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diff --git a/78755-0.txt b/78755-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0dfe68a --- /dev/null +++ b/78755-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1907 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78755 *** + + + + +CRACK O’ DAWN + + + + +[Illustration: Macmillan Company Colophon] + + THE MACMILLAN COMPANY + NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO · DALLAS + ATLANTA · SAN FRANCISCO + + MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED + LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA + MELBOURNE + + THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD. + TORONTO + + + + + CRACK O’ DAWN + + BY + + FANNIE STEARNS DAVIS + (MRS. A. McK. GIFFORD) + + AUTHOR OF “MYSELF AND I” + + New York + THE MACMILLAN COMPANY + 1915 + + _All rights reserved_ + + + + + Copyright, 1913, 1914, by the Atlantic Monthly + Company, Harper & Brothers, The Century Company, + The Yale Review, Harriet Monroe for Poetry, A + Magazine of Verse, The Curtis Publishing Company, + and Perry Mason Company. + + COPYRIGHT, 1915 + + BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY + + Set up and electrotyped. Published February, 1915. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + + CRACK O’ DAWN 3 + + “I HAVE LOOKED INTO ALL MEN’S HEARTS” 7 + + PROFITS 9 + + THE POET REBUKES HIS FLATTERERS 11 + + “AS I DRANK TEA TO-DAY” 13 + + TO A COWARD 17 + + THE RECLUSE 20 + + RAIN IN THE NIGHT 22 + + RESTLESSNESS 24 + + GHOSTS 25 + + THE YEAR AFTER 27 + + THOSE I LOVE 29 + + ESCAPE 31 + + “WHAT IF I GROW OLD AND GRAY” 33 + + WIND 35 + + SORROW’S SHADOW 37 + + “I WENT DOWN INTO MY HEART” 39 + + SORROW IN SPRING 41 + + WINGS 44 + + THE UNBORN 49 + + THE MOTHER 50 + + THE CHILDREN’S PEDDLER 52 + + EVENING SONG 57 + + THE NEW HOUSE 58 + + TO YOUTH--IN SECRET JOY 60 + + FIRE FANTASY 63 + + AN OLD SONG 68 + + HOME 70 + + WILD WEATHER 71 + + DAWN-JOY 73 + + “NOW I WILL SADDLE THE SWIFT BROWN MARE” 76 + + TO THE NORTH 79 + + UP ON THE MOUNTAIN 84 + + “THE STARS GO BY” 86 + + STORM DANCE 89 + + THE BLACK WITCH 91 + + RIDE 94 + + ROMANCE 97 + + O MY LOVE LEONORE 99 + + THE CHANGELING 101 + + HOOFS IN THE DARK 104 + + “WHAT I DESIRE TO SAY” 107 + + + + +Thanks are extended to the publishers of The Atlantic Monthly, The +Century, Harper’s Magazine, Poetry (A Magazine of Verse), The Yale +Review, The Country Gentleman, and The Youth’s Companion, for their +permission to reprint in this volume poems copyrighted by them in 1913, +1914. + + + + +CRACK O’ DAWN + + + + +CRACK O’ DAWN + + + Crack o’ dawn! Red sun looks in + Through my curtains white and thin. + Sun looks in, and I look out + At the sweet world spread about. + Silver dew on lilac-tree, + Meadow-larks desiring me, + Hills that sleep along the dawn, + Sense of wise stars just withdrawn, + (Serious stars that hide away + In the hot blue halls of Day.) + + No one sees me as I run + Clear to meet the clear-eyed sun. + No one hears me laugh and sing + Many a dawn-swept dancing thing. + No one knows my prayers are made + Out of dew-pearl and leaf-shade, + Out of lark-song and sky-breath; + Simplest challengers of death. + + Crack o’ dawn. The City still + Sleeps behind my daisy-hill; + Very dull, with shutters locked. + Though the red sun knocked and knocked + They would never ask him in. + But the bull-mouthed whistles’ din + Breaks their heavy dreams apart; + And they groan, and stretch, and start + Grumbling up. + + O Dawn! Am I + Guilty of their sweat and sigh? + Am I cold and hard, to run + Free of foot to meet the sun, + While the bull-mouthed whistles roar, + And the drab-faced people pour + Herded down the blank gray street,-- + Leaden eyes and leaden feet? + + Could I help them if I too + Lost my sunrise leaves and dew? + If I made my own dreams gray + With the dust of day-to-day, + And forgot the stars, and fell + In that hideous barren Hell, + Where, I think, my soul would be + Hard for God Himself to see? + + Once I was a pagan, wild + With the wonder of a child. + Once I thought the City too + Might go free of dawns and dew. + Oh, I thought them stupid folk, + With their crazy wheels and smoke, + Swarming babies, huddling halls, + Brazen laughter, sodden brawls, + And their blind souls,--blind, while I + Played the god with wind and sky. + + Crack o’ dawn! Red sun, I wake + Singing for your splendid sake; + Silent, for the City still + Drugged behind my daisy-hill. + + Oh, but were I pagan yet! + God! could I forget! forget! + + + + +“I HAVE LOOKED INTO ALL MEN’S HEARTS” + + + I have looked into all men’s hearts. + Like houses at night unshuttered they stand, + And I walk in the street, in the dark, and on either hand + There are hollow houses, men’s hearts. + + They think that the curtains are drawn. + Yet I see their shadows suddenly kneel + To pray, or laughing and reckless as drunkards reel + Into dead sleep till dawn. + + And I see an immortal child + With its quaint high dreams and wondering eyes + Sleeping beneath the hard worn body that lies + Like a mummy-case defiled. + + And I hear an immortal cry + Of splendor strain through the sodden words, + Like a flight of brave-winged heaven-desirous birds + From a swamp where poisons lie. + + --I have looked into all men’s hearts. + Oh, secret terrible houses of beauty and pain! + And I cannot be gay, but I cannot be bitter again, + Since I looked into all men’s hearts. + + + + +PROFITS + + + Yes, stars were with me formerly. + (I also knew the wind and sea; + And hill-tops had my feet by heart. + Their shagged heights would sting and start + When I came leaping on their backs. + I knew the earth’s queer crooked cracks, + Where hidden waters weave a low + And druid chant of joy and woe.) + + But stars were with me most of all. + I heard them flame and break and fall. + Their excellent array, their free + Encounter with Eternity, + I learned. And it was good to know + That where God walked, I too might go. + + Now, all these things are past. For I + Grow very old and glad to die. + What did they profit me, say you, + These distant bloodless things I knew? + + Profit? What profit hath the sea + Of her deep-throated threnody? + What profit hath the sun, who stands + Staring on Space with idle hands? + And what should God Himself acquire + From all the aeons’ blood and fire? + + My profit is as theirs: to be + Made proof against mortality: + To know that I have companied + With all that shines and lives, amid + So much the years sift through their hands, + Most mortal, windy, worthless sands. + + This day I have great peace. With me + Shall stars abide eternally! + + + + +THE POET REBUKES HIS FLATTERERS + + + Why will you trouble me with praise? + Give me no praise. These songs I found + Flashing like wings above my ways, + Or blown like leaves along the ground. + + I caught a feather; crushed a leaf; + And you applaud me. Let me be. + You had no praise for that sore grief + Whereof I got the mastery. + + You had no praise the time I fled + Down rustling corridors of fear: + You left me all uncomforted, + With only God to cry “Draw near!” + + Look! at my side this moment stands + My friend, who suffers and is proud. + He chokes his Life between his hands, + Lest, hurt and crazed, it cry too loud. + + He makes me hateful of my fame: + Hot-faced and humble: for he too + Speaks softly, radiantly my name, + And loves me till it stabs me through. + + Have you no little word for him? + Can you not see how strong he is? + Oh, what is all my music dim + To such great reeling victories? + + Leave off your praise. Smile not on me. + What say you? Are my songs so sweet? + They are but wind-blown wizardry. + Look there! His blood-stained hands and feet! + + + + +“AS I DRANK TEA TO-DAY” + + + As I drank tea to-day + With a dozen women, chattering, gay, + In delicate drooping gowns, in jewels like dew, + Laughing, light-voiced,--I thought of a certain hunger I knew + Hid in the heart of one, the merriest laughter there. + I saw three little dull threads in the lazy dusk of her hair; + Three little keen wrinkles about her beautiful shining eyes. + And I wished I were not so wise. + + I wished that I did not know + Those symbols of pain:--that low + Under her pride and sweet warm-worded address + She was shaken with loneliness; + That the one great dream she had dared to dream was a lie, + And half of her Life went wearying, “Let me die.” + + I wished that I could not hear + That murmur of mortal fear + Through the clink of silver and subtle whisper of lace. + I dared not look in her face.-- + + Then I thought, (while I laughed aloud + With my cup at poise,) “Ah, the proud + Masques that we wear! We too, + All of us, dancing through + Some queer little pantomime each day,-- + Jewelled and gloved, deft-spoken and gay,-- + Ah, but God only hears + All of the follies and fears, + Meanness and courage, breathed out and in + Over these tea-cups’ delicate din.” + + Then I looked in that woman’s face + Over its pearls and roses and lace, + And I knew that I need not fear to see + Those little dull threads, those wrinkles three, + Or hear the cry of her life. I knew + We were all of us crying too: + Crying with wonder or weariness, + Too much love or too little. Yes, + It was Life, just Life that we hid away + Under our gossip and glad array. + And that woman’s laughter and pride, + Shielding her heart, half-crucified, + Seemed bravely done,--although + I thought, “Must Life hurt, hurt so?” + + Till as I took her hand, + Saying good-bye, the smooth words planned + Choked in my throat. She stood there dumb, + Folded my fingers and pressed them numb, + Knowing I knew. + Ah, yes! I knew! + All of us seeking, hungering, hiding too, + In delicate drooping gowns, and jewels like stars and dew! + + So we all went away: + A dozen women, chattering, gay.-- + + + + +TO A COWARD + + + You have no right to spoil the sun, + Blacken the blue and blur the stars. + Is your fool’s-face the only one + That ever pressed Life’s prison-bars, + And found escape too bitter-hard? + And cursed the great cold Gaoler, God? + Then, crooked-lipped, pain-smirched and marred, + Shrieked to the peaceful folk who trod + The free street still,--“But look at me! + I am so hurt. God hates me so. + I know that all Eternity + Is foul and false and bleared. I know!” + + How do you know? What right have you + To show your shameful coward’s face? + Have you alone run ruined through + Hell’s wide waste-hillocked torture-place? + Have you a blood-sealed pact with Pain?-- + A secret tryst with Agony? + Has no one else dared death, to gain + The great brave soul, that wrests the key + Of Freedom from God’s Hand? + Then swift + To flee, beholds the door flung wide; + And feels the Gaoler’s fingers lift + His face, and push his locks aside, + While through his soul’s last desperate dusk + The great slow Eyes stare deep, stare deep; + And Shame blows from him, like a husk + Of Horror; and clean glories leap + From those great Eyes to his, set free + From all the foul and false and marred: + --“Thou! Who hast earned Eternity! + Thou! With My Secret Keys to guard!” + You! What know you of God, and Life? + There festering to your prison-bars. + Be proud! When you have won that strife + You will not dare to curse the stars! + + + + +THE RECLUSE + + + I am too much in love with loneliness. + To-night, with secret joy I shut my door,-- + (This is a shameful thing that I confess,) + But I desired no footstep on my floor, + No friend to share my hearth-fire, and the still + Warm hours, before the midnight chime swings clear, + And the small owlet hoots across the hill, + And I join hands with Sleep, cool-fingered, dear. + + I had no need of talk or song; no need + Of love. Love would have hurt and frightened me. + The wind went by; I heard the lilac-seed + Dry-tipped, beat on the window stubbornly. + And I sat glad and silent and complete. + I had no need in all the world. My heart + Purred like the great gray cat. It seemed so sweet + To shut the door, on Life,--and sit apart. + + Life! this is shameful! Call me out before + I die of loving loneliness too well. + Send hordes of beggars battering my door, + To keep me clear of happiness, and hell. + Send me great love to hurt me. Send me fear + And anger, God’s fierce messengers,--for I + Am swooning, swooning, in my fire-light here. + Life! stab me! make me fight before I die! + + + + +RAIN IN THE NIGHT + + + Out in the night the great good rain + Makes sweet the earth, makes strong the trees. + --Let me be done myself with pain + And hot unhappy mysteries. + + Let me not lie awake to-night + With dreams devouring all the gloom: + Wide mouths of hungry restless light + Gleaming and gaping round my room. + + Dreams, from my soul’s and body’s stark + And hollow red-hot caves of fear. + (Oh, never a dream of leaves, a lark, + A dawn-wind, sea-tides salt and clear!) + + --Out in the night the good rain goes, + Kind as my Mother used to be.-- + Oh, if in Heaven my Mother knows, + God, send her back like rain to me! + + + + +RESTLESSNESS + + + Life with his chin on my shoulder + Whispers into my ear. + His voice is like winds, and cities, + And seas, and sorrow, and fear. + + It troubles and wearies me always. + Nothing he says comes clear. + --Sharp chin on my aching shoulder! + Strange murmurous voice in my ear! + + + + +GHOSTS + + + I am almost afraid of the wind out there. + The dead leaves skip on the porches bare, + The windows clatter and whine. I sit + Here in the quiet house, low-lit, + With the clock that ticks and the books that stand, + Wise and silent, on every hand. + + I am almost afraid, though I know the night + Lets no ghosts walk in the warm lamp-light. + Yet ghosts there are; and they drift and blow + Out in the wind and the scattering snow.-- + When I open the windows and go to bed + Will the ghosts come in and stand at my head? + + Last night I dreamed they came back again. + I heard them talking; I saw them plain. + They hugged me and held me and loved me; spoke + Of happy doings and friendly folk. + They seemed to have journeyed a week away, + But now they were ready and glad to stay. + + But oh, if they came on the wind to-night + Could I bear their faces, their garments white + Blown in the dark round my lonely bed? + Oh, could I forgive them for being dead? + I am almost afraid of the wind. My shame! + That I would not be glad if my dear ones came! + + + + +THE YEAR AFTER + + + Up and down my Garden the roses are a-revel; + Up and down my Garden gleam golden butterflies. + June-scent to the tree-tops floods the white air level, + And June-sun to the rose-roots thrusts fingers warm and wise. + + O my red, red roses! my larkspurs and my lilies! + (Yellow lilies leaning in a tangle and a swoon,) + O, have you forgot me? for now the Garden still is, + And no one treads the warm path I knew by night and noon. + + Red-rose-petals blowing, and rain-bleached in the grasses,-- + Red-rose-petals slipping, slipping to be dead,-- + Only wind may touch you: he hurts you as he passes: + O, do you remember who kissed you once instead? + + --Up and down my Garden my Spirit runs a-tiptoe, + Stroking all the roses, chasing butterflies. + But she may not gather one blighted bud. To slip so + Empty from her Garden, blurs her shining eyes. + + Spirit!--Spirit!--Spirit!-- + Home, come home and leave them: + Leave the petals blowing like little weary flames. + Lest your ghostly presence, your pulsing shadow grieve them:-- + --Yet ’tis you, you only, who know their dear lost names! + + + + +THOSE I LOVE + + + I could be glad and gay to-night + If those I love were gay. + But they have shadows o’er their sight + I cannot sweep away. + + My body laughs and leaps and sings. + I could go proud and sweet. + But those I love have broken wings. + Dance not! Dance not, my feet! + + I could have faith in God enough + To keep me joyfully. + But those I love must take the rough + Dark way of doubt. Ah me,-- + + Would God that they by trusting too + Gave me my right to Faith! + But how dare I drink heaven-dew + While those I love drink death? + + + + +ESCAPE + + + Now since I cannot make it out: + Why people love and lose and die; + Why there is agony and doubt, + And so much cause to brood and cry; + + Oh, since I cannot understand + God’s will for all the world, and me,-- + I will go take the wind’s cold hand, + And dance a little, foolishly. + + The hills are green and simple folk; + The wind is quick with comrade-calls; + White wayside apple-trees, and smoke + Of woodfires, and bright waterfalls,-- + + They never bid me understand. + They never say, “You, too, must die.” + I will go take the wind’s cold hand. + God knows, I cannot always cry! + + + + +“WHAT IF I GROW OLD AND GRAY” + + + What if I grow old and gray + Who was once so gallant-gay? + + When my goodliness shall pass + As the flower of the grass; + When there shall be none to claim + Friendship in my youth’s dear name; + When my soul that leapt like fire + Limps, too dreary for desire; + When the door of Silence stands + Open to my fumbling hands;-- + Though I almost make you cry, + (You, still young and passing by,) + Leave me proud and high and free. + Never dare to pity me! + + For I make my journeying + Far from every sorry thing. + I have lived too glad to fear + Any hurt or horror here; + And I shall be glad once more + When the Silence swings its door, + And I enter in, and see.-- + Oh, you must not pity me! + + + + +WIND + + + The Wind bows down the poplar-trees, + The Wind bows down the crested seas; + And he has bowed the heart of me + Under his hand of memory. + + O heavy-handed Wind, who goes + Hurting the petals of the rose; + Who leaves the grasses on the hill + Broken and pallid, spent and still! + + O heavy-handed Wind, who brings + To me all echoing ancient things: + Echoing sorrow and defeat, + Crying like mourners, hard to meet! + + The Wind bows down the poplar-trees + And all the ocean’s argosies; + But deeper bends the heart of me + Under his hand of memory. + + + + +SORROW’S SHADOW + + + Some days, when I am dressed in shimmer-stuff, + With yellow roses at my breast and hair; + When just the air and sunlight seem enough + To make the whole world delicately rare; + When people love me, and I them, and all + My heart is like a hill-brook’s lilting call: + + Then, if I pass her, in her dim black dress, + With heavy eye-lids darkened by old tears, + I feel a sudden clutch of loneliness; + I stare down vistas of unsparkling years, + And there behold myself, clad close in black, + With tired brows, thin hands, and aching back. + + O Sorrow’s Shadow! let me be awhile! + Wreck not my happy yellow roses: set + No watch upon my sudden cry and smile. + Why should I not forget--ah, half forget!-- + That Sorrow’s Self will meet me some strange day, + And take my hand, nor let me dance away? + + + + +“I WENT DOWN INTO MY HEART” + + + I went down into my heart. It was hollow and cold and deep. + There were statues standing apart in a folded icicle-sleep. + There was beauty beneath their veils, wild beauty and terror too; + But they were asleep, asleep, and knew not my passing through. + + I went down into my heart, to the altar the God built there. + The lamp burned low to its death; the altar was dusty and bare; + And the face of the God was blurred, and the gold of his fringes dead. + I went thither to kneel and pray, but my prayers were slow to be said. + + I came up out of my heart to the traffic and toil of the day. + I had been but the wink of an eye, the tick of a clock, away. + But I knew that I should not dare go back to my heart once more + Till the statues waked with a cry and the God gleamed out from the door! + + + + +SORROW IN SPRING + + + Sorrow knocked at my door, + Sorrow sat by my bed. + I could not sing any more. + The bird at the green lane’s head + Sings, and the Spring returns. + Primroses revel in dew. + Fire from the twilight burns, + Soft stars, trembling and new. + + Children shout in the street; + Pedlars gesture and chaff; + Linden-branches repeat + Wise-wives’ stories, and laugh. + River runs to the sea; + Boats swim brave on his breast. + (There is one boat whose free + Swan-wings surpass the rest.) + + Would I might sail away!-- + Lock my door in the town; + Lock in the dark old day + When Sorrow came in her gown + Heavy and soiled with ash: + Knocked, and entered, and sate. + My candles failed in a flash. + The bread was dust that I ate. + + --Oh, to sing as of old! + Sing, with the dance of the day,-- + Sing, with the waters cold + And the quick winds running away! + --Never, never, again.-- + But I will be proud, not cry. + Sunshine, children, the strain + Of the harp-man loitering by, + I will not hurt you with tears. + Look! I will laugh!-- + And lo, + Sorrow,--Sorrow,--she hears! + She smiles! and she rises to go! + + + + +WINGS + + + Take down your golden wings now from their hook behind the door. + The wind comes calling from the west, and you must fly once more. + Oh, mine are grown too old to fly, my crooked wings and gray, + But yours are glad with ruffled gold, and you must fly away. + + I found you far across the moors beneath a thorny-tree: + The eyes of you were wide as stars above a breathless sea: + But frail you were and faint you were, and nowise gay and glad + Save for the leaping golden wings your slender shoulders had. + + And suddenly I led you home, and cherished you. I wrought + Green robes like April willow-leaves. I coursed the hills and sought + Strange jewel-seeds and pearly flow’rs to weave about your hair. + Beneath my hand you bloomed and grew, fair as a flame is fair. + + I hung your wings behind the door lest you should fly away: + (They being all of bubbling gold, but mine,--ah, withered gray!) + I hung your wings behind the door, for secretly I knew + Your golden wings, your wayward wings, they bode their time for you. + + And now, the cottage by the wood, its doorways shall be dark. + You were its sunshine and its spring; its south wind and its lark. + Your bed beneath the window-sill must lie unwarmed, unpressed; + The briar-rose may bear no more her star-flowers for your breast. + + The dragon-flies across the pools may dart and drowse all day, + Sapphire and stinging emerald, with slit wings silver-gray; + The rabbit up the glen may leap, the rare thrush ring his chime:-- + But you will never come again for noon or twilight-time. + + --Take down your golden wings now from their hook behind the door, + And tie them tight against your back, the bright thongs crossed before. + The bright thongs strained across your breast to keep them straight and + true, + The golden wings, the wandering wings, that woke my love for you. + + The west wind calls, “Come forth! Come forth!” Look once within my eyes. + Tell me, “I know you loved me well, but now the whole world cries!” + Tell me, “You have been kind to me, but ah, I cannot stay. + A million miles of sea and sun, they whisper me away.” + + That is enough. I ask no more. I grow too gray to fly. + I can but walk the sheltered woods to watch the year go by. + The little cottage, dawn and dusk, shall keep me warm. And you-- + That I must give you back your wings too well, too well I knew! + + O Face of Youth that lit my dusk! O Hand too light to hold! + How should you wait? The west wind cries, who cried to me of old. + Lean down. I tie the broad bright thongs to keep them true and straight: + Your golden wings, your windy wings, that leave me desolate. + + + + +THE UNBORN + + + When out of the dark I come to you, + A faint new spirit, blank and blind,-- + A bird too weak to search the blue,-- + A ship too frail to take the wind,-- + + When out of the dark I come to you,-- + (You having called me from that Place + Where I might sleep the aeons through, + Lapped in the drowsy dark of Space,)-- + + Then must you claim me for your own, + Who seem no more your own than light, + Across an upland pasture blown + In the great solitudes of night? + + Body and soul, you live in me. + Yet strange am I, and wild, and new. + Oh, can your loving leave me free, + When out of the dark I come to you?-- + + + + +THE MOTHER + + + And now, they did not need her any more. + She heard below the shudder of the door, + The quick feet on the path, and she was fain + Only to snatch her sewing up again, + And sew, and sew, seam over feverish seam, + Hurrying in the dumb haze of a dream, + Thrusting away the moment when her hand + Should force her idleness to understand + That they were gone, all gone, and at the door + They would not call and claim her any more. + + Young as the morning, they were gone away, + Whose kisses kept her hair from turning gray, + Whose laughter kept her ready. Wherefore now + Should not those wrinkles deepen in her brow, + And she shut up her heart, and learn to be + Of her bright self a queer dull travesty? + And yet, the smile they left her must not die; + For crying now, might she not always cry? + “O God!” she whispered, sewing, “keep me! Oh, + Thou only, over all the world, must know!” + + + + +THE CHILDREN’S PEDDLER + + + Up above the village roofs the white road climbs away; + There among its maple trees the church stands cool and gray, + And the Dead Folk all around have houses still and sweet.-- + But I--I go a-peddling on the dusty village street. + + Uphill, downhill, rain and sunny weather: + Right foot, left foot, (faith, it’s hard on leather)! + Dolls and balls and kites and chains, knives and knick-knacks--oh, + I’m the crazy peddlerman that all the children know! + + All the village children shout and tag me down the street: + Bobbing braids and freckled cheeks and bare brown dusty feet. + “Have you got the marbles with the twisty glass inside?” + “Have you got the gun that popped?” “And oh, the doll that cried?” + + “Have you got a sailorman with wind-mill arms and oars?” + “I must buy a league ball, and a book to keep the scores.” + “Did you bring my box of paints?” They pull my coat and tease: + “Show me how to fly my kite!” “And run my jig-saw, please!” + + Eager eyes and laughing lips and dancing dusty feet, + So they cry and chase me down the maple-shaded street. + And the grown-up people smile from window-sill and door, + “It’s the children’s peddlerman, come to town once more.” + + Oh, the grown-up people smile and tap their foreheads wise. + If they think me simple--well, I must be, in their eyes! + But who’d peddle tins and tapes and soap and pious books, + When there’s heaven paid him out for knives and fishing-hooks? + + Uphill, downhill, every sort of weather: + Right foot, left foot, (and it’s hard on leather)! + None too much to eat and drink, shabby coat to wear; + No, it’s little wonder that the grown-up people stare! + + * * * * * + + But above the village roofs the church stands cool and gray. + There the Dead Folk lie at ease, and dream the years away. + There beneath a sweetbriar bush are three gray stones I know, + Worn alike, but one is tall, and two are small and low. + + When it’s summer dusk along the lazy village street, + When the children loiter home with tired eyes and feet, + And the grown-up people say, “You little drowsihead, + Put your playthings straight away and tumble into bed!” + + Then they never see me climb the steep white crooked road. + Underneath the apple-tree I hide my peddler’s load; + In the starry singing dusk I pass the churchyard gate, + And beside the sweetbriar bush I stand alone and wait. + + Oh, there’s nothing there to hear, nothing there to see: + Only stars and village lights and tree that crowds on tree. + No one answers when I speak; no one takes my hand. + But I think they hear my voice; I think they understand. + + Uphill, downhill, every sort of weather: + Right foot, left foot, (mighty hard on leather)! + Dolls and bats and blocks and stamps, knives and knick-knacks,--oh, + Just the crazy peddlerman that all the children know! + + + + +EVENING SONG + + + Little Child, Good Child, go to sleep. + The tree-toads purr and the peepers peep; + Under the apple-tree grass grows deep; + Little Child, Good Child, go to sleep! + + Big star out in the orange west; + Orioles swung in their gypsy nest; + Soft wind singing what you love best; + Rest till the sun-rise; rest, Child, rest! + + Swift dreams swarm in a silver flight.-- + Hand in hand with the sleepy Night + Lie down soft with your eyelids tight.-- + Hush, Child, little Child! Hush.--Good-night-- + + + + +THE NEW HOUSE + + + My little House is very young: + No shadow makes it grave. + With blue-bird-chintz and roses hung + Its chamber windows wave. + + Here never blind-eyed Grief has knocked + And entered groping in. + The doors, that seem so free, are locked + As yet to Death and Sin. + + Here only happy wondering dreams + Walk nightly to and fro. + They are the friends of white moon-beams, + And simple as the snow. + + My little House is very young + And very unaware + That dreams are wrought and songs are sung + In any subtler air. + + Oh might I keep its blue-birds bright, + Its hearth still warm and gay! + Oh might my House but know delight, + And not be dark, some day! + + + + +TO YOUTH--IN SECRET JOY + + + Shut out the wind, shut out the gloom, + Draw the gold curtains round the room: + The candle-light sees well that you + Are glad, as mortals may be. Through + Your heart a secret fragrance blows, + Like a June garden, when a rose + Leans to the wind: the light-lipped morn + Whispers, “So thou! so thou--art born!” + + Oh, far away the haunted past + With all its lonely spaces, vast + And hollow as an echoing hall + Of hateful dreams, where you might call + And run, but never find the end, + Nor window-slit, nor face of friend. + And far away the future. Far + Its shadow as its saving star. + (In truth, what stars shall shine? to make + The sky still holy for their sake, + When earth seems faded, and you know: + “Soon I must go. Soon I must go.”) + + So far--that dusk! Sit close,--and pray. + You have been very glad to-day. + Glad!--no one knows how glad. You keep + Your dear joy sacred as your sleep. + How could the hard world understand + The warm light tremor of your hand, + The flying flush, the dancing eyes, + And how your whole heart laughs and cries? + --You would as soon men saw you lie + White in your star-lit room, as spy + This secret. No, you need not speak, + Nor move the hand that holds your cheek; + You need not whisper. Only pray, + Because you were so glad to-day. + + For oh, you must remember this + Deep hour of hidden ecstasies, + Of fragrance and unearthly light, + Of sky-swept wonder when to-night-- + Nay! but you know so well why you + Are glad! let only God know, too. + + Only that you remember. Pray. + Sometime your Life may need this day! + + + + +FIRE FANTASY + + + Flame flies up in the chimney black. + Here I lie and bid him come back. + + Here I lie, on the fox-skin, white + As silver under the leaping light,-- + White and furry and kind and warm.-- + Out by the window scurries the storm. + + “Flame! O crinkly curly Flame! + Where are you going? What is your name? + Is it a star you are flying to? + Stay and tell me, O You!--O You!” + + But the flame he never, never comes back. + I lie and stare up the chimney black. + + Out in the hall the great clock chimes. + His voice is solemn as holy rhymes + That good monks made in old cloister cells, + Somehow charmed to sing in his bells, + Out in the dark, all deep and low, + Like sea-waves swinging to and fro. + + Here it is very still and warm, + But out on the window batters the storm. + If I were a ship, I would die to-night; + If I were a bird, I would freeze in my flight; + If I were a ghost, I would keep to my grave. + --But now, I watch how the wide flames wave. + Now, I dream of a thousand things: + Summer, and sea-foam, and queens, and kings. + + Flame flies up in the chimney black. + If I were a flame, would I ever come back? + If I got to a star, I would never come back. + + But there are no stars at all to-night. + Up in the sky there is never a light: + Only the souls of the flames, and they + Are thin and nervous, and scudding gray. + They blow, they blow, they shudder and blow. + The wind he hates them and hustles them so. + + “Wind! O Wind!--Are you mad?” But he + Shrieks and is gone without answering me. + + Flame flies up in the chimney black. + I am too sleepy to call him back. + + Now it is time to go to bed: + Furry fox, my head to your head; + Long warm fox, my back to your back; + I stretch, I stretch, till my best bones crack. + --I am so still with sleep, and warm. + --Out on the window shivers the storm. + + Sleepy fire, now purr and fall. + Great old clock in the dusky hall, + Chime for me; chime deep, chime low, + Like sea-waves swinging to and fro. + + --I saw in my eyes a queer thing then. + There was a woman with two tall men. + She had a blue shawl over her head. + One of them wore a cloak, blood-red. + The other one had a sword. And she + Was fair as an old-time queen to see. + They had been travelling--far--so far-- + --But oh, in my eyes a falling star! + Drowned in the sea.--And I saw a ship + With square sails over the sea’s edge slip,-- + I wonder--wonder--where.-- + Oh, then + I saw--gaunt hills, and a black old fen-- + A wind-mill,--water. --I saw--I saw-- + Sun-burnt boys and a stack of straw, + Yellow, yellow! and swallows flew-- + --Was her shawl yellow, or was it blue,-- + Over her head--?-- + Oh, I am so warm. + Out on the window tumbles the storm. + + I am so sleepy--the chimney is black-- + Flame--flame--are you coming back?-- + Have you found a star?--are you coming back-- + Coming back-- + Coming--back----? + + + + +AN OLD SONG + + + And if I came not again + After certain days; + If no morning sun or rain + Met me on their ways; + + If the meadows knew no more + How my feet go free, + And the folded hills forbore + Any speech of me; + + If you did not find me here, + At the door at night, + And the cold hearth kept no cheer, + And the panes no light;-- + + Oh, if I came not again, + Would you miss me much? + Would your fingers once be fain + Of my wandering touch? + + Would you dream me at your side + In the waking wood, + Where the old spring hungers hide + In blue solitude? + + Would you wonder where I passed, + Into joy or pain? + Oh, to know you cared, at last, + Came I not again! + + + + +HOME + + + Home, to the hills and the rough, running water; + Home, to the plain folk and cold winds again. + Oh, I am only a gray farm’s still daughter, + Spite of my wandering passion and pain! + + Home, from the city that snares and enthralls me; + Home, from the bold light and bold weary crowd. + Oh, it’s the blown snow and bare field that calls me; + White star and shy dawn and wild lonely cloud! + + Home, to the gray house the pine-trees guard, sighing; + Home, to the low door that laughs to my touch. + How should I know till my wings failed me, flying, + Home-nest,--my heart’s nest,--I loved you so much? + + + + +WILD WEATHER + + + The sea was wild. The wind was proud. + He shook my curtains like a shroud. + + He was a wet and worthy wind: + His hair with wild sea-crystals twined: + His cloak with wild sea-grasses green; + His slanted wings all gray and lean: + And strange and swift, and fierce and free + He cried, “Come out! and race with me!” + + I snatched my mantle wide and red, + And far along the cliffs I fled. + + The cliff-grass bowed itself in fear, + The gulls forgot what path to steer; + Below the cliffs the broad waves broke + In trampled ranks like fighting folk; + The ships with grisly sea-wrack blind, + Dead-drunken, cursed that chasing wind. + + My lips with salt were wild to taste. + I leapt: I shouted and made haste: + Along the cliffs, above the sea, + With mad red mantle waving free, + And hair that whipped the eyes of me. + + And there was no one else but he, + That great grim wind who called to me. + + Oh, we ran far! Oh, we ran free! + + + + +DAWN-JOY + + + Clean, clean as crispèd water-cress + The dawn-taste of the wind! + I got me out with hastiness, + And not a look behind. + + The sleep fell off my eyes like scales, + And off my feet like lead. + As thoughtless Things with hooves and tails, + I leapt, and tossed my head! + + The sleep swept off my heart like mist + That blurs a sun-lit sea. + I felt the keen blood curl and twist + To every tip of me. + + I felt as cherry-trees must feel + When all their blossoms shake; + Or like the black-bird routs that reel + Around a rushy lake. + + I thought, “And so the Sun must thrill, + Who strides upon his way, + And sees the hushed earth-hollows fill + With living golden Day!” + + I thought, “And God Himself must know + A Joy ten thousandfold + More free and thirsty, when His low + Dull earth grows glad and bold, + + “And rocks and quivers in His hand, + As I do, with the Spring + Across the wild green-gilded land + Unloosed and glorying.” + + --Clean, clean as crispèd water-cress, + The dawn-taste of the wind. + My thoughts leapt high with heavenliness; + My feet came close behind! + + + + +“NOW I WILL SADDLE THE SWIFT BROWN MARE” + + + Now I will saddle the swift brown mare, + And ride, and ride, to the sunset’s death; + With the wind like the hands of a star in my hair, + And the white frost snatching my breath! + + --Shut the door where the old books stand + Row on row in their musty cowls: + Monks, with a scourge and a cross in each hand: + Apes, and asses, and snakes, and owls! + + --Shut the door where the Gossips sit, + Hugging the hearth, with their brew of tea: + Picking men’s lives up, bit by bit, + Dropping them dourly and damningly. + + --Shut the door where my own Moods lie + Faint and white on a silver bed: + Delicate damsels, dreams that die, + Petals from pale white poppies shed. + + Oh, I will saddle the swift brown mare, + And ride, and ride, to the forge-fire-sky! + --Might I shoe her with stars that hang white-hot there, + Cooled in the sea-troughs, hissing high! + + Might I spur her with goads of the ice that grows + Sharp as steel on the mountain-lake! + Might I shout her the fierce gay song that blows + Out of the west where the sun-ranks break! + + --Look, I am weary of “Thus,--and So,”-- + Mantles that mildew and swords that rust; + Talk and trouble and meanness. Oh, + Why should I stay to be choked with dust? + + So, I will saddle the swift brown mare, + And ride, and ride, to the red world’s death. + With the wind like the hands of a star in my hair, + And the quick frost catching my breath! + + + + +TO THE NORTH + + + I give three calls to the North. + + Come forth! + Come forth! + Come forth! + + Out of the black fir-forests, where snow + Hides in the hollow places; where blow + Late spring winds; and the rivers run + Ice-green, laughing with late spring sun; + Out of the sharp white nights, too still, + (Star upon star, as hill upon hill) + Oh, like the fierce-foot rivers, set free, + Come and awaken and trouble me! + + (Name that I cannot cry, + Face that my dreams deny, + Feet that strode swift,--and yet + Should I one hour forget? + Shot from your life to mine, + Blazing and barbed, the Sign?) + + I give three calls to the North. + + Come forth! + Come forth! + Come forth! + + Here in my garden green + Lilacs whisper and lean. + Deep the grass at my door. + Shadows and songs fly o’er. + Out in the village street + Clatter of wheels and feet; + Children laughing, the chime + From the church-tower telling the time; + Hot May-sweetness, and I + Weeding my rose-beds, cry + Over the bristling hills to the North, + Hear me! Come forth! Come forth! + + Can you not run down a mountain-side + Like a rude green river’s rock-roughened tide? + Fly over forests of black-peaked firs + Like an eagle, proudest of voyagers? + Sweep like a notable wind to me, + Laughing and cold-lipped, to set me free? + + How can I wait so long? + Till the bob-o’-link slackens his song; + Till the roses have blossomed and blown, + And the little round apples have grown + Green on my twisted tree? + Can you not set me free + Now, while I cry to you? + Now, while the sweet nights through + I lie in the dark and feel + Life like a mad flame reel + Over the floors of my heart? + Now, while the wild dreams start + Clamoring out of the night and noon, + Under the clear sun, under the moon, + Clamoring, while I go + Soberly to and fro? + + How can I wait? I stand + And cry to you. Heart and hand + Reaches to you. Give heed! + I, in my garden, bleed + Small dark blood-drops of need. + + --Great bees blunder and croon,-- + Church-bell chiming high noon,-- + + O, like the fierce-foot rivers, set free, + Come! and awaken and trouble me! + Come! For I need you mortally! + + I give three calls to the North. + + Come forth! + Come forth! + Come forth! + + + + +UP ON THE MOUNTAIN + + + Up on the mountain, where nobody comes, + (But the wild wind walks, and the wild bee hums,)-- + + Up on the mountain, where nobody spies, + But the shy ones, the swift ones, soft-footed and wise,-- + + There in the singing and coolness and height, + With the thrush-voice all day and the brook-voice all night,-- + + There will I wander, and there will I rest, + As a deer in the fern, as a bird in the nest. + + Far from the faces that stare and are blind; + From the cold hidden heart, and the cold crooked mind,-- + + Up on the mountain where nobody sees, + I will sleep like a leaf of the green simple trees. + + I will fold in my heart all my wonder, and sleep, + While the white stars drift, and the white hours creep. + + --And far from the wind and the stars and the hill + I will wake in the hot nights and smile and lie still, + + As I feel on my eye-lids the hands of the night, + Like an echo of leaf-song, a star’s straying light. + + Oh, under the labor and blindness and heat + Shall be music to lure me and lighten my feet,-- + + Beating, + “Up on the mountain, where nobody comes,-- + But the wild wind walks, and the wild bee hums,-- + And the wild bee hums--” + + + + +“THE STARS GO BY” + + + Under the Lake he growls and he groans, + Tossing and twisting his frosty bones: + Grim old Giant!--but never we + Will chop the ice out and set you free; + Never we, while the moon rides high, + And the stars go by, and the stars go by, + As over the gray-glass Lake we fly! + + Nearer, nearer, the black shores swing. + Laugh and lean while the steel blades sing: + Laugh, and slip into silence.--See! + The world is aching with splendor! Free,-- + Free of our bodies our light souls fly + Up, where the cold moon freezes the sky,-- + Up, where the strange stars crowd into Space.-- + Oh, have they stared into God’s own Face? + Folding their flames in the Flame of God, + Over His terrible threshold trod? + + Oh, we are thirsty of light,--of light,-- + Space,--and silence--and God--to-night. + How can we hide them forever, deep + In our hearts from the dun days’ struggle and sleep? + Hide them, and know till we die, that we + Are free of the flames of Eternity,-- + Freer than falling stars are free? + + Ah, but our bodies grow stiff and cold: + Stars are shifting: the night is old. + We must come back out of Space, and see + How far it is to Eternity! + + So, from the shadowy pine-tree-shore, + Back to our bodies! swing free once more! + Chase the blurred moon whisking away + Down at our feet in the mirror gray: + Laugh, and lean to the steel blades’ song, + Flying along,--oh, flying along! + + But--there’s a star shoots over the hill. + Hush. For our souls are too thirsty still, + Thirsty, trembling with utter light. + Hush. We are going. + O Worlds, good-night! + + + + +STORM DANCE + + + The water came up with a roar, + The water came up to me. + There was a wave with tusks of a boar, + And he gnashed with his tusks on me. + I leaned, I leapt, and was free. + He snarled and struggled and fled. + Foaming and blind he turned to the sea, + And his brothers trampled him dead. + + The water came up with a shriek. + The water came up to me. + There was a wave with a woman’s cheek + And she shuddered and clung to me. + I crouched, I cast her away. + She cursed me and swooned and died. + Her green hair tangled like sea-weed lay + Tossed out on the tearing tide. + + Challenge and chase me, Storm! + Harry and hate me, Wave! + Wild as the wind is my heart, but warm, + Sudden and merry and brave. + For the water comes up with a shout, + The water comes up to me. + And oh, but I laugh, laugh out! + And the great gulls laugh, and the sea! + + + + +THE BLACK WITCH + + + Ye have driven me out from your court and your kirk, + From your market-square and your mill; + Ye have branded my name, ye have wasted my work, + Ye have done me a deadly ill. + + Ye have chased me to crags where the eagles cry, + And the sharp sun swallows the dew. + A Witch and a Devil’s Wife am I? + Then why should I come to you? + + The Black Plague walks in your shuddering street; + Your dead like herring lie thick. + With mantles over your mouths ye meet. + Ye take the dead for the quick. + + God’s Faith! My witchcraft could help you now; + My devils could daunt your death! + But I will stand under my rowan-bough + However ye waste your breath. + + I will not come down, I will not come down, + Nor weave you one wizardry, + Though all the roofs o’ the little red town + Go tumbling into the sea. + + Though all the cracks o’ the craggy Rock + Gape wide as the mouths o’ Doom, + I will stand at the crest and make you a mock + Till ye long for the grave’s gray gloom. + + Black Plague! Black Plague! push open their doors! + Lie down in their beds this day! + Heavy and hard are my ancient scores. + Black Plague! but we make them pay! + + Oh, up and up in the face of the sun + My voice like a flame shall flee, + With Curse on you, Curse on you, every one, + Who wrought such a curse on me! + + + + +RIDE + + + Lean in the saddle and look aside. + Ride! + + Turn the flame of your face away. + It is white as a tree in May. + It is bright as a star at sea. + It is terribly dear to me. + + Lean in the saddle and look aside. + Ride! + + Black-maned Balor is proud of you, + Racing down in the dawn-red dew; + Racing down with the dust behind, + (Crackling lash of the sun and wind,) + Black-maned Balor will never see + Here in the bushes the eyes of me, + Staring out like a fox in lair, + Hungering out through my clotted hair, + Pulling you from the saddle, down, + Down through the fern and the bracken brown, + Down, to the hollow where I lie, + Trembling to feel your face flash by. + + Ah, but you must not see--not see! + You must never look once at me. + + Days gone by, and I rode with you + Over the dust and under the dew: + Light and perilous, rash to ride, + Laughing, high as a hawk with pride. + + Now I kneel in the brake and hide. + (Ride.) + + Oh, if I might stand clear and cry, + “Look! It is I again! It is I!” + Swing you down from the saddle,--No! + Turn the flame of your face and go! + Watch the white clouds up in the wind; + Laugh for the keen miles cast behind. + Look not down at the burnt road-side. + + Dogs that have bitten must slink and hide. + --God! that I loved you and hurt you! --See, + I will not ask for one look at me. + Safe as a star in the sky-ways wide + Ride! + + Galloping hoofs on my heart, my pride. + Love of me, Love of me, lean aside! + RIDE! + + + + +ROMANCE + + + Come over the waters and find me! + The weeds by the wet shore bind me. + The water-snakes float + Round my slime-dragged boat, + And the clouds of the sun-dust blind me. + + Come over the waters and hold me! + Hot fingers of Horror enfold me. + My white swan lies dead + In his nest blood-red, + But the marsh-geese chase me and scold me. + + Come over the waters and woo me! + The rude Marsh-People pursue me. + From tussock and brake + They leer and they shake + Their hairy hands holden unto me. + + Come over! Come over! Come over! + O Beautiful Sunrise Lover! + Come over the hill of the waters! + --I am one of a great King’s daughters: + I am fair, I am sweet, + From my head to my feet; + I am young as the day; + Yet my heart grows gray + Ere the terrible charm be broken: + Ere the dawn-word swiftly be spoken: + And my boat swing free + To the clear blue sea, + And the sin of my race be wroken! + + Come over! I cry unto thee. + I cover my face and sue thee. + The Marsh Men seize and enslave me! + Come over the waters and save me! + + + + +O MY LOVE LEONORE + + + O my Love Leonore! O my lithe Lady! + Is it the Grave you are gracing to-night? + Is your breast cold now and covered with white? + Are you grown stiff, who were lissome and light?-- + + Are they the plain coffin-planks that you see, + Narrow for feet that were flying and free, + Rude for white hands that wove spells over me?-- + O my Love Leonore,--O my lithe Lady?-- + + Is your cheek cool of the flush that I fanned? + Must you not dance now, nor once wave your hand? + Can you not laugh, through the small stones and sand,-- + O my Love Leonore! O my lithe Lady?-- + + --It is the Grave I am gracing to-night. + I am clay-cold now, and stiff-limbed, and white. + A great Lord, DEATH, hath me in this plight. + + O my Love Leonore, O my lithe Lady, + If he, the great Lord, lays hands on your hand, + He will not help you to dance or to stand; + Nor from your eyes brush the small stones and sand. + + Therefore farewell. Whom he wooeth is won. + Therefore farewell. I am jealous of none. + Are not both dancing and dying soon done? + O my Love Leonore,--O my lithe Lady?-- + + + + +THE CHANGELING + + + I have two horns upon my head. + They please me, being garlanded + With creepy pine, and berries red + From some old secret hawthorn-tree. + + I have two horns, and hoofs also: + Brown questing hoofs, that clip and go + Over the mountain, high and low, + From sky-crack to the droning sea. + + My Mother would have shame of me + If she could see--if she could see + Those horns and hoofs that make too free + With what she bore and bred so straight. + + She taught me to be still and good; + To walk demure as maidens should; + Wear dainty slippers, silken snood, + And not come loitering home too late. + + But now I dance, I dance all night, + By faint star-light or fierce moon-light, + Over the mountain,--till the white + Dumb dawn comes fingering, soothing me. + + With whom I dance, with whom I sing,-- + Why need my Mother know this thing? + In my green chamber slumbering + She finds me sweet and white, when she + + Strokes down my curls. She does not know + Two horns beneath her fingers grow; + Rough horns: and I have hoofs also, + Not feet like pale flow’rs on the floor. + + Oh, if you met me on the hill, + Moon-maddened, dancing to my fill, + O Mother, could you love me still,-- + This wild-heart thing you never bore? + + + + +HOOFS IN THE DARK + + + I wake in the night, and my heart says, “Hark!” + I lie like a corpse in my cool white place. + For hoofs go by in the dark, in the dark. + I turn on my pillow and bury my face. + + The night is a tomb that smothers and sounds. + The night is a cavern uncressetted. + The blood in my ears like a mallet pounds. + My heart goes wild and my eyes see red: + + Red and purple with prickling light, + Terrible broken light like glass. + For your hoofs go by in the breathing night, + And I dare not call you nor see you pass. + + Loud on the bridge and up the hill, + Low and dull on the turfy lawn: + You ride with the wind, at the dark wind’s will, + With the alien stars, an hour ere dawn. + + * * * * * + + When I am dead, and the tapers burn, + As stiff and pale in my place I lie, + What shall I do if I cannot turn + And bury my face when the hoofs go by? + + What if my body rose in its shroud, + And leaned like a mist the casement through, + Being no longer mortal and proud,-- + Questing you, calling you, claiming you? + + Would you draw rein? Would you see my face + Wan with wonder and love and death + Shine out once from the window-space,-- + Shine, then fade with the frost’s white breath? + + Would you draw rein? Who knows? The tide + Of my blood runs high, and my heart says “Hark!” + I have long to live, while you ride--you ride-- + Out in the dark; out there in the dark.-- + + + + +“WHAT I DESIRE TO SAY” + + + What I desire to say will not be caught in words. + --I have been on the hills to-day, hearing strange leaves and birds. + I have been on the city street, hearing the pavements groan. + Now I am come again, glad of your face alone. + + Here in the quiet house, where the soft night walks through + Window and open door, whispering to me and you,-- + Here, where no stranger sounds than the far bell-chimes come,-- + Here, being most at peace, yet am I far from home.-- + + Even as if the stars started and strained in space,-- + Even as if the winds shook Heaven’s audience-place, + Pressing the sapphire walls, out, till they cracked and rent,-- + So in my side my heart strains through our still content. + + --You, that of all the world know the wild ways I go,-- + (You, flying farther yet, sweeping more high, more low,) + Even to you, to-night, I must be dumb as death. + What I desire to say dies ere I give it breath. + + + + +Transcriber’s Notes + + + - Italics represented with _underscores_. + + - Small Caps converted to ALL CAPS. + + - Variations in hyphenation kept as in the original. + + - “As I Drank Tea Today” (p. 13), line 5 - changed “laugher” to + “laughter” + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78755 *** |