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 TujuNGA Songs 
 
 by 
 
 B.C.Huber 
 
Class J£S3_^5 
 
 GpiyrightN?. 
 
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 CXOMUGHT DEPOSm 
 
Tujunga Songs 
 
 by 
 
 B. C. Huber 
 
 Balboa Beach, California 
 B. C. Huber 
 1922 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
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 Copyrighted 1922 
 by B. C. Huber 
 
 JAN -4 '23 
 
 CU690005 
 
To 
 
 Mother 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Invoking Mercury ^ 
 
 The Fairy Circus ^ 
 
 To Thomas Troward ^ 
 
 The Poet and the Queen ^ 
 
 Q 
 
 Revelations 
 
 Foolish Song ^" 
 
 Conception 
 
 Here I Am - ^^ 
 
 Lisby's Goat ^^ 
 
 Lullaby ^^ 
 
 Enter Barnabas ^^ 
 
 Dot: or the Stubborn Pup 16 
 
 Off Fall River 20 
 
 TujuNGA Songs 
 
 What's It Good For? 21 
 
 Blowing Up Rain 22 
 
 After the Rain 23 
 
 All Alone Down the Road 24 
 
 A Rustle in the Brush 25 
 
 Meditation 27 
 
 The Whiskey Bottle of the Big Tujunga 28 
 
 Flow Stones 3^ 
 
 Cross Country 31 
 
 Glace Bay 34 
 
 The Linemen 35 
 
 Progress 36 
 
 With Unkind Words I Cut a Boy 37 
 
 Yes 38 
 
 Ballad of the Sick Heart 39 
 
Herman Kuehn 41 
 
 Death of Labor 42 
 
 Spring to Thy Fullness 43 
 
 To Thee 44 
 
 Shelley 45 
 
 'Lone 46 
 
 Sandy and I - 47 
 
 River 50 
 
 Sonnets 
 
 By Worms That Burrow 65 
 
 If Thou in Infancy 66 
 
 Where Are the Flying Beams 67 
 
 Beauty's Perfection 68 
 
 It Is in Thee Love's Daughter 69 
 
 Thy Beauty Is a Fecund Power 70 
 
 Not of the World That Seems To Be 71 
 
 I Call It Health .72 
 
 I Hear Men Talk of Jesus 73 
 
 Look, from the Seed of Power 74 
 
 If It Was Fated 'Ere the Mists Arose 75 
 
 As When the Stars Prick Thru the Resting 
 Leaves 76 
 
 I Rode a Stallion 77 
 
Invoking Mercury 
 
 Hullo, swift prankish boy, blind Homer heard 
 
 And saw with eyes within his ear. What word 
 
 Hast thou today to fling confounding 'mong 
 
 The aged babies whom decay makes young? 
 
 Touch once again the strings of light for me 
 
 As when thine song's persuasion, swept thee free 
 
 From bright Apollo's vengeance. Then thou sang 
 
 For Homer, and again thru Shelley rang 
 
 Thy freshened hymn. If now the winds of pleasure 
 
 Blow thee to me, unlock again "the treasure 
 
 Of thy deep song," and spill the dust of earth 
 
 In shining chords within me, giving birth 
 
 Thru music drunk from love's clear crystal river, 
 
 To marriage with myself. A gen'rous giver 
 
 Be, sweet thief. Draw back on the wings of song 
 
 Myself, and knit my wandering halves of love in one. 
 
 The world's afloat within the mind of man — 
 
 The earth, a liquid stone, a speck of dust, 
 
 A moving point producing time, yet can 
 
 Unfold eternal. Not only can, but must. 
 
 Sing then, bright laughing drop. Shout thine high joy 
 
 From the canyon's pocket over the hills. 
 
 Scatter my dark camp's fiery stars, wild boy, 
 
 Upon the floor of night, until it fills 
 
 With the breathings, and meanings, of amorous love. 
 
 That's mischief, buttered thick with laughter, little dove. 
 
 Spill now, thy bag of treasure on this patch of ground, 
 
 Sweeping the sands of reason from the rock of sound. 
 
The Fairy Circus 
 
 Come boy o' mine, — up on my knee. 
 
 It's story time. What shall it be? 
 
 The Fairy Circus? What? Again? 
 
 Just once? All right — Please sit still then. 
 
 To-night, when you are tucked in bed 
 The fairy workmen, come to spread 
 The lovely circus tent of mist. 
 Where all performers keep the tryst, 
 Down by the brook beneath the moon, 
 Where frogs and crickets creak and croon. 
 Then other fairies build the rings, 
 While spiders spin the nets and strings 
 For trapeze, tightrope; all such things. 
 As need a finely finished line 
 As strong as steel and soft as twine. 
 Before their tiny hammers cease. 
 The humming noise of wings increase; 
 The ticket taker takes his place, 
 That Jack-in-Pulpit yields with grace. 
 The crowds of fairies softly light. 
 They seem to grow from out the night. 
 They come on bats and riding rats. 
 Great crowds arrive on ov/ls and cats. 
 They hitch their steeds outside the tent. 
 The children first within are sent 
 To pick whichever seats they wish 
 Or at the brook edge feed the fish. 
 When all the folks are seated there, 
 With each a firefly in his hair. 
 And glow worms set to light the place, 
 And show to friends each fairy's face, — 
 
The Master Mummer takes his stand — 
 The music starts — In comes the band. 
 The crickets crick, mosquitoes hum, 
 The night birds call, the bull frogs drum; 
 The show is on. The pace is fast. 
 From now till dawn the fun will last. 
 The clowning beetles tumble round. 
 The nimble flees scarce touch the ground. 
 White mice, to chariots harnessed, race — 
 The fairies driving with much grace. 
 Upon the brook things happen too; 
 Here many of the stunts are new. 
 The bugs with boats of air for feet, 
 With oarlike hands each other greet; 
 Then draw off quickly; leap and fight; 
 Fair fish swim round from light to light. 
 Toads hop a-turtle-back and skim 
 From distant shore, to brook's near brim. 
 The boys come round with drinks to sell, 
 All cupped in valley lily bell, 
 Distilled from nectar by the bees; 
 Who would refuse is hard to please. 
 Soap bubbles blown and burst to-day. 
 Are brought to life and help the play. 
 A push ball game is started then; 
 So, fancy serves, for fairy men. 
 
 From dark to dawn, thus runs their mirth. 
 For fairies joy in life from birth. 
 But when the eastern dawn draws near, 
 In bubbles fairies disappear. 
 
 You ask, "Where was the Fairy Queen?" 
 My dear; each fairy girl's the queen 
 
Of her own life, and every boy's 
 
 A king. The fairy life is joy; 
 
 Each fairy does just what he will, 
 
 While doing so serves no one ill. 
 
 And no one ever says him nay. 
 
 If he prefer to laugh and play. 
 
 But when he asks, "Why? What? and How?* 
 
 No fairy says "Don't bother now!" 
 
 He answers always, if he can. 
 
 And when he can't, points out the man 
 
 That will know, just that thing he asks. 
 
 You see; the fairies have no tasks; 
 
 As naturally as flowers they grow. 
 
 To live, and love, and know, and know. 
 
To Thomas Troward 
 
 You know. 
 
 Your words flow 
 
 Calm with the truth as they go 
 
 Swelling with mighty bliss, quietly to grow 
 
 Into an irresistible river of life giving light. 
 
 You comfort me, 
 
 Soothing with strong knowledge, 
 
 OfiF'ring the Bread and Wine — 
 
 Your own delight — now mine. 
 
 Elder brother — 
 
 With the pride of a lover 
 
 I kiss your foot. 
 
 You taught me 
 
 Who 
 
 I am. 
 
The Poet and the Queen 
 
 In olden days the human race 
 Contented lived with noseless face. 
 
 A poet sang delight in smell. 
 The people kicked him into hell. 
 
 Seduced by beauty in the rose 
 To dream of waiting joys unknown; 
 By God ! He grew himself a nose 
 And all earth smells became his own. 
 His joyful song with lilting grace 
 From hell assailed the noseless race. 
 The queen with nothing else to do 
 Demanded that she might smell too. 
 The flat faced wise men moaning long 
 Declared her wish a deadly wrong 
 Bred by the hell tuned poet's song 
 That ravishes a wanton mind. 
 
 "I wish to smell; the poet bring!" 
 Said the queen to her doleful court. 
 "The queen has surely lost her mind 
 She's ready to dance if the devil will sing." 
 Said the flattering folk as the poet was brought in; 
 — And they crowded close to watch her sin. 
 The crowd beheld the poet's nose; — 
 "Look at his face. Look how it grows; 
 The face is no place to have a toe sprout." 
 With boisterous laughter the people shout. 
 And the poet stands there humbly dumb. 
 "That's not a toe. It is a nose; 
 The thing he smells sweet smells with," 
 
Said the Queen intuitively. 
 
 "It's rather ugly I admit, 
 
 But it's interesting, isn't it?" 
 
 She said to her smirking court. 
 
 "Oh dear, how charming. Don't you know." 
 
 Declared the court with lusty crow. 
 
 And a moon-faced dainty lady 
 
 Kissed the blushing poet's nose. 
 
 Said the poet: 
 
 "What do you wish of me?" 
 Said the Queen: 
 
 "I wish to smell." 
 Said the poet: 
 
 "First you must dream of smells and dream you have a smeller." 
 Said the Queen: 
 
 "You'll have to teach me." 
 The singer paused and stroked his nose 
 Said he "Desire knows how it grows, 
 But I'll be hanged if I do." 
 The vacant crowd heard him aghast; — 
 "He ridicules our Queen" they cry 
 "His smelling songs are all a lie; 
 Let's kick him back to hell." 
 "Yes put him back, but treat him well; 
 Oh dear, I fear I shall not smell," 
 Said the Queen — "Oh well, oh well; — 
 That incident is closed." 
 
 The poet went back into his hell 
 And there he sang midst lovely smell 
 'Til many hearing were seduced. 
 They also wished his joy to taste. 
 
 Their wish at last became a knob. 
 
 7 
 
*Twixt eyes and mouth, with itch and throb 
 It grew into a nose. 
 
 Their secret lust at last exposed 
 Some now proclaimed it virtue. 
 And virtue being rewarded well 
 The virtuous only thus could smell. 
 The mighty hosts of noseless good 
 Howled loud at this strange blasphemy. 
 A law was passed by counted vote 
 Of the all wise majority. 
 All noses grown from that day forth 
 Were declared to be illegal. 
 
 But the happy poet in hell sang true 
 'Til all our secret wishes grew 
 And each one has a nose. 
 
Revelations 
 
 Ho, in the thickets — come and pipe. 
 Come woodsy pipers — Spring is ripe. 
 By clear high ringing, joyous singing, 
 To be set free from winter snow. 
 Come, pipe with me the song we know. 
 
 Seeds, sleeping, thrill and wake; — 
 Happy, then, their life thirst slake 
 And kiss the brown hills green. 
 Sun and new buds are here. 
 Love and dear eggs swing near. 
 Star children wait unseen. 
 
 Begin! 'tis Spring! 
 
 Sing down the tripping year! 
 
 Soar high sweet pipings clear! 
 
 Dread winter roaring dark. 
 
 Dies, when his dead dogs bark 
 
 Before Life's bubbling song. 
 
 Pipe from all thickets, clear and strong! 
 
 Unchain the Spring. 
 
Foolish Song 
 
 My belly is an unwalled room 
 Where men and women I consume. 
 Each carves an image on the wall 
 And never sees the joke at all. 
 
 My belly moans with waning stars 
 That wail around the screaming cars 
 Abouncing rough on bubble wheels 
 That kiss the brakes with dusty squeals. 
 
 My belly leaps with laughing lights 
 In squadrons sailing fallow nights. 
 They plow the inky surface up 
 And furrow fire burns in my cup. 
 
 10 
 
Conception 
 
 I come not from darkness, 
 
 For I am light. 
 
 From the outskirts of space, 
 
 From the interior of points, 
 
 I leaped and rushed, 
 
 Shouldering aside the many colored stars 
 
 In my eager desire. 
 
 And the stars joyed 
 
 And sang a sweeter song, 
 
 For they knew I was pulled by love. 
 
 I pressed myself 
 
 And all creation 
 
 To a point 
 
 Within a liquid pearl. 
 
 I swam 
 
 And grew deliciously 
 
 Into a baby. 
 
 Why do I cry? 
 
 11 
 
Here I Am 
 
 Warm, in the soft red dark I lay, 
 
 Safe sunk in love, in mother's garden. 
 
 She helped me build me, 
 
 She without and I within. 
 
 At my command. 
 
 Nine moons, enchanted, 
 
 Sheathed me in their weightless bands, 
 
 Fleshed me strongly in myself, 
 
 So that I may venture forth. 
 
 Hooray joy! — Oh I'm eager! 
 
 Mother darling! — Let me out! 
 
 I'm a woman! — Let me out! 
 
 Did I hurt you? — I love you mother. 
 
 Let your daughter Lisby out! 
 
 Such pain is glory. 
 
 Heavens crash on heavens on heavens on hells. 
 
 Come mother, through the calm firmaments. 
 
 Ah! Sweet! 
 
 Here I am, father! Here I am! 
 
 12 
 
Lisby's Goat 
 
 She came; the gate to the earth opened wide at her call 
 When the sweet flowering flesh turned the key to the Vast. 
 And many deep kisses she took to herself 
 As she built her a home from the red flood that passed 
 Thru the garden of love, where enchanted she slept. — 
 Till with kicks and a yell, as a babe out she leapt. 
 
 She smiles; The great soul smiles out thru her soft loving eyes 
 
 At this magic new life that is bursting to form 
 
 Like a plant from a seed in a hot moist spring 
 
 When the pulse of the earth throbs with growth quick and warm. 
 
 She laughs; — For fresh streams of living run bright with delight. 
 
 From the green wooded rocks in their sun freighted flood 
 The jewels are sifted and hung in a bag 
 
 Whence she draws the rich sparkles that flow in her blood. 
 The strength of the mountain slips smooth down her throat 
 In a sweet flow of pearl from dear Lucy her goat. 
 
 13 
 
Lullaby 
 
 The calves say baa and lie down to rest. 
 The birds all dream in their woven nest. 
 The dark falls soft on the hillside bright, 
 Cov'ring all for the night, 
 
 With sleep; sweet, deep, sleep. 
 
 Her manchild floats in his mother's arms, 
 Dear sleep drifts near with his drowsy charms. 
 Snuggle in close to your mother's breast 
 And swim down deep to rest 
 
 In sleep, loved one; sleep. 
 
 The stars weave songs in my darling's sleep. 
 The fairies lull him with kisses deep. 
 They build new days full of happy joy 
 By night for mother's boy. 
 
 In sleep; sweet, deep, sleep. 
 
 Dear soul, in thy soft pink bud of flesh. 
 At dawn thou shalt wake with petals fresh. 
 Washed bright by the dews that waft in sleep 
 From rivers hidden deep. 
 
 He sleeps; my baby sleeps. 
 
 14 
 
Enter Barnabas 
 
 Purple circles shimmer in colliding waves 
 Folding up the velvet mountains of the night 
 Stretching thin the filming dusk that bound the caves 
 To darkness, till bulging pockets burst in flowers of light. 
 Glowing pansies, smiling, flutter by in hordes 
 
 Leading the romping flowers to the fire rimmed sea 
 
 Rivers of candles of heaven wave their swords 
 Laughing as they flow flaming thru the heart of the lea. 
 Blisters on the curtain burst — the drops shine clear 
 Lit by the light on tender lips — A red yawn 
 Opens the womb of compassion — and drab fear 
 Slinks off" with her soiled rags — leaving the lusty dawn. 
 
 A thunderbolt, a quiv'ring kiss, a strong man 
 
 Is here — meditating Love. 
 
 15 
 
Dot 
 
 The Stubborn Pup 
 
 I'm a brindle bull — my name is Dot. 
 Tho my ears are long — my tail is not, 
 
 For my breeder bit the last part off. \ 
 
 But the wag he left behind for me t 
 
 When I still was a sucking puppy. I 
 
 I 
 
 When one month old, I was lightly sold, j 
 
 For 'ten round dollars, hard and cold ' 
 
 — Tho at lirst quite sad — I was soon right glad, ] 
 
 For my new boss was a fresh young kid j 
 
 Who approved of everything I did. i 
 
 First he kept me swelled so tight with milk, j 
 
 That my belly felt as fine as silk, i 
 
 And I smiled and slept and ate and smiled. ! 
 Tho the experts said this should never be — 
 
 My belly and Bill both agreed with me, '■ 
 
 i 
 Soon I'd run and wrastle all day long 
 
 And growl at the people that didn't belong ; 
 In the yard that belonged to me and Bill. — 
 
 — With my strong teeth sunk in young Bill's hat, ] 
 He could sling me around — a fine trick, that. 
 
 j 
 
 And the Reilly's dog would jump our fence, • 
 
 To come and carouse — My! that dog had sense! — j 
 He taught me to snap, to tackle and dodge — 
 With tail for a rudder, he'd turn with a flounce — 
 
 I sure had to hustle to keep up with Bounce. j 
 
 I 
 
With my nose to guide us— whatever Bill did— 
 We'd trail him and find him— no matter where hid— 
 And we'd bark and say— "Bill— Please do it again"— 
 So he'd pick up our ball and throw it away— 
 Or some such fine business would fill all our day. 
 
 Then in Ma\, when we'd wilted, and quite lost our vim, 
 Bill went in the river and I learned to swim. 
 When later Bill sailed and canoed and had fun, 
 Overboard I could jump and take care of myself— 
 They couldn't put a smart pup like me on the shelf. 
 
 But I wouldn't learn any darn fool doggish tricks— 
 I wouldn't play dead— or jump over sticks. 
 If any old fogey said,— "Come with me. Dot"— 
 My right arm would pain me— I'd hold up my paw— 
 — 'Twas the best little trick that ever you saw. 
 
 And when the old slow ones w^ere gone from my sight, 
 I'd fetch on my ball and bark loud with delight.— 
 And Bill, that good feller, would play my own game— 
 For Bill understood more or less what I knew, — 
 That the thing that's most fun is the best thing to do. 
 
 Just once Bill attempted to break my strong will.— 
 The fight that I gave him, almost made him ill. — 
 He said, "Come along"— and I said, "I'll stay here,"— 
 He beat me and kicked me and banged me around. 
 Till I couldn't distinguish 'tween smell, sight and sound. 
 
 In spite of the roar and the dimness, 'twas grand, 
 And Bill found his old Dot was just chuck full of sand. 
 — When at last in despair, he had to give up— 
 Bill saw he might kill me — I couldn't stand — 
 We both understood — and I licked his dear hand. 
 
 17 
 
And after that licking, Bill knew very well, 
 That all the raw devils that force men in hell. 
 Couldn't make me say "yes," when I wished to say "no." 
 So since that great day, tho we've had lots of fun, 
 Bill says with respect — "Dot's one son of a gun." 
 
 A brown cocker spaniel named Jack lives next door, 
 Bounce tells me with candor that Jack is a boor. — 
 It may be — I'm certain he don't know too much. — 
 Jack doesn't like us, for Bill don't like Jack's Jim. — 
 Pouf — I'm smart enough to bamboozle him. 
 
 Jack comes every morning quite soon after dawn. 
 To get rid of his droppings upon our front lawn. — 
 So, of course, I drop my drops in his front yard too. — 
 That dog don't know yet how to rob a swill pail — 
 So I tip over his — and the boob wags his tail. 
 
 Yes, one of my friends is Bagheera, our cat. — 
 
 Tho, poor chap, he's no dog, one can't blame him for that. 
 
 If another cat dare to set foot in our yard. 
 
 With a yelp I am off, and that cat's up a tree — 
 
 Or over the fence — no cat can face me. 
 
 Bagheera is diff'rent. He came when so small. 
 
 One nip would have killed him — that's no fun at all — 
 
 And besides he was Bill's and of course I love Bill, 
 
 So after I've eaten as much as I can, 
 
 I share with old Bag as I would with a man. 
 
 Old Bag's fur is downy — He's soft and smells sweet — 
 It's fine when he's snuggly 'nd curls up 'tween my feet. 
 Then I let him lick me with his neat little tongue — 
 — But what I've said is private — Let no other dog hear — 
 — 'Twould only stir up talk and dogs would say — "Old 
 Dot is queer." 
 
 18 
 
But jumping barks and waggles — How I've talked away 
 
 the time — 
 I am really very busy and I hear the supper chime. 
 I've got a bone to bury — and I want to smell our post. 
 A strange dog has left his card there — and here's the 
 
 scent of three strange men. — 
 So I know that you'll excuse me — and I hope we'll 
 
 meet again. 
 
 19 
 
Off Fall River ; 
 
 The long ebb has reached the glassy slack. ; 
 
 Flood tide will soon make in. 1 
 
 All day the hot calm has beat upon us and the bay, | 
 
 Which lies, a gray mirror rimmed with distant hills | 
 Awaiting in poignant balance 
 
 To drink of the renewing surge from the sea. | 
 
 The gulls know. i 
 
 The fish know. | 
 
 And the fishermen are ready with baited hook to take | 
 
 the coming bounty. I 
 
 Ah — there she comes — The breeze. | 
 
 The dark streak spreading from the southwest over the | 
 
 water. . 
 
 The stifling heat is gone with the first whiff. j 
 
 The canvas slats. 
 
 The sheet blocks thrash madly. ] 
 
 The anchor is clear. | 
 
 The boom swings as her head pays off. 1 
 
 With a good full ] 
 
 Our sweet boat heels to the fresh salt breath from the sea. ' 
 She leaps with life. 
 
 The deck goes under as she sways before a strong puff ; 
 
 And carries on. j 
 
 Playful wisps of spray dash j 
 
 Drenching with their cold lash 
 
 Whipped lightly over the bow. 
 
 With a wild joy the wind is screaming; 
 
 Even now the blue bay's creaming 
 
 With the rushing white caps 
 
 Of the dancers. 
 
 20 
 
What's It Good For? 
 
 Sprawled on a shelf of stone, shaded by a mountain. 
 Sheer walls of rock — rain-carved — whiskered by the 
 
 bushy grasses 
 Sun baked — wrinkled — ochre tinted — crowned with 
 
 grey-brown, green-grey brush. 
 A lid of blue — illumined — a ceiling without arches. 
 Rustling leaves and combing swishes booming. 
 Many waters rush. 
 
 A cloud of bells swift rolling mistily below. 
 Amorous throated moon ripe women singing 'mid 
 
 tinkling silver. 
 A baby's tiny cry upspilling. 
 Soft drowsy air — ^sleep laden — bringing kisses. 
 A lizard skitting 'long the edge. 
 Dream music drowning day upon the ledge. 
 What's it good for? 
 
 21 
 
Blowing Up Rain 
 
 Dry blows the wind from the desert 
 
 Washing the sky. 
 
 Dusk fills the bowl of the hills. 
 
 Jagged the ranks of the mountains 
 
 Shoulder the night. 
 
 Mistletoe breaks from the sycamore 
 
 Cold burns the glittering sky. 
 
 The surf of the waves of the wind roars 
 
 High o'er the river. 
 
 22 
 
After The Rain 
 
 Hail to the white fleece drifting 
 
 Under the downturned bowl of the moon. 
 
 Sing Ho to the cold air sifting 
 
 Over the north-west shaggy crags. 
 
 The sand is hot today and sparkling 
 
 Are the jewels in the boulders by the river. 
 
 April quivers laughing with her kisses in the alders 
 
 And the willow leaves are dancing with their shivering 
 
 silvery lights 
 In the clean, rough wind. 
 
 Life lies on the hot white sands 
 In the lee of the rocks' smooth pastel musings, 
 And from the coves of color 
 The rugged brown and wild green mountains 
 Shoulder the frozen pool of blue 
 
 That slides the boisterous sun down the tuned and 
 poised west. 
 
 High over the peaks two eyes look down as we look up. 
 An eagle wheels beneath the snow cup of the moon. 
 
 23 
 
All Alone Down the Road 
 
 All alone down the road trot along in a jog, 
 Cross the stream rolling by, belled with light, on a log. 
 Call the dogs, here they come, let them come, come along. 
 Every step as it hits strikes the time for a song. 
 Let the air wash the blood, thru the nose let it rush! 
 Let the sweat dress the skin as the dew decks the brush. 
 Sweet the kiss of the earth spreads her rootlets within. 
 Now the stars and the grass in my flesh are akin. 
 
 High the trail winds among dreaming trees in the sun. 
 Here I lie with my dogs as they pant from their run, 
 In the shade of the smooth skinned manzanita bush. 
 Where his leaves breaking green from his red, gently hush 
 His branches' anguish, to carved green fretwork on the 
 burnished blue. 
 
 Now the dogs gnaw the bones of a dry shriveled fox 
 That the trapper in the winter cast below on the rocks 
 When the fur was skinned to deck the pretty lady sex. 
 
 Far the still hills heave their law abiding curves 
 Away away all around, and the sound 
 Of the wind in the trees across the valley 
 Is a sigh sweet with peace: or a cry of alarm. 
 
 24 
 
A Rustle in the Brush 
 
 When the moon in golden slippers, walks 
 
 Over the eastern rim, a woman to her demon talks 
 
 And listens well to him. She sits upon a gravel gash 
 
 Beneath a buckhorn bush. 
 
 Then falls her jeweled dusky hair 
 
 Around her knees, like starlit night upon two sunset peaks 
 
 And silently her demon speaks. 
 
 Six foxes glide along the halls 
 Whose roof is perfumed lilac balls. 
 They come to her on light toed feet. 
 Their waving tails the woman greet. 
 Six quail before her throne they place 
 An off 'ring to her hidden face 
 That she return them secret grace. 
 
 The woman touches with her toe 
 Each quail's head where the crest plumes grow. 
 And then the dance begins, — The prayer dance of the 
 foxes. 
 
 "Out of the lilac, under the thorn. 
 
 Leap to the hogback, treading with scorn. 
 
 Prance. Let the pebbles go rolling below. 
 
 Keen read the air, laugh contempt at the foe. 
 
 There's nought the man does that the fox doesn't know. 
 
 'Ware of the iron smell close to the trail. 
 
 The hound is a plodder, not so the Airdaile. 
 
 Sweet fleetness. Oh Wild Woman, give to our legs. 
 
 Let his nose lead the fox where the quail lays her eggs. 
 
 Give the boldness of cunning. Red Woman most fair — 
 
 — Hsst — the reek of a man and his do^: taints the air." 
 
 25 
 
The gravel gash shines silver white — 
 A wound cut in the velvet sheen 
 That clothes the placid hills of night. 
 No sound is heard — nor movement seen. 
 
 26 
 
Meditation 
 
 Number seven tennis shoes are on my feet 
 
 Which are over my head 
 
 Resting on the ends of my nice legs, 
 
 Which lean against the cool violet bark of a manzanita 
 
 trunk 
 On the edge of a cliff, 
 
 Where I lie on my back in the clean dust — 
 In the hot wind and the speckled shade 
 Dozing, 
 
 And wondering, 
 
 Who is rolling rocks in the river below. 
 'Til I hear a horse whinny. 
 And then I wonder 
 Why I'm here with everything arranged around so 
 
 conventionally promiscuous 
 'Til I catch a flying phrase on the wing— 
 I read it somewhere — 
 "Significance of form" — 
 
 But in my hand it yields plenty of feathers, but no bird, 
 'Til I remember the breasts and the lips and the eyes 
 
 of my love 
 And then I get up and go to her 
 To read her this I've written here. 
 And she will know it is a kiss. 
 
 27 
 
The Whiskey Bottle of the Big 
 Tujunga 
 
 Out of the dust of the earth, man formed me, 
 
 Blown by his breath, in the glowing sand. 
 
 Flat for his hip, and wide as his pocket, 
 
 He shaped, as he blew me, and gave me command 
 
 To carry hot kisses, his head and his hand. 
 
 Should ravish from rye babies, thralled by the sun. 
 
 In the long winter sleep ere they spring from the land. 
 
 Then full of the dark liquid amber fire imps, 
 
 Tight corked and labeled, "The Best of Scotch Rye," 
 
 I joggle around in the dark in old boxes, 
 
 While my imps dance with anger and gleefully cry: — 
 
 "Give us a man as quick as you can. 
 
 Let us bewitch him, pinch him and twitch him. 
 
 Make him see lies, fumble his eyes, 
 
 Mufifle his ears and pickle his fears, 
 
 'Til he bawl like a calf. 
 
 At his wit that is fit. 
 
 For only the slave that is free. 
 
 Let's dance with his spark to a fuddling cark. 
 
 Lest he lift but a bit of the lid off o' hell. 
 
 Oh boy — ^sing cuckoo." 
 My imps have their wish, for a man comes and buys me. 
 Away on his hip, warm and soft, I now ride. 
 Up 'mong the hills and in canyons we wander, 
 The pack burros leading with dawdling stride. 
 My man follows, dreaming of riches to squander. 
 That grow like the mistletoe, hung from his pride. 
 
 Chuckling my imps make their gurgling escape, 
 
 And dance in the blood of the jazz wooing dreamer, — 
 
 28 
 
Building a kingdom and making him king, — 
 Dooming their throned one, to beg for his throne, 
 'Til he lies down to sleep, and awakes with a moan, 
 To find the last imp is kissed limp in his blood, — 
 — And empty, I land on the sand with a thud. 
 
 Here, on the sands of the Big Tujunga, 
 While the seasons whirled, I've lain. 
 Blue and gold, kissed green and silver — 
 Sunbeams, dancing, lured the rain, 
 And the singing waters gurgled blithely, 
 On their rollick to the sea. 
 
 This was peace and beauty, 
 
 'Til one day a man came. 
 
 Seized me by the neck, flung me 'gainst a rock, 
 
 And with a tinkling plop, I smashed to smithereens. 
 
 "One deed irrevocable!" said my murderer. 
 
 Some day my smashed body will rot. 
 
 But— 
 
 I'm no mortal bottle. 
 
 I'm a poem forever. 
 
 29 
 
Flow Stones j 
 
 Flow — stones and hills and trees. | 
 
 Sing — men and birds. Croon frogs. ] 
 
 Bright bees — twang sweet the strings of sunlit air. 
 
 Mix all in me thy harmony. i 
 
 Then from my thrilling lips \ 
 
 Take flight. i 
 Fly thru the rolling earth on winged words. 
 In showers of glory fall on thirsty hearts. 
 Like crystal balls with music filled 
 
 Soft colored by the tears distilled i 
 
 From yearning mother eyes, j 
 
 Burst there in golden smiles ■ 
 
 And silver laughter. ] 
 
 30 
 
Cross Country 
 
 Come on. Got your sweaters? It is cold here outside. 
 Set the pace, Johnny Jones. Follow John, hit your stride. 
 We're away. What a day for a blood easing run — 
 
 For the first hundred yards, like a shot from a gun 
 Johnny leads and the bunch follows trailing behind. 
 Then he slows and we close to a steady running pack. 
 Look! It snows, but our toes, getting cold, soon will 
 
 warm. 
 Pat O'Neil, full o' hell, has to slap Johnny's back; — 
 Then they break from our midst, racing gaily away. 
 Steady there — Save your wind — Let the frisky puppies 
 
 play. 
 Take your time. — Seven miles is our stunt for today. 
 
 Here we turn from the road, 'cross a field to the woods, 
 With the pitter patter potter of our feet, muffled soft 
 By the snow, one or two inches deep on the ground. 
 Now our blood, flowing free, makes our cozy bodies 
 
 warm. 
 As we trot supple legged thru the woods in the storm; 
 And the snow, as it falls, kisses pink steaming flesh, 
 And we stick out our tongues, catching flakes, falling 
 
 fresh. 
 
 Oh, it's calm in the storm, to let your legs drift along 
 And be borne in the arms of the wind as you run. 
 While the snow sifting down, spreads enchantment 
 around. 
 
 Come along. Follow close here behind Micky's back. 
 
 31 
 
Watch his legs swell and lift, stretch and drop, as they fly. 
 See his feet kiss the ground; watch the play of his thigh 
 And the curve of his hips and the part of his lips. 
 Smell the sweat of sweet flesh, on the air damp and fresh, 
 See the smoke of his breath and the swing of his arms : — 
 And the poise of his head's not the least of his charms. 
 Thus we jog, 'til we're clear of the woods. Cross a field 
 Full of stubble speared nubbles, sticking brown out of 
 
 white. 
 And we puff, and breathe deep with delight, as we greet 
 A springy dirt road, that lends wings to our feet. 
 
 Down the road now, we go, with a full swinging stride 
 Past a farm, where the chickens flap, cackle and hide, 
 And the children press noses to windows to see. 
 
 Then, sharp to the right, we turn, straight down the lane, 
 Past the pens where the feeding pigs squeal and protest, 
 And the air is rich laden with damp manure smells. 
 Jump the fence at the end. Then cross stubble again. 
 Climb the hill. It's so steep, that we gradually slow 
 
 down to a walk. 
 And our tongues hang out, and we're blown at the top. 
 
 Come away. Say hooray. Stick your legs out and coast. 
 Let your feet drop ahead. Let your body be led 
 Thru the gate to the road — two miles now to the gym, 
 And down hill all the way. Let her go; this is play; 
 So, with pride, lengthen stride, for we're strong. 
 
 Bill and Pat, out ahead, race away in the lead, 
 
 And the close running pack, stringing out, follows fast. 
 
 Some at ease, drift along, while for some it's top speed; 
 
 But the fun of the run, in the gathering dusk, 
 
 'Long the tree shadowed street, on our fleet flying feet, 
 
 J2 
 
Is the joy in a body, that's tuned to the earth, 
 Thrilled by swift singing blood, chanting sweet, "Life 
 is good." 
 
 So we race past the lake, weary glad to the gym, 
 
 To wash clean in the shower, and glow fresh from a swim, 
 
 And dress slowly, content, while the gang yell their jokes; 
 
 And then go, walking slow, thru the thick falling snow, 
 
 Along flicker lit streets, in the dark early night. 
 
 To the supper that waits for our bellies' delight, 
 
 In the warm cozy room, we call home. 
 
 33 
 
Glace Bay 
 
 There's fascination in the pit no doubt — 
 
 The clinging blackness of the chambered night 
 
 Stirred dimly by the stunted pitboy's shout — 
 
 The shadows sliding numbly round his light. — 
 
 The jewels in the pillared walls of dusk 
 
 That welcome with their darts the lantern's gleam — 
 
 The rats that snatch the careless crumb or husk 
 
 Dropping beyond the miner's shadowed beam. 
 
 Somewhat the light does lend to thrill the dark 
 
 And by the blest comparison doth woo. 
 
 But oh — the pit mouth's singing golden spark 
 
 Whose finger beckons to the dome of blue. 
 
 Naught stirs within the night of ignorance 
 But shadows of the Word's invigorance. 
 
 I 
 
The Linemen 
 
 Frontiersmen — pushing back time and space. 
 
 Creatures at ease above the earth 
 
 The linemen, 
 
 Boldly wary, 
 
 Stretch the talking threads from pole to pole, 
 
 Place the cables that guide and restrain 
 
 The invisible Geni, — 
 
 The dangerous servant, — 
 
 While their bodies and arms 
 
 Unsmothered by the distance. 
 
 Sing. 
 
 35 
 
Progress j 
 
 High on the roof a fat man dickers with a lady j 
 
 For her leg in marriage. I 
 
 Among a backward people I 
 
 A man resigns the highest ofl&ce, I 
 
 Saying, ( 
 
 "No person wise enough to govern man." 
 
 Across the sea an army of little bones \ 
 
 Press shrinking skins of children ^ 
 
 Whose questioning eyes glow dull behind drab curtains, j 
 
 Swaddling their futile whimpers. 
 
 The flag waves over the bank. 
 
 And down the bay 
 
 Some men hang by their wrists in chains 
 
 In dungeons under sea — Free? ! 
 
 36 
 
With Unkind Words I Cut a Boy 
 
 With unkind words I cut a boy — deep 
 
 Perhaps — 
 
 He cut me back with his wry wince of pain 
 
 Recalling the unkind words 
 
 That beat me back within my self's dark dreamings 
 
 And escapings, 
 
 When the boy I was, 
 
 Sucked at the world, like him. 
 
 Now I will take my fault and roll it over in the light 
 
 That throws no shadows. 
 
 Where is it? 
 
 Gone? 
 
 Z1 
 
Yes 
 
 Come. Shut your eyes and we'll both fly, 
 
 Out into the Vast, that is known to lie 
 
 Just inside the mansion, where dreams are born. 
 
 Come. Fall. 
 
 Don't hold on. — 
 
 Let everything go. 
 
 First we'll take an ocean, 
 
 And warm it with a sun, 
 
 Until great clouds of mist arise, 
 
 And when thev have begun. 
 
 To sail ofiF on the gentle breeze 
 
 Our laughter fans along, 
 
 We'll fling white light beams in and out 
 
 To thrill with a kiss each sober drop, — 
 
 And for love of the drops, the beams shall burst 
 
 Into colored song, in the magic arch. 
 
 That marries the sky and the earth and the air. 
 
 To the light that flames in Man. 
 
 Come on. Leap easy, to the tip o' the top of our Rainbow. 
 Now we'll slide down the colors to the bottom of Heaven. 
 Hold. Let's stop this falling. 
 
 38 
 
Ballad of the Sick Heart 
 
 Oh Man drives man across the earth 
 Driving Oh Fighting Oh 
 And laughter speeds at every birth 
 To Anger Oh and Woe Oh, 
 
 The happy dead dance round the hearse 
 Leaping Oh and laughing Oh 
 The corpse within is every curse 
 Melting Oh away Oh. 
 
 The winding sheet is dream begemmed 
 Sparkling Oh shining Oh 
 Enwrapping cringing babes condemned 
 To living Oh and weeping Oh. 
 
 The stink flies off to outer dark 
 Away Oh forever Oh 
 Thru smoking teeth the furies bark 
 The body Oh is burning Oh. 
 
 The cringing babes arise with cries 
 Of anger Oh and joy Oh 
 With swords of light they rip the skies 
 Bright flashes Oh Wild laughter Oh. 
 
 In crystal nets they mesh the suns 
 For wisdom Oh is walking Oh 
 And naked where the werwolf runs 
 His ravening is transcending Oh. 
 
 39 
 
The numbered numbers raise their feet 
 Creation Oh moves onward Oh 
 And long still hearts again thrill sweet 
 The legions Oh are coming Oh. 
 
 Eight suns are rising side by side 
 The Evening Oh The Morning Oh 
 The Children guide the rising tide 
 Onswelling Oh Outrolling Oh 
 
 And soggy hearts lift liltingly 
 Deep drinking Oh the Waters Oh 
 And blithesome toes skip trippingly 
 Or wander slow so peaceful Oh. 
 
 40 
 
Herman Kuehn 
 
 You spoke without conceit to put again 
 
 Your thought in books. — If many scribes drew fire 
 
 From your warm light to heat an eager pen 
 
 Your kindling words did cherish their desire. 
 
 So many used — so few acknowledged thee 
 
 To be the pilot that thou wast to us 
 
 When from accustomed channels out to sea 
 
 We bore, to find the new lands calling us. 
 
 Beneath an oak thy shadow's ashes lie 
 
 But I have light from thee to dwell with me 
 
 That lends my weeping words a joyous cry 
 
 For thou didst glow with Immortality. 
 
 The blackening clouds embalm the tempest's doom, 
 But thou didst melt with light a time walled tomb. 
 
 41 
 
The Death of Labor 
 
 The ancient curse, wrath swollen as he dies 
 Sweeps wildly with his arms of cloud; — 
 Gropes blindly with his mirage shroud 
 To smother out the Godhead light that lies 
 Serenely waxing; — as the mystic curtain, 
 Fold after fold dissolving in the truth, 
 Reveals as law immutable — that ruth 
 Alone sustains what is. — That certain 
 As the birth of love in man; — with growth 
 Of love — the curse is doomed 
 To be consumed by playful laughter. 
 While the woman shall eat freely of the Tree 
 And whatever beauty man conceives shall be 
 As easily as ripened apple drops to earth 
 And he who lives shall lazily give birth 
 To Self yet more alive. — By Freedom's Law. 
 
 42 
 
Spring To Thy Fullness 
 
 Spring to thy fullness 
 
 Oh waiting hour. 
 
 I hear thy walking thru the murmurous talking 
 
 Of the waters. 
 
 Thy restful power o'erleaps the tumbling oceans 
 
 Beaming from my lips in clean sweet cuts of Light 
 
 Thru the black-walled Night. 
 
 Thy purple fingers bud from out the stem of Evening. 
 
 Thy closebound cloaking darkness splits; 
 
 And now thy face, 
 
 Washed bright with dew of glory, 
 
 Floods forth the Morning, thru the dust strewn skies. 
 
 Unsqeakable Remembrance. 
 
 Loosing my heart in ecstasy to smiling tears; — 
 
 I taste thy joy. 
 
 Come near! Come near! Oh Fateful Hour, 
 
 And yet more near. 
 
 I yearn! I swell! I burst to flower! 
 
 43 
 
To Thee 
 
 Place Thou Thy finger in my upreached hand 
 That when my young feet stumble I may not fall. 
 Let me chuckle as we run thru the forest with the wolf: 
 I with Thee, more tireless than his easy lope. 
 Bind Thou Thine single eye within my heart 
 And blaze and play thru out. 
 
 My feet are on the climbing trail. 
 
 The morning goes before me 
 
 And the purple peaks flush gold. 
 
 The dreadful valleys of the night 
 
 Spring out in beauty at my smile 
 
 And my wolf mounts guard over the deer upon the hills. 
 
 44 
 
Shelley 
 
 His body burned, his heart lay unconsumed; 
 A fiery stone, whose magic flame devoured 
 The veil of dream — and by his word empowered. 
 Revealed the true within — where lay enwombed, 
 The bloom that seeded in all seed that flowered, 
 From never to the end of ever. 
 
 45 
 
'Lone 
 
 I sang my song of a lonely soul j 
 
 But no song sang. 1 
 
 I dropped my bell in an unwalled hole \ 
 
 And no bell rang. \ 
 
 I flung my star at an empty sky ; 
 
 But no star shone. ^ 
 
 I searched the world to find an eye \ 
 
 To see my own. | 
 
 A formless night 5 
 
 Ate up the light, \ 
 
 And darkness moaned. i 
 
 Then I wept and sucked at my mother's breast \ 
 
 In shadowed night. j 
 
 She strangely smiled and more strangely pressed I 
 
 Me with delight. ' 
 
 A gay little bird on a great grey rock ■ 
 
 Chirped a song at me. ) 
 
 He turned the key in a time bound lock | 
 
 And dropped the key. ^ 
 
 \ 
 
 46 
 
Sandy and I 
 
 Back we come from the peak, 
 
 My silent dog and I, 
 
 Threading the tunnelled passageways 
 
 The patient cattle bored 
 
 When blindly shouldering thru the brush 
 
 They sought to lose their flies. 
 
 Here is our secret haven 
 
 Secure from the mad men of the towns. 
 
 Yes, Sandy. 
 
 Cold oatmeal in plenty 
 
 And hot red beans shall fill our bellies. 
 
 Don't growl you dear poop. 
 
 It's only that big bull ranging. 
 
 He wants a loving cow, not us. 
 
 Besides, men can pass up the creek bed any time 
 
 And never, never see us, 
 
 We're so safely hid behind the barbed bush. 
 
 And then, you know, old waggles. 
 
 No one has passed by in all the weeks we ve lived here. 
 
 Go ahead and eat now, you bottomless pit. 
 
 Ah! It's good to lie here in the brush 
 With full bellies. Ain't it Sandy? 
 Ouch! You snuggling slobber. 
 Don't eat my face. 
 Come! Lie down on the blankets, 
 Fleas and all. I love you— Dog. 
 What if you are an idolater? 
 You'll grow. 
 
 47 
 
Listen to the choir of heaven j 
 
 Singing in the brook. 
 
 The fairies are waking. 
 
 The dusk is growing. ; 
 
 See the tree that towers above us, 
 
 Bearing his great green torch ■; 
 
 Kissed to golden fire by the sinking sun. ] 
 
 Night slips in quickly in this canyon. | 
 
 It's dark already. : 
 
 Look how the trees stand out, i 
 
 Black black against the blue black of the sky, | 
 
 Why, — The stars are in the branches. | 
 
 These trees hang head downward from the earth, 1 
 
 And yielding shining fruits 
 
 Drop them on the skyee ground. \ 
 
 How quiet it is. ■ 
 
 The bells that tinkle in the brook i 
 
 But spread the hush. '■ 
 
 The living folk around sleep late tonight. 
 
 No! But feel! 
 
 The darkness waits for something. 
 
 The air itself expects. : 
 
 Ah Look. 
 
 Up the canyon the sky is lighting. ; 
 
 Softly as love the golden tide comes i 
 
 Creeping thru the trees i 
 
 Flooding magic into every leafy crevice. | 
 
 A new world has come 
 
 Borne on the flood of liquid moonlight. 
 
 The people of the wood are all astir. 
 
 The mice trip swiftly along 
 
 Their arching bridgework ! 
 
 48 
 
Pormed of interlacing saplings 
 
 Bent down by winter snows. 
 
 A deer comes slowly stepping thru the ferns, 
 
 To the brook. 
 
 Squeak and piping of the eager living 
 
 Fill the golden silver air. 
 
 Some day-birds snuggly perched and sleeping 
 
 From their dreams salute the moon 
 
 With a few stray bars of twitters. 
 
 An owl barks up and down the valley 
 
 And borne far on the mysterious air 
 
 Sounds the mellow bellow of a distant bull. 
 
 Oh Sandy. 
 
 Life creeps in and soaks all thru me 
 
 As the light floods thru the trees, 
 
 The glory of our thicket 
 
 Is the magic that's in me. 
 
 You can't catch that rat, you frisky pup. 
 
 But of course you want to try. 
 
 Go to it Sandy. 
 
 I'm alive. I love. I'll find her. 
 
 She is here tonight. 
 
 They've driven us out 
 
 Into Heaven. 
 
 Hooray Sandy. We're alive. 
 
 49 
 
River 
 
 There is a river that I know, 
 
 Where fleecy shapes sail down below 
 
 Across the under sky. 
 
 Where tender sun warmed kisses blow, 
 
 And blue the silent amber flow. 
 
 For folks like you and I. 
 
 Our river wanders thirty miles, 
 
 With scarce a frown mixed with his smiles 
 
 From pond to salty bay. 
 
 Thru woods and meadows, swamps and hills. 
 
 Past farms and towns, and high stacked mills, 
 
 Our stream flows calm or gay. 
 
 The dreamy air breathes thru the door, 
 
 Scatt'ring papers on the floor. 
 
 And beckons us to go. 
 
 We're more than men, we're only boys. 
 
 And not yet dead to earthy joys 
 
 We're coming — river that I know. 
 
 One morning when the world is grey, 
 And mist hangs low at break of day 
 Before the. rising sun, 
 We lift our light, clean-lined canoe. 
 Across the grass, wet-laced with dew. 
 And in the water run her nose. 
 And softly slide her out, till she's afloat — 
 I'll take the stern — you clamber in, 
 —We're off- 
 Silent at first, we drink the air — 
 — Dip paddle strong. 
 
 50 
 
— Grunt when you heave, 
 
 — ^Lift her along, 
 
 — Fresh muscles limbering up. — 
 
 As we cut on thru the wreathing mist. 
 
 The vapor blanket splits at last, 
 
 While breathing deep, we slip on past the little rocky 
 
 island. 
 And then we see, rolling beyond 
 The distant trees that fringe the pond, 
 The grey blue wooded hills. 
 — Soft low New England lazy hills. 
 That roll like long calm ocean swells 
 At rest in grey enchantment. 
 Ahead, across the glassy grey. 
 The tree crowned bank of gravel breaks 
 To let the waters out. 
 — Supple and warm — swinging along, 
 — Rhythmic we dip, to the lilt of our song. 
 And slip into the narrow lane of water 
 A scant canoe length wide. 
 
 That winds and twists among the wild and tender marshes 
 And the brambled copses. 
 — Sliding swiftly 'round the turns 
 Our paddles churn, to outwit the current. 
 — A startled pickerel flashes by, 
 An arrow 'gainst the sandy sky belovv^, 
 When caught up by the clear swift flow 
 Beneath the old stone bridge we go, and on and on. 
 — Up that gentle sloping grassy bank. 
 Under the close clump of pines — 
 The Gang — 
 
 Stale from beakers, books and calculations. 
 Gaily lazed and played thru spring vacations. 
 Singing droll and ribald lamentations 
 
 51 
 
E're the Juggernaut crushed down. j 
 
 — Now they've scattered thru the nations. I 
 
 — There's the Old Lone Pine up on the rock, ] 
 
 That Hop with much meandering talk, ] 
 
 Named the eggnog for, I 
 
 That time he mixed ten quarts of milk with eggs for eight \ 
 
 And we sat late ) 
 
 Around the fire and finished it. i 
 — Now the swift flow slackens 
 
 As the river opens into a pond \ 
 
 Where a mill clanks. ^ 
 
 Gently we ground upon the gravel — j 
 
 Then across the road we travel lugging all, ■ 
 
 And launch upon the shallow racing stream. j 
 
 Down we slip quietly thru the back yards of a town, j 
 
 Dodging the sunken rocks whose jagged crown j 
 Is hooded by flowing water wimples. 
 
 Swirling their velvet and bubbles away ■ 
 
 Thru night and day. j 
 
 Past litter and debris — j 
 
 — Tin cans in heaps and cotton waste that slicks the j 
 
 surface 1 
 
 With patches of oily skum ! 
 That spread their rainbows in the sun, 
 We sweep on, while time, and distance paint 
 
 And cleanse industries' slavish taint away. i 
 — There beneath those oaks. 
 
 Asleep in plush lined jewel cases, ■ 
 
 Under close cropped level lawns, j 
 
 Lie rotting bodies of the dead; j 
 Most cherished after life has fled. 
 — Here, having wandered north enough, 
 
 The river swings meandering west. ] 
 
 — Thru swampy forests, now we float, ' 
 
 52 
 
— Our amber highway flowing smoothly, 
 
 Picks us up and keeps us going on our way, 
 
 Whether, on a straight and tree walled drafty reach 
 
 We buck the wind and short steep waves 
 
 The current helps to make — 
 
 — Or idly drift along the quiet places 
 
 Where sunning turtles, startled wake 
 
 At sound of voices, sight of faces. 
 
 Or plash and swish of paddles, 
 
 And slip and slither in and disappear. 
 
 — High on a dead branch. 
 
 Often, a crow caws at intrusion of men on his gang 
 
 And leaps aflutter into the racing air — 
 
 Then rights and flies off, while the robbers 
 
 Take care to keep well out of gunshot. 
 
 — Oh, birds and muskrats and cows in the meadows 
 
 And many other people — ^but no men for ten miles. 
 
 — At the old deserted broken dam 
 
 We all excited let her slam; — 
 
 It's only two feet drop — why stop and carry? 
 
 A little wet? what then? — A thrill — 
 
 We're thru and down the race already 
 
 And floating on again all steady as a stately minuet. 
 
 — Suddenly, around a turn. 
 
 We flow into another river and go on — 
 
 Bending south now — 
 
 Under bridges, past meadows and woodlots 
 
 And stone walled farms 
 
 And long narrow islands with trees full of charms 
 
 For the wise young feathered lovers 
 
 That wish seclusion in their homes. 
 
 Till the stacks we've seen from far, are near. 
 
 And at the big dam — stretching legs, 
 
 We carry down the stony hill. 
 
 53 
 
While the children of the mill | 
 
 Lug our paddles — yell and curse, i 
 And point out the water ladder 
 
 Built to help the spawning herring and the shad i 
 
 Climb the dam on their sad eager pilgrimage. ; 
 
 Five more miles of soft country down stream 1 
 
 Then across the road, along the bank are seen i 
 
 Houses — growing closer and closer and close. ' 
 
 We're going to the city almost. ■ 
 
 There's where the city lovers walk 'long the river road ^ 
 
 And look down into the starry water l 
 As they lean upon the fence that tops the wall 
 That holds the road from the hungry river. 
 — There's the boat club — ^^boyhood palace of delight, 
 
 — That yellow building on the right, ] 
 
 With floats and open sliding doors, 1 
 
 And Cap, there, smoking at his chores. — ■■ 
 
 —"Hello Cap"— "No— No stop today." i 
 
 — We slip along upon our way. \ 
 
 Under trestles — more back yards — j 
 
 Then past the mills, where spills i 
 
 The waste that spoils the hole, | 
 Us kids possessed before they built there. 
 
 There's the stump we dove from; j 
 
 And there's the tree the rope was in ' 
 We used to swing and fly from, into the water. 
 Like merry brown skinned frogs at play 
 
 In and out all day. \ 
 
 — Around the turn we swing, and glide -^ 
 
 Down thru a straight highway ^ 
 
 Of water; lined with ranks of piles, \ 
 
 — Uniform, grey, unthinking soldiers i 
 
 Bearing upon their sturdy shoulders \ 
 
 The drab romantic warehouses, ) 
 
 54 
 
Looming high — to form a canyon, 
 
 From whose wooden faces, dusty windows — 
 
 Like stolid bleary eyes — unblinking — 
 
 Watch the watery street . 
 
 That schooner there's discharging wheat. 
 
 There's another loading brick, 
 
 While those barges brought up coal. 
 
 Fetch and carry, is the goal 
 
 Of all these clumsy hookers. 
 
 — At the bridge now — two onlookers, 
 
 — Dawdling boys — spit upon us as we pass, 
 
 — Then run across to spit again 
 
 And find we're out of reach. 
 
 — ^A half mile more, thru littered scum. 
 
 Some trees appear and here we come. 
 
 Upon the green hem of the town, 
 
 To the low squatting sheds, where Brown 
 
 With loving cunning in his hands. 
 
 Deftly marries wood and metals 
 
 Fair and smoothe as lily petals, 
 
 'Til they blossom into beauty 
 
 As the living hulls of yachts. 
 
 — And hard by, along the bank. 
 
 Like floating coffins in a rank. 
 
 Are square ended painted boxes. 
 
 Serving well as labor ferries 
 
 From village homes to whirring mills. 
 
 — Look! Here comes a sail! 
 
 — A patchwork quilt, set from a pole. 
 
 Stepped at one end of a scow, 
 
 — Discarded by men, for see how the boy 
 
 Amidships, is bailing with the handleless shovel. 
 
 While the helmsman steers with a broken oar. 
 
 Into the new world that opens from their own back door. 
 
 55 
 
— As they slip on swiftly, before the soft breeze j 
 
 That drops down to play with them out of the trees ] 
 
 We sweep on smoothly 'round John R.'s sharp turn, j 
 
 Where the deep puffing tug, > 
 
 Like a brawny young bug with a string of big worms, 
 Shortens hawse on the barges, and waits, | 
 
 Till the nose of the leader the far bank has neared, ■ 
 
 — Then yanks at right angles, puffing hard till they've I 
 
 cleared 1 
 
 The button hook corner — and straighten out for the I 
 
 docks. i 
 
 — Now the gentle smooth slope \ 
 
 Of the salt water hill, sweeping in from the sea, ] 
 
 Pulled along on a tether by its mistress the moon l 
 
 — Like a wedge, lifts the edge of the ebb, till it slacks, \ 
 
 And soon the fresh waters slide quietly back 
 Up the well worn track. 
 
 — We escape the flooding tide, i 
 
 By paddling close along inside 
 
 The channel turns, and slide into friendly eddies | 
 
 Playing back behind the bends. j 
 
 — Over streaming water grasses, now we glide, 1 
 
 — Poling in the shallow places j 
 
 — Paddling down the breezy reaches, ■ 
 
 As we closely hug the turns. 
 
 In the meadows, 'long the banks, \ 
 
 Quiet cows with swelling flanks, | 
 
 Lift their heads; and churning jaws, j 
 
 Stare — till luscious grasses J 
 
 Pull their thoughts from that which passes innocently by. j 
 
 — That little dock of pasture rock j 
 
 With the skiff" moored near, j 
 
 'i 
 
 And the farm house snuggling south of the hill, 1 
 
 And the yard walled in by silent pines, I 
 
 56 ■ 
 
With scratching hens upon the lawn, 
 
 And ducks along the river fringe, 
 
 Is Dugan's place. 
 
 Where the tired business man, 
 
 Pressed hard by cankerous woes. 
 
 Often goes to hold committee meetings. 
 
 With Dugan's pretty sweetings. 
 
 That's one there, waving from the porch and calling. 
 
 — We toss our paddles and are gone 
 
 Around the turn and thru the Needles, 
 
 Where the racing current boils among the sharp rock 
 
 pinnacles. 
 — Those slimy green-black timbers. 
 Like the bones of some slain monster, 
 Are the ribs of the American Eagle, 
 That years ago was run aground — in flames. 
 When heavy freighted with Hibernians on their picnic. 
 — Yes, all were saved but three too drunk to move 
 Who stayed asleep. 
 
 — Now the flood is brackish with the sea, 
 And every turn the river broadens out. 
 Wide, brown-green marshes spread back to the wooded 
 
 hills 
 And the reaches are longer. — 
 
 ■ — Our paddles grow heavy and we sweat in the sultry air. 
 — Great pillars of cloud rear halls in the west 
 Roofed over by thunder heads. 
 Where gather the hosts of the lightning blast. 
 — And phantasmal forces march thru the air 
 Filming the blue with burnished brass, 
 As they weave a curtain before the sun. 
 — The breeze drops still, as we slip along — 
 — Small birds hop fluttering, empty of song 
 To the caves of the dense twigged bush. 
 
 57 
 
And the air is tense with the ominous hush j 
 
 Of violence testing his chains. ] 
 
 —The giant growls — a fish jumps near, j 
 
 And while the running circles spreading — disappear j 
 
 upon the flowing glass, j 
 
 The darkness narrows in. ; 
 
 Our paddles leave boiling holes behind j 
 
 As we lift along for the sheltering roof j 
 
 Of the fish shed round the point. ,; 
 
 As we ground upon the sandy beach, [ 
 
 From down the river — up the reach : 
 
 Comes a rushing line of white. 
 Now the squall swoops on in its frenzied might, 
 While its fangs drip raging clouds of spume, 
 When, — canoe bottom up, in the lee of the shack, j 
 
 To its rage we send our laughter back. 
 
 Then we go inside 'mong the tubs of brine i 
 
 And the pickling fish, and the line on line ; 
 
 Of herring, hung on sticks. 
 — Now the shed is lit by a lightning flash 
 
 And thru the door, we see the crash j 
 
 Of a falling branch from a riven oak. { 
 
 — New fury sweeps thru the screeching air ^ 
 
 Shaking our refuge, till midst the creak of beams, | 
 
 Some shingles fly, like storm driven birds, j 
 
 Grey hurtling streaks, down the leaden sky. | 
 
 — On our flesh — each hair's atingle ' 
 
 With expectant imps electric. 
 
 That itch to dance and mingle [ 
 
 With the unwalled cauldron of destruction. — j 
 
 Hgh — The shed rocks blank with light, I 
 
 — A dead'ning blue and white that stabs with a ripping "i 
 
 crash, 
 From sky to earth, cracking the air to splintered chasms. 
 
 58 
 
Now comes the rain. 
 
 Smooth speeding, with a swelling roar, it comes. 
 
 — Thru a crack, we see the grey wall of drops 
 
 Marching over the water's white and black, 
 
 Flatt'ning, with its countless hordes. 
 
 The river's wave ribbed back into a flood of smoky pearl, 
 
 Apimple dimple, with the falling crystal spheres. 
 
 — And the wind dies as the rain grows. 
 
 — ^While the flashes run over the hills 
 
 And the thunder's pursuit gradually stills — 
 
 We light our pipes and the fragrant blue smoke 
 
 Weaves sweet, thru the salt fishy smells. 
 
 —We sit among the finny dead. 
 
 — The run is over now — 
 
 But there's the capstan in the rain. 
 
 The old horse walks and walks around, 
 
 When winding in the brown meshed net. 
 
 Where all his master's hopes are set. 
 
 That, as the line of corks close in. 
 
 The strong, high booted men, may bail 
 
 A flopping stream, of irredescent silver life, 
 
 Into many dripping baskets. 
 
 Both horse and men, inside their fence. 
 
 Drip sweat and grunt for master's pence. 
 
 — The rain slacks up. — ^The air is fresh. 
 
 The sun in a golden flood breaks thru. 
 
 While over the distant hills. 
 
 The grey drops dance with the pure white light, 
 
 And band the sky in their arched delight. 
 
 So we launch on the stream again. 
 
 — As we leave the shore, one sun shower more, 
 
 Falls sweetly as the quiet tears. 
 
 That calm poor sorrow's wracking sobs 
 
 After anger's havoc tread. 
 
 59 
 
— The flooding tide — intent unswerved \ 
 
 Comes swelling on and in, ! 
 
 While our buttocks warm, dry the cold wet drops i 
 On our slim canoe's cane seats, as we ply on down the 
 
 river. 
 
 The hillsides smile with freshened green ■ 
 
 And all our world's once more serene. i 
 
 — A fish hawk soars high in the air j 
 — Then quickly poised — with a pushing dive, 
 
 Like an arrow self shot from the sky — ^he plops, | 
 
 To soon bob up, and slowly fly | 
 
 On heavy wings, with a silver gleam j 
 
 Held tight in taloned claws. j 
 
 — Over the water wafts familiar sound, \ 
 
 — The same old tune from the merry-go-round | 
 
 At the park — where some picnickers, undismayed, \ 
 
 Jostle ghosts of Sunday's highkeyed crowd, : 
 
 With single shouts, that echo loud j 
 
 'Mong the empty halls of work slaves' joy. 1 
 And we slip on past these pregnant tombs, 
 — These roofs where death — new life en wombs, that 
 
 masters dare not touch, ! 
 
 Past the yacht club, standing out on stilts [ 
 
 In the river, mid the anchored fleet, J 
 
 With whom, some suck from ocean's teat, ; 
 
 The milk of nature's law, ; 
 And grow to know, all seas and coasts are born to be 
 
 explored. . 
 
 While Harmony implored, j 
 
 Engulfs the angry tooth and claw, in deeps of beauty, \ 
 
 Wliere bursting suns are glowing drops of spray blowing j 
 
 past. I 
 
 — But here we are at Somerset. 1 
 
 60 
 
— ^The old stone wharves — the scrap iron heaps beside 
 
 the silent shops, 
 Whisper, that Ohio lured the town's industries to her 
 
 ready ores — 
 And now, the village sleeps, while every year the living 
 
 green 
 Creeps in upon the mouldering works. 
 — Beneath the high arched hallway of the elms, 
 That guide the stony lane straight down the hill, 
 A straggling column came one Sunday afternoon. 
 — Ahead, the preacher and the deacons led the way. 
 — Then came the ardent women and the sombre men, 
 — Then, seven or eight young girls and three young men, 
 
 all singing. 
 — And like a tail of rags behind a kite, came several 
 
 tumbling boys and dogs, with intermittent mimicry. 
 — And three or four easy men with restful pipes. 
 — ^And two sleek girls in modish clothes. — 
 — Down to the sandy beach between two wharves, the 
 
 singers come. 
 The preacher turns to face his flock, that huddles close. 
 — Without the fold, the stray sheep string along the 
 
 wharf, and watch in quiet derision, 
 While on the swelling flood, beneath the leaden sky, we 
 
 hold our paddles still. 
 — The preacher lifts his voice in prayer, and prays — 
 — Till boys and dogs lose hope, and slip thru fidgets, 
 
 into play, 
 And one man takes his pipe out of his mouth to say — 
 "Keep still there Bill — or else go home." 
 And Bill slips off behind a cask and makes old Rover 
 
 beg till Rover barks. 
 A sprinkle falls and Deacon Blood with grave solicitude, 
 Erects his great umbrella, above the Reverend Smythe — 
 
 61 
 
At last the droning ends. 
 
 — Spectators crowd close to the edge, along the grey 
 
 rock wharf. 
 — The Reverend Smythe throws ofif his cloak, and in a 
 
 rubber suit. 
 Speaks solemnly to three good souls that wish to lose 
 
 their sin. 
 He takes the hand of one — they walk down to the placid 
 
 edge. 
 And thus they both wade in, while Deacon Blood protects 
 
 the head of Reverend Smythe from falling drops. 
 Out wade the seeking two, but Blood remains on shore — 
 The sinners in their Sunday clothes 
 Are ducked beneath the cold grey flood. — 
 The saved, heave sighs, 
 — The folks along the wharf, all laugh at the bedraggled 
 
 seekers. 
 — "Give me a diving suit and I'll baptize" one saucy 
 
 vagrant cries. 
 — "Go fetch it. Rover, fetch it boy," says Bill and slyly 
 
 throws a stick. 
 And Rover, barking, splashes in, close to the Reverend 
 
 Smythe — 
 — ^The congregation marches off. 
 — The smoking men look on amused and sit while others 
 
 straggle. 
 And — Yes — The young go west. 
 The old folks die — The works were famous once. 
 — Just two miles more and we'll make camp 
 In the shack upon the bluff — 
 — The sun slips down behind the hills, 
 The promise of a new day, fills 
 The sky with dream mixed fire mosaics, 
 That shift their luminous veils of light. 
 
 62 
 
Till day is wrapped within the night, 
 
 And points shine thru the dusky lakes of- blue 
 
 Lapped 'mong the smouldering clouds. 
 
 —While our paddles lift and dip on, 
 
 Thru the falling dusk we slip on, 
 
 In the rhythmic swing that now is in our blood. 
 
 —A duck calls from the grasses. 
 
 Feeding, splashing where the marshes 
 
 Are awash beneath the salty rising flood. 
 
 -And along the western shore, the shadows press. 
 
 To stretch a sombre belt of dark. 
 
 Between the tree pierced sky above. 
 
 And tree pierced sky below. 
 
 —Here, where the rivers meet, 
 
 Hi<^h tide transforms the point, into an island, 
 
 towards journey's end. , , , fr ,mons 
 
 Ah!-There's the good old shanty-on the bluff among 
 
 the trees. 
 -We'll land above it in the little cove. 
 
 Where glacial ice strewn boulders-when its rough. 
 
 Tame the sharp waters into rippling gentleness 
 
 And enclose a perfect landing for canoe or skitt. 
 
 The bow grates gently on the sand. 
 
 We rest a moment— ere we land. 
 
 Then stretch-and lift the dunnage out, 
 
 —Upturn her bottom— fair and sweet, 
 
 Where slim clean birches, poise on feet 
 
 Firm anchored in the gully sides. 
 
 And make a cradle safe from tides 
 
 And suns and prankish winds-no doubt— 
 
 63 
 
Then with stiff legs — lug stuff up hill, 
 
 To where the shanty, — dark and still, 
 
 Waits us, in dusky welcoming — 
 
 — One lights the stove — the other goes 
 
 Along the path on active toes, 
 
 To fill the jugs, at the cool spring 
 
 Beneath the low branched knarly oak. 
 
 — And walking back, rests many times 
 
 To watch the after glow below 
 
 In the river's mirror, winding off 
 
 Into the distant hills all pricked with lights. 
 
 — Then after feeding, — good sweet smokes. 
 
 And pleasant talk, — and whimsy jokes. 
 
 When, lying on our blankets there, 
 
 Out near the bluff-edge, on the grass, 
 
 From where, deep in the river's glass. 
 
 We see the stars, beneath the pines 
 
 That hang down dark in ragged lines 
 
 From the black ridge of the sunken hill. 
 
 — Until — words melt unspoken into dreams 
 
 Rich in delight — thru the still night — on the river. 
 
 64 
 
By worms that burrow thru translucent flesh 
 Of thought, emitted from the poet's womb, 
 Grey words are woven fondly to enmesh 
 The mounting wings of music in their doom. 
 But searching form for that that form doth make, 
 The eye but holds the mirror up to death, 
 As when a desert thirst beholds the lake 
 Miraged, floating on the sand's hot breath. 
 So let me Beauty, drift beyond with thee — 
 Locked in thine heart, mine own would happy rest, 
 Tasting thru smiling tears. Eternity, 
 Knowing our wanton children to be best. 
 
 Oh give me love, that only Love can give — 
 Thine law transcending Light — that I may live. 
 
 65 
 
If thou, in infancy, so radiant bloom. 
 
 Out heralding the symbol bearing flowers — 
 
 So glow, effulgent, thru thine pearly doom 
 
 Of mortal slime — whence come thine wholesome powers? 
 
 Is it, that thou, by happy accident, 
 
 Illume the red ruled earth, to fade again, 
 
 A withered stalk, obeying precedent 
 
 Of ignorance, that craven god of men? 
 
 Or rather thou, the harbinger of day — 
 
 A tiny sun, enwrapped in mist of night — 
 
 Thy show'ring beams of love, in mirthfilled play. 
 
 Awakening the dark, to prime delight? 
 
 Deep in the heavens of thine tender eyes 
 
 Dear babe, shines that, that first declared the skies. 
 
 66 
 
Where are the flying beams that left the sun 
 
 In swelling globes ten million years ago? 
 
 Do those unmet by wafting spheres, yet run 
 
 To kiss opaqueness to her painted glow? 
 
 And, on some rolling island in the vast 
 
 Etheric sea, do lovers, walking far 
 
 Along a lonely beach, now, from the past 
 
 See gleaming o'er the waves — our sun — their star? 
 
 That past that shines so presently for them 
 
 Embedded in the dust of ancient stars — 
 
 What if those gazing eyes, pronounce a gem 
 
 Of love, the orb of fire that feeds our wars? 
 
 For past and future are but varied views 
 Of One Eternal Mind in constant muse. 
 
 67 
 
Beauty's perfection is perfected use; 
 And only love is service — He doth add 
 To what he hath by giving with a loose 
 And thriftless hand, an endless substance 
 Clad with increase — bounty of a boundless mind 
 Divorced from labour's gain. A quiet pleasure 
 Hath he, in giving what he soon doth find 
 Embellished by partition of his treasure. 
 His ease in action bears him sweetest rest, 
 The daughter men call Beauty — Tho she flees 
 When Adams sweats, afraid to linger, lest 
 He stay contented, delving, on his knees, 
 
 She creeps to love stilled minds, and naked, with 
 her hair 
 
 She wipes their tear anointed feet — and she is fair. 
 
 68 
 
It is in thee, Love's daughter, that my Christ 
 
 Is born — Thy kiss in me is virginal. 
 
 Since Time's adult'rous fast from thee, sufficed 
 
 To turn me back to mine original. 
 
 For Beauty's son has power of death o'er Death. 
 
 His smile of Light rolls back the pillared cloud 
 
 Black frozen by the cold destroyer's breath, 
 
 Inviting home my heart all humbly proud. 
 
 As waking from the dream, my smile returns 
 
 To thee — between death's wisping mist, the fields 
 
 Are carpeted with amour's bloom that yearns 
 
 In calm expectancy to drink my rain. 
 
 And all is Thee — Eternal Virgin, pure. 
 And I am drenched with Thee — and still — and 
 sure. 
 
 69 
 
Thy beauty is a fecund power that wakes 
 
 In me the sleeping seed of a great strength 
 
 Thine am'rous sun by quickening remakes 
 
 To flourish in my heart, until at length, 
 
 The grim hard chin of fear's offensive, rounds 
 
 In love's sweet feeling curves to meet my lips, 
 
 The former fortress of beleaguered sounds 
 
 Now mirth-drawn portals thru which music slips. 
 
 Mine eyes that kiss thee with each look, have changed 
 
 Their lights, and bless thee with the dew of ruth. 
 
 All pathways that my questing thoughts have ranged 
 
 But bring me back to find in thee, new truth. 
 
 Only in love lives that that changes not 
 Or from her perfect womb is beauty brought. 
 
 70 
 
Not of the world that seems to be, is that 
 Still music, love doth spell me in at night. 
 When on thine globing breasts my own more flat 
 Breast floats, and from thine mouth I sip delight. 
 For let me cast myself in that soft sea 
 Thine golden ripples spread beyond our verge, 
 And freighted rich with splendour, back to me, 
 More I, than ere our union, I emerge. 
 From whence, then, sounds the vital glowing chord 
 That stills the raving bowlings of the earth? 
 Doth unsuspected good with love's sweet sword 
 Cut thru the laws of death to our rebirth? 
 
 Knowing not much, I yet know surely this. 
 All good or evil sleeps within a kiss. 
 
 71 
 
I call it health when I unconscious am 
 
 Of any sense of being less or more; 
 
 When like a word within an epigram 
 
 Composed by God, I join the instant shore 
 
 Of Time, to Harmony's Eternity, 
 
 And know His copula's rewarding bliss; 
 
 In place of blood's necessity; stars, sea 
 
 And mountains, flowing, bring me beauty's kiss. 
 
 And in those times of health, I sometimes feel, 
 
 Dawning command of other legs and arms 
 
 Than mine; smootli muscled as transparent steel, 
 
 They move a sun or city, by sweet charms. 
 
 Not uttered and unthought, but still inhering 
 In marriage with his God, that Man is nearing. 
 
 n 
 
I hear men talk of Jesus, and each one 
 Re-images his own reformed conceit 
 As Him — The great Columbus from the Sun, 
 Who sailed o'er chaos to our sin's retreat. 
 But he whose words were cast upon the deeps, 
 Is heard, when deeps hark unto deeps, for then 
 The star of Morning, to the Christ that sleeps 
 In each, guides Wisdom to his home again. 
 And Wisdom home, repaves the heaving sea 
 With waves of fire thrown by his kindling eyes, 
 When, walking with his Father down the lea 
 Bright sown with lights, pain drowns in Love's surprise. 
 My Jesus spills the seed of power in me 
 Whose taproots seek my love's fertility. 
 
 1Z 
 
Look! From the seed of power, a tree unfolds; ' 
 
 A Magi's Tree. The foliage is stars | 
 
 Ablaze. The sap, forever green, remoulds i 
 
 The leaves of song into a balm for wars. 
 
 The earth glows like a drop of fire lit pearl, 
 
 Enamoured of his crystal globe of mist, ; 
 
 The moon, and lures that chastely dancing girl, 
 
 Around the golden apple of their tryst. j 
 
 The loves of all of ageless time are there. ! 
 
 Their music is the branches, while the roots j 
 
 Twine fingers 'mong the perfumes of thine hair, j 
 
 And all the forms of beauty are the fruits. 
 
 It is the tree from seed of Christ in me. 
 My body clothes upon my Christmas Tree. 
 
 74 
 
If it was fated ere the mists arose 
 In Eden, that we two should join in one 
 As now, I find fate kind or else suppose 
 Our life's desire designed, ere time did run. 
 
 lovely doom is life with thee — one mind 
 
 One bone — one flesh. From all the spread out all 
 
 1 choose thine arms and life is wisely blind 
 If our delight by accident befall. 
 
 Our homing love's desire and fate are wed. 
 The awful journey's end rests in our meeting. 
 The earth holds God in marriage on our bed 
 And music wings the laughter of her greeting. 
 
 Oh Love — my own wild Love. Shall we throw a 
 
 kiss at death, 
 Or blow the old tree over with our mingled 
 breath. 
 
 75 
 
As, when the stars prick thru the resting leaves, 
 The silence is but heightened, if the air, 
 Along the river, thrills to patterned weaves. 
 Of sound, flung by the frog's exultant prayer; — 
 So the vast tapestry of liquid tone, 
 Forever flowing, from the poet's tongue, 
 Seems but a fleeting part, of the world's own 
 Slow crumbling wall of strife, — unheard tho sung. 
 Unheard by busy men, but surely saved, 
 From 'mong the melting echoes of the past; — 
 Immortal promptings; secret cities, — laved 
 In beauty's solace, for my love's repast. 
 
 Only o'er waters of undoubting peace. 
 
 May Love, His Silence move to Man's release. 
 
 76 
 
I Rode a Stallion 
 
 I rode a stallion, wild after the mare 
 
 Who draws with her floating tail o'er the air 
 
 The tender Dawn. Her creamy flanks and legs, 
 
 In lissome swiftness, drifted o'er the eggs 
 
 Of motion, and her high head. 
 
 And her bright far glancing eye. 
 
 Rained, o'er die Light that rode her 
 
 And the star strewn fields she trod, 
 
 The wonder that is born, when darkness, comprehending, 
 
 Becomes. 
 
 The mare sailed on. The golden earth boomed loud, 
 
 And spinning, rolled, beneath my mount's black feet. 
 
 I rode the stallion through a crimson cloud. 
 
 His heaving frame between my knees, ran black, 
 
 A dark star, flying through the night;— His back. 
 
 Kept level in our swaying smooth career. 
 
 Rocked me to languor, as through banks of drear 
 
 Resounding brass and chilled steel, clanging loud, 
 
 We brushed, dim lighted but by phosphorescent eyes, 
 
 Rolling their green glow, lidless, at the skies. 
 
 Whose wide flung streaks, of thin drawn, fading gold, 
 
 Opened their points before us, to behind refold, 
 
 As forever the mare swept on ahead. 
 
 And ever we followed, pursued by the dead. 
 
 Grey, drab, fury in her rocking chair. 
 
 Unravelling laughter;— knitting despair;— 
 
 Hovering always in the crimson air. 
 
 With a grey flat smile, o'er the stallion's head, 
 
 'Til his eye whites wild, rolled at me with dread. 
 
 In red veined, brown smoked yellow, of terror. 
 
 n 
 
And leaving the mare to her own free quest, 
 He bolted away from the road's red jest, 
 And off down the velvet slopes of night, 
 While the fury, knitting in her chair, rocked on 
 In the wake of the snow faced mare. 
 
 Like wind down a valley where grey blooms wilt. 
 The scared stallion hurtled, — then stopped and spilt 
 Me off among a pile of skulls that rolled 
 Beneath my weight over the smooth black sod. 
 Like water, I lay on the fat grey mould 
 Of That, while the stallion dejected, fed 
 Full on the stones in the Valley of Shade. 
 
 Then again he snorted, pawed and snuffed the air. 
 And I leaped to his back and grasped the hair 
 Of his rippling mane of silken night. 
 
 Down, down the black valley, like low skimming birds 
 
 We flew to the place where the wave rolling words 
 
 Of the world, hurl their expanding precipice, . 
 
 In avalanchine whirls — down the Abyss. 
 
 Over we flew, and down and down, 
 
 Where space thins out, till none can drown. 
 
 In a sky so false that breathing has no reason . 
 
 Down the still Void we falling fell. 
 
 Lentil to fall became inane, ^ 
 
 And failure lacked resistance, j 
 
 And was insane. j 
 
 Til The Smile came — 
 And then — 
 
 The stallion nickered and I laughed low. 
 His hoof beats rocked o'er the bells of night. 
 
 78 
 
They hit the chimes into globes of light. 
 The darkness listened, and kissed the glow 
 Of shadowed light, that in jeweled snow, 
 Fell like a tent from the star tipped poles, 
 Of the crystal sphere that arose around 
 The teeming forms who replenished the ground 
 Of the dew drenched Day that the Evening found 
 As we loped along in the Morning's song, — 
 Falling away together. 
 
 As a star dropped out of the blue Abyss, — 
 A white star bright as a silver lake 
 With the waters of time, o'erflowing, — 
 We fell, — and found there, bending to slake 
 Her thirsty eyes, — 
 
 That smoothly fleeing, snow faced mare, 
 Who draws with her floating tail, o'er the air, 
 The tender Dawn — 
 And her rider was gone, — 
 And she whinnied. 
 
 79 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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