘But you, the highest of all she-things, you gorge yourselves at your + feasts, + And you smoke and drink in a way we think would lower the standard of + beasts; + For a ring, a roof and a rag, you are bought by your males, to have + and to hold, + And you mate and you breed without nature’s need, while your hearts + and your bodies are cold. + + ‘All unwanted your offspring come, or you slay them before they are + born; + And now the wild she-things of the earth have spoken and told their + scorn. + We have no mind and we have no souls, maybe as you think—And still, + Never one of us ate or drank the things that poison and kill, + _And never was one of us known by a male except by our wish and + will_.’ + + + + +PROTEST + + + TO sit in silence when we should protest + Makes cowards out of men. The human race + Has climbed on protest. Had no voice been raised + Against injustice, ignorance and lust + The Inquisition yet would serve the law + And guillotines decide our least disputes. + The few who dare must speak and speak again + To right the wrongs of many. Speech, thank God, + No vested power in this great day and land + Can gag or throttle; Press and voice may cry + Loud disapproval of existing ills, + May criticise oppression and condemn + The lawlessness of wealth-protecting laws + That let the children and child-bearers toil + To purchase ease for idle millionaires. + Therefore do I protest against the boast + Of independence in this mighty land. + Call no chain strong which holds one rusted link, + Call no land free that holds one fettered slave. + Until the manacled, slim wrists of babes + Are loosed to toss in childish sport and glee; + Until the Mother bears no burden save + The precious one beneath her heart; until + God’s soil is rescued from the clutch of greed + And given back to labour, let no man + Call this the Land of Freedom. + + + + +A BACHELOR TO A MARRIED FLIRT + + + ALL that a man can say of woman’s charms, + Mine eyes have spoken and my lips have told + To you a thousand times. Your perfect arms + (A replica from that lost Melos mould), + The fair firm crescents of your bosom (shown + With full intent to make their splendours known), + + Your eyes (that mask with innocence their smile), + The (artful) artlessness of all your ways, + Your kiss-provoking mouth, its lure, its guile— + All these have had my fond and frequent praise. + And something more than praise to you I gave— + Something which made you know me as your slave. + + Yet slaves, at times, grow mutinous and rebel. + Here in this morning hour, from you apart, + The mood is on me to be frank and tell + The thoughts long hidden deep down in my heart. + These thoughts are bitter—thorny plants, that grew + Below the flowers of praise I plucked for you. + + Those flowery praises led you to suppose + You were my benefactor. Well, in truth, + When lovely woman on dull man bestows + Sweet favours of her beauty and her youth, + He is her debtor. I am yours: and yet + _You robbed me while you placed me thus in debt_. + + I owe you for keen moments when you stirred + My senses with your beauty, when your eyes + (Your wanton eyes) belied the prudent word + Your curled lips uttered. You are worldly wise, + And while you like to set men’s hearts on flame, + You take no risks in that old passion-game. + + The carnal, common self of dual me + Found pleasure in this danger play of yours. + (An egotist, man always thinks to be + The victor, if his patience but endures, + And holds in leash the hounds of fierce desire, + Until the silly woman’s heart takes fire.) + + But now it is the Higher Self who speaks— + The Me of me—the inner Man—the real— + Whoever dreams his dream and ever seeks + To bring to earth his beautiful ideal. + That lifelong dream with all its promised joy + Your soft bedevilments have helped destroy. + + Woman, how can I hope for happy life + In days to come at my own nuptial hearth, + When you who bear the honoured name of wife + So lightly hold the dearest gifts of earth? + Descending from your pedestal, alas! + You shake the pedestals of all your class. + + A vain, flirtatious wife is like a thief + Who breaks into the temple of men’s souls, + And steals the golden vessels of belief, + The swinging censers, and the incense bowls. + All women seem less loyal and less true, + Less worthy of men’s faith since I met you. + + + + +THE SUPERWOMAN + + + WHAT will the superwoman be, of whom we sing— + She who is coming over the dim border + Of Far To-morrow, after earth’s disorder + Is tidied up by Time? What will she bring + To make life better on tempestuous earth? + How will her worth + Be greater than her forbears? What new power + Within her being will burst into flower? + + She will bring beauty, not the transient dower + Of adolescence which departs with youth— + But beauty based on knowledge of the truth + Of its eternal message and the source + Of all its potent force. + Her outer being by the inner thought + Shall into lasting loveliness be wrought. + + She will bring virtue; but it will not be + The pale, white blossom of cold chastity + Which hides a barren heart. She will be human— + Not saint or angel, but the superwoman— + Mother and mate and friend of superman. + + She will bring strength to aid the larger Plan, + Wisdom and strength and sweetness all combined, + Drawn from the Cosmic Mind— + Wisdom to act, strength to attain, + And sweetness that finds growth in joy or pain. + + She will bring that large virtue, self-control, + And cherish it as her supremest treasure. + Not at the call of sense or for man’s pleasure + Will she invite from space an embryo soul, + To live on earth again in mortal fashion, + Unless love stirs her with divinest passion. + + To motherhood she will bring common sense— + That most uncommon virtue. She will give + Love that is more than she-wolf violence + (Which slaughters others that its own may live). + + Love that will help each little tendril mind + To grow and climb; + Love that will know the lordliest use of Time + In training human egos to be kind. + + She will be formed to guide, but not to lead— + Leaders are ever lonely—and her sphere + Will be that of the comrade and the mate, + Loved, loving, and with insight fine and clear, + Which casts its searchlight on the course of fate, + And to the leaders says, ‘Proceed’ or ‘Wait.’ + + And best of all, she will bring holy faith + To penetrate the shadowy world of death, + And show the road beyond it, bright and broad, + That leads straight up to God. + + + + +CERTITUDE + + + THERE was a time when I was confident + That God’s stupendous mystery of birth + Was mine to know. The wonder of it lent + New ecstasy and glory to the earth. + I heard no voice that uttered it aloud, + Nor was it written for me on a scroll; + Yet, if alone or in the common crowd, + I felt myself a consecrated soul. + My child leaped in its dark and silent room + And cried, ‘I am,’ though all unheard by men. + So leaps my spirit in the body’s gloom + And cries, ‘I live! I shall be born again.’ + Elate with certitude towards death I go, + Nor doubt, nor argue, since I know, I know! + + + + +COMPASSION + + + HE was a failure, and one day he died. + Across the border of the mapless land + He found himself among a sad-eyed band + Of disappointed souls; they, too, had tried + And missed their purpose. With one voice they cried + Unto the shining Angel in command: + ‘Oh, lead us not before our Lord to stand, + For we are failures, failures! Let us hide.’ + + Yet on the Angel fared, until they stood + Before the Master. (Even His holy place + The hideous noises of the earth assailed.) + Christ reached His arms out to the trembling brood, + With God’s vast sorrow in His listening face. + Come unto Me,’ He said; ‘I, too, have failed.’ + + + + +LOVE + + + DREAMING of love, the ardent mind of youth + Conceives it one with passion’s brief delights, + With keen desire and rapture. But, in truth, + These are but milestones to sublime heights + After the highways, swept by strong emotions, + Where wild winds blow and blazing sun rays beat, + After the billows of tempestuous oceans, + Fair mountain summits wait the lover’s feet. + + The path is narrow, but the view is wide, + And beauteous the outlook towards the west + Happy are they who walk there side by side, + Leaving below the valleys of unrest, + And on the radiant altitudes above + Know the serene intensity of love. + + + + +THREE SOULS + + + THREE Souls there were that reached the Heavenly Gate, + And gained permission of the Guard to wait. + Barred from the bliss of Paradise by sin, + They did not ask or hope to enter in. + ‘We loved one woman (thus their story ran); + We lost her, for she chose another man. + So great our love, it brought us to this door; + We only ask to see her face once more. + Then will we go to realms where we belong, + And pay our penalty for doing wrong.’ + + ‘And wert thou friends on earth?’ (The Guard spake thus.) + ‘Nay, we were foes; but Death made friends of us. + The dominating thought within each Soul + Brought us together, comrades, to this goal, + To see her face, and in its radiance bask + For one great moment—that is all we ask. + And, having seen her, we must journey back + The path we came—a hard and dangerous track.’ + ‘Wait, then,’ the Angel said, ‘beside me here, + But do not strive within God’s Gate to peer + Nor converse hold with Spirits clothed in light + Who pass this way; thou hast not earned the right.’ + + They waited year on year. Then, like a flame, + News of the woman’s death from earth-land came. + The eager lovers scanned with hungry eyes + Each Soul that passed the Gates of Paradise. + The well-beloved face in vain they sought, + Until one day the Guardian Angel brought + A message to them. ‘She has gone,’ he said, + ‘Down to the lower regions of the dead; + Her chosen mate went first; so great her love + She has resigned the joys that wait above + To dwell with him, until perchance some day, + Absolved from sin, he seeks the Better Way.’ + + Silent, the lovers turned. The pitying Guard + Said: ‘Stay (the while his hand the door unbarred), + There waits for thee no darker grief or woe; + Enter the Gates, and all God’s glories know. + But to be ready for so great a bliss, + Pause for a moment and take heed of this: + The dearest treasure by each mortal lost + Lies yonder, when the Threshold has been crossed, + And thou shalt find within that Sacred Place + The shining wonder of her worshipped face. + All that is past is but a troubled dream; + Go forward now and claim the Fact Supreme.’ + + Then clothed like Angels, fitting their estate, + Three Souls went singing, singing through God’s Gate. + + + + +WHEN LOVE IS LOST + + + WHEN love is lost, the day sets towards the night, + Albeit the morning sun may still be bright, + And not one cloud-ship sails across the sky. + Yet from the places where it used to lie + Gone is the lustrous glory of the light. + + No splendour rests in any mountain height, + No scene spreads fair and beauteous to the sight; + All, all seems dull and dreary to the eye + When love is lost. + + Love lends to life its grandeur and its might; + Love goes, and leaves behind it gloom and blight; + Like ghosts of time the pallid hours drag by, + And grief’s one happy thought is that we die. + Ah, what can recompense us for its flight + When love is lost? + + + + +OCCUPATION + + + THERE must in heaven be many industries + And occupations, varied, infinite; + Or heaven could not be heaven. + What gracious tasks + The Mighty Maker of the universe + Can offer souls that have prepared on earth + By holding lovely thoughts and fair desires! + + Art thou a poet to whom words come not? + A dumb composer of unuttered sounds, + Ignored by fame and to the world unknown? + Thine may be, then, the mission to create + Immortal lyrics and immortal strains, + For stars to chant together as they swing + About the holy centre where God dwells. + + Hast thou the artist instinct with no skill + To give it form or colour? Unto thee + It may be given to paint upon the skies + Astounding dawns and sunsets, framed by seas + And mountains; or to fashion and adorn + New faces for sweet pansies and new dyes + To tint their velvet garments. Oftentimes + Methinks behind a beauteous flower I see, + Or in the tender glory of a dawn, + The presence of some spirit who has gone + Into the place of mystery, whose call, + Imperious and compelling, sounds for all + Or soon or late. So many have passed on— + So many with ambitions, hopes, and aims + Unrealised, who could not be content + As idle angels even in paradise. + The unknown Michelangelos who lived + With thoughts on beauty bent while chained to toil + That gave them only bread and burial— + These must find waiting in the world of space + The shining timbers of their splendid dreams, + Ready for shaping temples, shrines, and towers, + Where radiant hosts may congregate to raise + Their glad hosannas to the God Supreme. + And will there not be gardens glorious, + And mansions all embosomed among blooms, + Where heavenly children reach out loving arms + To lonely women who have been denied + On earth the longed-for boon of motherhood? + + Surely God has provided work to do + For souls like these, and for the weary, rest. + + + + +THE VALLEY OF FEAR + + + IN the journey of life, as we travel along + To the mystical goal that is hidden from sight, + You may stumble at times into Roadways of Wrong, + Not seeing the sign-board that points to the right. + Through caverns of sorrow your feet may be led, + Where the noon of the day will like midnight appear. + But no matter whither you wander or tread, + Keep out of the Valley of Fear. + + The Roadways of Wrong will wind out into light + If you sit in the silence and ask for a Guide; + In the caverns of sorrow your soul gains its sight + Of beautiful vistas, ascending and wide. + In by-paths of worry and trouble and strife + Full many a bloom grows bedewed by a tear, + But wretched and arid and void of all life + Is the desolate Valley of Fear. + + The Valley of Fear is a maddening maze + Of paths that wind on without exit or end, + From nowhere to nowhere lead all of its ways, + And shadows with shadows in more shadows blend. + Each guide-post is lettered, ‘This way to Despair,’ + And the River of Death in the darkness flows near, + But there is a beautiful Roadway of Prayer + This side of the Valley of Fear. + + This beautiful Roadway is narrow and steep, + And it runs up the side of the Mountain of Faith. + You may not perceive it at first if you weep, + But it rises high over the River of Death. + Though the Roadway is narrow and dark at the base, + It widens ascending, and ever grows clear, + Till it shines at the top with the Light of God’s face, + Far, far from the Valley of Fear. + + When close to that Valley your footsteps shall fare, + Turn, turn to the Roadway of Prayer— + The beautiful Roadway of Prayer. + + + + +WHAT WOULD IT BE? + + + NOW what were the words of Jesus, + And what would He pause and say, + If we were to meet in home or street, + The Lord of the world to-day? + Oh, I think He would pause and say: + ‘Go on with your chosen labour; + Speak only good of your neighbour; + Widen your farms, and lay down your arms, + Or dig up the soil with each sabre.’ + + Now what were the answer of Jesus + If we should ask for a creed, + To carry us straight to the wonderful gate + When soul from body is freed? + Oh, I think He would give us this creed: + ‘Praise God whatever betide you; + Cast joy on the lives beside you; + Better the earth, by growing in worth, + With love as the law to guide you.’ + + Now what were the answer of Jesus + If we should ask Him to tell + Of the last great goal of the homing soul + Where each of us hopes to dwell? + Oh, I think it is this He would tell: + ‘The soul is the builder—then wake it; + The mind is the kingdom—then take it; + And thought upon thought let Eden be wrought, + For heaven will be what you make it.’ + + + + +AMERICA + + + I AM the refuge of all the oppressed, + I am the boast of the free, + I am the harbour where ships may rest + Safely ’twixt sea and sea. + I hold up a torch to a darkened world, + I lighten the path with its ray. + Let my hand keep steady + And let me be ready + For whatever comes my way— + Let me be ready. + + Oh, better than fortresses, better than guns, + Better than lance or spear, + Are the loyal hearts of my daughters and sons, + Faithful and without fear. + But my daughters and sons must understand + _That Attila did not die_. + And they must be ready, + Their hands must be steady, + If the hosts of hell come nigh— + They must be ready. + + If Jesus were back on the earth with men, + He would not preach to-day + Until He had made Him a scourge, and again + He would drive the defilers away. + He would throw down the tables of lust and greed + And scatter the changers’ gold. + He would be ready, + His hand would be steady, + As it was in that temple of old— + He would be ready. + + I am the cradle of God’s new world, + From me shall the new race rise, + And my glorious banner must float unfurled, + Unsullied against the skies. + My sons and daughters must be my strength, + With courage to do and to dare, + With hearts that are ready, + With hands that are steady, + And their slogan must be, PREPARE!— + They must be ready! + + With a prayer on the lip they must shoulder arms, + For after all has been said, + We must muster guns, + If we master Huns— + _And Attila is not dead_— + We must be ready! + + + + +WAR MOTHERS + + + _There is something in the sound of drum and fife_ + _That stirs all the savage instincts into life_. + + IN the old times of peace we went our ways, + Through proper days + Of little joys and tasks. Lonely at times, + When from the steeple sounded wedding chimes, + Telling to all the world some maid was wife— + But taking patiently our part in life + As it was portioned us by Church and State, + Believing it our fate. + Our thoughts all chaste + Held yet a secret wish to love and mate + Ere youth and virtue should go quite to waste. + But men we criticised for lack of strength, + And kept them at arm’s length. + Then the war came— + The world was all aflame! + The men we had thought dull and void of power + Were heroes in an hour. + He who had seemed a slave to petty greed + Showed masterful in that great time of need. + He who had plotted for his neighbour’s pelf, + Now for his fellows offers up himself. + And we were only women, forced by war + To sacrifice the things worth living for. + + _Something within us broke_, + _Something within us woke_, + _The wild cave-woman spoke_. + + _When we heard the sound of drumming_, + _As our soldiers went to camp_, + _Heard them tramp_, _tramp_, _tramp_; + _As we watched to see them coming_, + _And they looked at us and smiled_ + (_Yes_, _looked back at us and smiled_), + _As they filed along by hillock and by hollow_, + _Then our hearts were so beguiled_ + _That_, _for many and many a day_, + _We dreamed we heard them say_, + ‘_Oh_, _follow_, _follow_, _follow_!’ + _And the distant_, _rolling drum_ + _Called us_ ‘_Come_, _come_, _come_!’ + _Till our virtue seemed a thing to give away_. + + War had swept ten thousand years away from earth. + We were primal once again. + There were males, not modern men; + We were females meant to bring their sons to birth. + And we could not wait for any formal rite, + We could hear them calling to us, ‘Come to-night; + For to-morrow, at the dawn, + We move on!’ + And the drum + Bellowed, ‘Come, come, come!’ + And the fife + Whistled, ‘Life, life, life!’ + + So they moved on and fought and bled and died; + Honoured and mourned, they are the nation’s pride. + We fought our battles, too, but with the tide + Of our red blood, we gave the world new lives. + Because we were not wives + We are dishonoured. Is it noble, then, + To break God’s laws only by killing men + To save one’s country from destruction? + We took no man’s life but gave our chastity, + And sinned the ancient sin + To plant young trees and fill felled forests in. + + Oh, clergy of the land, + Bible in hand, + All reverently you stand, + On holy thoughts intent + While barren wives receive the sacrament! + Had you the open visions you could see + Phantoms of infants murdered in the womb, + Who never knew a cradle or a tomb, + Hovering about these wives accusingly. + + Bestow the sacrament! Their sins are not well known— + Ours to the four winds of the earth are blown. + + + + +A HOLIDAY + + +Berlin, Germany, gave the school children a half holiday to celebrate the +sinking of the _Lusitania_. + + WAR declares a holiday; + Little children, run and play. + Ring-a-rosy round the earth + With the garland of your mirth. + + Shrill a song brim full of glee + Of a great ship sunk at sea. + Tell with pleasure and with pride + How a hundred children died. + + Sing of orphan babes, whose cries + Beat against unanswering skies; + Let a mother’s mad despair + Lend staccato to your air. + + Sing of babes who drowned alone; + Sing of headstones, marked ‘Unknown’; + Sing of homes made desolate + Where the stricken mourners wait. + + Sing of battered corpses tossed + By the heedless waves, and lost. + Run, sweet children, sing and play; + War declares a holiday. + + + + +THE UNDERTONE + + + WHEN I was very young I used to feel the dark despairs of youth; + Out of my little griefs I would invent great tragedies and woes; + Not only for myself, but for all those I held most dear + I would invent vast sorrows in my melancholy moods of thought. + Yet down deep, deep in my heart there was an undertone of rapture. + It was like a voice from some other world calling softly to me, + Saying things joyful. + + As I grew older, and Life offered bitter gall for me to drink, + Forcing it through clenched teeth when I refused to take it willingly; + When Pain prepared some special anguish for my heart to bear, + And all the things I longed for seemed to be wholly beyond my reach— + Yet down deep, deep in my heart there was an undertone of rapture. + It was like a Voice, a Voice from some other world calling to me, + Bringing glad tidings. + + Now when I look about me, and see the great injustices of men, + See Idleness and Greed waited upon by luxury and mirth, + See prosperous Vice ride by in state, while footsore Virtue walks; + Now when I hear the cry of need rise up from lands of shameful wealth— + Yet down deep, deep in my heart there is an undertone of rapture. + It is like a Voice—it is a Voice—calling to me and saying: + ‘Love rules triumphant.’ + + Now when each mile-post on the path of life seems marked by + headstones, + And one by one dear faces that I loved are hid away from sight; + Now when in each familiar home I see a vacant chair, + And in the throngs once formed of friends I meet unrecognising eyes— + Yet down deep, deep in my heart there is an undertone of rapture. + It is the Voice, it is the Voice for ever saying unto me: + ‘Life is Eternal.’ + + + + +GYPSYING + + + GYPSYING, gypsying, through the world together, + Never mind the way we go, never mind what port. + Follow trails, or fashion sails, start in any weather: + While we journey hand in hand, everything is sport. + + Gypsying, gypsying, leaving care and worry: + Never mind the ‘if’ and ‘but’ (words for coward lips). + Put them out with ‘fear’ and ‘doubt,’ in the pack with ‘hurry,’ + While we stroll like vagabonds forth to trails, or ships. + + Gypsying, gypsying, just where fancy calls us; + Never mind what others say, or what others do. + Everywhere or foul or fair, liking what befalls us: + While you have me at your side, and while I have you. + + Gypsying, gypsying, camp by hill or hollow; + Never mind the why of it, since it suits our mood. + Go or stay, and pay our way, and let those who follow + Find, upspringing from the soil, some small seed of good. + + Gypsying, gypsying, through the world we wander: + Never mind the rushing years, that have come and gone. + There must be for you and me, lying over Yonder, + Other lands, where side by side we can gypsy on. + + + + +SONG OF THE ROAD + + + I AM a Road; a good road, fair and smooth and broad; + And I link with my beautiful tether + Town and Country together, + Like a ribbon rolled on the earth, from the reel of God. + Oh, great the life of a Road! + + I am a Road; a long road, leading on and on; + And I cry to the world to follow, + Past meadow and hill and hollow, + Through desolate night, to the open gates of dawn. + Oh, bold the life of a Road! + + I am a Road; a kind road, shaped by strong hands. + I make strange cities neighbours; + The poor grow rich with my labours, + And beauty and comfort follow me through the lands. + Oh, glad the life of a Road! + + I am a Road; a wise road, knowing all men’s ways; + And I know how each heart reaches + For the things dear Nature teaches; + And I am the path that leads into green young Mays. + Oh, sweet the life of a Road! + + I am a Road; and I speed away from the slums, + Away from desolate places, + Away from unused spaces; + Wherever I go, there order from chaos comes. + Oh, brave the life of a Road! + + I am a Road; and I would make the whole world one. + I would give hope to duty, + And cover the earth with beauty. + Do you not see, O men! how all this might be done? + So vast the power of the Road! + + + + +THE FAITH WE NEED + + + TOO tall our structures, and too swift our pace; + Not so we mount, not so we gain the race. + Too loud the voice of commerce in the land; + Not so truth speaks, not so we understand. + Too vast our conquests, and too large our gains; + Not so comes peace, not so the soul attains. + + But the need of the world is a faith that will live anywhere; + In the still dark depths of the woods, or out in the sun’s full glare. + A faith that can hear God’s voice, alike in the quiet glen, + Or in the roar of the street, and over the noises of men. + + And the need of the world is a creed that is founded on joy; + A creed with the turrets of hope and trust, no winds can destroy; + A creed where the soul finds rest, whatever this life bestows, + And dwells undoubting and unafraid, because it knows, it knows. + + And the need of the world is love that burns in the heart like flame; + A love for the Giver of Life, in sorrow or joy the same; + A love that blazes a trail to Go through the dark and the cold, + Or keeps the pathway that leads to Him clean, through glory and gold. + + For the faith that can only thrive or grow in the solitude, + And droops and dies in the marts of men, where sights and sounds are + rude; + That is not a faith at all, but a dream of a mystic’s heart; + Our faith should point as the compass points, whatever be the chart. + + Our faith must find its centre of peace in a babel of noise; + In the changing ways of the world of men it must keep its poise; + And over the sorrowing sounds of earth it must hear God’s call; + And the faith that cannot do all this, that is not faith at all. + + + + +THE PRICE HE PAID + + + I SAID I would have my fling, + And do what a young man may; + And I didn’t believe a thing + That the parsons have to say. + I didn’t believe in a God + That gives us blood like fire, + Then flings us into hell because + We answer the call of desire. + + And I said: ‘Religion is rot, + And the laws of the world are nil; + For the bad man is he who is caught + And cannot foot his bill. + And there is no place called hell; + And heaven is only a truth + When a man has his way with a maid, + In the fresh keen hour of youth. + + ‘And money can buy us grace, + If it rings on the plate of the church: + And money can neatly erase + Each sign of a sinful smirch.’ + For I saw men everywhere, + Hotfooting the road of vice; + And women and preachers smiled on them + As long as they paid the price. + + So I had my joy of life: + I went the pace of the town; + And then I took me a wife, + And started to settle down. + I had gold enough and to spare + For all of the simple joys + That belong with a house and a home + And a brood of girls and boys. + + I married a girl with health + And virtue and spotless fame. + I gave in exchange my wealth + And a proud old family name. + And I gave her the love of a heart + Grown sated and sick of sin! + My deal with the devil was all cleaned up, + And the last bill handed in. + + She was going to bring me a child, + And when in labour she cried + With love and fear I was wild— + But now I wish she had died. + For the son she bore me was blind + And crippled and weak and sore! + And his mother was left a wreck. + It was so she settled my score. + + I said I must have my fling, + And they knew the path I would go; + Yet no one told me a thing + Of what I needed to know. + Folks talk too much of a soul + From heavenly joys debarred— + And not enough of the babes unborn, + By the sins of their fathers scarred. + + + + +DIVORCED + + + THINKING of one thing all day long, at night + I fall asleep, brain weary and heart sore; + But only for a little while. At three, + Sometimes at two o’clock, I wake and lie, + Staring out into darkness; while my thoughts + Begin the weary treadmill-toil again, + From that white marriage morning of our youth + Down to this dreadful hour. + + I see your face + Lit with the lovelight of the honeymoon; + I hear your voice, that lingered on my name + As if it loved each letter; and I feel + The clinging of your arms about my form, + Your kisses on my cheek—and long to break + The anguish of such memories with tears, + But cannot weep; the fountain has run dry. + + We were so young, so happy, and so full + Of keen sweet joy of life. I had no wish + Outside your pleasure; and you loved me so + That when I sometimes felt a woman’s need + For more serene expression of man’s love + (The need to rest in calm affection’s bay + And not sail ever on the stormy main), + Yet would I rouse myself to your desire; + Meet ardent kiss with kisses just as warm; + So nothing I could give should be denied. + + And then our children came. Deep in my soul, + From the first hour of conscious motherhood, + I knew I should conserve myself for this + Most holy office; knew God meant it so. + Yet even then, I held your wishes first; + And by my double duties lost the bloom + And freshness of my beauty; and beheld + A look of disapproval in your eyes. + But with the coming of our precious child, + The lover’s smile, tinged with the father’s pride, + Returned again; and helped to make me strong; + And life was very sweet for both of us. + + Another, and another birth, and twice + The little white hearse paused beside our door + And took away some portion of my youth + With my sweet babies. At the first you seemed + To suffer with me, standing very near; + But when I wept too long, you turned away. + And I was hurt, not realising then + My grief was selfish. I could see the change + Which motherhood and sorrow made in me; + And when I saw the change that came to you, + Saw how your eyes looked past me when you talked, + And when I missed the love tone from your voice, + I did that foolish thing weak women do, + Complained and cried, accused you of neglect, + And made myself obnoxious in your sight. + + And often, after you had left my side, + Alone I stood before my mirror, mad + With anger at my pallid cheeks, my dull + Unlighted eyes, my shrunken mother-breasts, + And wept, and wept, and faded more and more. + How could I hope to win back wandering love, + And make new flames in dying embers leap, + By such ungracious means? + + And then She came, + Firm-bosomed, round of cheek, with such young eyes, + And all the ways of youth. I who had died + A thousand deaths, in waiting the return + Of that old love-look to your face once more, + Died yet again and went straight into hell + When I beheld it come at her approach. + + My God, my God, how have I borne it all! + Yet since she had the power to wake that look— + The power to sweep the ashes from your heart + Of burned-out love of me, and light new fires, + One thing remained for me—to let you go. + I had no wish to keep the empty frame + From which the priceless picture had been wrenched. + Nor do I blame you; it was not your fault: + You gave me all that most men can give—love + Of youth, of beauty, and of passion; and + I gave you full return; my womanhood + Matched well your manhood. Yet had you grown ill, + Or old, and unattractive from some cause + (Less close than was my service unto you), + I should have clung the tighter to you, dear; + And loved you, loved you, loved you more and more. + + I grow so weary thinking of these things; + Day in, day out; and half the awful nights. + + + + +THE REVEALING ANGELS + + + SUDDENLY and without warning they came— + The Revealing Angels came. + Suddenly and simultaneously, through city streets, + Through quiet lanes and country roads they walked. + They walked crying: ‘God has sent us to find + The vilest sinners of earth. + We are to bring them before Him, before the Lord of Life.’ + + Their voices were like bugles; + And then all war, all strife, + And all the noises of the world grew still; + And no one talked; + And no one toiled, but many strove to flee away. + Robbers and thieves, and those sunk in drunkenness and crime, + Men and women of evil repute, + And mothers with fatherless children in their arms, all strove to + hide. + But the Revealing Angels passed them by, + Saying: ‘Not you, not you. + Another day, when we shall come again + Unto the haunts of men, + Then we will call your names; + But God has asked us first to bring to him + Those guilty of greater shames + Than lust, or theft, or drunkenness, or vice— + Yea, greater than murder done in passion, + Or self-destruction done in dark despair. + Now in His Holy Name we call: + Come one and all + Come forth; reveal your faces.’ + + Then through the awful silence of the world, + Where noise had ceased, they came— + The sinful hosts. + They came from lowly and from lofty places, + Some poorly clad, but many clothed like queens; + They came from scenes of revel and from toil; + From haunts of sin, from palaces, from homes, + From boudoirs, and from churches. + They came like ghosts— + _The vast brigades of women who had slain_ + _Their helpless_, _unborn children_. With them trailed + Lovers and husbands who had said, ‘Do this,’ + And those who helped for hire. + They stood before the Angels—before the Revealing + Angels they stood. + And they heard the Angels say, + And all the listening world heard the Angels say: + ‘These are the vilest sinners of all; + For the Lord of Life made sex that birth might come; + Made sex and its keen compelling desire + To fashion bodies wherein souls might go + From lower planes to higher, + Until the end is reached (which is Beginning). + They have stolen the costly pleasures of the senses + And refused to pay God’s price. + They have come together, these men and these women, + As male and female they have come together + In the great creative act. + They have invited souls, and then flung them out into space; + They have made a jest of God’s design. + All other sins look white beside this sinning; + All other sins may be condoned, forgiven; + All other sinners may be cleansed and shriven; + Not these, not these. + Pass on, and meet God’s eyes.’ + + The vast brigade moved forward, and behind then walked the Angels, + Walked the sorrowful Revealing Angels. + + + + +THE WELL-BORN + + + SO many people—people—in the world; + So few great souls, love ordered, well begun, + In answer to the fertile mother need! + So few who seem + The image of the Maker’s mortal dream; + So many born of mere propinquity— + Of lustful habit, or of accident. + Their mothers felt + No mighty, all-compelling wish to see + Their bosoms garden-places + Abloom with flower faces; + No tidal wave swept o’er them with its flood; + No thrill of flesh or heart; no leap of blood; + No glowing fire, flaming to white desire + For mating and for motherhood: + Yet they bore children. + God! how mankind misuses Thy command, + To populate the earth! + How low is brought high birth! + How low the woman; when, inert as spawn + Left on the sands to fertilise, + She is the means through which the race goes on! + Not so the first intent. + Birth, as the Supreme Mind conceived it, meant + The clear imperious call of mate to mate + And the clear answer. Only thus and then + Are fine, well-ordered, and potential lives + Brought into being. Not by Church or State + Can birth be made legitimate, + Unless + Love in its fulness bless. + Creation so ordains its lofty laws + That man, while greater in all other things, + Is lesser in the generative cause. + The father may be merely man, the male; + Yet more than female must the mother be. + The woman who would fashion + Souls, for the use of earth and angels meet, + Must entertain a high and holy passion. + Not rank, or wealth, or influence of kings + Can give a soul its dower + Of majesty and power, + Unless the mother brings + Great love to that great hour. + + + + +SISTERS OF MINE + + + SISTERS, sisters of mine, have we done what we could + In all the old ways, through all the new days, + To better the race and to make life sweet and good? + Have we played the full part that was ours in the start, + Sisters of mine? + + Sisters, sisters of mine, as we hurry along + To a larger world, with our banners unfurled, + The battle-cry on lips where once was Love’s old song, + Are we leaving behind better things than we find, + Sisters of mine? + + Sisters, sisters of mine, through the march in the street, + Through turmoil and din, without, and within, + As we gain something big do we lose something sweet? + In the growth of our might is our grace lost to sight? + As new powers unfold do we _love_ as of old, + Sisters of mine? + + + + +ANSWER + + + O WELL have we done the old tasks! in the old, old ways of earth. + We have kept the house in order, we have given the children birth; + And our sons went out with their fathers, and left us alone at the + hearth! + + We have cooked the meats for their table; we have woven their cloth at + the loom; + We have pulled the weeds from their gardens, and kept the flowers in + bloom; + And then we have sat and waited, alone in a silent room. + + We have borne all the pains of travail in giving life to the race; + We have toiled and saved, for the masters, and helped them to power + and place; + And when we asked for a pittance, they gave it with grudging grace. + + On the bold, bright face of the dollar all the evils of earth are + shown. + We are weary of love that is barter, and of virtue that pines alone; + We are out in the world with the masters: we are finding and claiming + our own! + + + + +THE GRADUATES + + + I SAW them beautiful, in fair array upon Commencement Day; + Lissome and lovely, radiant and sweet + As cultured roses, brought to their estate + By careful training. Finished and complete + (As teachers calculate). + + They passed in maiden grace along the aisle, + Leaving the chaste white sunlight of a smile + Upon the gazing throng. + Musing I thought upon their place as mothers of the race. + + Oh there are many actors who can play + Greatly, great parts; but rare indeed the soul + Who can be great when cast for some small rôle; + Yet that is what the world most needs; big hearts + That will shine forth and glorify poor parts + In this strange drama, Life! Do they, + Who in full dress-rehearsal pass to-day + Before admiring eyes, hold in their store + Those fine high principles which keep old Earth + From being only earth; and make men more + Than just mere men? How will they prove their worth + Of years of study? Will they walk abroad + Decked with the plumage of dead bards of God, + The glorious birds? And shall the lamb unborn + Be slain on altars of their vanity? + To some frail sister who has missed the way + Will they give Christ’s compassion, or man’s scorn; + And will clean manhood, linked with honest love, + The victor prove, + When riches, gained by greed, dispute the claim? + Will they guard well a husband’s home and name. + Or lean down from their altitudes to hear + The voice of flattery speak in the ear + Those lying platitudes which men repeat + To listening Self-Conceit? + Musing I thought upon their place as mothers of the race, + As beautiful they passed in maiden grace. + + + + +THE SILENT TRAGEDY + + + THE deepest tragedies of life are not + Put into books, or acted on the stage. + Nay, they are lived in silence, by tense hearts + In homes, among dull unperceiving kin, + And thoughtless friends, who make a whip of words + Wherewith to lash these hearts, and call it wit. + + There is a tragedy lived everywhere + In Christian lands, by an increasing horde + Of women martyrs to our social laws. + Women whose hearts cry out for motherhood; + Women whose bosoms ache for little heads; + Women God meant for mothers, but whose lives + Have been restrained, restricted, and denied + Their natural channels, till at last they stand + Unmated and alone, by that sad sea + Whose slow receding tide returns no more. + Men meet great sorrows; but no man can grasp + The depth, and height, of such a grief as this. + + The call of Fatherhood is from man’s brain. + Man cannot know the answer to that call + Save as a woman tells him. But to her + The call of Motherhood is from the soul, + The brain, the body. She is like a plant + Which buds and blossoms only to bear fruit. + Man is the pollen, carried by the wind + Of accident, or impulse, or desire; + And then his rôle of fatherhood is played. + Her threefold knowledge of maternity, + Through three times three great months, is hers alone. + + Man as an egotist is wounded when + He is not father. Woman when denied + The all-embracing rôle of motherhood + Rebels with her whole being. Oftentimes + Rebellion finds its only utterance + In shattered nerves, and lack of self-control; + Which gives the merry world its chance to cry + ‘Old maids are queer.’ + In far off Eastern lands + + They think of God as Mother to the race; + Father and Mother of the Universe. + And mayhap this is why they make their girls + Wives prematurely, mothers over young, + Hoping to please their Mother God this way. + Since everywhere in Nature sex is shown + For procreative uses, they contend + Sterility is sinful. (Save when one + Chooses a life of Saintship here on earth, + And so conserves all forces to that end.) + + Here in the West, our God is Masculine; + And while we say He bade a Virgin bring + His Son to birth, we think of Him as One + Placing false values on forced continence— + Preparing heavens for those who live that life— + And hells for those who stray by thought or act + From the unnatural path our laws have made. + + Mother of Christ, thou being woman, thou + Knowing all depths within the woman heart, + All joy, all pain, oh send the world more light. + Enlarge our sympathies; and let our minds + Turn from achievements of material things + To contemplation of Eternal truths. + Space throbs with egos, waiting for rebirth; + And mother-hearted women fill the earth. + Mother of Christ, show us the way to thin + The ranks of childless women, without sin. + + + + +THE TRINITY + + + MUCH may be done with the world we are in, + Much with the race to better it; + We can unfetter it, + Free it from chains of the old traditions; + Broaden its viewpoint of virtue and sin; + Change its conditions + Of labour and wealth; + And open new roadways to knowledge and health. + _Yet some things ever must stay as they are_ + _While the sea has its tide and the sky has its star_. + A man and a woman with love between, + Loyal and tender and true and clean, + Nothing better has been or can be + Than just those three. + + Woman may alter the first great plan. + Daughters and sisters and mothers + May stalk with their brothers + Forth from their homes into noisy places + Fit (and fit only) for masculine man. + Marring their graces + With conflict and strife + To widen the outlook of all human life. + _Yet some things ever must stay as they are_ + _While the sea has its tide and the sky has its star_. + A man and a woman with love that strengthens + And gathers new force as its earth way lengthens; + Nothing better by God is given + This side of heaven. + + Science may show us a wonderful vast + Secret of life and of breeding it; + Man by the heeding it + Out of earth’s chaos may bring a new order. + Off with old systems, old laws may be cast. + What now seems the border + Of licence in creeds, + May then be the centre of thoughts and of deeds. + _Yet some things ever must stay as they are_ + _While the sea has its tide and the sky has its star_. + A man and a woman and love undefiled + And the look of the two in the face of a child,— + Oh, the joys of this world have their changing ways, + But this joy stays. + Nothing better on earth can be + Than just those three. + + + + +THE UNWED MOTHER TO THE WIFE + + + I HAD been almost happy for an hour, + Lost to the world that knew me in the park + Among strange faces; while my little girl + Leaped with the squirrels, chirruped with the birds + And with the sunlight glowed. She was so dear, + So beautiful, so sweet; and for the time + The rose of love, shorn of its thorn of shame, + Bloomed in my heart. Then suddenly you passed. + I sat alone upon the public bench; + You, with your lawful husband, rode in state; + And when your eyes fell on me and my child, + They were not eyes, but daggers, poison tipped. + + God! how good women slaughter with a look! + And, like cold steel, your glance cut through my heart, + Struck every petal from the rose of love + And left the ragged stalk alive with thorns. + + My little one came running to my side + And called me Mother. It was like a blow + Between the eyes; and made me sick with pain. + And then it seemed as if each bird and breeze + Took up the word, and changed its syllables + From Mother into Magdalene; and cried + My shame to all the world. + + It was your eyes + Which did all this. But listen now to me + (Not you alone, but all the barren wives + Who, like you, flaunt their virtue in the face + Of fallen women): I do chance to know + The crimes you think are hidden from all men + (Save one who took your gold and sold his skill + And jeopardized his name for your base ends). + + I know how you have sunk your soul in sense + Like any wanton; and refused to bear + The harvest of your pleasure-planted seed; + I know how you have crushed the tender bud + Which held a soul; how you have blighted it; + And made the holy miracle of birth + A wicked travesty of God’s design; + Yea, many buds, which might be blossoms now + And beautify your selfish, arid life, + Have been destroyed, because you chose to keep + The aimless freedom, and the purposeless, + Self-seeking liberty of childless wives. + + I was an untaught girl. By nature led, + By love and passion blinded, I became + An unwed mother. You, an honoured wife, + Refuse the crown of motherhood, defy + The laws of nature, and fling baby souls + Back in the face of God. And yet you dare + Call me a sinner, and yourself a saint; + And all the world smiles on you, and its doors + Swing wide at your approach. + I stand outside. + + Surely there must be higher courts than earth, + Where you and I will some day meet and be + Weighed by a larger justice. + + + + +FATHER AND SON + + + MY grand-dame, vigorous at eighty-one, + Delights in talking of her only son, + My gallant father, long since dead and gone. + ‘Ah, but he was the lad!’ + She says, and sighs, and looks at me askance. + How well I read the meaning of that glance— + ‘Poor son of such a dad; + Poor weakling, dull and sad.’ + I could, but would not tell her bitter truth + About my father’s youth. + + She says: ‘Your father laughed his way through earth: + He laughed right in the doctor’s face at birth, + Such joy of life he had, such founts of mirth. + Ah, what a lad was he!’ + And then she sighs. I feel her silent blame, + Because I brought her nothing but his name. + Because she does not see + Her worshipped son in me. + I could, but would not, speak in my defence, + Anent the difference. + + She says: ‘He won all prizes in his time: + He overworked, and died before his prime. + At high ambition’s door I lay the crime. + Ah, what a lad he was!’ + Well, let her rest in that deceiving thought, + Of what avail to say, ‘His death was brought + By broken sexual laws, + The ancient sinful cause.’ + I could, but would not, tell the good old dame + The story of his shame. + + I could say: ‘I am crippled, weak, and pale, + Because my father was an unleashed male. + Because he ran so fast, I halt and fail + (Ah, yes, he was the lad), + Because he drained each cup of sense-delight + I must go thirsting, thirsting, day and night. + Because he was joy-mad, + I must be always sad. + + Because he learned no law of self-control, + I am a blighted soul.’ + Of what avail to speak and spoil her joy. + Better to see her disapproving eyes, + And silent, hear her say, between her sighs, + ‘Ah, but he was the boy!’ + + + + +HUSKS + + + SHE looked at her neighbour’s house in the light of the waning day— + A shower of rice on the steps, and the shreds of a bride’s bouquet. + And then she drew the shade, to shut out the growing gloom, + But she shut it into her heart instead. (Was that a voice in the + room?) + + ‘My neighbour is sad,’ she sighed, ‘like the mother bird who sees + The last of her brood fly out of the nest to make its home in the + trees’— + And then in a passion of tears—‘But, oh, to be sad like her: + Sad for a joy that has come and gone!’ (Did some one speak, or stir?) + + She looked at her faded hands, all burdened with costly rings; + She looked on her widowed home, all burdened with priceless things. + She thought of the dead years gone, of the empty years ahead— + (Yes, something stirred and something spake, and this was what it + said:) + + ‘_The voice of the Might Have Been speaks here through the lonely + dusk_; + _Life offered the fruits of love_; _you gathered only the husk_. + _There are jewels ablaze on your breast where never a child has + slept_.’ + She covered her face with her ringed old hands, and wept and wept and + wept. + + + + +MEDITATIONS + + +HIS + + + I WAS so proud of you last night, dear girl, + While man with man was striving for your smile. + You never lost your head, nor once dropped down + From your high place + As queen in that gay whirl. + + (It takes more poise to wear a little crown + With modesty and grace + Than to adorn the lordlier thrones of earth.) + + You seem so free from artifice and wile: + And in your eyes I read + Encouragement to my unspoken thought. + My heart is eloquent with words to plead + Its cause of passion; but my questioning mind, + Knowing how love is blind, + Dwells on the pros and cons, and God knows what. + + My heart cries with each beat, + ‘She is so beautiful, so pure, so sweet, + So more than dear.’ + And then I hear + The voice of Reason, asking: ‘Would she meet + Life’s common duties with good common sense? + Could she bear quiet evenings at your hearth, + And not be sighing for gay scenes of mirth? + If, some great day, love’s mighty recompense + For chastity surrendered came to her, + If she felt stir + Beneath her heart a little pulse of life, + Would she rejoice with holy pride and wonder, + And find new glory in the name of wife? + Or would she plot with sin, and seek to plunder + Love’s sanctuary, and cast away its treasure, + That she might keep her freedom and her pleasure? + Could she be loyal mate and mother dutiful? + Or is she only some bright hothouse bloom, + Seedless and beautiful, + Meant just for decoration, and for show?’ + Alone here in my room, + I hear this voice of Reason. My poor heart + Has ever but one answer to impart, + ‘I love her so.’ + + + +HERS + + + After the ball last night, when I came home + I stood before my mirror, and took note + Of all that men call beautiful. Delight, + Keen sweet delight, possessed me, when I saw + My own reflection smiling on me there, + Because your eyes, through all the swirling hours, + And in your slow good-night, had made a fact + Of what before I fancied might be so; + Yet knowing how men lie, by look and act, + I still had doubted. But I doubt no more, + I know you love me, love me. And I feel + Your satisfaction in my comeliness. + + Beauty and youth, good health and willing mind, + A spotless reputation, and a heart + Longing for mating and for motherhood, + And lips unsullied by another’s kiss— + These are the riches I can bring to you. + + But as I sit here, thinking of it all + In the clear light of morning, sudden fear + Has seized upon me. What has been your past? + From out the jungle of old reckless years, + May serpents crawl across our path some day + And pierce us with their fangs? Oh, I am not + A prude or bigot; and I have not lived + A score and three full years in ignorance + Of human nature. Much I can condone; + For well I know our kinship to the earth + And all created things. Why, even I + Have felt the burden of virginity, + When flowers and birds and golden butterflies + In early spring were mating; and I know + How loud that call of sex must sound to man + Above the feeble protest of the world. + But I can hear from depths within my soul + The voices of my unborn children cry + For rightful heritage. (May God attune + The souls of men, that they may hear and heed + That plaintive voice above the call of sex; + And may the world’s weak protest swell into + A thunderous diapason—a demand + For cleaner fatherhood.) + Oh, love, come near; + Look in my eyes, and say I need not fear. + + + + +THE TRAVELLER + + + BRISTLING with steeples, high against the hill, + Like some great thistle in the rosy dawn + It stood; the Town-of-Christian-Churches, stood. + The Traveller surveyed it with a smile. + ‘Surely,’ He said, ‘here is the home of peace; + Here neighbour lives with neighbour in accord; + God in the heart of all. Else why these spires?’ + (Christmas season, and every bell ringing.) + + The sudden shriek of whistles changed the sound + From mellow music into jarring noise. + Then down the street pale hurrying children came, + And vanished in the yawning Factory door. + He called to them: ‘Come back, come unto Me.’ + The Foreman cursed, and caned Him from the place. + (Christmas season, and every bell ringing.) + + Forth from two churches came two men, and met, + Disputing loudly over boundary lines, + Hate in their eyes, and murder in their hearts. + A haughty woman drew her skirts aside + Because her fallen sister passed that way. + The Traveller rebuked them all. Amazed, + They asked in indignation, ‘Who are you, + Daring to interfere in private lives?’ + The Traveller replied, ‘My name is CHRIST.’ + (Christmas season, and every bell ringing.) + + + + +WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? + + +I + + + WHAT have you done, and what are you doing with life, O Man! + O Average Man of the world— + Average Man of the Christian world we call civilised? + What have you done to pay for the labour pains of the mother who bore + you? + On earth you occupy space; you consume oxygen from the air: + And what do you give in return for these things? + Who is better that you live, and strive, and toil? + Or that you live through the toiling and striving of others? + As you pass down the street does any one look on you and say, + ‘There goes a good son, a true husband, a wise father, a fine citizen? + A man whose strong hand is ready to help a neighbour, + A man to trust’? And what do women say of you? + Unto their own souls what do women say? + Do they say: ‘He helped to make the road easier for tired feet? + To broaden the narrow horizon for aching eyes? + He helped us to higher ideals of womanhood’? + Look into your own heart and answer, O Average Man of the world, + Of the Christian world we call civilised. + + + +II + + + What do men think of you, what do they think and say of you, + O Average Woman of the world? + Do they say: ‘There is a woman with a great heart, + Loyal to her sex, and above envy and evil speaking? + There is a daughter, wife, mother, with a purpose in life: + She can be trusted to mould the minds of little children. + She knows how to be good without being dull; + How to be glad and to make others glad without descending to folly; + She is one who illuminates the path wherein she walks; + One who awakens the best in every human being she meets’? + Look into your heart, O Woman! and answer this: + What are you doing with the beautiful years? + Is your to-day a better thing than was your yesterday? + Have you grown in knowledge, grace, and usefulness? + Or are you ravelling out the wonderful fabric knit by Time, + And throwing away the threads? + Make answer, O Woman! Average Woman of the Christian world. + + * * * * * + + * * * * * + + Printed by T. and A. Constable, Printers to His Majesty + at the Edinburgh University Press + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS OF PURPOSE*** + + +******* This file should be named 6618-0.txt or 6618-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/6/1/6618 + + + +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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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