fcl I CHILDREN OF THE SUN I ^//ffllllllWV By WALLACE GOULD 1 ClassT^5r5_ Copyright^ CQEHHGHT DEPOSIT. CHILDREN OF THE SUN CHILDREN OF THE SUN Rhapsodies and Poems By WALLACE (JOUL1) THE CORNHILL COMPANY BOSTON 'V rf w Copyright, 1917, by The Cornhill Company COPVSi^J^ OFFICE DEC 31 1917 ©CU5U1995 j* To Marsden Hartley Who, with me, has survived all the ninth waves and who will leave me only at some ebbing of tide which he shall choose or with which he shall naturally drift out, I present these children, for he is godfather. The mother of them is dead. My life with her was stormy, in general, as with all first passions; full of all the mad pleasures and madder sorrows that grand passions contain — and mine was a grand passion of the old school, not one of these safe and sane at- tachments, mostly in the head, that people have these days. There were giants in those days. Marsden always loved these children of mine. At times he pitied them. At times he reproved them, or me, for their sake. At times they bored him. At times he was impatient at their prattle. Yet he was always tolerant, for an obvious reason. But they are big children, now, finely developed, and I am coming to him, with my offspring stringing along behind, to remind him that he has a dread office to perform and to inform him that I am going to elope with another mistress. Note I shall write no preface, for understandings which are cultivated are as tiresome as misunderstandings. However, do not call the rhapsodies poems. CONTENTS Page The Legend ....... 1 Ab Uno Disce Omnes . . . . .11 Out of Season ...... 37 Others, Nameless . . . . . .57 THE LEGEND CHILDREN OF THE SUN THE LEGEND HE TOLD me all the legends of the place. Up there is the loveliest countryside in Maine, and, in the days when we first knew each other, we used to tramp out many miles a day, here and there to certain ponds or certain hills or taverns mentioned in his little tales. One day we started out to find a spot whose legend was the best of any, then, so he said. 'Twas in June. Whistling, we walked away from Sanford, through the Spring vale countryside, where, at a butter-smelling door, we paused, when he inquired for a certain gorge within which, on a day — before the savages had disappeared into the white men's past — a savage perished. Instructed, we proceeded. On the road — a logging-road unused for decades, grassed and alder-bordered, with a bowldered bed — we passed a long deserted lumber-mill, a ruin black and warped, with wind-swung doors; a place where spiders wove their webs, to wait. 2 CHILDREN OF THE SUN Beside the mill were weather-reddened mounds of sawdust, and the stream by which it stood flowed through the gorge we sought. Crossing a bridge, we turned upon another logging-road which broadened to a forest-coliseum in whose arena martyred sunbeams died, huddling in hundreds on a wondrous bier of high and horizontal- woven brakes — red lilies pluming it. We crept through brush and gloom-starved hemlock-branches, crossing trunks blown down in ancient storms. We heard the sound of forest-hidden waters — changeless, deep, even an organpoint to songs of birds and chatterings of squirrels and the cries of crows, antiphonal. At length we neared the stream. It glittered through big sapling-leaves below us, at the entrance to the gorge. There we descended, grasping happening roots within the leafmould, for the bank was steep and treacherous with loose or mossy stones. We suddenly burst forth upon the brink. The gorge was just beginning, we within. Beyond us, towering, a bowlder rose rounded and chaos-polished. By its side a glowering crag rose. Swift, between them, poured the stream, which curled and splashed and frothed and sprayed and shone, sounding and sounding. We remained at distance, where we were, for there were pools and sun-warmed rocks, flat, and we stripped and bathed and afterward, while sitting in the sun to dry, he told the legend of the gorge and while he spoke CHILDREN OF THE SUN 3 we gazed upon the pouring waters which twisted and streamed and shone and sparkled and frothed and sprayed and foamed and glistened — glistened — glistened — scuttling between the bowlder and the crag. He told me, while we dried, about Ogissin and Agomis and the trapper, the wabishkizze. Agomis lingered on the bowlder-summit round and chaos-pol- ished and facing the crag beyond the waters. Agomis looked below upon the pouring waters which curled and twisted and streamed and shone and sparkled and frothed and sprayed and glistened — glistened — glistened. Agomis downward looked and harkened long — long — long — long — to the sounds of the curling waters which muttered and hissed and rumbled and tinkled and gurgled and rang — rang — rang. Agomis downward looked and harkened. Agomis downward looked and harkened though on high an eagle swayed and swept — though within the gorge a deer emerged to drink, timid, paus- ing— 4 CHILDREN OF THE SUN though upon a blasted pine a crow was sitting, silent, watch- ing— though squirrels wriggled through the forest, chattering — though a deadened pine-branch snapped to startle, with echoes sharp, somewhere within the forest, catching, rattling, tearing, descending to bounce upon the ancient stretch of spills and pound as might the mallet of a medicine-man descend to bounce and pound upon a tam-tam at the spirit- voyage of a chieftain. Oh, the birds sang — sang — sang — and the snakes basked in the first of summer suns. And the deer upreared and leaped and fled and the crow forsook the blasted pine, with utterings. Yet Agomis downward looked and harkened long — long — long — long — to the sounds of the curling waters which muttered and hissed and rumbled and tinkled and gurgled and rang — rang — rang — for she heard the voices of lovers and the voices of dancing warriors, going to battle, returning, and the voices of warriors sitting at feasts and the voices of warriors speaking to warriors, proud, and the voices of women speaking to women, happy, and the voices of the tortured, hoarse, and always the voices of lovers, and Agomis sang. " Where is Ogissin? " sang Agomis. " Where is Ogissin whose arms are powerful? CHILDREN OF THE SUN 5 Where is Ogissin whose flesh is sweet to smell? Warm is the blanket of my wigwam but warmer is the blanket of Ogissin! Warm is the first of summer suns but warmer is the glance of Ogissin ! Warm is the fire by my door but warmer is the flesh of Ogissin ! Where is Ogissin whose flesh is sweet to smell? Where is Ogissin? " Then behind her crept the trapper, the wabishkizze, who laid his furs aside and put around her waist a lustful arm. And Agomis cried out, frightened. And Agomis made escape and hurried to Ogissin who wrapped her in his blanket with arms of power. Then upward to the first of summer moons Ogissin raised his arms of shadow-spreading muscles and uttered the song of them who hate. And with the coming of the second summer sun Ogissin hunted the trapper, the wabishkizze. And when the third of summer suns was seen Ogissin found a fox with silver fur — by moonlight trapped — and waited, silent, standing straight, behind a mighty trunk nearby, until the trapper came. Then Ogissin drew his knife. Then Ogissin crept. Then Ogissin sprang. Wary was the wabishkizze, the trapper, and he sprang aside and he raised his gun, but on a dead limb overgrown with grass, he caught his mocca- sin and reeled and fell. 6 CHILDREN OF THE SUN Then Ogissin sprang. And the trapper, the wabishkizze, struggled with Ogissin. And Ogissin struggled with the power of his arms, but the trapper writhed in manners of other lands and loosened the hold of Ogissin and arose and fled. Then Ogissin sheathed his knife, outcrying, and followed the trapper and through the forest fled the trapper — toward the mighty bowlder round and chaos-polished and far away — onward he fled, slipping on spills which were matted by the decades, stumbling on trunks which had fallen in ancient storms, jumping from mossy stones to mossy stones, forcing his way through hemlock-branches which had been slowly starved by the gloom, hiding in hazel-clusters and pausing and peering and listening and hearing Ogissin and fleeing and pausing and turning and peering and seeing Ogissin and fleeing again. Ogissin followed, gaining upon the wabishkizze, striding over the spills which were matted by the decades, running on the trunks which had fallen in ancient storms, leaping from mossy stones to mossy stones, CHILDREN OF THE SUN 7 avoiding the hemlock-branches which had been slowly starved by the gloom, watching the hazel-chisters and gaining and hearing the sound of rushing waters and treading and sidling and peering. Breathless, the trapper neared the bowlder round and chaos- polished which faced the crag beyond the waters. He came before the bowlder. There the wabishkizze paused. He looked back. He lis- tened. There was no sound save that of the stream, which was louder than all other sounds. Cracklings of undergrowth or twigs were as whispers at a ghost-dance. Only a dead limb, sundered, could have been heard above the waters. The wab- ishkizze stared. He peered. Then he uttered a low groan, as might one who feels an old pain which he had thought would never come to him again. For he saw Ogissin within a cluster of sapling birches. He shuddered. He turned toward the gorge. There was the bowlder. There was the crag, beyond. The waters could only be heard. They were too far down to be seen. There was the mighty space between the bowlder and the crag. The wabishkizze knew that he must jump or die. He knew that he might have to jump to death. He thought. He would have rushed upon the bowlder to scan the mighty space. He would have crawled over the sides to the water. But even then Ogissin sprang from the birches and cried aloud and uttered the song of them who hate and drew his knife and rushed upon the wabishkizze and the wabishkizze was maddened with fright. The wabish- kizze braced his feet and ran, leaping, outcrying, upon the sum- 8 CHILDREN OF THE SUN mit of the bowlder, where, shuddering, he made a last leap, running, for the crag on the other side. He reached the crag and turned, bracing his feet. Ogissin followed, leaping. Yet Ogissin did not reach the crag. He sank before the crag. He could have clutched it. He could even then have killed the trapper. But the trapper, the wabishkizze, had pulled from the ground a stone as big as the head of a man. He raised it on high, in both hands, and hurled it at Ogissin. It struck Ogissin at the breast. It happened so. Ogissin fell and fell and fell and splashed and floated and floated and floated and sank and sank and sank and was seen no more. We dreamed for a while and listened to the curling waters which muttered and hissed and rumbled and tinkled and gurgled and rang — rang — rang, while they twisted and streamed and shone and sparkled and frothed and sprayed and foamed CHILDREN OF THE SUN and glistened — glistened — glistened, scuttling between the bowlder and the crag. When we were dry we dressed ourselves. When we returned, we went another way and on that way we climbed an high, round hill whose summit had been cleared to pasture-lands and mammoth hay-fields. Having reached the heights we sprawled, looking below upon the towns whose spires, protruding from the virid stretch, seemed like as many old maids at croquet, and whose far-rolling columns of factory-smoke seemed dragons bent on conquest of the line of Appalachian courtiers in the west, who, conscious of their first right to the sun, lay in it, powdered, ermined, splendid, proud, impassable in frigid majesty — whose foothills, grim, seemed couchant hounds on guard. Eastward, a thousand hilltops faded out into a fumid haze which hid the sea at Kennebunkport, twenty miles away, AB UNO DISCE OMNES AB UNO DISCE OMNES THERE was a place inclosed with high, stone walls which were mossed and crumbling — a place which was accessible by oaken, iron-bound gates which were rotting and the gates were closed and locked and barred with bars of brass. There, alone, I came when the sun was high and paused where the mossed walls cast a shadow- — where a warm breeze wandered through a graceful vine. The shadow was narrow beside those walls. Along the road rushed a drouth-dried wind which was nervous with the weariness of summer's older days and the wind whirled, rushing, and raised up dust in wreaths which flourished and glistened and broke and sprawled upon me to be hot and to torture me. Oh, the shadow was narrow beside those walls ! There came no sound from behind those walls. No being followed along the road. Oh, I was weary and famished and sick and maddened and I crawled to a gate of iron-bound oak and I lowly knocked and I waited 14 CHILDREN OF THE SUN and I knocked and I listened — but there came no answer. There came no sound from behind those walls ! Oh, I was weary and famished and sick and maddened and the drouth-dried wind rushed along the road and the warm breeze wandered through the graceful vine. The shadow grew wider beside those walls yet no being followed along the road. Along the road swept wreaths of dust — when I louder knocked upon that gate of iron-bound oak, for I was weary and famished and sick and maddened. Oh, I knocked and I murmured — " Allow me within! Allow me within! " and I waited and I listened — yet there came no answer. There came no sound from behind those walls and I was weary and famished and sick and maddened! There came a western sun and an eastern moon while I lingered, alone, before that gate of iron-bound oak which was closed and locked CHILDREN OF THE SUN 15 and barred with bars of brass — and the warm breeze wandered through the graceful vine. Oh, I was weary and famished and sick and maddened! Then I loudly knocked and I kneeled and I pleaded — " Allow me within! Allow me within! " when I waited, when I listened — when there came no answer. There came no sound from behind those walls and the warm breeze wandered through the graceful vine. Oh, the moon shone and the stars shone and there came upon the drouth-dried wind a resonance which made me shudder — a resonance which soon became a noise following the drouth-dried wind — voices as of a bestial mob, music as of a bacchanal, nearing, following the road. Shrieks I heard and laughter and screams and shouts and songs with drums and horns and tambourines and I waited and I listened and I looked 16 CHILDREN OF THE SUN and I soon beheld a lambent smear of far illumination on a far, drawn veil of vapor — mighty as above a mighty city which is consumed by flames — and wavering and wide — wavering and wider — near and nearer. Shrieks I heard and laughter and screams and shouts and songs with drums and horns and tambourines and I pounded upon that gate of iron-bound oak and I shuddered and I cried — " Allow me within! Allow me within! " and I waited and I listened — and there came no answer. I heard no sounds save shrieks and laughter and screams and shouts and songs with drums and horns and tambourines. Then I turned and I looked and I beheld an approaching mob with a thousand flambeaux which flared and smoked — an approaching mob with drums and horns CHILDREN OF THE SUN 17 and tambourines. Broadcast and blinding became the flare of the flambeaux. Louder became the shrieks and laughter and screams and shouts and songs — louder and hoarse, louder and vicious. Louder and frantic became the pounding of monstrous drums — louder and pompous the blowing of brazen horns — louder and blatant the ringing of tambourines — nearer — nearer — louder — louder — louder and frantic — louder and pompous — louder and blatant — and the mob approached and I watched the passing mass of raving beings. They vented their inherencies. Some sang alone and closed their eyes and tottered. Some, singing alone, smiled childishly or danced. Choruses howled, canonical with prayer — or hatred — some with counterpoint of both. Some pulled at sleeves of others, whispering. Some jostled those who went before, being pushed by those behind. Some stumbled carelessly upon big rocks or into crevices — some stumbling when the rocks or crevices were hidden by the heels of those before. Some wrangled over others in whose eyes lurked twinklings. Some repelled and others lured. Hands soothed or smote, many restraining these. Some beings were naked. Some bore up big casks 18 CHILDREN OF THE SUN of wine, some bulging bundles, all being whipped. The wan looked at the wan and uttered woes. Some of the wan were weighted with great bales of books and rambled, reading, glassy-eyed and bloodless, what was written by their kind. The beings who nourished lashes were at peace, for many flourished swords, defending them who flourished lashes. Some on crutches hopped. Scores scoffed at other scores. Scores went with drums and horns and tambourines and loudly played, when, with the music mingled all the sounds from lips which voiced defiance, mirth, despair, rage, avarice, rebellion, ridicule, passion, disgust, doubt, weariness. The strong went with the strong and tantalized the weak who clung unto the weak with blasphemies and tears. Some hoarsely laughed and gazed before. Some gazed behind, as searching for stray forms. A few stared upward at the rising moon. There were a few who walked by others, close. There were a few being carried. Borne along on upraised arms, a madman, laurel-wreathed, beckoned, and sang — " Pound, pound the drum, for the end has come ! Oh, the world is old! Tisbare! Tis cold! Pan's parchments fold, inscribed. 'Tis told how we, for a sum, ourselves have sold — how we took the gold with fingers numb ! Pound, pound the drum, for the end has come ! CHILDREN OF THE SUN 19 Come, one and all — come, join the brawl! Bring timbrel and gong for dance and song ! Bring wine along! Come from among the fools who bawl for freedom or thong ! They are all wrong ! Would drink and sprawl? Then join the brawl! Come, one and all! Come, centaur, away to propine and bray ! Nymphs shall be there to garland your hair and banish all care ! Hippomania's fair? Fairer are they ! Fool to forbear ! Come away, where enwreathed you shall lay and propine and bray ! Come, centaur, away! Come, bacchante old, out into the wold ! Come gaudily dressed — purple is best, with amethyst crest, like light in the west ! Shrunken the mold of your once round breast yet, ah ! to be pressed in a satyr's hold, 20 CHILDREN OF THE SUN out in the wold ! Come, bacchante old! Lead, supple faun, over meadow or lawn, your syrinx quick playing while carts follow, swaying with lambs bound for slaying and grapes overlaying — by leopards drawn, leopards obeying unmerciful flaying, leopards of brawn ! Lead, supple faun, over meadow or lawn ! Pound, pound the drum ! Come, follow on, come from pronaos and pnyx ! Gather and mix, to the Castanet's clicks ! Burn luminous wicks and tambourines thrum even unto the Styx ! Why will you transfix your limbs, standing dumb? Oh, the end has come! Pound, pound the drum! " when a shout arose and, for a time, the strong forgot the weak, the weak their weakness and the wan their woes, until the singer was no longer heard. Then crutches rattled, lashes whirred and cracked, swords clashed and music mixed with utterance and all moved onward, draggled, while I crouched, CHILDREN OF THE SUN 21 yes, even crouched from the flambeaux-flare and the shrieks and laughter and screams and shouts and songs with drums and horns and tambourines ! Then the mob beheld me and paused, before me. Then someone pointed — when many pointed — when all cried loudly and long in amusement and derision and scorn. Then someone lifted up a stone — when many others lifted stones and hurled them and bruised my flesh so it yielded blood. Then I beat upon that iron-bound gate and I writhed and I wailed — " Allow me within! Allow me within! " Yet there came no answer. There came no sound from behind those walls. Again one pointed — when many pointed and again cried loudly and long in amusement and derision and scorn. 22 CHILDREN OF THE SUN Then they uttered an horror-crushing howl which rose up into the night and passed along the heavens and thundered and trembled and echoed, when they rushed upon me and scourged me and made me naked — when all cried loudly and long in amusement and derision and scorn, when someone sounded upon a drum — when many sounded upon their drums and pompous horns and tambourines and sang and screamed and shouted and laughed — when the mob moved onward and passed away and vanished, when the noise became a resonance and the flare of the flambeaux became a tint and the warm breeze wandered through the graceful vine. Then I was alone. Oh, I was bleeding and naked and famished and sick and maddened and I pressed my hands against that iron-bound gate and I shivered and I gasped — CHILDREN OF THE SUN 23 " Allow me within! Allow me within! " and I waited and I listened — and there came no answer. There came no sound from behind those walls, though I was bleeding and naked and famished and sick and maddened and I looked above, to the midnight skies, where the moon was waning, where the stars seemed leering, when I reeled and sank and sprawled in the dust — when that same dust mingled with my blood and the warm breeze wandered through the graceful vine. Then came a being, veiled, with many slaves. The being looked upon me, The being bended above me and kneeled beside me and an hand passed over my flesh and lips of flesh touched mine. Then the being arose and commanded the slaves to bear me away, when they bore me away through an iron-bound gate which had fallen down and into the place inclosed with high, stone walls which were mossed and crumbling. 'Twas a pillared place. 'Twas a ruined place. 'Twas a lonely place where lizards rustled — 24 CHILDREN OF THE SUN where vampires chattered — where vipers glided. 'Twas a mighty place. 'Twas a deserted place. 'Twas a mockery. Where once had been a sumptuous couch was a crumbling marble slab and a marble balustrade was crumbling, mossed, and an hundred marble columns of a monstrous colonnade had fallen down and were crumbling, vined, and an ivory throne was wracked and moulded and a canopy of silver had fallen down and was long corroded and upon the rise to the throne laid a skull which was over- turned and around the brows of which was a silver coronet, corroded, and beside which rested a silver bowl, corroded, and the moon shone and the stars shone and into the moonlight towered a row of poplars from behind the colonnade and before the colonnade rolled a row of weeping willows whose branches, trailing, swayed with the wind and the wind moved like a saddened woman who listens and the lizards rustled and the vampires chattered and the vipers glided and we loved and we kissed. We embraced and we loved. Around an handle of the bowl which rested, corroded, beside the skull a viper coiled. The willows swayed CHILDREN OF THE SUN 25 with the wind which began to whisper like a saddened woman who, listening, utters a name and on a louder whisper came music of violin and violoncello and harp and bassoon and piccolo and oboe and cymbal and tympani — music scarcely louder than the whispering of the wind because of an hidden distance within the colonnade and the music rushed with pizzicati and trill and tremolo i and crash — music scarcely louder than the whispering of the wind — and from within the colonnade came a skeleton in cowl with a vase of pallid wine. Oh, we loved and we kissed. We embraced and we loved and the music sounded louder than the whispering of the wind and the lizards rustled and the vampires chattered and the vipers glided and the skeleton in cowl advanced beyond the colonnade and wandered amongst the hundred marble columns which had fallen down and were vined and wandered 26 CHILDREN OF THE SUN and wandered and wandered and a piccolo sounded alone and played a slow and rambling air with many mordents and the moon shone and the stars shone and the skeleton in cowl wandered by the balustrade which was crumbling, mossed — approached the rise to the throne which was wracked and moulded — paused before the silver bowl and we loved and we kissed. We embraced and we loved and the music sounded louder from within the colonnade and the violins were in tremolo and the bassoons were hoarse and deliberate and we loved and we kissed. Then the skeleton in cowl raised the corroded silver bowl — filled the bowl with pallid wine. We embraced and we loved and I pressed the lips to mine and the music sounded louder and louder and louder and it quickened and quickened and quickened and the violins were suppliant and the bassoons were ominous and the harps were sensuous CHILDREN OF THE SUN 27 and the tympani were frightful and the oboes were cruel and the piccolos were invoking and the violoncelli were desperate and the cymbals were maddening and the music grew louder and louder and louder and quicker and quicker and quicker and the skeleton in cowl approached us with the silver bowl brimming with the pallid wine and we loved and we kissed. , We embraced and we loved and the music grew louder and louder and louder and quicker and quicker and quicker and the violins sounded like fettered women who shriek desires for men who are denied them and the bassoons sounded like masculine monsters groaning in the act of rape and the harps sounded like women who murmur by the couches of drowsing lords and the tympani sounded like hordes which come upon lands by night and the oboes sounded like phantoms who pause at windows on moonlight nights of winter and laugh to scorn and float away across the shimmering snows 28 CHILDREN OF THE SUN and the piccolos sounded like them who laugh in the sunshine and run along over bodies of the dying and the violoncelli sounded like them who wander in autumn rains and weep and cry aloud with the winds and the cymbals sounded like them who appear at thresholds and announce the coming of cuckold lords and the music rushed with wail and groan and trill and rumble and crash and the lizards rustled and the vampires chattered and the vipers glided. On the crumbling marble slab where once had been the sumptuous couch we reclined and we loved and we kissed. We embraced and we loved and the skeleton in cowl came near and nearer — holding forth the silver bowl brimming so with pallid wine and we loved and we kissed. We embraced and we loved and the music grew louder and louder and louder and the branches of the weeping willows, trailing, swayed with the wind, unheard, CHILDREN OF THE SUN 29 and the lizards rustled, unheard, and the vampires chattered, unheard, for the music grew louder and louder and louder and quicker and quicker and quicker and the violins sounded like women who cry out in palpitation and the bassoons sounded like masculine monsters who run at large amongst women in chains and the harps sounded like women who exult at the strength of lords who are mighty of muscle and the tympani sounded like hordes which come upon lands by night when there is thunder and the oboes sounded like phantoms who sweep with the swift winds of the night-storms of winter and call to one another through the hissing snows and the piccolos sounded like sweet-faced fools who giggle in the sunshine and pirouette upon the bodies of the dead and the violoncelli sounded like them who wander in autumn rains and sink down by fallen trunks and moan and the cymbals sounded like them who appear at thresholds for the second time and announce the coming of cuckold lords and the music rushed with shriek and groan and rumble and crash and the skeleton in cowl stood beside the crumbling slab, holding forth the silver bowl — offering me the pallid wine and I gasped and I paused and I laughed and I pressed the lips to mine. 30 CHILDREN OF THE SUN Then I grasped the silver bowl. Around an handle of the bowl coiled the viper, gaping, hissing — and the viper hissed unheard for the music shrieked and wailed and groaned and trilled and rumbled and crashed and throbbed and throbbed and throbbed and became a din and again I gasped and paused and laughed. Then I raised the silver bowl. Then the skeleton in cowl stood beside us, motionless, and the head sank down upon the breast and the cowl fell down and hid the countenance and the arms hung loose and low as burdened with the vase and the music became a charivari and trembled and trembled and trembled and quickened and quickened and quickened and wailed and rumbled and crashed and I drank the pallid wine and the dregs were the dust of a thousand years CHILDREN OF THE SUN 31 and the dung of vipers and I shuddered and I cursed and the skeleton raised the head and the cowl hung down and hid the countenance and the arms hung loose and low as burdened with the vase and the viper which coiled, gaping, around the handle of the bowl pierced my fingers with its fangs and the music ceased, upon a note, and left a sudden silence and the wind sounded like a saddened woman who, listening, utters a name and the lizards rustled and the vampires chattered and the vipers glided. Then I flung away the bowl and it fell and it struck and it sounded and the lizards scurried and the vampires fluttered and screamed and arose in a cloud which spread abroad and obscured the waning moon and they rumbled and they thundered and the vipers hissed. Then the skeleton in cowl raised the vase of pallid wine and turned and wandered away and wandered and wandered and wandered 32 CHILDREN OF THE SUN and disappeared within the colonnade whose hundred marble columns had fallen down and were crumbling, vined, and into the starlight towered the row of poplars from behind the colonnade and before the colonnade rolled the row of weeping willows whose branches, trailing, swayed with the wind and the wind moved like a saddened woman who listens and I moaned and I arose and wandered by the balustrade which was crumbling, mossed — approached the rise to the throne which was wracked and moulded and I wandered out of the ruined place and beside the walls of the ruined place was an unknown shore of a sounding ocean and I sank upon the sands. The sands of that unknown shore were broadened to a vast expanse by an ebbing which seemed to be endless and were forsaken by all beings and the wave-forsaken rocks were draped with weeds which hung like corpses impaled upon battlements and along the shore rushed a wind from across a thousand miles of ocean and the stars and the waning moon were dimmed by smearings of vapor from an approaching storm and the heavens and the ocean were blended by the glooms of the distant storm and the wind rushed onward and onward from across a thousand miles of ocean and sounded and sounded and sounded and the ocean sounded and sounded and sounded CHILDREN OF THE SUN 33 and I was supine and I was naked and the sands arose and hissed and drifted around me and upon me and my hairs mingled with the sands and my arms were thrown outward upon the sands and my fingers clutched the sands and were embedded and my eyes were closed and the wind rushed onward and onward from across a thousand miles of ocean and sounded and sounded and sounded and the ocean sounded and sounded and sounded — — sounded and sounded and sounded and no ship passed upon that ocean and no bird passed through the air and there were no footprints in the sands save mine and for hours I remained unmoving, upon the sands while the wind rushed onward and onward from across a thou- sand miles of ocean and sounded and sounded and sounded — while the sands arose and hissed and drifted around me and upon me — while the ocean sounded 34 CHILDREN OF THE SUN and sounded and sounded. Then, when the moon and stars had long been hidden — when the waters had drawn themselves afar into the glooms — a being came near me and kneeled beside me and fingers of flesh found mine within the sands and pressed them and the being bended above me and lips of flesh touched mine, yet I remained unmoving and my eyes remained closed and the wind rushed onward and onward from across a thousand miles of ocean and sounded and sounded and sounded and the ocean sounded and sounded and sounded — — sounded and sounded and sounded and the fingers dropped mine and an hour passed while the sands arose and hissed and drifted around me and upon me, when a low voice said — " and we loved and we kissed. We embraced and we loved — " Yet I remained unmoving .-• CHILDREN OF THE SUN 35 and my eyes remained closed and the wind rushed onward and onward from across a thou- sand miles of ocean and sounded and sounded and sounded and the ocean sounded and sounded and sounded — — sounded and sounded and sounded and the voice was silent and an hour passed while the sands arose and drifted around me and upon me, when a low voice said — " — and for a moon the wind shall blow in my face for even tonight I am going afar across a thousand miles of ocean and my garments shall trail behind me and far beyond your reach — " Yet I remained unmoving and my eyes remained closed and the wind rushed onward and onward from across a thousand miles of ocean and sounded and sounded and sounded and the ocean sounded and sounded and sounded — — sounded and sounded and sounded 36 CHILDREN OF THE SUN and the voice remained silent and an hour passed while the sands arose and hissed and drifted around me and upon me, when the being went away in silence. Yet I remained unmoving and my eyes remained closed and the wind rushed onward and onward from across a thousand miles of ocean and sounded and sounded and sounded and the ocean sounded and sounded and sounded — — sounded and sounded and sounded and the sands arose and hissed and drifted around me and upon me and my hairs mingled with the sands and my arms remained thrown outward upon the sands and my fingers clutched the sands and were embedded and the wind rushed onward and onward from across a thousand miles of ocean and sounded and sounded and sounded and the ocean sounded and sounded and sounded. OUT OF SEASON OUT OF SEASON J J I ^WAS at Old Orchard when summer was feeble with motherhood which had been abused and was sallow and hollow-eyed and weary of bearing children. 'Twas in the careless and hopeless turning of life which man calls August, when the mother was done with cradle-songs and crooned old passion-songs with a quaking tongue. 'Twas in those days when poor summer was strutting in the rags of old ribaldries. The ocean was a warrior reclining naked and proud of being looked upon by those whose eyes sparkled with mighty lusts or mighty illusions or mighty woes, or glimmered with the dreams of them. The warrior was proud of his nakedness and slumbered unannoyed by the exodus of bundle-clouds which hurried away across the azure-plains even as children going on crusades — unannoyed by the vessels which crawled across his fearful ex- panse of breasts. Slumbering, the warrior snored. Slumbering, he carelessly acknowledged the tributes from the sun. Slumbering, he seemed to know that across his breasts and around his loins lolled wind-women, lust-hot, to sigh and tease. Slumbering, he throbbed. There were two musicians who wandered about the town and along the beach. 40 CHILDREN OF THE SUN There was a man who wore a fancy vest of silk brocade. There was a painted woman wearing many beads. One musician had no arms and he played a mouth-harp fixed to a rack which was strapped to his shoulders, and one musician sang, and he had arms. For years the man who had arms had wandered in streets and sung and sung and sung and waited upon the man who had no arms, performing duties which make men shudder — the dressing, undressing, the washing, the feeding and other things which make men shudder. There was a reason. Years before, they had started out, one Sunday morning, for the beach, on an excursion. Both had drunk heavily before breakfast, intending to make a day of it. By the time they reached the depot they were dizzy and silly. There was a big crowd, as usual on excursions. The boys stood by the track in order to dive for seats in the smoker. The train was making up. They began fooling. One lurched. The train was passing slowly. The one who lurched dropped under a car, in a heap. The other leaped after him, stooped, crawled, pushed him to the other side of the track and beyond it, then drew back. He was too late to save himself, however. The wheels took away his arms at the elbows, even grazing the head. The man whose arms remained was grateful, of course, and swore that he would never forsake the man whose arms had been taken away. He consecrated his life to this duty; so, for years he had sung in streets with him who had no arms, though he was tired of singing in streets CHILDREN OF THE SUN 41 and of performing duties which make men shudder — the dressing, undressing, the washing, the feeding, and other things which make men shudder. He sang and sang and sang. The man who had arms was singing on the beach. He sang and sang and sang and passed the cap of him who had no arms while he who had no arms was playing the mouth-harp fixed to the rack and played and played and played and the man who wore the fancy vest of silk brocade waited beyond the crowd, listening to the songs and the painted woman wearing many beads waited beyond the crowd, playing with her beads. The name of the man who had no arms was Jimmie. The name of the man possessing arms was Bennie. Bennie, doing the crowd, passed the cap to the man with the fancy vest. The man spoke to him. " How would you like a regular job? " " What doing? " The singer was disinterested and impatient. " Singing — steady, for the winter." 42 CHILDREN OF THE SUN The singer turned away. " Eighteen dollars a week," persisted the man, touching the arm of the other. The singer turned back. " My name — " continued the man, intercepting any reply and ignoring any attempt — " my name is Higgins. I have a moving-picture business in Caribou. There's steady work for a year, anyway. Got to have somebody that'll come and stay — no rummies or fatheads. You look like the right man. You can certainly eat them songs up. What do you say? " The singer was looking away — somewhere — and the sleeping warrior obstructed his vision. He heard the har- monica. He shuddered. He was silent. " I'll pay your fare up," said Higgins, " and board is cheap up there." " Can't," murmured the singer, clutching the money-cap. " Well — ," said Higgins, taking a chew of tobacco — " it's a hell of a lot better than the proposition you're up against, I'll bet a five-sheet. You ain't got to tramp streets in all weathers and climates. Your money is sure every Tuesday. If you work alone the money is all yours — " " Can't," murmured the singer, clutching the money-cap. " What's the matter? Want more money ? " — and Higgins spat, as if to clear for further action. "You don't understand," said the man who had arms, with a snarl, " I'm duty-bound to see this guy through. He saved my life and lost his arms doing it. So I'm up against it." " I see! " exclaimed the man with the fancy vest, with a clever assumption of compassion grafted into his surprise. For a minute both were silent. Higgins looked straight at the singer. The singer looked carelessly at the sea. There was the smoke of a steamer which must have been headed for Europe. It was probably bearing hundreds of people away toward wherever they wished to go and for reasons of their own in going. Why could some people go wherever they wished? Because they had enough money. That was the only reason CHILDREN OF THE SUN 43 the singer could find. He was startled by hearing Higgins remark — " Well, think it over, anyhow." " I will — " and the man who had arms really meant what he said, though he didn't realize it, at the time. He aroused and was going. "All right, Mr " " Meighan." " Meighan. All right. I'll be around here for a week." " See you later," called Bennie, who was even then hurrying to his work where he sang and sang and sang — where the man who had no arms played the mouth-harp fixed to the rack and played and played and played. That night the man who had arms met the painted woman wearing many beads and she smiled on him and he smiled on her. They were friends and they paused and conversed in murmurs, smiling — she playing with her beads. Women passed and wished they had the courage. Men passed, too, and wished they had the woman. Before he left her he told her of his prospect and when he left her he sauntered into a bar-room and ordered beer and sipped it and conversed with others who sipped. 44 CHILDREN OF THE SUN Laughing, the painted woman hurried to his room, playing with her beads, glancing with glittering eyes. She cautiously opened the door. The light from other places entered at a window. The man who had no arms was stretched on the bed, asleep. The woman lighted a lamp. Then he who had no arms awoke and uttered ludicrous noises, being confused, and waggled his armstubs and raised himself and sat upright and stared and laughed. The woman laughed with him who had no arms, for they were friends. Later, while she applied her powder-puff, she observed — " Dandy offer your partner had wasn't it? " It was, whatever it was. It must have been, it seemed. But Jimmie wondered why his partner had not mentioned it. What was it? Jimmie did not answer at once. His eyes became suddenly wide open. He was staring for the first time, spellbound, at what he had been watching constantly, for years. 'Tis a way we have. For what seemed the first time., he had reason to believe that his partner was considering or was even willing to consider forsaking him. What seemed the first proof of the long-real- ized process of change with its long-expected event came to him who had no arms and was terrifying and staggering, and more so — we are marvelously peculiar — more so than had there been no warning. He was indignant, infuriated. 'Tis a way we have. The man who had no arms forever nourished a whim. CHILDREN OF THE SUN 45 " Don't you think so?" persisted the woman, having fin- ished her toilet. " Great! " exclaimed Jimmie, posing as one who is pleased with anything at all. He turned pale — She sat on the edge of the bed. " If he accepts, are you going with him? " she added, care- lessly, playing with one of his empty shirtsleeves. He shrugged his shoulders, and, turning his head, gazed toward a corner of the room. " Perhaps," he murmured. Yet he knew he would not go. He knew that Bennie did not want him. He knew that Meighan was taxing martyrdom and had been doing so for too many years. At first, Meighan had been a servant — kind, anxious, compassionate. At every opportunity he had shared his amours with his partner. He had helped the helpless man at baths and performed with the greatest patience the necessary but re- pulsive services which armless people require. He had care- fully put the cripple in bed every night and had remained with him to talk, or read aloud. But solicitude had changed to toler- ance. The servant had become a patron. Jimmie was the one who fully realized that — Jimmie alone. 'Twas long before that, that Meighan had gradually become disagreeable, indifferent, brutal. Jimmie had not known the embrace of a woman for more than a year before the appearance of the painted woman wearing may beads and it was she, not he, who had begun the affair. Then, too, baths were possible only when the two hap- pened to be near the sea and even then his clothes were hastily drawn on over an undried skin. The undeniably repulsive duties were often neglected to the point of danger to health or even life. At the lunch-counters the dependent jaws waited inactive for minutes at a time or labored ludicrously with excessive quan- tities of cold food which had been crammed between them by one who ate his own meals with as few interruptions as possible. At night, the animate manikin was denuded and left to me- chanically crawl into bed. It frequently remained in bed — or, at any rate, in the bedroom for an entire Sunday regardless of 46 CHILDREN OF THE SUN physical or sentimental desires. So, what were the chances of his being taken along? No. If Meighan intended to go, he intended to go alone. Jimmie knew that for him there was noth- ing but the poorhouse. His folks were dead. Of course there was nothing but the poorhouse. The man who had no arms forever nourished a whim. The man who had arms forever thought of him who had no arms and of himself and he was bound — bound by the empty sleeves of him who had no arms. In time, inevitably, he began to compare his lot with that of others in the great drift of things. Everything went its course — perhaps to consummation, perhaps to destruction. Nevertheless, everything went. Every- one went his way — perhaps to happiness, perhaps to failure. Nevertheless, everyone went. Nothing remained, stagnant. Nobody waited, chained. Nobody looked over the shoulder save at lust. Nothing of him had been left under the train. His body had been brought forth whole, and more, the desire for independent existence was as whole as the body. Once, he had an impression, a lurking impression, that Jimmie might have had the same desire along with his incomplete body, and the impres- sion created an embarrassment comparable with that of one who, passing along a street, hears a sardonic laugh from behind closed window-blinds. Then he ceased comparing. He ceased thinking. He knew only that he wanted to be free and he trembled even as a prisoner trembles at the sight of the skies and the hills when the prison door has been left ajar by the drowsing jailor, and swings with an happening wind — and movement made him tremble for everything around him moved. CHILDREN OF THE SUN 47 Sometimes he wondered why some beings are bound to- gether — wondered who binds them and by what right they are bound — and he trembled, though he ever thought of the man who had saved his life and his arms, and he sang and sang and sang. Sometimes he experienced a sensation of swaying, sus- pended. It was caused by the maneuvering of the thong of convention which evolution had found in the gutter, binding one who was aware of being bound yet who was unable to un- bind himself — the thong which evolution was holding up by the trailing end, in derision. It was then that the singer won- dered which was worse, the poorhouse for one when there was nothing else or the eternal singing in streets for another when there were other things and he trembled, though he ever thought of the man who had saved his life and his arms and he sang and sang and sang. Are not worthless years an exorbitant price for a drunken day? Are not worthless years a poor exchange for a moment of pain which might have ended pain? So he chanted — often chanted — almost aloud — though he ever thought of the man who had saved his life and his arms and he sang and sang 48 CHILDREN OF THE SUN and sang and trembled and gasped, for his throat seemed bound with the empty sleeves of a shirt the body of which was filled with useless flesh. The man who had no arms forever nourished a whim. Days passed. Bennie, suspended by the thong, at an height far greater than any he had ever known, swung forth and back between principle and evasion. He swung till he was dizzy and the thong was frayed. He longed to be on the ground with other people yet he dared not sever the thong. The distance from the ground was too great. He dreaded even a further fraying of the fibres. Consequently he continued to swing. He knew only that he was suspended. He was afraid to know anything else. His mind nearly ceased to act, he was so dizzy. He merely de- sired, vaguely desired. Suddenly the action of the thong was stopped. It was arrested by the hand of the man with the fancy vest. Higgins searched for the singer, one night. They met on the depot platform. It was after Jimmie had been left to go to bed. Meighan was wandering around the edges of the crowd — and there was a crowd, though the hour was late, for it was the last night of the season. Too, it was raining and the platform was the only sheltered promenade. There was dissension amongst the wind-women. They had aroused the sleeping warrior to a state of wrath. Far out in the darkness they wrangled, their shrill bedlam dominated by the majestic in- tonation of the hen-pecked titan, some of them rushing inland, groaning, snarling, dripping with cold perspiration and fitfully slatting the downpour this way and that, as women do neckties and shirts which happen to be left lying around. Everyone was draggled. The platform was splashing with sand-mixed CHILDREN OF THE SUN 49 puddles. The rain was monotonously noisy and violent. Some- times it clattered so that voices had to be raised. Meighan was wandering around the edges of the crowd. Higgins came out of the crowd. Without making the slightest salutation he hastily asked what the singer would do about going to Caribou. Not receiving an immediate answer he continued, elaborating upon the opportunity and emphasizing the logic of acceptance. Suddenly, seeming to have exhausted all points of argument, he ceased and looked straight at the eyes of the singer, waiting for the effect. There was none. Meighan was impaled. He was faint. Within him was measureless desire, turbulent and aug- menting, yet fastened somehow by some painful and tantaliz- ing power, like the tail of a snake which is pinned to a stump by children called innocent. Under such a strain a woman would scream and fall to the ground or run away in silence and wander in solitude. Under such a strain a man would do either — if not afraid of being seen. Meighan was perhaps afraid of being seen. His eyes were glassy. He leaned against a post of the platform-roof and began trimming his fingernails. That was an habit of his, not an esthetic. "You wait here for-a few minutes," said Higgins, at length, " I'm going over to the shine chair and have my shoes oiled. Think it over. I'll be right back. Have a shine? " " No," murmured Meighan. "All right. Wait." Higgins re-entered the crow T d. Attached to the post against which Meighan was leaning was a rainspout through which water scuttled, gurgling and tinkling, as though chuckling. Rain was being driven against his back, but he didn't care. He was callous. He was dazed. Some things happened. Others did not. So he sized things up. Soon even that philosophy dimmed out. He was not even thinking. Soon, again, the thong started swinging. It started with a jerk. He thought of the man who had no arms, and of himself and he trembled 50 CHILDREN OF THE SUN and argued and cursed and despaired. The thong swung recklessly, irregularly. The frayed por- tion was pulling apart. Fibre after fibre snapped. The desire to be himself and claim his natural inheritance grew stronger. It became savage. The idea of duty weakened, though it clung with undeniable fortitude. Finally the last strand snapped — snapped so quickly that Meighan was not aware of the snap- ping. He was not conscious of falling. He knew only that he struck the ground. There he was, on both feet, with other people. He was really there. He looked about and closed his knife and put it away and hurried to find the man with the fancy vest and on his way he lowly hummed — " Everybody's doin' it. Doin' what? Doin' what? " He passed the painted woman wearing many beads. She was talking with a fakir, at a bazar. Meighan pulled her waist, as he went by. She turned. He tipped his hat. " So long," he called back. " So long, kid," she answered, somewhat seriously — " where are you going? " " Caribou." " Caribou? " " Caribou." " So long," and she turned back, quickly, to her conversa- tion. Meighan thought she was indifferent and he hurried on again, to find the man with the fancy vest. Higgins was still in the shoe-shining chair. Bennie waited at a distance, for a moment. Higgins beckoned, so the other CHILDREN OF THE SUN 51 advanced and stood beside the chair. The singer stared at the boot-black for a while. He was trembling. He was twitching his closed lips this way and that. " How about it? " called Higgins. Meighan nodded, gazing at the working bootblack. " Good ! " exclaimed Higgins, explosively. Meighan smiled, gazing at the working bootblack. " Be here at eleven, tomorrow forenoon," continued the other, " the train goes at ten minutes past." " All right," said Meighan, smiling happily. " Don't fail." " No." The man who had arms turned and moved away. He car- ried his head high. His eyes sparkled with the sense of freedom — freedom in the abstract. His steps were firm and careless. Why not? He was delivered from care. It was enough to be free. Such a sudden conception of freedom, in Meighan, was like the focus of a camera — indiscriminate. It took in every- thing within range. It seemed to him that he ought to be al- lowed to select this woman here, that one there — kissing any one or all, unrestricted and unmolested. It seemed to him that he should have the right to order one man to do this thing, an- other that, undisputed. He elbowed the crowd, smiling. He stopped and bought a cigar. Then he went on, smoking and smiling. Soon, suddenly, a parasitic instinct asserted itself — that of celebration, which prefers success to any other state. It occurred to Meighan to get drunk. He went into a dive and bought a quart. The painted woman wearing many beads hurried to the room of him who had no arms — hurried without laughing or playing with her beads and hurriedly opened the door. Jimmie was asleep. He awoke, startled. The woman rushed to the bedside. " Sh ! " 52 CHILDREN OF THE SUN " What's the matter? " he stammered. " Goodbye, honey! " The utterance was mutilated by a kiss. " Something happened? Going away? " exclaimed Jimmie, loudly. "Sh!" Another kiss. "Me? No! " she muttered. Then, after looking sharply at him, " But you are, ain't you? Trying to give me the slip, boy ? " Jimmie stared. " Going to give me the slip, was you? " " What do you mean? " Jimmie gasped. " Ain't you going away tomorrow? Bennie said he was going to Caribou — in the morning, I suppose," she muttered again, standing motionless. Jimmie scowled. He held his breath. Then he laughed, ar- ranging the pillows under his head, so, by an excusable move- ment, venting a desire to writhe. She laughed, also. " Never mind," she said, " I'll forgive you. You're a good kid." Another kiss. " Are you going with him? " " No," whispered Jimmie, or hissed, disinterestedly. " Going home to your folks? " "Sure!" He smiled. Another kiss. There were footsteps on the stairs, below. " Is that him, suppose? " She sprang toward Jimmie. The last kiss. She tiptoed from the room and sidled around a turn in the corridor. A strange man passed. She giggled and hurried away with a twinkle in her eyes and playing with her beads. CHILDREN OF THE SUN 53 The man who had no arms forever nourished a whim. Before leaving the dive, Meighan drank several whiskeys with a chance acquaintance of the summer. When he left, he staggered. He stumbled into his room. He lighted the lamp, reeling. Then he drank an half water-glass of whiskey. He offered another half-glass to Jimmie. Jimmie drank. Bennie sat on the bed and resumed trimming his fingernails. Then each man said what each could not help saying and one man raised his voice and cursed and accused and one man uttered impatient things and drank and drank and drank and trimmed his fingernails and one man wept who could not wipe his tears and moaned and complained and waved his empty sleeves upon his armstubs and looked at the man who trimmed his fingernails — the man who looked away and drank and drank and drank and shrugged his shoulders. The man who wept and could not wipe his tears clutched the clothes of the bed in his teeth and writhed and sobbed and gasped and cried to a god and cursed and the other man undressed and drank and drank and drank 54 CHILDREN OF THE SUN and extinguished the light and went to sleep to avoid what seemed the foolish talk of one who had no common sense. Soon he snored and none could have aroused him and he left his knife on the bed, unclosed. The man who had no arms forever nourished a whim and he lay in the dark and panted and sobbed and writhed and found himself sinking into himself and the pit was deep and he looked above and saw a milky way of great processions wherein were men and women who were kissing — wherein were faceless men who fought with rusted swords — wherein were men who ravished screaming women — wherein were women who tore the flesh of men — wherein were women who were kissing women — wherein were men who were embracing men — wherein were women who were beating bulging breasts — wherein were men and women who were sweeping daggers and plunging them into breasts and backs and groins and clap- ping hands besmeared with blood — wherein were horses which trampled in the midst, with many wild beasts — when one of the faceless men who fought with rusted swords approached and raised his sword above the head of him who had no arms when he who had no arms arose and glanced about the bed and saw the knife that had been left unclosed and grasped it in his teeth — grasped it so that the blade extended toward one ear. On ac- count of the years of playing the mouth-harp the muscles of the neck and jaws were abnormally developed, and the teeth CHILDREN OF THE SUN 55 tightened upon the handle to hold it as firmly as might the strongest fingers. Jimmie then crept out of bed. There was no need of using caution, for Meighan was snoring in the sleep of everyone who is absolutely lost in drunkenness. He was lying on his back. Jimmie moved around the foot of the bed and stood by the side. There he paused, staring. Suddenly the sleeper moved. Jimmie started. He bent over Meighan quickly — placed the point of the blade where he thought the heart might be — with a swift movement ripped the flesh — then drove the blade downward into the gash, downward till the handle struck a bone. The trunk wriggled but slightly yet Jimmie climbed upon it and wound his legs around those of the murdered man, hugging the shoulders with his armstubs. There he waited for a few minutes. At length he felt the breast of his shirt becoming wet. He arose. The knife was still in the body. The weight of his own body had pressed the handle down so that it laid on the flesh, partly closing the knife, with the blood bubbling up around it. He would have removed the knife but he hated the idea of tasting Meighan's blood. So he wiped the blood from his face upon the pillows and sat in bed and listened and gasped and waited and waited and waited. They found them in the morning, side by side. The face of the dead was then covered and the face of the living was washed. The dead was soon dressed and straightened out and the living was dressed and led away, with a crowd behind — a crowd that was far more eager than any which had ever gathered around him in the streets and the painted woman wearing many beads followed with the crowd, playing with her beads. OTHERS, NAMELESS OTHERS, NAMELESS Augusta is a city of dignity. It is a city of old mansions. The approach is wonderful. As you ride over in the electrics, from Winthrop, you look down, you look far down, upon valley after valley, some holding lakes, until, at last, you see ahead of you heights which are greater than those upon which you are riding — heights covered with dense forests or farms of many acres, with wMte houses and big barns and broad fields — sunswept, perhaps — heights which you feel do not rise from those upon which you ride. If swept by the sun, their distance, as you feel it, is increased and they are even higher by their glimmering magnificence. You feel that there must be a valley beyond the heights upon which you ride, a mighty one. There is a valley beyond, a mighty valley. It is that of the Kennebec, the climax of the valleys. Soon, you come to the city of old mansions. On one of the days at Winthrop, I went to Augusta, for the first time. These heights were sunswept, that morning. We passed on. Then came the descent amongst the old mansions. There they were, marvelous old things, behind their towering old trees, or beyond their expansive, forbidding lawns. Then came the continued descent into the good-looking, sufficiently aged business section. Approaching this, I happened to look 60 CHILDREN OF THE SUN down at the right, yes, still farther down, very far down. There, at last, was the Kennebec, famous, lovely, sensuous, immense, a bit indolent, that morning, dreaming away in the half-light of a forenoon fog. A four-masted schooner was asleep, dreaming, by the opposite shore. The many great, overhanging elms were sleeping, dreaming, too. I know the dreams of the Kennebec for the forms of my fathers appear in those dreams. Some labor with axes, felling trees, hewing ribs for many ships. Some tug at capstans, stand at helms, climb through riggings, watch at compasses. Some sit in great houses, smoking, drinking, playing poker. Some lie in gutters, drunken, dependent. Some wander, guilt-struck. Some hurry past, laughing. Some kiss pretty women. Some rise from the waters of distant seas and are dim and white and ghastly. My mother has told me, on stormy days, the dreams of the Kennebec — Three of her brothers are dim and white and ghastly. II I have a wonderful garden. Everything runs wild. The grass grows high and goes to seed and the dandelions go to seed with burdock and plantain and mint and pigweed and smartweed. CHILDREN OF THE SUN 61 There is a mighty woodbine which hangs along the rain-trough of the barn, looped beautifully, and along the fence of the henyard. It is bronze and purple in autumn — leaves of bronze, berries of purple. Birds eat the berries. There is an old, old climbing rosebush — older than I — beside and above the front door of the house. Hundreds of big, pink roses bow its upper limbs. Its lower thorns are as large as the spurs of roosters. There are other roses, too. There are many plum-trees bearing yellow fruit. There are raspberry-bushes. There are goldenglow and fleur-de-lis and hollyhock and striped grass and heliotrope and Virginia creeper and sunflower and bleeding heart and columbine and peone and lily of the valley and English buttercup and some little vine which runs in the grass and bears blue flowers and smells like geranium. Today these things all drip with sounding, unceasing rain. The leaves are all twitching, pelted with big drops — yes, everything runs wild for everything I love I leave alone. CHILDREN OF THE SUN III — the bobolink singing, singing when he wishes, going where it pleases, free to sing and go — — the Irish-green bug which alighted, a moment ago, on the road, hitching away wherever it wishes to go or to where it knows not, free to do what it can — — the sensual, humming, fitful wind as fitful, constant and strong as the wind of the sea, humming like the wind of the sea, as sensual as the wind of the sea though smelling of apple-blossoms and all the new things drenched with days of rain and steaming beneath a triumphant sun — steaming and glowing at hand and afar for miles and miles — hills of glowing green, swamps of glowing green all swept by the wind so like the wind of the sea, the uncommanded wind — CHILDREN OF THE SUN 63 IV — the gigantic, green-sprinkled willows leaning over the winding and peaceful and sunswept stream and the flatboat which is tied at the foot of a willow — the glossy and motionless pads and buds of lilies which rest upon the slow and muddy waters — the thousands of leafing birches in the sunswept distance — the ploughed and planted fields and the blossoming orchards in the sunswept distance — the wooded and green-sprinkled hills in the sunswept distance, where I would live forever — V The rising sun created its usual shimmer in the eastern vapors and along the quiet, green, ebbing waters of the inlet. Once in a while a wave would flash as it rolled and slumped on the tiny beach, barely sounding. Once in a while a sluggish, pungent breeze would waver toward the house. About six o'clock an heavy fog rushed down the inlet, hid- ing the whole world save the near shore. It disappeared before long. Two or three gulls were busy, after that. It was all very ordinary, of course, but an enchantment, to me, for I had not seen the ocean for three years. That is a very long time. After a while every suggestion of vapor disappeared from the skies. Then the flashings danced. Then the glimmerings un- dulated. Then the sheens surged. Out amongst them went the fishermen in their rapping motor-dories, or the cottagers in their thumping launches bound for Bath. Out amongst them 64 CHILDREN OF THE SUN flapped the gulls and now and then bobbed the black head of a seal. The breezes, growing, brought in to me the odors I have always loved. About eight o'clock we left Westport at the gray, tumbling wharf of the long-abandoned, gray, tumbling tidemill the sym- bolic distinction of which, even at blending-distance, refused to blend its power with that of the surrounding gaudy cottages. Just then we were near the fish-weirs. Beyond, was the dim finality of endless waters — There was a gull's nest on one of the weirs. Who has seen a gull's nest? 'Tis made of driftwood and seaweed. 'Tis as large as a bushel basket. Whose hands have made this driftwood by sawing or chopping? What winds have made this driftwood by hurling dead trees to the waters or breaking up ships? What of the afterbirths of maiden ships is this driftwood? What eyes of dreaming beings have seen these pieces of drift- wood — these bits of seaweed drifting in masses which look like ser- pents, undulating? Whose fingers have reached over gunwales to grasp this sea- weed? CHILDREN OF THE SUN 65 VI I would have kissed you. Wasn't the night black? None could have seen us, for the only light was that which washed the heavens, from the town — that light but glistening black against which lay the curves and angles of near trees and roofs in silhouette, jet. I could not see even you. Am I not right? And, more than that, the air was nervous with whatever kisses mean. I would have kissed you. I have loved you long and covetously. Yet, what you think of me seems not the thought of kisses and I, too, enjoy a love of you that kisses kill. Perhaps you would enjoy what kisses mean. Perhaps desire, without the thought of death confronting it, is lurking in your heart. Yet I enjoy the love that kisses kill — and kisses never fail. Yes, standing there, I would have kissed you. But I did not dare. 66 CHILDREN OF THE SUN VII They played " In Zanzibar " and you could hear low hum- mings all over the electric. The violin had a ticklish porta- mento. The mandolins and guitar had the necessary kick. That was because the musicians were done with work, for the night, and wanted to play, really wanted to play. The hum- mings grew articulate and everyone came in on the last strain, as usual, harmonizing. Oldtimers will remember the song. It was back in the tinkling years. It was before the fall of Saratoga. Every night, when returning to Saratoga from the park, in the electrics, the string-orchestra from Newman's used to play. I can often hear it — you know how. I can often smell the deli- cate smoke-drifts from choice cigars. I often hear the sound of fascinating laughter. I see languid, lovely millinery and lovely or handsome countenances dreamy with the oblivious lusts of summer. Myra was more than lovely, that night. Myra possessed the attenuated, intelligent, colorful loveliness of the typical Jewess. It is enough to say that her eyes were the eyes of a Jew. She wore a large, drooping panama the band of which was a plaited scarf of flimsy, buff silk, the plaits ending at the buckle on the side of the hat and the loosened, fringed ends fall- ing around her shoulders or fluttering with the winds. After that, Myra sang. " Tonight, the wraith of one I loved out from the darkness came. I trembled with forgotten awe for the wraith, dear, was your name- CHILDREN OF THE SUN 67 perhaps it was forgotten love, but I trembled, just the same. Yet, in another moment, I from any spell was free, when I but knew that what is dead again can never be — when I remembered, dear, that you are dead — or dead to me." VIII There are no more songs in my garden ! This dear old garden used to be wild with song! Where are the songs of the grasshoppers? The grasshoppers used to cling to the " baby's breath " and sing from morning to night. The locusts used to crouch on the sun-dried gravel of the walk and rasp in the mid-day glare. The songs of crickets came from unknown places. There were the songs of robins and sparrows and swallows and the humming of bees in the honeysuckle which used to meet the rosebush over the door. All these were songs of joy. There were many sad songs, too, and those songs were mine. I sing no more, not even songs that are sad. But where are the songs of my garden? Where are the other singers? 68 CHILDREN OF THE SUN IX Who knows it is March? The terpsichorean air above the brown expanse of pasture-hills is laughing to scorn the distant patches of flashing snow and is dancing as free women, drunk, might dance to the sound of beaten dishpans and all is passion — oh, all is passion! The world is a passion ! Who is there in all the world, with a passion? Whose passion is free to dance? Whose passion dances above the things that are dead? Whose passion dances above the things that are living and dead? Whose passion is not confined to woman or man or coin or book? Who is there in all the world, with a passion? — the swirls of rain being blown from the tin roof, yonder, gray and hissing swirls of rain ; the scores of swallows circling, fluttering, swaying through the high, gray depths of rain, swooping up from behind the housetops into the wild, gray depths of rain — CHILDREN OF THE SUN XI Fly away, away, away, if you must sing — away, away, you dear brown devil of a sparrow, for I am trying to think and sing about my thought — away, if you must sing. You do not have to think before you sing. Fly away, if you would sing, before I drive you away and end your song for I am jealous of your song. Fly away and sing above the dung of the streets and leave me alone to sing above the dung of the ages. XII — and the tears at dawn while the city was groaning with exhausted lust or goaded toil or at night while the blackened housetops appeared to huddle like caterpillars on a tree proscribed by them, and while the pavements rang with sleepless fear — and I in my room, and alone, writhing upon the floor and waiting for your letters — 70 CHILDREN OF THE SUN XIII There were the draggled thousands of old summer. The beach and thoroughfares were season-sick with a scurvy of broken flasks and peelings of bananas and imbedded scraps of paper. The shops and bazars were ragged with a commercial hem- orrhage, wide. There were men who happened to be men and there were women who were baffled by being men. There were women who did as women do and there were women who would have done as men and they mingled and surged. There was paint on the faces of many men and women and on signs and dishes and toy-balloons and souvenirs. There were rumblings and hissings of moving or pausing trains with ringing of their warning-bells. There were greetings passive or silent or careless and partings passive or dumb or cruel — for the summer was old — and there were giggles and screams and sighs and moans and sneers and the utterings of the drunken and the cries of hawkers and the drone of the ballyho CHILDREN OF THE SUN 71 and the music of places where they dance and press the breasts and of places where they skate and press the palms and of places where they watch the movies and press the legs. They strolled or loitered around the bazars and searched for the lusts. They sat on the sands and faced the ocean — and looked. They lay on the sands and closed their eyes — and. listened while the ocean sounded and the trains rumbled and the free women giggled and the ballyho droned. XIV — the sapling birches, whispering, white, with shaking, flick- ering leaves; the clear, calm waters folding across the gray, flat rock which they barely cover, sounding lowly, infrequently — I wonder if she remembers, now, the nights we lay beneath the birches and watched the stars through the parting leaves? 72 CHILDREN OF THE SUN XV My mother had long, white, tapering fingers when she was young. My mother, when she was young, had large, black eyes with long, curved lashes and high, arched eyebrows — those eyebrows which are passing away, with a passing race. My mother had small, white, even teeth. Her skin was white. She wore, on a time, an high straw hat with an ostrich plume. She wore an hoop and a black silk dress and a cashmere shawl from India. When she was young she was beautiful. My mother had an affair, when she was young, for she has a thimble of solid gold which was given to her by a fellow who fought in the Civil War, an handsome chap — a cousin, I think — and she keeps it hidden. Whoever gave it to her was killed at Richmond. CHILDREN OF THE SUN 73 — my sad old mother hid in her chamber, silently weeping the last of her sorrows, the sorrow of absence, quivering, trembling — perhaps in the garden amongst the roses wandering, lingering, silently weeping, smelling of roses instead of my flesh — her poor cold fingers holding the roses — XVI 74 CHILDREN OF THE SUN XVII I came back home. I passed through my dear old garden and looked for my cat and called his name, for he always trots to meet me. He did not come. The roses were faded and falling and the first few poppies were blooming. In the kitchen my mother was waiting with bloodshot eyes. Her lips were cold and she gave me one of her poor old kisses. I clasped her in my arms and pressed the cold flesh of her face to the flesh of my face. The cat began to roll, on the floor. I picked him up and kissed him and smelled of his thick, sweet fur. I entered the dark, sweet rooms. The rooms of my house are quiet, dark and sweet. The furniture is dark and some of it is old. There is a pitcher, wide-mouthed, blue-designed, long crackled, English, used by the Goulds who settled by the Kennebec two hundred years ago. There is an ancient Oriental shaving dish which was brought from China by one of the Goulds who commanded a ship. The dining-room table is made of black walnut and from it I ate when I was a child. Yet, whether furnished with things that are old or new, the rooms are dark and sweet. My mother, myself and my cat are happy there, but only when I am there. CHILDREN OF THE SUN 75 XVIII — and this stubborn old thorn-bush which is long dead and which was growing here when I was a child with one stub- born passion which is not dead — XIX We sat by the lake and watched the funny grackles. They are always funny — posing on scraggy tops of pines or the weird, dead limbs of aged firs; alighting on the sides of leaning trunks and clinging, motion- less; running along the backs of the seats in the park; dropping down from the trees, with the sway of falling leaves; strutting along the rocks at the waters' edge; flitting around through the foliage and uttering their quaint burlesques; bobbing amongst the grasses and picking up popcorn dropped by the crowds; fluttering, sailing low, along the surface of the lake, seemingly imitating the swallows- — but they are always funny. We watched them, often laughing. That was yesterday, the day of gold and blue and green — and black, for there were the grackles. 76 CHILDREN OF THE SUN — the lake asleep, unmoving, gray, embossed by the lazy rain; the hills beyond, gray-green and gray, some hidden by the low, gray scuds; these, rather than the sound of the closing door of the taxicab that took him away — I came up here in the rain, little grackles, just to see you. One of my friends — not forgetting my sad old mother and my ever happy cat — went away this noon. I came because I wanted to laugh. I hate the closing of the doors of hacks or the lids of trunks, although I love the beating and rolling of muffled drums. I wish you knew how I love you. I wish you knew how I love my friend. I wish you knew how I love my mother. I wish you knew how I love my cat — ah, yes, little Buttons. Ha ! A fine lot you'd be if Butsey should ever prowl about these parts! He's a wonderful, castrated torn, big, beautiful past words, and a great hunter. When he catches a bird, I never take it away from him. Why should I? I don't eat live birds. Even if he should catch one of you, I would not interfere. Never mind. He will never come this way. It's up to you to keep out of his reach. He's a great comedian, too, by the way, He knows it. Your comedy is exquisite, and I am wondering if you know it. Which one of you sat on a dead, weird limb of that half-dead fir, at sunset, yesterday — the fir that stands in relief against the water, leaning? The sun, when far in the west, was of fiery gold, molten gold, and the clouds were of white heat, purple and blood and the waters were of opal and of blood and of yellow and of silver CHILDREN OF THE SUN 77 and of lavender and down the waters came a narrow shaft of molten gold, and you, whichever you were, sat black and motionless on that black, weird limb in relief against that molten shaft. My sad old mother has a lacquered box from the Orient, with just such a picture on the cover. XX — the awesome azure whose fumid limits make the nearer hundred summits most remote and smear the farther hundreds into dreams of sight — XXI — across the heights the June winds racing, unhindered; whistling through the ripened grasses, in whims, and around the rambling wall of rounded rocks, at will, and forever rumbling in my ears; rushing over the summit-fields and somewhere away and away and away into the fearful space of the valley and somewhere afar and afar and afar, perhaps to join the winds of other summits — 78 CHILDREN OF THE SUN XXII — an ancient pine bracing my back and someone cuddling behind the trunk, away from the wind — the humming wind — XXIII She was an old free woman, forsaken. She walked along the highroad, humming, looking below upon the Sabbath-sleepy city which glimmered in the westward light of an afternoon of September and she saw that the world had collapsed and she looked upon the ruins of the world and they were yellow and white and brown and she turned from the highroad into a logging-road and began to wander and began to murmur and she murmured, in a kind of song, scattering white-plumed seeds as she wandered — " There is peace in the woods this afternoon, dear! There is peace in the woods this afternoon, my child! 'Tis quieted! 'Tis easier to die! Where are you now, dear? Where are you now, my child? CHILDREN OF THE SUN 79 Child, I am alone! Child, I am wandering — alone — alone — where the weeds and vines are broken down and entangled and tarnished! Child, I am weeping! Child, I am growing old! Oh, the dead weeds rasp and the dead vines rattle and I love you ! Child, I love you! Child, I am growing old! " The afternoon light was as mellow as the glimmer of candles arranged around the faces of the dead and the winds were as low of sound as the music which is played when we pass before corpses, and were spiced with the odors of death and she sank upon her knees and the dead weeds rasped and the dead vines rattled and she wept. 80 CHILDREN OF THE SUN XXIV Last night I went, alone, and lingered in my old, wild garden where there were scarlet poppy- women, passionate, who scorned the moon's mock potency; where there were blue, closed cornflowers who waited for their chosen lord, in chastity; where there were columbines who made a cuckold of the sun — accepting dew- jewels from the moon; where there were many weeds — and the winds which came from the somewheres of the south stirred the odors of mint and of roses and of heliotrope and were hot and the moon was crossed by a smear of vapor — yellow and thin — and was as teasing as a nipple protruding through lace and the hoofs of horses clicked and the voices of riders murmured and the city groaned and the distance of the stars possessed an horror and I bowed my head. CHILDREN OF THE SUN 81 XXV — with the midnight winds that sweep the huddling scuds above this city of tombs — in the rumbling rain that flashes and glitters in the lights of this city of tombs — among the cringing ghosts that hurry through the rain and fear it or loathe it and thrive in this city of tombs — wandering, remembering your kisses — XXVI — a form which used to be by a window, every night - the form of a woman who sat in darkness, motionless, always back from the frame — not every night, for sometimes standing in the doorway, the door half closed, but always in darkness — XXVII — the light of the wild spring sun now sprawling upon the breasts of the earth, sometimes to press and embrace in the fearful passion of inter- course, sometimes to touch and withdraw — 82 CHILDREN OF THE SUN XXVIII We were swimming by moonlight. The moon was high. The water was warm. The water was still. At night, fresh water is too warm, for me, and has an odor which I cannot like. It is sinister, too, but I love it for that. Rocks, big and round, on the bottom, near the shore, gleam like the eyes of clumsy monsters. The depths are restful, vast in vagueness. You feel that you must explore them, but the monsters lurk by the shore and watch you. When you swim, it seems that you do not move, that the monsters are holding you back, but your body feels like one of the elements of which the water is but another, and you have no fear. 'Tis a com- munion. 'Tis an embrace of strangers. The lights in the windows of cottages were streaming down the lake, beside the stream of the moon. One of the bunch was floating and looked like an ancient god or warrior in cameo. Two were amusing themselves by swimming between the legs of each other, under water, first one, then the other standing on bottom with legs spread apart, like those of the Colossus. Another was far out, doing the crawl, his ivory arms of classic muscle gleaming, occasionally flashing, amidst the gleaming and flashing eddies which they caused. One was diving from the wharf, a vision of darting, ivory lightning, disappearing in the cloud of dusky glass. We were noisy. For a while we had forgotten. CHILDREN OF THE SUN 83 XXIX — and my mother used to sit by the road on Sunday mornings and listen for the sound of a distant bell which was lone and so sweet that it seemed descending even from the unclouded sun and, waiting, she gathered roadside roses just like these and arranged them on her hat and sang and sang and sang — XXX There is an hush. The summer people come, gibbering foolishly along the wharf. The steamer-whistle screeches and the boat pulls off, with all the sounds a steamer makes. The swimmers shout and laugh, at water-play. The naphtha-boats pass, rumbling, to and fro. The trains pass, roaring, on the farther shore — the autos, panting, on the heights, and yet, there is an hush. The hush is sinister. The winds move silently across the lake, with seeming care, as though respectfully, and cause no motion on the watery miles. Birches are motionless and pines are dumb. The grackles swoop without an utterance and rarely swoop. No other birds appear. None sing. The skies are fumid and the sun seems sullen at the silence of its spouse. 84 CHILDREN OF THE SUN The year is at the climax of her lusts. She holds her loveliest flowers in her arms. Her breasts are bulging for her suckling fruits. Yet she is silent. She has found her first gray hair and pauses, breathless, to behold. XXXI 'Tis well enough that my face is hid in the grass ! 'Tis well enough to hear the sounds of the winds and the voice of whom I love ! CHILDREN OF THE SUN 85 XXXII I feel as though I must make love to you. There is a certain daring in your eyes. There is a certain tremor in your voice. Your thoughts are those which promise life at large. Ah, but it is the August of my heart, and what we sow in August bears not much. Yesterday, I rode homeward, on the train. The August world is marvelous with flowers. Hundreds of ox-eye daisies are in bloom. Hundreds of crimson lilies flower, too, with hundreds of others which I cannot name, yet all begin their growing in the spring — and this for wildflowers. In my own sweet spring I set to grow the flower of my love, yet I was a poor sower, for I chose coarse clay, and, though with passion and great deeds I fertilized that clay, it was not fit to make a thing of beauty of my flower — and this for planted flowers. So, 'tis done. There is that certain daring in your eyes. There is that certain tremor in your voice. Your thoughts seem those of life at large, and yet, although I now know how to choose my soil, I dare not sow, for August is too late. 86 CHILDREN OF THE SUN XXXIII — and the green so new and the ground so old and out of the ground upon which I stand coming the new green grass of the hills — XXXIV — the remembrance of that afternoon in that winter of horror when I kneeled by a window and pressed an hand and looked away across the snow-capped roofs at a distant spire the belfry of which was clogged and capped with snow and beyond which was a crimson sun and around which scores of swallows circled and circled and circled — CHILDREN OF THE SUN 87 XXXV He looked up. There were the stars, far, fantastic, limited in number, to the vision, by the housetops. Once in a while wreaths of smoke from his cigar obscured them. The confused illuminations from the streets and shops dimmed them. Before them was a ghost- dispassionate, almost imperceptible haze — a facecloth drawn across the eyes of dying summer. There were the stars, however. They pierced everything. Sometimes they seemed to him like the eyes of impassably respectable mill-agents' daughters with marmorean skins, who are driven past in elegant turnouts and who smile at space. Sometimes they appeared to bulge, as though whatever was supposed to retain them was not solid enough. Too, many fell, and for the same reason, it was prob- able, he thought. He shuddered. An unnerving sense of inse- curity flooded through him, throbbing. He looked away from the stars. At the end of the avenue, beyond the hundreds of electric lights and the thousands of beings with glittering eyes, was an unpenetrated darkness. It hid the sea. He strolled through the crowds of beings with glittering eyes and went into the unpenetrated darkness and crossed the sands of the sea which, even at hand, was obscured. He sat on the sands. He was startled. There were the stars again, and nothing limited their numbers. The darkness was penetrated, as before, when but a strip of sky was to be seen between the housetops. He shivered. He listened. He looked about, glancing. He looked up, staring. The facecloth seemed thinner than before, though it became more closely woven afar over the water-distances. It was all wonderful. He breathed long breaths. He peered. The waves made their noises and were not seen and the winds flourished the noises of the waves and came with the smells of the waves to the man and flourished them 88 CHILDREN OF THE SUN and he was quickened by the smells and would have arisen and have conquered an half of the earth yet he gasped and looked above and looked afar and looked about, for it seemed to him that he was being watched. XXXVI This morning, mine, while we walked in the shimmering pearls and purples of winter — pearl expanses, purple skies — do you remember the shimmering pearls and purples? — this morning, mine, mine own, I turned my face away from you and wept, once, twice, and more mine, mine own, I turned my head because I would not let you see my tears ! 1 gazed away at the shimmering pearls and purples. Oh, pearl and purple is our love! At last our love is pearl and purple! Do you remember the charming little wood of beeches — gray beeches, straight and clean-appearing — beeches with leaves still clinging here and there, brown, curled, rattling? Some of the leaves of beeches cling all winter, till the new life comes with the new suns and the new winds and my love is like those leaves that cling all winter and I am clinging to you, O mine, mine own! O winds of winter, let me stay till spring? CHILDREN OF THE SUN 89 XXXVII I love the rain for its thousands of sounds and its liveliness in cutting the air and its way of striking the puddles it makes, splashing, send- ing up millions of little pearls — each in the midst of a flashing circle. I love it for its smell and its feeling on the flesh. Some nights I go out naked and sprawl in the grass, in the rain. I love the rain for it keeps from my sight the greater part of the human race. XXXVIII — when I went to school and wondered why they taught me numbers, since none could count the butterflies or flowers — 90 CHILDREN OF THE SUN XXXIX That night we were both dizzy with bad whiskey. Our chop suey seemed an hour coming to us. I rested my head be- tween my fists, dazed, collapsing upon the table, and closed my eyes. I waited, humming a dear old song. I waited, hearing the sounds of the sliding slippers of the chinks who rushed and cackled. From the kitchen came the cacklings of voices and the hissings of grills and the rattlings of dishes. Around me sounded the gigglings of free women and the mumblings of them who brought them and the cursings of roughnecks and I heard and heard the sounds of the sliding slippers of the chinks. Once I raised my head, to look — for I was grouchy with hunger — and I filled a spoon with the dark brown soy, when he who was with me said — " Do you remember the times when we used to run in the fields where the daisies and strawberries grew — the times when we used to capture grasshoppers big and green and make them give us molasses? " XL — and once, these winds which come from unknown places brought me a seed of the tree which none can name and which has grown to an height that is greater than mine. CHILDREN OF THE SUN 91 XLI To me, the heat was disgusting. It was only when I sucked the fumes of my cigarette into me that I was conscious of breathing, so I pulled each drag to the bottom of my lungs where it struck with an ecstatic thud. Nothing else seemed to be either passing into my lungs or out of them. It was depressingly hot. For an hour or more, that noon, I lolled in the shaded door of the barn, smoking, sweating, gasping, desperate with the general depression, relieved only by feeling the tobacco-smoke pass into and out of my lungs and I made a diversion of blowing whiffs at a caterpillar which clung to the tender leaves at the end of a long and low-hanging branch of woodbine. Then came the little old woman from across the alley. She was bent and wrinkled but quick of step and glance. The step was firm. The glance was sharp. She had once been a grand dame and had commanded servants and her perfumery had cost six dollars an ounce. On this day she wore a percale dress which was greasy and which was shielded in front by a greasier apron. Her perfumery was the sweat of a laboring body. While passing the garden she picked a green string-bean from the vines and began to chew it. She saw me. Uttering a little squeak of delight, she came and sat near me, on a pile of old boards. " Ain't this a hell of a day? " she mumbled, munching the bean. " Certainly is," I said, turning my head to blow the smoke away from her. She watched the smoke vanish. "Blow your cussed old smoke this way! " she commanded, mumbling, munching the bean. " You know very well how I like it. I haven't smoked since the time " — and the poppies caught her eye. 92 CHILDREN OF THE SUN So, after that, I blew the smoke her way and she munched the bean and said no more for a while but sniffed the smoke and trotted one foot and gazed at the poppies. Soon, I arose and gathered some poppies — nine scarlet poppies — and gave them to her and blew a whiff in her face and she laughed and went home to warm over some soup. XLII While you were talking to me, little fellow, and grunting be- tween your gulps of lemonade, I was thinking of a sunset of summer when I sat on a shore, by a luminous sea, and watched a steamship pass from sight, toward England. XLIII Last night I kissed your picture seven times and, with the last of the long, wet kisses, I pressed your likeness to my lips for many minutes, longing for death — for you are the slow poison which has now destroyed the best of me ! CHILDREN OF THE SUN 93 XLIV There are always two or three women behind the curtain, drinking. There is room for five or even six people, crowded. There must have been that many last night, for we were surely crowded. Eugenie was there. 'Genie's a gipsy — a Russian gipsy — and old friend of mine. She is a beauty. Two years ago she was a wonder of the world — a skin of olive porcelain tinged with translucent, natural red faintly glowing; big, black eyes as mellow and wild as those of a mare and with lashes long and curved; white teeth such as one may see but in the showcase of a dentist. She had a peculiar manner of tilting her head forward and looking up, dreamily, under those long and curved lashes, when, with her countenance softened by low lights, I have more than once wanted to leap at her and bite her. Now, she is more or less worn, poor kid. Eugenie was never respectable. She was always a roughneck. She went at life early and furiously and probably will be in a frightful condition in two more years. Last night, in the middle of a gag I was telling, the curtain moved the least bit. We all looked up, expecting to be obliged to crowd more closely, when in walked a pregnant cat. Our surprise was vented in good nature, of course. We all laughed. 94 CHILDREN OF THE SUN " A toute outrance! " exclaimed an handsome, husky young Canadian, with a twinkling wink. " Naughty kitty! " giggled 'Genie, archly, bending over and snapping her fingers, beckoningly. We all laughed again. The mother-cat started toward the powdered, perfumed and partially fuddled girl. She didn't hesitate. She was confident. Neither female saw anything unusual in the other. They were both good fellows. As she went past, she waddled a bit, yet there was more charm to her hitching stride than her most mincing movements, during heat, could ever have possessed. We all patted her. We all wished her well. Then there was a dead silence. No hall of council ever knew a moment of greater suspense than that moment, in that dive. A queen in the same condition as that mother-cat must be a comparative slouch. The animal was proud in a pride that a queen is unable to feel. 'Genie rubbed her belly. 'Genie knew what to do. CHILDREN OF THE SUN XLV " Last night he noticed the round, yellow moon and its shimmer and the bars of budding limbs across that yellow moon. Last night he lingered, apart from me, for moments, looking upon the spires. Into the moon a spire ran — even as a dagger into a brain. He stood alone. He watched the spires. Last night I looked upon the round, yellow moon and its shimmer and the black and sharp-lined shadows out from which rose the bars of budding limbs. Last night came the first of the winds of spring. I smelled them, drawing breaths he could not measure. Last night I saw a policeman — a brute — a monster of beau- tiful countenance — who passed us. His shoulders were broad and his legs were big. He glanced at me and his eyes glittered — flashed — for he faced the moon. He passed and entered the sharp-lined shadows. The sounds of the city absorbed the sounds of his heels. Last night came the first of the winds of spring. Into the moon a spire ran — even as a dagger into a brain." That's what she told me, at least, while we were dancing around. 96 CHILDREN OF THE SUN XLVI I want your body in my bed, tonight ! I want you beside me, covered with the clothes, when I may press your hot, sweet flesh and kiss it many times, embracing, gasping with your gasps! I want you beside me, kissing me ! Oh, let the bare trees rise, unmoving, in the cold March moon- light and throw their shadows which look like tattered lace upon the dirty remnants of snow and let the dog howl afar on the distant heights and let the mumbling drunks come home, crunching beneath their feet the ice that coats the puddles and let the moon shine on until it wanes and let the stars shine on until they are dimmed and let the morning come and glimmer through the old rose curtains — only let us kiss, before we sleep ! CHILDREN OF THE SUN 97 XLVII This afternoon the pied cat gamboled over the clean, green grass of the spring, bounding, blinded, into the sunlight — after a fly — after a bee — leaping, blinking, after the beams which strained through the blossoms and clean, green leaves of the plum-trees spreading above us both. The pied cat rolled and sprawled, at will, upon the clean, green grass of the spring. He listened. He glanced. He sniffed — and rolled and writhed in the light which was lambent upon his wind-waved fur. Down through the blossoms surged the winds — oh, they were treacherous, yes, and the ground was pungent with things which are new. From the pungent ground the angleworms crawled to splice in passion till morning and every blossom was luminous. Luminous were the clear, clean greens and twice — oh, twice illumed was the world! 98 CHILDREN OF THE SUN XLVIII It had been snowing all day. I dined at the home of a friend, that evening. Before being seated, I telephoned to mother, as she was alone, at home, and was used to having somebody with her, and needed somebody near, in fact. She said that everything was all right at the house and that she was feeling well, which put my mind at rest and left it with nothing to do but to enjoy the dinner and to do justice to the happening sentiments. " But — " she added, just as I was about to hang up the receiver — " Buttons is looking for you. He is sitting out by the hitching-post, in the storm, waiting, and looking up and down the street, You ought to see him rubbering through the snows. He has been wild since four o'clock." " Has he? " I laughed, though I didn't feel like laughing. I looked out into the dining-room. They were waiting for me. My little cat was waiting for me, too. He always waits, looking, about four o'clock. " Well, goodbye," I said, as softly as I could. ' ' Goodbye . Come home early ? ' ' " I will." I hung up. A swirl of snow hissed past the house. The windows rattled, while a wind moaned and wailed through the blinds and another moaned and wailed in the chimney and a thousand moaned and wailed around the people in the streets and drowned their moans and wails and curses and laughter and hurled the snows against them. CHILDREN OF THE SUN 99 XLIX — my little friend, my cat, approaching, returning homeward for something to eat, his white feet twinkling against the dark gray ashes of the alley, twinkling like stars — — at night, when I return, his white breast moving here and there in the murk of the cellar window as a star seems to move when one looks at it for a long, long time, one restless as he — — the nights when I come and call him from the cellar, when we eat together, sometimes even out of one plate, we, two beings — — when I sat alone in a second growth of grass while muttering winds were prophesying change, while there was light which seemed afraid to enter the clouds which were weaving together, slowly, toward the west — light which retreated and left upon those clouds a weary lavender which saddened them and saddened the city in the valley where I could see more buildings than I had been able to see, a month before, as the leaves of the trees in town were even then beginning to drop by twos and threes — 100 CHILDREN OF THE SUN LI — where I used to come to weep and fear and dream and shudder ! Above the door which has not been swung since others filed through, weeping, yet hangs the climbing rose-bush amongst whose rambling lower limbs I cowered (foliage, flowers, musk and moonlight!) touching the thorns — some green and even tender; amongst whose rambling lower limbs I lingered (limbs dismantled, barren moonlight !) touching the thorns all sear and even metallic; touching the thorns — for there were many thorns — yes, grasping the thorns! There are the towering apple-trees through whose high leaves I watched the happening planets, murmuring to each ■ — " Do they, too, count your flashes? " Here are the hollyhocks — gigantic hollyhocks — through which, in August, muttered horror-winds for which I listened even in June. CHILDREN OF THE SUN 101 LII Every day is Sunday, with Madame. One Sunday, I awoke at dusk and went out. The faint glow behind the heights of Auburn was having its old struggle with the lights of the streets. I passed the tenement where Madame lives and turned into alley, for I was going to the bar-room by the back stairs. It was nearer. They were singing, upstairs at Madame's. Madame was singing, at the time. Madame has a contralto voice, not trained — just natural, as she is. As for me, I hate trained voices, anyhow. Once in a while she has a note which makes me think of a summer moon lolling upon an ebbing tide, or one of those roaming winds of spring which fans and fans that old desire to board a train bound for any old place, or the narcotic conception of having nothing to do till tomor- row. There are many others besides me who are affected the same way, for when I passed, that evening, there was a crowd of perhaps fifty standing around in groups beneath Madame's windows, listening, all men of course. On the next corner was a Salvation Army corps, pounding, raving and howling before another crowd, warning people of future days of inevitable anguish or assuring them of periods of conditional happiness to come. But Madame, faking a smart accompaniment on her piano, sang — " Hark! A voice from far away! ' Listen and learn,' it seems to say! ' All the tomorrows shall be as today ! All the tomorrows shall be as today ! ' 102 CHILDREN OF THE SUN Madame had the biggest crowd. I went down the alley. There were sounds of useless argu- ments and squabbles and of desperate laughter — there was holiday laughter, which is always desperate — yes, and there was the sound of a voice from far away. Or rather, Madame's voice could still be heard. LIII — memories, shudders, a few dry tears, till your song was done and its low, last chord had eloped with a silent breeze out of the window into the night — this black, hot night with its crimson, crescent moon — Diana tired of virginity — then all we said and all we did in this black, hot night with its crimson, crescent moon — CHILDREN OF THE SUN 103 LIV The buildings were winter-bleached and wrenched. The streets were ragged and unclean. The sun smiled on, nevertheless. It was a new spring sun, which was smiling up there, all alone, in a pure, glimmering sapphire, a merry sun which offered to all mankind the dispensation of laughter and kissing and dancing and revelry and everything else that man loves and should have, if he desires. The sun smiled on and on. Few knew it, however. Nobody cared. Everybody had a sour look. Nobody's eyes twinkled. Those who knew me nodded and passed, breasting a raving wind, loathing the weather and apparently everything else and hurrying wherever they were going, with very wise and serious expressions. Suddenly an old-time lady of leisure approached. Her eyes were twinkling. It was surely a relief to meet even one whose eyes twinkled. The woman was swinging along through the raving wind which didn't annoy her in the least. She has passed forty, this one. Her cheeks, sunken a bit, are apt to be sallow save after her short trips to the salubrious climate of the Lablache desert. However, she is a stunner, even now. Her eyes are small and black, comprehensive, brilliant with inex- haustible revelry. They twinkle continually, full of the devil. They will never need bella donna. I have never known her personally but have noticed her, for years, around public places and have known all about her, of course. She knows who I am, of course, and probably all about me, and yesterday we spoke for the first time. We couldn't help speaking. 104 CHILDREN OF THE SUN Her smile was that of any good fellow. Her voice was the sound of a solstring serenade. Wrapped in furs she swung away with a roaring gust which rattled signs and blew the hat of a bank clerk into the street. After we had passed, I laughed outright like a child, for I, too, am a child of the sun. LV What can be said? What can be said when the pericarps of the wayside rose turn crimson, with leaves at the forest-edge? when all of the leaves of the countryside are coarse and their greens are dulled by dust? when the seeds of the meadow-grasses are dried and are bowed and hiss with the nervous winds? when, at the last, comes the goldenrod — head-dress of Autumn's steed whose gaudy caparison is gemmed with the fruits of things and the last low-trailing fringes of which drag, frayed, in the old, gray mires of what is dead — when the shrunken river has broadened the marsh? when the water-snakes bask long in the sun? What can be said? Seaver-Howiand Press 271 Franklin St. 1S0ST0M a*