path: root/77093-0.txt

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77093 ***

                   This ebook was created in honor of
              Distributed Proofreaders’ 25th Anniversary.




 A SILVER POOL




 A SILVER POOL

 _by_

 _BEULAH FIELD_

 [Illustration: Publisher’s Colophon]

 NEW YORK
 MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY
 1922




 COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY
 MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY




TABLE OF CONTENTS


                                        PAGE

 INSPIRATION                               9

 “BEGGAR-MAN, THIEF”                      10

 CARNIVAL                                 11

 BRANDED                                  12

 FOR AN ELIZABETHAN GARLAND               13

 WHEN I REMEMBER                          14

 THE WAYFARER                             15

 PIERROT                                  16

 TO LY-Y-HANE                          17-18

 WIND OF THE SEA                          19

 PERHAPS                                  20

 IN THE STREET OF PAINTED FLOWERS      21-22

 MYSTERY                                  23

 WATCH-FIRES                              24

 TOKENS                                   25

 CAMEO                                    26

 BLUE FLAMES AND FLOWERS                  27

 THE LAW                                  28

 MIRACLE                                  29

 VALUES                                   30

 FAME                                     31

 RAINBOW                                  32

 GLASS BEADS                              33

 WILLOWS                                  34

 THE DEAD LOVER                           35

 LITTLE WHITE GATE                        36

 IMMORTAL                                 37

 MY COMMUNION                             38

 STARS                                    39

 DISAPPOINTMENTS                          40

 INTERLUDE                                41

 TO MY FATHER                             42

 CONFESSIONAL                             43

 RECOMPENSE                               44

 MOCKERY                                  45

 REBELLION                                46

 THE MESSENGER                            47

 “NEEDLES AND PINS”                       48

 TO JUNE                                  49

 TO CONGDON                               50




TO CONGDON




INSPIRATION


  I bridled my soul in its temple,
      Waiting a while,
  Till I knew the peace of a tempered touch,
      And changeless smile.

  Then I made my heart a silver pool
      Of melody,
  And stars came down from the sky at night
      And bathed in me.




“BEGGAR-MAN, THIEF”


  A beggar on the edge of town
    Looked up and smiled at me,
  And offered for the coin I held,
    A seedling laurel tree.

  A merchant in the market-place,
    A laughing, lordly knave,
  Filled my hands with tarnished gems,
    And took the coin I gave.

  If I could find that beggar-man,
    I’d give to him my soul,
  If he would share his bread with me,
    And coppers from his bowl.




CARNIVAL


  I gave a rose to a dancing girl,
        She did not know
  It was tribute I paid to a joy,
        Dead long ago.

  I sang my song in the market-place,
        They did not hear
  I was challenging love with a laugh,
        And grief and fear.

  Life danced on my heart with careless feet,
        And never knew
  The beauty it gave in gift to me,
        Was tied with rue.

  I walked the ways of a heedless world,
        And found it mad,
  So, now I drift in the wake of dreams,
        And I am glad.




BRANDED


  I have found me a darkling mistress,
  Who is all my need and desire;
  Her slave in a willing bondage,
  I bathe in her opal fire.
  She has given me gorgeous dawns
  From the rim of her saffron seas;
  There is joy in the burning wind
  That comes from her fronded keys.
  I know the grip of her brilliant days,
  And the scorching spell of her nights,
  When pagan gods seduce me
  With the lure of their heathen rites.
  I know the call of her hard, white roads,
  The choking heat of her rains,
  And I laugh in my soul with God,
  At the lash of her hurricanes.
  I have dipped in her amethyst bowl,
  And painted me splendid dreams,
  But I know the clutch of a dreadful fear,
  When her crawling jungle screams.
  I have felt the kiss of her fever,
  That she hides in her tainted breath,
  And have heard the roll of her drums,
  When they beat their songs of death.
  I have trailed with her treacherous spawn,
  And sinned with her exiled band;
  I am tuned to her siren voice,
  And seared with her vicious brand.
  I know the taste of her poisoned bread,
  I am drunk with her evil wine,
  But I am in thrall to her Cross,
  Since she marked me with its Sign.




FOR AN ELIZABETHAN GARLAND


  It is content I give to you,
          And you?
        You give me love.
  But I would have the sweet content,
          And you?
        Would you have love?




WHEN I REMEMBER


  You never come and speak to me when I am glad,
  But only if the flowers in my garden droop with rain,
  And when the sunlight runs away from skies gone mad,
  Then I am hushed, and hear your voice again.
  Although I light my lamp and bar the door,
  I feel your presence crowding, more and more,
  Until I crouch among the shadows on the floor,
  And watch my memories dance their dance of pain.




THE WAYFARER


  Only the wind from the Seven Hills
    Can mate with the heart of me,
  And the mist, adrift on the cliffs at night,
    That blows from the dusky sea.

  Only the song of the flying stars
    Can reach to my muted soul,
  And speed my feet on the wild, free track
    That swings from Pole to Pole.

  I spell my lore from the sand of dreams,
    I sleep by eternal meres,
  My stirrup-cup is the kiss of dawn,
    My hearth is the boundless spheres.




PIERROT


  Pierrot came and watched me
    Sewing on my seam,
  And handed me gay, silken threads,
    Broken from a dream.

  He helped me trim the lantern
    That hangs beside my door,
  And brought me petaled thoughts
    To sprinkle on the floor.

  He picked a rose and left me,
    In the shadowed light,
  But I found the gate ajar,
    Swinging in the night.

  Then I ran and gathered stars,
    From the hollows of the sea,
  And pinned them on my breast--
    Pierrot called to me.




TO LY-Y-HANE

_Chinese Poetess, 12th Century A. D._[1]


  Once I heard a singing wind,
    Across a still lagoon,
  I thought a thousand bells of jade
    Were swinging in the moon.

  And once, I felt soft petals
    Fall from a flowering quince,
  And trembled when I half divined
    Your song, that died long since.

  Above the dread and somber beat
    Of mighty, dragon wings,
  Perhaps my quiet heart will hear
    Your lute of silver strings.

[1]

_LY-Y-HANE_

LY-Y-HANE _lived during the Song Dynasty, in the 12th century of our
era. She is admired, not only as a clever and graceful composer of
verses, but as a superior intellect and a true scholar, accustomed to
all the minutiae and intricacies of the art of poetry._

_The incurable wound of her heart, bleeding in solitude, is practically
the only subject with which she deals._

_As far as can be known, the love that devours this Chinese Sappho is
ignored by him who inspires it._

_One might say she was a flower become enamoured of a bird. The
changing seasons are the only events, the objects that adorn her home
the only evidences of a life consecrated to the expression of a single
sentiment._

_She lived entombed with her suffering, hoping never to be deprived of
it or cured, and she named in advance the volume that posterity would
perhaps collect of all her scattered verses: “The Debris of My Heart.”_

From _The Book of Jade_. (Translated by James Whittall.)




WIND OF THE SEA


  The Wind of the Sea is my turbulent lover,
  When he gathers me close and kisses my face,
  I rise to the zenith, there to discover
  Peace, in surrender to his fierce embrace;
  He holds me and folds me in whirlpools of light,
  Then lulls me to sleep, in his arms, with the night.




PERHAPS


  It must be hard to be the Moon,
    And weary of the sky;
  Although I weary of my path,
    Someday I can die,
  But then perhaps I’ll trail with her,
    And weary of the sky!




IN THE STREET OF PAINTED FLOWERS


  When will the whirl of this wheel be done?
  Does the Spinner dream, and my shroud unspun?
  I am spent with the lust of greedy nights,
  The fitful flame, and greying lights
  Masking joy, in this devil’s dance,
  That has tripped my feet on the road of Chance.
  My song is hushed, and once it sped,
  As water ripples the river’s bed,
  Through laughing days in the gay bazars,
  And freed my soul beneath the stars.
  Now I am bought, as then I was sold,
  But Allah witness, this is not gold,
  But tinsel coin, that eats my heart,
  And sets me aside, a thing apart.
  Does Heaven sleep, that it lets me be,
  And blinds my eyes, that I may not see
  The sun, that came to kiss my cheek
  When I stepped from my tent to the waiting Sheik?
  I am sick for the sound of camels’ feet
  Padding their way through the languid heat,
  The scent of cool on the evening air,
  And the grip of the muezzin’s call to prayer.
  In those desert nights, where the shadows clung
  To the blowing sand, that swirled and stung,
  When my lord bent down and I knew his lips,
  I was fulfilled to my finger tips.
  Then, I was slave to a king, at least,
  Now, I am slave to a furtive beast.
  Did Allah mock, when he stilled my breath,
  Then called me back from the paths of death,
  To dance to the tune of reeling spheres,
  With only a dream to bridge the years?
  Ash is the flame of my painted shell,
  I have no heart save the desert’s spell,
  Mine is the fugitive soul of a slave,
  And I would go back to my sand-swept grave.




MYSTERY


  I bear on my breast the touch and sign
    Of God and His oriflamme,
  But only the somber eyes of Death
    Can tell me who I am.




WATCH-FIRES


  I care not if the touch of Time
  Destroys the outer garment of my heart,
  For deep within, steadfast, a living fire,
  Love burns, and guards your shrine apart.

  I care not if Death’s borders hold
  A splendid peace, deep as an unshoaled sea,
  I count peace only in the quiet joy
  That comes, when you are glad with me.

  I care not if the ruthless years
  Shadow my soul, in passing on their flight,
  If, through the devastating dark, I know
  Your love, a tidal-wave of light.




TOKENS


  I built a little fire yesterday at dusk,
  To burn the gifts of all my broken years,
  And at the last I tossed upon the flames,
  The crystalled drops, that once were falling tears.

  When morning came, I gathered all the ashes up,
  Then swept my hearth, to make it clean again,
  And found, within a crevice of the stones,
  A jewel, that I knew had once been pain.




CAMEO


  A little room, a dream-lit hearth,
    Rosemary in a bowl of jade;
  Budding orchard, thrush’s song,
    A golden morning, dappled shade.

  A steel-blue sea, the wind’s high will,
    A red sun dropping down the sky,
  Purple shadows on the dunes,
    Upon the road, just you and I.




BLUE FLAMES AND FLOWERS


  Blue flames, shining in my heart--
    Twice lovely stars,
  Dear lips, folded close with mine,
    Sweet as scented jars,

  If a myriad scarlet flowers,
    In a jasper bowl,
  Distilled to leaping fires,
    Could weld us soul to soul,

  I would go across the heavens,
    After night had gone,
  And gather for you dreams,
    In the gardens of the dawn.




THE LAW


  Out of the dark of a night of rain,
  Day has flowered to light again;
  And from the silence the ages long,
  Has come the joy of a wood-bird’s song.

  Broken souls in a barren vale,
  Created the need for a Holy Grail;
  And blasphemous sin painted for me,
  The pale, red bloom of the Judas tree.

  The costly price of hallowed tears
  Has sown the wastes through countless years;
  And over a crimson, riven sod
  Lies a clear, white road that leads to God.




MIRACLE


  It is so long ago I lived,
  Holding back the hours
  That sped through days of golden light,
  And brought me laughing showers.
  It is so long ago I died
  To shut my heart from pain,
  And yet, you reach your hands to me,
  And bid me love again.




VALUES


  I hear you crying for the Moon,
    When she drifts proudly by,
  And see you reaching for the wealth,
    She scatters in the sky.

  While I crave only strands of gold
    That fringe your melody,
  And moon-flowers growing in my heart,
    When you are kind to me.




FAME


  I lay on the edge of desert sands,
        And watched It dance;
  Mirage was painted before my eyes,
        With brush of chance.

  I followed the track of the Phantom
        Down to the sea,
  And found that only a chill, spent wind
        Had called to me.




RAINBOW


  There was a house of many rooms,
    Windows and walls and doors,
  Where shadows etched the ceilings,
    And crept across the floors.

  There sunlight only flickered,
    And seemed a wanton ghost
  Lavishing an empty feast,
    Upon a motley host.

  When I left that changeling home,
    I hid my ragged scars,
  Then bound my heart with singing days,
    And night-time climbed the stars.




GLASS BEADS


  I was a mendicant, begging my bread
    From pilgrims shouting the dawn,
  And they gave me thorns that tore my robe,
    And took my prayers in pawn.

  But now, outside the Temple door,
    I stand and let them pass;
  While I watch for the sun on the Eastern hills,
    They fumble beads of glass.




WILLOWS


  When I loitered on the paths
    Of gay and vivid hours,
  My songs all ran away and hid,
    And seemed afraid of flowers.

  But in among the shadows,
    Beneath the willow tree,
  All my little unsung songs
    Come singing back to me.




THE DEAD LOVER


  You say I am dead, that my being
  Has passed with intangible dreams;
  You hold me a shadow of shadows,
  One moat in myriad beams.

  But I am the yield of the harvest,
  Astir in the ripening corn;
  My voice is the wind of the forest,
  I breathe and impregnate the dawn.

  I spring from the womb of the ocean,
  And rise in its flying foam,
  Till I merge with the quickening rain
  That falls on the fertile loam.

  Dear of my heart, when the moonlight
  Comes dusting the shimmering grass,
  You may lie unveiled in your bridal,
  My lips are on yours as I pass.

  You say I am dead, that communion
  Has spilled from our sacrament bowl,
  Nay, Love, I am seed of Creation,
  Immutable flame with the Whole.




LITTLE WHITE GATE


  Little painted, wooden gate,
    Swinging in and out,
  Crickets chirping in the grass,
    Honey-bees about;

  Hollyhocks and marigolds
    Laughing in the sun,
  Where quiet pools of shadows
    Ripple, one by one;

  Friendly glow of lamplight
    Across the window sill.
  From the dark a plaintive voice
    Calling “Whippoor-will.”

  Moonlight trailing up the path
    Draperies of foam,
  Spell for me contentment,
    And the peace of home.




IMMORTAL


  Was he king or a bonded slave?
    The beauty he sang still sings,
  Vibrant as falling stars
    In the path of radiant wings.

  Does he sleep where the laurel grows?
    Did he beg his cup and his bread?
  He left the sign of his joy,
    And he lives with the mighty dead.

  Marked by the print of his feet,
    The dust of this ancient floor
  Glows, spun-flame in the dark,
    What matters the name that he bore!




MY COMMUNION


  Cupped in the hollow of your hands,
  You hold my hidden fears,
  My faith, the songs within my joy,
        And all my tears.

  Within the chalice of your heart,
  There brims compassion’s mead,
  Bounty of foaming drink for me
        To quench my need.

  I grave the pattern of my love
  Upon your spirit’s bowl,
  And in the splendour of your wine,
        I steep my soul.




STARS


  When I watch a pale, green sky,
    At night, upon the hills,
  I wonder if my garden bears
    Such blowing daffodils;
  And if the lustre of my dreams
    Comes from those amber rills.




DISAPPOINTMENTS


  In the Valley of Nadir lies a deep, black pool,
  And it mirrors only rainy harvest moons;
  In the fringes of its grasses are little bleached, white bones,
  And broken, faded ribbons, from gaudy, pricked balloons.
  Restless shadows stumble ’round it, through the hot nights and the cool,
  And their crippled feet are weighted down with stones;
  Sometimes an echo whispers of golden, summer noons,
  But you only hear the wind there, when it moans.




INTERLUDE


  When Night-time stoops to lay her hands
    Upon my tired eyes,
  And strings her silver lanterns
    Across the curtained skies,

  Reflected in the mirror,
    She holds above my sleep--
  I see a golden lotus,
    She bids me pick and keep.

  Then, drugged, my soul goes speeding
    Across a dream-swept plain,
  Until I stumble back at dawn,
    To break my heart again.




TO MY FATHER


  Although you touched my life so brief a time,
  Because of you, I tread the stressful years
  With courage, patterned from your quiet strength,
  And laughter tempering my meed of tears.

  Because of you, I hold and reverence books,
  High in my heart, as is my creed of song,
  And to the imprint of your kindliness,
  The measure of my love and faith belong.

  Because you held my hand that little while,
  I know a joy in all green, growing things,
  And rapture, when strong music breaks, and soars
  A veil of flame on iridescent wings.

  Your love has framed the window of my life,
  And as I watch the twilight creeping through,
  I know whatever sacraments I share
  With peace and beauty, are because of you.




CONFESSIONAL


  Red fire of dawn burning in the sky,
  Leaping from the purple embers of the night,
  A sovereign glory in a sapphire cup,
        This is my altar light.

  Rising from an early-kindled hearth,
  A pungent veil of smoke spirals in the air,
  And seems the incense drifting on my heart,
        That sanctifies my prayer.

  From beyond uncharted seas the wind,
  Like pilgrim priest, comes to bless the waking sod,
  And shrives me in my penitence, then bears
        My sorrow up to God.




RECOMPENSE


  Though Hunger shuffles up the path,
    And leaves his pack of scars,
  When songs sweep through my heart--
    Bright sails on golden spars,
  I breathe the dust of lilies,
    Asleep among the stars.




MOCKERY


  I dreamed Love came with golden thong,
    And bound me to his wrist,
  Then swept me out on winds of flame,
    Through space the sun had kissed.

  Instead, Love came in jester’s garb,
    Flaunting his cap and bells,
  And led me to a far, strange tent,
    Beside dead, desert wells.




REBELLION


  If Death should scatter poppy-dust
    Across my path tonight,
  Then wrap me in his cold, dark cloak,
    And shut me from the light.

  If he should point a strange, still way,
    How could I bear to go,
  And never feel again the sun,
    Nor watch a primrose grow?




THE MESSENGER


  When you walk a lonely road,
    Hand in hand with pain,
  Do you see the broken leaves,
    Trodden by the rain?

  My heart was like a folded leaf,
    On an April tree;
  Listen to the rain at night,
    And know your hurt to me.




“NEEDLES AND PINS”


  Goblins came and took me
        Long ago,
  Tossed me up and down the years,
        To and fro.

  Drove me to surrender
        All my faith,
  And chuckled when they bound me
        To a wraith.

  But came a time the goblins
        Lost their zest
  For planting stones within my heart,
        As a jest.

  They left me in the garden
        With the weeds,
  And there I found my faith again,
        Sowing seeds.




TO JUNE


  June dreams.
  The twilight world’s a-hush,
  The meadows flame with colors from a master’s brush,
  And in my garden roses droop and blush;
  June sleeps and dreams.

  The singing wind blows gently through her sleep,
  While friendly, fragrant shadows keep
  Their vigils, beautiful and deep,
  With June, who dreams.

  Communion with my watching heart I hold,
  Until the day comes to unfold
  Her laughing hours, steeped in gold,
  For June, who dreams.




TO CONGDON


  When I look among the shadows in my soul,
  I am glad for every scar and sin;
  (Oh, little child, upon the threshold of my heart, Stay within!)

  I will mould to golden-tinted globes of pearl,
  My rebellion, with each bruising shame,
  And kindled from my dark, their light will keep your dreams
  Star-frost and flame.

  Then I will mend all broken songs of mine,
  To thread them on a many-colored string,
  That you may count them, as you lean against my heart,
  And learn to sing.




Transcriber’s Notes

 • Italics represented with surrounding _underscores_.

 • Small caps converted to ALL CAPS.

 • Obvious typographic errors silently corrected.

 • Footnote numbered and consolidated to the end of the relevant poem.


*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77093 ***