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By MARGARET VVIDDEMER 
 
 FACTORIES. Poems. $1.30 net. 
 
 THE WISHING-RING MAN. 
 $1.35 net. 
 
 YOU'RE ONLY YOUNG ONCE. 
 $1.50 net. 
 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 Publishers New York 
 
THE OLD ROAD TO 
 PARADISE 
 
 POEMS BY 
 
 MARGARET WIDDEMER 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 1918 
 
't^! 
 
 
 Copyright, 1918, 
 
 BY 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 
 THE QUINN A 600EN CO. FRtgS 
 RAHWAY, N. J. 
 
 km 29 1518 
 
 ©CLA503250 
 
TO MOTHER 
 WITH MARGARET'S LOVE 
 
For the privilege of reprinting many of the poems 
 in this volume the author wishes to thank the editors 
 of The Bellman, The Bookman, Contemporary Verse, 
 The Century Magazine, The Delineator, The Dial, 
 Everybody's Magazine, The Forum, Good House- 
 keeping, Harper's Bazar, Harper s Magazine, Life, 
 McClure's Magazine, Midland, New Fiction Publish- 
 ing Co., Poetry (Chicago), Poetry Review (Boston), 
 Reedy' s Mirror, St. Nicholas, Southern Magazine, 
 Smart Set, Touchstone, Youth's Companion. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 FAGS 
 
 THE OLD ROAD TO PARADISE 
 
 The Old Road to Paradise .... 3 
 
 The Old Kings 5 
 
 St. Jeanne Rides Out ..... 7 
 
 A Ballad of the Wise Men .... 9 
 
 Next Year 11 
 
 Homes 12 
 
 Father-Prayer ^3 
 
 GooD-BY, My Lover 14 
 
 Poem for a Picture . . . . . . 15 
 
 Prayer for the New Year .... 17 
 
 THE SINGING WOOD 
 
 The Gray Magician 21 
 
 The Dancers 22 
 
 The Gypsy Star 24 
 
 The Faun's Sweetheart .... 26 
 
 Dream-House 28 
 
 Garden Dream 29 
 
 Swan-Child 31 
 
 Changeling 33 
 
 Songs from a Masque . . . . . 35 
 
 Unspelled 38 
 
 The Singing Wood . . .. . . . 39 
 
 vii 
 
viii Contents 
 
 PAG« 
 
 BEING YOUNG 
 
 Whistle- Fantasy 43 
 
 Once When We Bought Valentines . 44 
 
 When I Was a Young Girl .... 46 
 
 The Garden 48 
 
 October 50 
 
 Heart of Youth 51 
 
 Song: I Wish I Were Old Now ... 52 
 
 To Youth After Pain . . . . . 53 
 
 Old Books 54 
 
 The Wires 57 
 
 WOMENFOLK 
 
 Women . . 61 
 
 Embroidery 63 
 
 Tea 64 
 
 Dream-Death 65 
 
 Toys es 
 
 Mother-Prayer 67 
 
 Three Studies for a Portrait ... 68 
 
 To A Young Girl at a Window . . . 71 
 
 A Lost Comrade 'J2 
 
 Departure 73 
 
 Discovery 74 
 
 Woman-Lore 75 
 
 The Unfound City ^^6 
 
 The Dark Cavalier 'jj 
 
Contents 
 
 IX 
 
 PEOPLE 
 
 Travel Prayer 8i 
 
 His Mother 82 
 
 In an Office Building . . . . -83 
 
 God's Places 84 
 
 People 85 
 
 A Boy of the Ghetto 87 
 
 WISTFULNESS 
 
 Life Tells the Dreamer 
 
 Prescience .... 
 
 I Tell My Heart . 
 
 Fulfilment 
 
 Once I Met Happiness . 
 
 91 
 93 
 93 
 94 
 95 
 
 LOVE SONGS 
 
 Denial 99 
 
 The Masters 100 
 
 I Said, " Love Is Gone " loi 
 
 Vain Hiding 102 
 
 " Mary, Helper of Heartbreak " . . 103 
 
 Interim 105 
 
 Other People 106 
 
 And If You Came 107 
 
 I Was Still a Child 108 
 
 Peace 109 
 
 One Worse Thing no 
 
X Contents 
 
 PACK 
 
 LOVE SONGS— Cow^inw^c/ 
 
 Givers m 
 
 Old Wine 112 
 
 I Took His Dreams 113 
 
 Certainties 114 
 
 Wise People 115 
 
 Unfaith 116 
 
 Song: Kind Adieu 117 
 
 Lost Counsel 118 
 
 I Did Not Know .119 
 
 An Afternoon 120 
 
 The Wood-Path 122 
 
 Warning 123 
 
THE OLD ROAD TO PARADISE 
 
THE OLD ROAD TO PARADISE 
 
 Ours is a dark Easter-tide, 
 
 And a scarlet Spring, 
 But high up at Heaven-Gate 
 
 All the saints sing, 
 Glad for the great companies 
 
 Returning to their King. 
 
 Oh, in youth the dawn's a rose, 
 
 Dusk's an amethyst, 
 All the roads from dusk to dawn 
 
 Gay they wind and twist; 
 The old road to Paradise 
 
 Easy it is missed ! 
 
 But out on the wet battlefields, 
 Few the roadways wind, 
 
 One to grief, one to death 
 No road that's kind — 
 
 The old road to Paradise 
 Plain it is to find ! 
 
 {Martin in his Colonel's cloak, 
 
 Joan in her mail, 
 David with his crown and sword — 
 
 None there be that fail — 
 Down the road to Paradise 
 
 Stand to greet and hail!) 
 3 
 
The Old Road to Paradise 
 
 Where the dark's a terror-thing, 
 Morn a hope doubt-tossed. 
 
 Where the lads He thinking long 
 Out in rain and frost, 
 
 There they find their God again, 
 Long ago they lost : 
 
 Where the night comes cruelly, 
 Where the hurt men moan, 
 
 Where the crushed forgotten ones 
 Whisper prayers alone, 
 
 Christ along the battlefields 
 Comes to lead His own : 
 
 Souls that would have withered soon 
 
 In the hot world's glare, 
 Blown and gone like shriveled things, 
 
 Dusty on the air, 
 Rank on rank they follow Him, 
 
 Young and strong and fair ! 
 
 Ours is a sad Easter-tide, 
 
 And a woeful day, 
 But high up at Heaven-Gate 
 
 The saints are all gay, 
 For the old road to Paradise, 
 
 Thafs a crowded way! 
 
THE OLD KINGS 
 
 All of the Old Kings 
 
 Are wakened from their sleep, 
 Arthur out of Avalon, 
 
 Ogier from the deep, 
 Redbeard from his Dragon-Rock, 
 
 Sigurd from his fen . . . 
 " Is it time," they rise and cry, 
 
 " To lead our hosts again? " 
 
 They have donned their winged helms. 
 
 They would rise and reign, 
 The young king Sebastian, 
 
 The old king Charlemagne, 
 Harold with his great bow, 
 
 Roland with his horn . . . 
 Men have heard their horses' hoofs 
 
 Many a scarlet morn ! 
 
 The Old Kings have risen . . . 
 
 Where the hosts advance 
 Redbeard cries his Germans on, 
 
 Karle cries out for France, 
 Up and down the battlefield 
 
 Ghostly armies beat, 
 Stilly down the gray sea glides 
 
 Olaf 's shadow-fleet : 
 
The Old Kings 
 
 Up and down the red fields 
 
 Men have seen them go, 
 Seen the long plumes on the wind, 
 
 Seen the pennons flow, 
 Harry out of Agincourt 
 
 Sends his bowmen wide, 
 Joan that has forgiven them 
 
 Battles at their side. . . . 
 
 Christ, king of Paradise, 
 
 Hasten with Thy hosts, 
 Angels all in silver mail, 
 
 Saints and blessed ghosts. 
 Cry the long swords sheathed again, 
 
 Cry the pennons furled, 
 Lest under Ragnarok 
 
 Lie the shattered world ! 
 
ST. JEANNE RIDES OUT 
 
 (For Amy Lowell) 
 
 St. Jeanne she sat with Michael, 
 
 With Marguerite and Raphael, 
 
 And all the saints who sent her forth a many years ago, 
 
 And high behind her gold-ringed head. 
 
 The martyrs dressed in white and red 
 
 And seraphim all silver-winged they chanted row on 
 
 TOW. 
 
 St. Jeanne she spoke to Michael, 
 
 To Marguerite and Raphael, 
 
 " Oh, here's no place for such as I, all white and gold 
 
 and warm. 
 For I was but a peasant maid 
 Strong of arm and unafraid. 
 Before you sent me garnering along the battle-storm." 
 
 St. Jeanne she's laid her garlands by. 
 Her crown and palm that glittered high 
 And all the golden trinketry she won at Heaven Gate, 
 She's out along by Mary's Street 
 Where little stars lie thick and sweet. 
 With helm and sword they took from her at Rouen- 
 Town of late. 
 
8 St. Jeanne Rides Out 
 
 St. Peter swore, *' The gate stands wide, 
 
 So many folk have marched inside — 
 
 I'll drop my golden keys tonight and snatch a sword 
 
 again ! " 
 And stalwart saints and martyrs all 
 And sworded angels silver-tall 
 In straight and shining companies they've followed in 
 
 her train. 
 
 And down the fields of Paradise 
 
 The churchmen all so great and wise 
 
 Who won to Heaven so hardly once, they've knelt to 
 
 her at last. 
 All they who laughed at Rouen-Town 
 To see the flames beat up and down 
 And learned her for a saint that day, they follow glad 
 
 and fast. 
 
 Oh, did you hear the shouting then ? 
 
 Along the fields of weary men 
 
 There's lifted heart and strengthened arm and laughing 
 
 glad accord : 
 Oh, who may doubt what end may be? 
 With all her winged chivalry 
 St. Jeanne rides down her fields tonight to battle for 
 
 the Lord! 
 
A BALLAD OF THE WISE MEN 
 
 The Christ-Child lay in Bethlehem 
 
 And the Wise Men gave Him gold, 
 And Mary-Mother she hearkened them 
 
 As they prayed in the cattle-fold: 
 " Smile then, smile, little Prince of Earth, 
 
 Smile in Thy holy sleep, 
 Now Thou art come, for want and dearth 
 There shall be plenty and light and mirth 
 
 Through lands where the poor folk weep." 
 But Mary-Mother was still and pale 
 
 And she raised her gold-ringed head, 
 '* Then why have I heard the children wail 
 All night long on the far-blown gale 
 While my own Child slept ? " she said. 
 {But far overhead the angels sang: 
 " There shall be joy! " the clear notes rang!) 
 
 The Christ-Child lay in Bethlehem 
 
 And the censers burned for him 
 That the Wise Men swung on its silver stem 
 
 And prayed while the smoke rose dim : 
 " Sleep, then sleep, little Son of God, 
 
 Sleep while the whole world prays; 
 All of the world shall fear Thy nod, 
 Following close Thy staff and rod, 
 
 Praising this day of days/' 
 9 
 
lO A Ballad of the Wise Men 
 
 But Mary-Mother turned whispering 
 
 There by the manger-bed 
 " Then why do I hear the mocking ring 
 Of voices crying and questioning 
 
 Through the scented smoke ? " she said. 
 {But high overhead the angels sang — 
 " There shall he faith! " the pure notes rang.) 
 
 The Christ-Child lay in Bethlehem 
 
 And the Wise Men gave Him myrrh. 
 And Mary-Mother she hearkened them 
 
 As they prayed by the heart of her : 
 " Sleep, then sleep, little Prince of Peace, 
 
 Sleep, take Thy holy rest. 
 Now Thou art come all wars shall cease. 
 Thou who hast brought all strife release 
 
 Even from east to west ! " 
 But Mary-Mother she veiled her head 
 
 As if her great joys were lost, 
 And " Here is only a manger-bed. 
 Then why do I hear clashed swords ? " she said. 
 " And why do I see the tide of red 
 
 Over the whole world tossed?" 
 {But still overhead the angels sang: 
 " There shall he peace! " the sure notes rang!) 
 
NEXT YEAR 
 
 Up and down the street I know, 
 Now that there are Grief and War, 
 
 All day long the people go 
 As they went before ; 
 
 But when now the lads go by — 
 Careless look and careless glance — 
 
 My heart wonders — " Which shall lie 
 Still next year in France ? " 
 
 When the girls go fluttering — 
 
 Flushing cheek and tossing head — 
 
 My heart asks — " Next year shall bring 
 Which a lover dead ? " 
 
 Lord, let peace be kind and fleet — 
 Put an end to Grief and War; 
 
 Let them walk the little street 
 Careless as before ! 
 
HOMES 
 
 The lamplight's shaded rose 
 On couch and chair and wall, 
 The drowsy book let fall, 
 The children's heads, bent close 
 In some deep argument. 
 The kitten, sleepy-curled. 
 Sure of our good intent, 
 The hearth-fire's crackling glow 
 His step that crisps the snow, 
 His laughing kiss, wind-cold. . 
 
 Only the very old 
 Gifts that the night-star brings, 
 Dear homely evening- things, 
 Dear things of all the world. 
 And yet my throat locks tight . 
 
 Somewhere far off I know 
 Are ashes on red snow 
 That were a home last night. 
 
 12 
 
FATHER PRAYER 
 
 Lord God, Who let Your baby son 
 
 Pass earthward where the joys were few 
 
 To a hard death when all was done. 
 And very far away from You ; 
 
 My little lad must go today 
 
 Paths where I cannot guide his feet, 
 Through dangers that I cannot stay 
 
 To strife I cannot help him meet; 
 
 He has heard voices calling him 
 
 Though youth is gay and life is warm, 
 
 And right seems far away and dim. 
 To weary ways and battle-storm : 
 
 Lord God, Whose Son went steadily 
 Down the hard road He had to tread, 
 
 Guard my son too, that he may be 
 
 Strong in his hours of doubt and dread ! 
 
 13 
 
GOOD-BY, MY LOVER 
 
 All the flags stream abroad, and the crowds wave and 
 
 cry — 
 And I watch for your face in the long lines marching 
 
 by; 
 
 For my lips bade you go, but my heart would bid you 
 
 stay — 
 Oh, lad, and will the war be long, and you so far 
 
 away? 
 
 And your step as you marched, would it lag or fall 
 
 more true 
 If you knew that my heart's gone to war to follow 
 
 you? 
 
 1 
 
 14 
 
POEM FOR A PICTURE 
 
 (Children at play on a French Battlefield) 
 
 ** When I was a child," 
 
 You shall tell one day, 
 Children, on these blackened fields 
 
 Gallantly at play, 
 " All the quiet sky 
 
 Burst in death aflame ; 
 One day, I was young, 
 
 Then . . . The Horror came." 
 
 ** When I was a child ..." 
 
 Wind-tossed leaves of war. 
 Is there childhood still for you, 
 
 Wise in horror-lore, 
 Who have heard your sisters' screams 
 
 Shattering your play, 
 Seen your mothers past their dead 
 
 Led to shame away? 
 
 Ragged, helpless, maimed. 
 
 Hungry, left alone 
 Where the smoking roof-beams lie 
 
 By the wrecked hearth-stone, 
 15 
 
Poem for a Picture 
 
 Still you mime (child-hearts are strong, 
 
 Childhood pain is brief) 
 Echoes of world-victory, 
 
 World-defeat, world-grief ! 
 
 Dauntless in your rags, 
 
 Insolent in mirth, 
 Laughing with young lips that know 
 
 All the griefs of earth, 
 God, who loves a high heart well, 
 
 Will not let you fail — 
 You are France, who laughs at Hell — 
 
 France, who shall prevail ! 
 
PRAYER FOR THE NEW YEAR 
 
 Lord God, we lift to Thee 
 
 A world hurt sore. 
 Look down, and let it be 
 
 Wounded no more ! 
 
 Lord, when this year is done 
 
 That wakes today 
 Many shall pray to Thee 
 
 Who do not pray ; 
 
 Let all lips comfort them, 
 
 All hearts be kind, 
 They who this year shall leave 
 
 Their joys behind : 
 
 Give them Thy comforting, 
 
 Help them to know 
 That though their hopes are gone 
 
 Thou dost not go; 
 
 They who shall give for Thee 
 
 Lover and son, 
 Show them Thy world set free, 
 
 Thy battles done ! 
 17 
 
[8 Prayer for the New Year 
 
 Lord God, we lift to Thee 
 A world in pain, 
 
 Look down and let it be 
 Made whole again ! 
 
THE SINGING WOOD 
 
THE GRAY MAGICIAN 
 
 I WAS living very merrily on Middle Earth 
 
 As merry as a maid may be 
 Till the Gray Magician came down along the road 
 
 And flung his cobweb cloak on me : 
 
 His cobweb cloak of gray brushed my eyes and my 
 ears 
 
 And all the curtained air was thinned, 
 And I came to the sight of the quiet Other People 
 
 Who live in the water and the wind : 
 
 And I cannot go abroad to gather up the faggots, 
 
 Singing to the honest air 
 Because of the fingers of the brown wood-women 
 
 Catching at my blowing hair : 
 
 And I cannot sit at home and be quiet at my spinning, 
 
 Singing to the thread I spin, 
 Because of the crying of the green sea-women 
 
 Beneath my sill to be let in : 
 
 And I wish the Gray Magician had been swung to an 
 oak 
 
 Or drowned in the deep green sea 
 Before he brushed my face with his cobweb cloak 
 
 And stole the Middle Earth from me ! 
 
 21 
 
THE DANCERS 
 
 (For Edwin Arlington Robinson) 
 
 Ours was a quiet town, a still town, a sober town, 
 Softly curled the yellow roads that slept in the sun, 
 Staid came the day up and staid came the night down 
 And staidly went we sleepwise when the day's work 
 was done ! 
 
 Oh, they came dancing down, the gay ones, the bonny 
 
 ones, 
 We had never seen the like, sweet and wild and glad, 
 Down the long roads they came, fluting and dancing, 
 Flowers in each lass's hair and plumes on each lad ! 
 
 Sweet were their clinging hands, kind were their 
 
 voices, 
 " Dance with us, laugh with us, good grave folk," said 
 
 they, 
 " Swift we must go from you, time's long for toiling, 
 Come and make joy with us the brief while we stay ! " 
 
 Oh, then was a gay time, a wild time, a glad time, 
 Hand in hand we danced with them beneath sun and 
 
 moon. 
 Flowers were for garlanding and greens were for 
 
 dancing — 
 This was the wisdom we learned of them too soon ! 
 
 22 
 
The Dancers 23 
 
 Swift went the day past, a glad day, a wild day, 
 Swift went the night past, a night wild and glad, 
 Down fell their arms from us, loosening, fleeting, 
 Far down the roads they danced, wild lass and wild 
 lad! 
 
 Far fled their dancing feet, far rang their laughter, 
 Far gleamed their mocking eyes beneath the garlands 
 
 gay, 
 All too late we knew them then, the wild eyes, the 
 
 elf-eyes, 
 Wood-folk and faun-folk that danced our hearts 
 
 away! 
 
 Ours is a still town, a sad town, a sober town. 
 Still lie the dun roads all empty in the sun. 
 Sad comes the day up and sad falls the night down, 
 And sadly go we sleepwise when the day's watch is 
 done! 
 
THE GYPSY STAR 
 
 There were seven shining stars that swung above my 
 cradle 
 (She never was kind to me, Diana our Lady the 
 Moon!) 
 And one was rosy-pale, and one was scarlet-golden, 
 And one was a little shadowed star that only could 
 vanish soon! 
 
 Oh, Mars was scarlet-wild and Venus was veiled in 
 shadow 
 (She called to the clouds to come, Diana our Lady 
 of Snow!) 
 But all of the stars that rose and helped me where I 
 must wander 
 They never could hold the Gypsy Star to the roads 
 where my feet must go ! 
 
 Oh, one was a star of crowns and one was a star of 
 dreaming 
 And one was a star of mockery and one was a help 
 from pain, 
 And ever the Sun was kind and shone for my idle 
 singing, 
 But ah, my wandering Gypsy Star I never shall find 
 
 again ! 
 
 24 
 
The Gypsy Star 25 
 
 Oh, Mars may burn to dusk and Venus may rise from 
 shadow 
 And even the Moon that hated me forget as she 
 lifts the tide, 
 Yet what if they gleam or fade, and what if they stay 
 or wander? . . . 
 Alas, my wandering Gypsy Star that faded and 
 flamed and died ! 
 
THE FAUN'S SWEETHEART 
 
 We met by the Wood of Doom, 
 
 Day gone and the dusk come after . . . 
 
 And I thought you were one Hke the lads anear, 
 
 Only more glad and fair, 
 
 Till I heard you laugh in the gloom 
 
 And I knew a faun's wild laughter — 
 
 But oh, it was all too late to fear 
 
 The little horns in your hair ! 
 
 Far back leaped the woodlights' glow, 
 And you fled — and I might not follow, 
 And I loosed the hold of your hurrying hand 
 At the piercing wood-flutes' call ; 
 For my human feet fell slow. 
 Flagging at hill and hollow. 
 Till far rang back from the leaping band 
 The click of your light footfall. 
 
 The days pass long and still 
 Where I sit still at my spinning . . . 
 But I wish the sounds of the talking stream 
 Would hush, and I might not know 
 Over the forest-hill 
 The sounds of the night's beginning, 
 Nor see the flit of the hurrying gleam 
 Where the lightfoot woodf oik go ! 
 26 
 
The Faun's Sweetheart 27 
 
 For I cannot have hope in heaven 
 
 To quiet my heartache after. 
 
 Because you were only a faun o' the wood 
 
 With never a soul at all. 
 
 And never the hills of heaven 
 
 May echo a faun's wild laughter 
 
 Nor over the harpstrings' holy flood 
 
 Sound ringing your light footfall ! 
 
DREAM-HOUSE 
 
 (For Anna Hempstead Branch) 
 
 I WENT to the house of the Lady of Dreams 
 
 For a dream to carry away 
 That should ferry me over the blackest streams 
 
 I had to cross by day ; 
 
 For comforting dreams from her small white hands 
 
 Rise up like butterflies, 
 And dreams like the lakes in old fairylands 
 
 Lie back of her shining eyes, 
 
 And gold-riddled dreams like tapestries 
 
 Cling painted along her walls 
 And yellow bird-dreams from shadow-trees 
 
 Come fluttering when she calls; 
 
 And all of the day-dark when she spoke 
 
 Was shattered and rainbow-hung, 
 And she gave me a dream like a scarlet cloak 
 
 And a dream like a wreath rose-strung . . . 
 
 But I went from the house of the Lady of Dreams 
 And my packet of dreams blew wide. 
 
 And only a red-rose cloud in streams 
 Swung torn in the west outside! 
 28 
 
GARDEN DREAM 
 
 They cried before my gate at morning-mirth, 
 
 " Come out and heip us burn the weeds from earth!'* 
 
 But I was planting out my garden-close 
 
 With wands of lily and with slips of rose, 
 
 And their scented wavings made the air so sweet 
 
 That I could not listen to the trampling feet . . . 
 
 (Yet there blew a perfume from the garden-bed 
 
 That changed the evil weeds to white and red!) 
 
 They called before my gate at noontide-breath, 
 " Come out and help us check the dance of death! " 
 
 But I was dancing in a woodland ring 
 With brown wood-women for my partnering, 
 And fauns that fluted till the green glades rang, 
 And all I heard was what the wood-birds sang. . . . 
 (Yet there came a music from the wood- folk's flute 
 That made the drums of evil kind and mute!) 
 
 They cried before my gate at sweet of night, 
 " Come out and help us scourge the black world 
 white!" 
 
 But I was weaving me a golden gown 
 All strung with silver lilies up and down 
 
 29 
 
30 Garden Dream 
 
 With moon-white laces that should foam and fall, 
 And I could not hear their lashing words at all . . . 
 (Yet there streamed a light from out the golden gown 
 That cleansed the blackness of each evil town!) 
 
 And every poor man had a garden-close 
 With wands of lilies and with slips of rose, 
 And every poor child danced the woodlands through 
 And sang and Uuted merry songs he knew, 
 And every woman had a golden gown 
 Gay-strung with silver ribbons up and down, 
 And we all went singing how the world is fair 
 And warm the summer light and sweet the air! 
 
SWAN-CHILD 
 
 (For Aline) 
 
 My feet have touched the Dancing Water, 
 My lips have kissed the Singing Rose 
 
 And I was born a swan-girl's daughter . . 
 
 Oh, I would stay with you, my lover, 
 But in my heart a sea wind blows 
 
 And in the dark the wild swans hover . . 
 
 Tonight as I went down to sea 
 
 To cast my net, to draw my net. 
 The Marsh-King's daughter whispered me, 
 
 "Sister," she called, "do you forget?" 
 For though I am a fisher's child 
 
 It was a swan-maid mothered me. 
 And I have wings that I can don 
 When day is done, when dark comes on, 
 
 To bear me high across the sea. 
 
 One star-dusk when I waited you 
 And it was long before you came, 
 
 There was a bird with wings of blue 
 And claws of gold and crest of flame 
 
 Who sang with words as mortals do: 
 He sang me of an ivory fountain 
 Within a wood beyond a mountain 
 31 
 
32 Swan-Child 
 
 Where lies beneath the water's flow 
 A golden key, a silver cup, 
 Until my hand shall lift them up . . . 
 (Oh, I must go from you, my lover!) 
 
 For they were mine once long ago. 
 
 How shall you keep me, dear my lover? 
 
 My heart is yours till night-winds call, 
 And then dear earth-things fade and fall 
 
 (Oh, I was born a swan-girl's daughter!) 
 For I have found beneath the moon 
 Brown fairy fernseed for my shoon 
 
 That carries me where no man knows, 
 Beyond the sands, beyond the clover . . . 
 I cannot bide with you, my lover . . . 
 
 My feet have touched the Dancing Water, 
 
 My lips have kissed the Singing Rose. 
 
CHANGELING 
 
 Though she has a name you bore, 
 Elfin-Heart we loved before, 
 You are lost to us, you child, 
 Little life-flame burning wild ! 
 Though her hair — how like ! — is tossed 
 Like your yellow head that's lost, 
 And her blue eyes seem to smile 
 Like yours lost this weary while, 
 This dim woman lifelessly 
 Playing you — you are not she ! 
 You that were a wisp, a spark. 
 Small wild sunray, Gleam-in-Dark, 
 Never you, wild heart awing. 
 This that is a changeling! 
 
 Elfin-Heart, too like you were — 
 Mocking eyes and tossing hair — 
 Cruel laughter, changeful ways — 
 To your kin the wandering fays. 
 To have passed their hidden ring. 
 Safe, uncaught, unfollowing! 
 Somewhere in a green hill's heart 
 Elfin-tall you laugh apart 
 Where forever cold and gay 
 Do the Strange Folk's pipers play . . 
 33 
 
24 Changeling 
 
 And while this that bears your seeming 
 Goes among us dumb and dreaming, 
 You dance on eternally 
 With the Dark Queen's chivalry ! 
 
SONGS FROM A MASQUE 
 
 THE WOODFOLK SWEEP THROUGH 
 
 The Water-Spirit: 
 
 Water flows in the wild wood deep, 
 
 Dreamy water that slips and sighs, 
 I shall whisper your heart to sleep. 
 
 Flowing down on your lips and eyes — 
 Dance and dream — dance and dream — 
 Folk of woodland and tree and stream ! 
 
 The Fire-Spirit: 
 
 Fire shall burn and be always new. 
 
 Flames leap wild on the flashing air; 
 I shall sweep from the heart of you, 
 Worldly fever of love and care — 
 Dance and leap — dance and leap — 
 Folk of woodland and wind and steep! 
 
 The Earth-Spirit: 
 
 Earth is kind in the peace of night, 
 
 Earth that loves when all else is done- 
 I will hide you at loss of light 
 
 Deep from hurt of the snow or sun — 
 Dance till night — dance till night — 
 Folk of woodland and vale and height ! 
 35 
 
36 Songs from a Masque 
 
 Chorus of W cod folk: 
 
 Wild the heart of the magic wood, 
 
 Wild the dream that shall never stay, 
 Flute and laughter and dance are good, 
 
 Joy and singing the while we may — 
 Joy is good — joy is good — 
 Folk of river and field and wood! 
 
 SWANHILD SINGS UNSEEN! 
 
 White wings, far wings, 
 
 Fade down the sky, 
 Dream things, fair things 
 
 Follow and fly; 
 
 Young heart, wild heart, 
 Ah, could you follow 
 
 All the clouds, all the dreams, 
 Down the world's hollow ! 
 
 SWANHILD SINGS TO THE KNIGHT: 
 
 What shall I do with my heart 
 That will not go with thee, 
 
 Lover of mine, knight of mine, 
 Guide to the heights afar? 
 
Songs from a Masque 37 
 
 There is a dream to follow 
 
 That will not let me be — 
 I must go down to the marshland's water, 
 
 Hiding from wind and star! 
 
 What shall I do with thy heart, 
 
 Seeking me without rest, 
 I who must strip all hands from me. 
 
 Guarding my steps in fear ! 
 Turn from the fairy woodland. 
 
 Pass to thy holy quest — 
 I must go seek for the track of the swan 
 
 And the sound of the step of the deer! 
 
UNSPELLED 
 
 The world of dream is shattered ; hill and tree 
 And winged music and enchanted lawn; 
 
 For someone signed the cross, and suddenly 
 Our faeryland was gone: 
 
 The dark fell swiftly on the fear-struck land 
 And mocking echoes cried across the chill ; 
 
 The wailing woodfolk fled us . . . but your hand 
 Held close to my hand still. 
 
 Oh, what are woodland dream and fluting reed, 
 Red glamor of enchanted jewel-stone? 
 
 I pass the ruined faery gates indeed . . . 
 But not alone. 
 
 38 
 
THE SINGING WOOD 
 
 I FOLLOWED far from the roadway 
 
 After my golden ball 
 (How could I tell the way it went, 
 
 Where it might lie or fall?) 
 And coaxing vines from the Singing Wood 
 
 Came twining around my feet 
 And scent of flowers from the Singing Wood 
 
 Oh, it was sweet, was sweet! 
 
 Once I met a satyr. 
 
 Once I was with a faun, 
 Once I spoke with a woman o' doom 
 
 Spinning from dusk till dawn. 
 Once I followed a will-o'-the-wisp 
 
 Dancing along the fen . . . 
 Never the sun in the Singing Wood, 
 
 Never a bird-loud glen ! 
 
 All the trees were sighing. 
 
 All of the brooks were tears, 
 All of the flowers were bleeding-hearts 
 
 Scarlet with hopes and fears. 
 All of the vines were hands that clung 
 
 Twisting about my heart . . . 
 Oh, the thorns of the Singing Wood 
 
 Sharp they can tear and smart! 
 
 39 
 
40 The Singing Wood 
 
 I might have won to the rainbow's end, 
 
 But never for all o' me 
 Shall my feet stray into the Singing Wood 
 
 For any fair things that flee . . . 
 Here on earth are the day and night, 
 
 Human women and men — 
 And oh, 'tis good to be out o' the wood, 
 
 Into the world again! 
 
BEING YOUNG 
 
WHISTLE-FANTASY 
 
 Out in the dark the train passes 
 And the whistle calls to the child, 
 Desolate, piercing, wild. 
 From the track in the meadow-grasses 
 '' Far, far away," it screams, 
 "Far, far away, 
 Out in the distance are dreams 
 Dreams you shall follow some day 
 Far through the endless wild . . . 
 Distance . . . dreams . , ." 
 Backward the faint call streams : 
 Far in the dark the train passes, 
 And the whistle calls to the child. 
 
 43 
 
ONCE WHEN WE BOUGHT VALENTINES 
 
 (For Kenneth) 
 
 Close upon the window-glass pressed our eager 
 
 faces — 
 Hearts and torches all aflare, frame on frame of laces, 
 Wreathing roses all abloom, Cupids all awing, 
 Valentines — and valentines ! swung along the string. 
 Lights from out the window-pane glinted on the snow 
 Once when we bought valentines — how long, how long 
 
 ago! 
 
 Slow we tiptoed in the shop, scarlet-cheeked and shy, 
 Half-elate, half-afraid to be asked to buy. 
 Sidling toward the prettiest on their swaying strings, 
 Laughing at the ugliest, monstrous painted things. 
 (Still the little thrill of fear — life was strange, you 
 
 knew — 
 What if someone sometime sent one of those to you?) 
 
 Tense we watched the lagging mail, furtive hearts 
 
 abeat . . . 
 Surely it would never come down the endless street! 
 Surely all the valentines would be gone before 
 (Out of sight, into sight) it could reach our door. 
 
 44 
 
Once When We Bought Valentines 45 
 
 Surely all the envelopes sealed with hearts of red 
 (Were they there? Were they ours?) would be gone 
 
 instead ! 
 Hearts and doves, wreaths and loves wonderful to see ! 
 Could He mean the shiny words, " I Can Love But 
 
 Thee?" 
 Would he look across the desks when next morning 
 
 came, 
 He who sent (If He sent) all those hearts aflame? 
 Would He know the straggling hand, all in print and 
 
 bent 
 Up and down on the folds of the one you sent ? 
 
 We're too old to buy them now — all the loves and 
 
 laces, 
 We can only watch above other little faces. 
 Glowing at the prettiest, laughing at the plain, 
 Still the eager faces crowd by the lighted pane. 
 Once we too saw wonderlights glinting on the snow, 
 Once we too bought valentines — too long, too long 
 
 ago! 
 
WHEN I WAS A YOUNG GIRL 
 
 (A Song of Old Ballads) 
 
 When I was a young girl, all in a green arbor, 
 When I was a young girl in Springtimes gone by 
 
 All the long days I went singing and smiling, 
 
 Down by the roses the sweet days beguiling, 
 Love in the arbor and love in the sky . . . 
 
 When I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl. 
 When I was a young girl, how happy was I ! 
 
 Oh, the long days I must sit at my sampler, 
 Oh, the slow way that the still time would go! 
 
 I longed to be running across the bright heather, 
 
 " Off with the silk gown and on with the leather, 
 Following the raggle-taggle gypsies, oh!" 
 
 When I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl, 
 When I was a young girl, a long time ago ! 
 
 When I was a young girl in days that were golden, 
 When I was a young girl, and life had no smart, 
 
 All the world seemed a place for my playing. 
 
 Full of great lovers to come to me, saying, 
 
 " Madam, I give you the keys of my heart ..." 
 
 When I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl, 
 When I was a young girl, and dreaming apart ! 
 46 
 
When I Was a Young Girl 47 
 
 When I was a young girl, I dreamed of my lover, 
 A tall cavalier who should whisper me low, 
 
 " Love, on your lips are red roses a-hlowing, 
 
 I am your true love, and fast ii time going 
 Am I your true love? Oh, say yes or no!" 
 
 When I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl — 
 When I was a young girl, a long time ago ! 
 
 When I was a young girl there came my true lover, 
 Swiftly I knew him in glad days gone by; 
 
 Never a sword or a lovelock or feather, 
 
 But oh, at his touch 'twas our hearts came together, 
 Love in the arbor and love in the sky . . . 
 
 When I was a young girl, a young girl, a young girl. 
 When I was a young girl, how happy was I ! 
 
THE GARDEN 
 
 There were many flowers in my mother's garden, 
 Sword-leaved gladiolus, taller far than I, 
 
 Sticky-leaved petunias, pink and purple-flaring. 
 Velvet-painted pansies staring at the sky ; 
 
 Scentless portulacas crowded down the borders, 
 White and scarlet-petaled, satin-rose and gold. 
 
 Clustered sweet alyssum, lacy-white and scented. 
 Sprays of gray-green lavender to keep till you were 
 old; 
 
 In my mother's garden were green-leaved hiding- 
 places, 
 Nooks between the lilacs — oh, a pleasant place to 
 play ! 
 Still my heart can hide there, still my eyes can dream 
 it, 
 Though the long years lie between and I am far 
 away; 
 
 When the world is hard now, when the city's clanging 
 
 Tires my ears and tires my heart and dust lies 
 
 everywhere, 
 
 I can dream the peace still of the soft wind's shining, 
 
 I can be a child still and hide my heart from care. 
 
 48 
 
The Garden 49 
 
 Lord, if still that garden blossoms in the sunlight, 
 Grant that children laugh there now among its green 
 and gold. 
 Grant that little hearts still hide its memoried sweet- 
 ness. 
 Locking one bright dream away for light when they 
 are old! 
 
OCTOBER 
 
 Done with the Spring's unrest and gleam, 
 The summer's toil and rich unrest, 
 With nothing left to seek or keep 
 Before she turns to Winter sleep 
 Earth lays her golden head, to dream 
 One month against the gold sky's breast. 
 
 50 
 
HEART OF YOUTH 
 
 When I come back in the gloom 
 To my lighted house once more 
 My heart says, " Haste tonight! 
 There is something you do not know, 
 Something to give you joy, 
 On the other side of the door 
 There in the firelight's glow, 
 There in the lighted room." 
 
 My quick heart whispers me, 
 " The kinsman gone oversea. 
 The one they have always said 
 Would surely come back some day, 
 Waits for you, brown, windblown . , 
 Or the lover you have not known 
 Is waiting you there tonight — 
 Do you wonder that I rejoice? 
 Or the dearest one of the dead 
 Waits in the ring of light 
 With the old glad face and voice 
 As if he were never away . . . 
 Hasten ! '' my heart has said. 
 
 But when I open the door 
 There are only the old lights 
 And the old accustomed faces 
 And the firelight on the floor. . . . 
 51 
 
SONG: I WISH I WERE OLD NOW 
 
 I WISH I were old now, 
 
 And maybe content ; 
 I'd look back the long way 
 
 My footsteps were bent. 
 And say, " 'Tis all done now — 
 
 What odds how it went ? " 
 
 For all would look smooth then 
 And most would look gay, 
 
 And " Oh, I was sure then, 
 And strong then," I'd say, 
 
 And show the wild young things 
 My wise-traveled way. 
 
 I'd have naught to strive for 
 
 And no thought to form 
 But how to rest easy 
 
 And how to sleep warm. 
 And " Pity the poor souls 
 
 Abroad in the storm ! " 
 
 I wish I were old now 
 
 With living put by, 
 And peace on the hearthstone 
 
 And peace in the sky. 
 But — "Oh, to be young now. 
 
 But young now! " they cry ! 
 52 
 
TO YOUTH AFTER PAIN 
 
 What if this year has given 
 
 Grief that some year must bring, 
 What if it hurt your joyous youth, 
 
 Crippled your laughter's wing? 
 You always knew it was coming, 
 
 Coming to all, to you. 
 They always said there was suffering — 
 
 Now it is done, come through. 
 
 Even if you have blundered. 
 
 Even if you have sinned, 
 Still is the steadfast arch of the sky 
 
 And the healing veil of the wind . . . 
 And after only a little, 
 
 A little of hurt and pain. 
 You shall have the web of your own old dreams 
 
 Wrapping your heart again. 
 
 Only your heart can pity 
 
 Now, where it laughed and passed, 
 Now you can bend to comfort men. 
 
 One with them all at last, 
 You shall have back your laughter. 
 
 You shall have back your song. 
 Only the world is your brother now, 
 
 Only your soul is strong! 
 53 
 
OLD BOOKS 
 
 The people up and down the world that talk and laugh 
 
 and cry, 
 They're pleasant when you're young and gay, and life 
 
 is all to try, 
 But when your heart is tired and dumb, your soul has 
 
 need of ease. 
 There's none like the quiet folk who wait in libraries — 
 The counselors who never change, the friends who 
 
 never go, 
 The old books, the dear books that understand and 
 
 know! 
 
 ** Why, this thing was over, child, and that deed was 
 done," 
 
 They say, *' When Cleopatra died, two thousand years 
 agone, 
 
 And this tale was spun for men and that jest was 
 told 
 
 When Sappho was a singing-lass and Greece was very 
 old, 
 
 And this thought you hide so close was sung along 
 the wind 
 
 The day that young Orlando came a-courting Rosa- 
 lind!" 
 
 54 
 
Old Books 55 
 
 The foolish thing that hurt you so your lips could never 
 
 tell, 
 Your sister out of Babylon she knows its secret 
 
 well, 
 The merriment you could not share with any on the 
 
 earth 
 Your brother from King Francis' court he leans to 
 
 share your mirth. 
 For all the ways your feet must fare, the roads your 
 
 heart must go, 
 The old books, the dear books, they understand and 
 
 know! 
 
 You read your lover's hid heart plain beneath some 
 
 dead lad's lace, 
 And in a glass from some Greek tomb you see your 
 
 own wet face, 
 For they have stripped from out their souls the thing 
 
 they could not speak 
 And strung it to a written song that you might come 
 
 to seek. 
 And they have lifted out their hearts when they were 
 
 beating new 
 And pinned them on a printed page and given them to 
 
 you. 
 
 The people close beside you, all their hearts are dumb 
 
 and young, 
 The kindest word they try to say it stumbles on the 
 
 tongue, 
 
$6 Old Books 
 
 Their hearts are only questing hearts, and though they 
 
 strive and try, 
 Their softest touch may hurt you sore, their best word 
 
 make you cry. 
 But still through all the years that come and all the 
 
 dreams that go 
 The old books, the dear books, they understand and 
 
 know! 
 
THE WIRES 
 
 The wires gleamed far and silver, 
 
 Lines on a morning sky; 
 I heard the white wires singing 
 
 Their song as I went by ; 
 Far and far away they led, and I was bound and 
 
 young, 
 And sharp the wind blew overhead, and gave the 
 
 wires a tongue — 
 Young folk must wander far. 
 
 Young feet must roam 
 'Tis a long zvay to everywhere, 
 
 But oh, a short way home ! 
 
 The wires gleamed far and golden — 
 
 I followed in their track, 
 Far and far the gold wires led, 
 
 And never road led back; 
 Far and far the gold wires went, and oh, I fol- 
 lowed fast. 
 Roads to work ere youth was spent, and joy while 
 
 youth should last: 
 Rough roads to fame and gold 
 
 Gay roads to roam. 
 Roads to hate and roads to love. 
 
 But never roads toward home! 
 
 57 
 
58 The Wires 
 
 The wires show far and darkened. 
 
 Lines on a sunset sky, 
 And still the black wires sing me 
 
 Their song as I plod by — 
 Far and far the black wires wind, and I am old 
 
 and tired, 
 And naught is left to seek or find of all that I 
 
 desired : 
 Old folk are wise too late, 
 
 Old feet cannot roam, 
 'Tis a short way to everywhere. 
 
 But oh, a lost way home! 
 
WOMENFOLK 
 
WOMEN 
 
 You fret and grieve and turn about 
 To make this world and living out, 
 With *' This is so "' and ** That is so — " 
 Ah, sirs, we learned it long ago ! 
 
 If you should make an angel tell 
 What Mary learned of Gabriel 
 Yet could you know the flaming words 
 That pierced her with the seven swords ? 
 And if some fiend-snake hissed you low 
 All he told Eve where God's trees grow, 
 Yet could you learn the thing she learned 
 Who sobbing out of Eden turned? 
 
 We watched with smiling mother-eyes 
 
 The while you stormed, and thought you wise, 
 
 At God's great walls, as if you beat 
 
 Like babes, with angry hands and feet; 
 
 For God, who bound our feet and hands 
 
 And laid us under your commands, 
 
 Still left us silence, love, and pain, 
 
 And dreams to hide and peace to gain. . . .. 
 
 Why, when you search beyond a doubt 
 The furthest star's last secret out, 
 6i 
 
62 Wo 
 
 men 
 
 Some woman from her nook shall smile, 
 
 Laying her needle down the while, 
 
 '' Dear, that old dream I told to you ? 
 
 You smiled ... I thought you always knew ! " 
 
 The thing we tell is no new thing, 
 
 A wisdom born of suffering, 
 
 That there is pain, and there is love, 
 
 And God's great silence still above, 
 
 And this is all — though you have hurled 
 
 Your strength forever on the world. 
 
 Quick, let us speak to you, ere yet 
 
 Passed from our silence we forget, 
 
 Like you, with crowds made deaf and blind. 
 
 With dealing close to humankind : 
 
 Be swift, for soon we too shall be 
 
 With no more place for memory. 
 
 Going unfettered as man goes 
 
 And scarcely wounded more — who knows? 
 
 And all our Vala-dreams shall lift 
 
 Like Tyre-smoke and Atlantis-drift . . . 
 
 Listen, most dear, the while that we 
 At once have speech and memory. 
 
EMBROIDERY 
 
 She sits and makes pink roses with her thread 
 
 And wonders what to do, her heart astir. 
 
 What road to take, where roads branch close ahead, 
 
 And how to know her true love calling her ; 
 
 Whether to follow thorny paths (but sweet 
 
 The young wild heart's way !) or to fling the door 
 
 Wide to love's placid tread with wonted feet, 
 
 And how to build her life forevermore. 
 
 The rose-sprung needle keeps its darting deft . , . 
 When Hfe has gone whichever way it goes, 
 Of all her wonderings shall be only left 
 The texture and the pattern of this rose : 
 And when her old eyes see its flowering spread. 
 Dull-faded, a known decking of her room, 
 (Wherever that may be then — all words said. 
 All life made certain then until the tomb!) 
 
 Something shall clutch her still of youth and pain. 
 From that far-thrilled girl-day, and she will see 
 Its shape grow in that breathless hour again 
 With all her ordered years were still to be; 
 From that brown silken flower shall flush in death 
 Youth with its rosy terrors quivering gay, 
 And she shall think, set free for one swift breath — 
 " Ah, yes, I made it on that very day ! " 
 63 
 
TEA 
 
 They've flowers and cakes and candle-light, 
 
 And chair by crowded chair, 
 And I am very sweet and kind. 
 
 Because I do not care . . . 
 I think that I am hoping still 
 
 If I am very good 
 And talk to these around me 
 
 As a courteous lady should 
 The room will softly split across 
 
 And roll to left and right 
 With all its smiling pasteboard folks 
 
 And colored things and light 
 And let me run into the grass 
 And climb a sunset hill, 
 And find three hours one year ago. 
 
 When I was living still. 
 
 i 
 
 64 
 
DREAM DEATH 
 
 What though no folk who saw her knew 
 
 At heart she was Pierrette, 
 Who went her sober way 
 In robe and face of gray? 
 Still down a laughing path of dream 
 
 Her flashing feet were set. 
 To clink of gold guitars, 
 Rose-scent and glint of stars ! 
 
 But when he came who should have known 
 
 Her kin to star and flower 
 And left her heart unfound. 
 Nor robe nor mask unbound, 
 She went her way by daylight still. 
 
 And seemed to live her hour, 
 Firm hands and lifted head — 
 Only Pierrette was dead. 
 
 65 
 
TOYS 
 
 She loves the flowers, the wind that bends the fir ; 
 When the Spring comes she dances ; and her mirth 
 Comes always when the water laughs to her. 
 She holds the little daily sweets of earth 
 On high and pleasures in them ; words that sing, 
 Clear music, lovely faces ; all delight 
 We others pass use-dulled, unnoticing — 
 The sunrise and the sunset, day and night. 
 
 Yet somehow all her woven joys endure 
 Too perfect, too well-shapen to have rayed 
 Light-heartedly on her. Oh, I am sure 
 That once upon a time we do not know 
 God took away from her — once, long ago — 
 All life's real, rugged things, too sharp for joys, 
 And — for she looked at Him still unafraid — 
 He laid within her hands instead these toys. 
 
 Oh, on the gentle day when she goes hence 
 I hope that for her gay obedience 
 He has reward for her : that when she dies 
 He will not send her straight to Paradise. 
 She knows enough of Paradisal mirth — 
 Oh, surely He will give her back the earth. 
 And all its living that He made her miss, 
 Locked close to life by its most burning kiss. 
 Clutching decisions, terror-haunted breath. 
 Great grief, great raptures, passion, birth and death. 
 66 
 
MOTHER-PRAYER 
 
 " Lord, make my loving a guard for them 
 
 Day and night, 
 Let never pathway be hard for them; 
 
 Keep all bright ! 
 Let not harsh touch of a thorn for them 
 
 Wound their ease — 
 All of the pain I have borne for them 
 
 Spare to these ! '' 
 
 So I would pray for them, 
 
 Kneeling to God 
 
 Night and day for them. 
 
 " Lord, let the pain life must bring to them 
 
 Make them strong, 
 Keep their hearts white though grief cling to them 
 
 All life long. 
 Let all the joys Thou dost keep from them 
 
 At Thy will 
 Give to them power to reap from them 
 
 Courage still ! " 
 
 So I must ask for them. 
 
 Leaving to God 
 
 His own task for them. 
 
 67 
 
THREE STUDIES FOR A PORTRAIT 
 
 OLD TALES 
 
 Her voice within the darkened room 
 Tells on — old jests and tragedies 
 
 And little follies of her kin 
 And futile old nobilities : 
 
 ". . . If they had only done," she tells, 
 " The thing that others said was wise 
 
 There would have been no death that year . 
 How fast her tiny shuttle flies! 
 
 The stiff old pictures on the wall, 
 
 Who were those passionate girls and men 
 
 So sure of Youth and Righteousness, 
 Look dully on the Now from Then; 
 
 And I look past her out the glass 
 
 Where young Today goes to and fro . . . 
 
 But all she sees was past a change 
 A changeless fifty years ago. 
 
 68 
 
Three Studies for a Portrait 69 
 
 THE GRAY MASK 
 
 I wish I could not see her heart 
 That is so passionate, so young, 
 
 For all love-words are said for her, 
 All love-songs sung: 
 
 Over light griefs her eyes grow wet, 
 Over gay silks her eyes grow gay, 
 
 She sighs, half-hopeful . . . '' I forget 
 My hair is gray — " 
 
 *' I dreamed a lover came for me 
 
 And courted me," she tells, " last night . 
 
 Ah, kind dream-lover, who could find 
 Such tired eyes bright! 
 
 And yet . . . Perhaps some lad in heaven 
 Some day shall clasp her soul, and know 
 
 Unchanged, the little lass he left 
 So long ago. 
 
 3 
 
 THE SEEKER 
 
 She was so full of restlessness, 
 So ceaselessly went to and fro 
 
 That it was hard for us to guess 
 
 What thing she wished to find or know 
 
yo Three Studies for a Portrait 
 
 Only the gifts the gray years brought 
 So fretted her on cheek and brow — 
 
 Could it have been her youth she sought ? . 
 I hope that she has found it now. 
 
TO A YOUNG GIRL AT A WINDOW 
 
 The Poor Old Soul plods down the street, 
 
 Contented, and forgetting 
 How Youth was wild, and Spring was wild 
 
 And how her life is setting ; 
 
 And you lean out to watch her there, 
 
 And pity, nor remember, 
 That Youth is hard, and Life is hard, 
 
 And quiet is December. 
 
A LOST COMRADE 
 
 You live as the world would have you do — 
 Only the sleeping soul of you 
 Lies unwakened by wind or dew. 
 
 Your soul, that thrilled like a harpstring shaken 
 Dusty hands of the world have taken 
 And thrust it deeper than life can waken: 
 
 You, who quickened our heavy eyes. 
 
 Our hearts weighed down beyond will to rise, 
 
 With silver shadows of Paradise ! 
 
 Were it only your heart that the years had broken, 
 
 Still should be for a shining token 
 
 How your soul had glowed and your lips had spoken — 
 
 Were it only your life that was crushed and 
 
 through ! . . . 
 They have taken the starry soul of you 
 And hidden it deep from the wind and dew ! 
 
 72 
 
DEPARTURE 
 
 It was not when I plead with her, 
 
 And on a tragic day 
 Clung sobbing to her skirts of rose, 
 
 That Youth went away; 
 
 O not when from the cruel glass 
 My face showed, lined and chill — 
 
 Her eyes burnt wild beneath the mask, 
 Her pulse hurt me still. 
 
 But when I saw young lovers pass, 
 And watched them, well-content. 
 
 Nor felt my eyes grow hot with tears 
 To gaze where they went . . . 
 
 O then I knew my time was through, 
 
 And pleasured in the day. 
 At peace to know of Love and Spring 
 
 And Youth gone away. 
 
 73 
 
DISCOVERY 
 
 Within my mirror I could see 
 Last night as I gazed steadfastly 
 An old strange thing look out at me ; 
 
 The smile my grandame used to wear; 
 Line on proud line it faced me there . 
 I had not known it meant Despair. 
 
 74 
 
WOMAN-LORE 
 
 Now this is what you learn at last 
 
 Of men beneath the sun, 
 With all the gates of living passed 
 
 And all the kisses done — 
 That none are ever old indeed 
 
 And none are very wise, 
 And they will break you for their need 
 
 Or give you earth and skies : 
 
 And out of all between you two 
 
 For all the close years' gain. 
 The dearest gifts they give to you 
 
 Shall come with sorest pain — 
 (A pain your lips find still untold, 
 
 A joy they cannot see) 
 Your child they give your arms to hold, 
 
 Your child they grow to be. 
 
 75 
 
THE UNFOUND CITY 
 
 (For Alice Brown) 
 
 There is a city burning in a dream 
 
 All women know and search for secretly; 
 
 The swift rose-hearted flame's eternal stream 
 Laps round the changeless towers eternally. 
 
 It stands far off above a circling mist. . . . 
 
 Have ye not seen our eyes that seek its light, 
 Felt the quick sigh between our lips late-kissed, 
 
 Felt our loosed arms yearn toward it in the night? 
 
 Gold Helen found it not, nor white Deirdre: 
 There is no woman, howso loved, can tell 
 
 Of those white changeless dream-towers seen by day, 
 Of that flame calyxed, perfect citadel : 
 
 We shall not ever know its perfect joy. 
 
 Yet we shall seek it till our years are gone . . . 
 
 Eternal Love whose fires shall not destroy 
 Eternal Beauty that it heats upon. 
 
THE DARK CAVALIER 
 
 I AM the Dark Cavalier ; I am the Last Lover : 
 
 My arms shall welcome you when other arms are 
 tired ; 
 
 I stand to wait for you, patient in the darkness, 
 Offering forgetfulness of all that you desired. 
 
 I ask no merriment, no pretense of gladness, 
 I can love heavy lids and lips without their rose ; 
 
 Though you are sorrowful you will not weary me ; 
 I will not go from you when all the tired world goes. 
 
 I am the Dark Cavalier ; I am the Last Lover ; 
 
 I promise faithfulness no other hps may keep; 
 Safe in my bridal place, comforted by darkness, 
 
 You shall lie happily, smiling in your sleep. 
 
 77 
 
PEOPLE 
 
TRAVEL PRAYER 
 
 All along the way 
 
 As through the night we go, 
 I see the little houses 
 
 In lighted row on row — 
 
 The flying train goes by 
 
 And sounds its whistle clear, 
 
 And all the waiting houses 
 
 They lift their lights and hear: 
 
 A thousand homes for miles on miles, 
 
 I press the pane to see ; 
 And each has lights that wait its own 
 
 As my lights wait for me — 
 
 All the little homes 
 
 And every one alight ! 
 Lord, keep the people happy 
 
 That wait in them tonight ! 
 
 8l 
 
HIS MOTHER 
 
 He will be cold tonight — 
 
 Always he felt it so. 
 (Strange not to lift the light, 
 
 Strange not to go, 
 Softly — for he forgets, 
 
 Careless as glad! — 
 Drawing the coverlets 
 
 Over the lad.) 
 
 Blankly the covers lie, 
 
 Smooth and untossed. 
 By me the fire burns high, 
 
 Outside is frost . . . 
 Has it had rest tonight. 
 
 Dear tumbled head? 
 Lord, I would knozv — would know 
 
 If he were dead! 
 
 It must be cold and wet 
 
 Where our troops lie . . . 
 (Lord Jesus, spare him yet! 
 
 Let him not die!) 
 Still here ... so still . . . and white 
 
 One far clear star . . . 
 He will he cold tonight, 
 
 Where the troops are, 
 82 
 
IN AN OFFICE BUILDING 
 
 I WENT down the old passage 
 
 Between the Hghted doors 
 
 To your hghted door, 
 
 Knowing that I should find you there, 
 
 Find your swift smile and quickened words, 
 
 Comfort and welcome there, 
 
 Guardianship and greeting. 
 
 As it has always been. 
 
 As it shall always be. 
 
 And suddenly 
 
 As my hand touched the door, I knew, 
 
 Knowing you quick and warm 
 
 And waiting me 
 
 That I should dream, some far-off night from this 
 
 Of coming down this passageway to you 
 
 Between the lighted doors 
 
 To your lighted door 
 
 Knowing that I should find you there. 
 
 And opening, find 
 
 An empty frightening place 
 
 And you away. 
 
 And wake 
 
 Remembering you were dead. 
 
 83 
 
GOD'S PLACES 
 
 I SAID, " I am so tired of all the old tired faces 
 
 In the crowded places, 
 I tire of all the weary steps that cross and beat 
 
 Down the long swift street : " 
 I said, " I will return into my own still room, 
 
 Thick with peace and gloom." 
 
 I said, " I will summon up the still bright streams 
 
 Of my trooping dreams. 
 Whose faces are as weariless and calm and young 
 
 As a bird-note sung. 
 Who drift along with sunset-colored robes outblowing, 
 
 Of all need unknowing." 
 
 And then . . . the sun shone cloudless, and the wind 
 blew fleet 
 
 Down the long swift street 
 And through the windowed canyon's end the sky's 
 sweet blue 
 
 Shone unwearied through, 
 And I said, " But I must stay, for see, my brothers' 
 faces 
 
 Here in God's own places ! " 
 
 84 
 
PEOPLE 
 (For Jessie Rittenhouse) 
 
 I AM so sorry for them all 
 
 Whose ceaseless footsteps rise and fall 
 
 Along earth's highways endlessly, 
 
 The people in the world with me ; 
 
 Who have had dreams, and yet must take 
 
 The gifts life has for men awake ; 
 
 Who build their lives each day anew 
 
 On hopes they know cannot come true. 
 
 Who walk the world till sleep, and then 
 
 At dawn must walk tiie world again ; 
 
 Who ask God's favors, knowing still 
 
 He does not break His changeless will 
 
 For any faulty changing cry 
 
 Of men He makes to live or die. . . ., 
 
 I am so sorry for them all, 
 So sorry ! Until I recall 
 How life's adventure swings afar 
 Beyond tomorrow like a star, 
 And how our dreams paint golden-bright 
 Gray working-day and sleeping-night. 
 And all the love each man who lives 
 May buy with merely love he gives, 
 85 
 
86 People 
 
 And how it comforts us to pray 
 Whether God hears or turns away, 
 And how to work and sleep and wake 
 Is good for the mere doing's sake : 
 Till, whether life seem gay or sad, 
 I am so glad for men — so glad ! 
 
A BOY OF THE GHETTO 
 
 He goes out with his Dreams 
 Through the dingy city square, 
 
 Purple- and silver-winged 
 
 They go with him everywhere. 
 
 The quarreling hags at the windows 
 Have voices unkind, unsweet, 
 
 But his Dreams have silver voices 
 And starrily-slippered feet ; 
 
 The workmen push on the pavement 
 And laugh and curse as they go, 
 
 But he is far with his Dreams 
 On a road they do not know ; 
 
 He walks far off with the Dreams 
 That whisper and sing beside 
 
 And his face is glad and still 
 And his eyes are burning-wide ; 
 
 He goes out with his Dreams 
 Through a golden wonder-place 
 
 With the light of God in his eyes 
 And the peace of God in his face. 
 
 87 
 
WISTFULNESS 
 
LIFE TELLS THE DREAMER 
 
 These others ask me little, clamoring 
 
 For such imperfect gifts as I can bring ; 
 
 A crown . . . with thorns along it ... or much 
 
 gold 
 To weigh the heart down with its dragging hold . . . 
 Or men's loud voices calling on their name, 
 A little day, then hurt and scorn — called Fame — 
 Or for one fleeting hour a world made new 
 Called Love . . . But, Child, these gifts are not for 
 
 you. 
 
 Too clear of sight, you ask things past my hold ; 
 A light beyond the sunlight . . . Fairy-golcJ . . . 
 Love ageless and unflawed . . . Faith crystal- 
 true . . . 
 So, Child, I keep my broken gifts from you, 
 Leaving instead my only perfect thing. 
 The Dream these others lose, all-sorrowing. 
 Still raptured, still all-golden ; yours to keep 
 Till Death my sister's gift, more perfect Sleep. 
 
PRESCIENCE 
 
 I WENT to sleep smiling, 
 
 I wakened despairing — 
 Where was my soul, 
 
 On what terror-path faring? 
 What grief shall befall me. 
 
 By midnight or noon, 
 What thing has my soul learned 
 
 That I shall know soon? 
 
I TELL MY HEART 
 
 / TELL my heart, to hush her aching 
 When we are sleeping, when we're waking. 
 Of things we loved well, she and I, 
 Upon a time that is gone by: 
 
 Heart, now the Spring comes there shall be 
 A bright and blossoming apple-tree 
 Against the window-light to swing 
 Its thousand-petaled flowering; 
 There is clear water, flickering green. 
 With shining leaf-brown rocks between 
 And silver fish that hide and dart 
 Where we may play too, dear my heart ; 
 And there is sunlight's gold that lies 
 Warmly on cheek and breast and eyes 
 And little winds at even-star 
 That slip from where the pine-trees are . , 
 And heart, remember how we heard 
 At twilight once a wakened bird 
 Whose notes flung out a silver net 
 Against flame-rose, flame-violet! 
 
 Oh, heart, my heart, still can you lie 
 Dumb while the wonder-spring goes by ? 
 
 My heart is very young — some while 
 Perhaps she may look up and smile. 
 93 
 
FULFILMENT 
 
 Crossing through Heaven's doors, 
 If Heaven may be for me, 
 
 I shall not seek gold floors 
 Nor jasper wall nor sea; 
 
 Out from the streets of gold 
 Will branch a wooded way 
 
 Like one I knew of old 
 
 When all the world was May : 
 
 There shall be dusk to fall 
 And winds expectant, sweet, 
 
 And sleepy birds to call 
 And vines about my feet. 
 
 Stars in the night's soft black. 
 Leaves that swish soft like rain 
 
 And one old hour come back 
 And one choice given again. 
 
 94 
 
ONCE I MET HAPPINESS 
 
 Once when all the Spring was wild. 
 All the leaves dew-pearled, 
 
 Once I met Happiness, 
 Singing down the world. 
 
 She had laughter on her lips. 
 
 Flowers in her hair — 
 Once I met Happiness — 
 
 Oh, she was fair! 
 
 There was yellow sun, I know, 
 
 Scent o' pine that day, 
 Once she kissed me on the lips, 
 
 Laughed and went her way. 
 
 What if all the lights are dim. 
 
 All the flowers furled? 
 Once I met Happiness, 
 
 Singing down the world ! 
 
 95 
 
LOVE SONGS 
 
DENIAL 
 
 It never would have hurt God 
 To have made the world today 
 So that your footsteps turned my way, 
 
 So that our two paths crossed — 
 But I went wearily up and down 
 The streets of the empty-painted town 
 
 And a whole day was lost ! 
 
 Never your footsteps where mine trod. 
 
 Never my words to you — 
 And it all would have been so simple for God, 
 So slight a thing to do 1 
 
 99 
 
THE MASTERS 
 
 You have taught me laughter, 
 
 Joyousness and light, 
 How the day is rosy-wild, 
 
 Star-enthrilled the night : 
 
 Maybe God can teach me 
 
 After you are gone 
 How to bear the blackened night 
 
 And the dreadful dawn. 
 
 too 
 
I SAID, " LOVE IS GONE " 
 
 I SAID, " Love is gone ; 
 
 I need bear no more 
 Terrible dawn 
 
 And midnight sore 
 Hungering dreams 
 
 I cannot keep 
 And fever-streams 
 
 Across my sleep ..." 
 
 And the sun went down, 
 
 And the day burned black 
 Over the town 
 
 And Love came back 
 And my heart was burned 
 
 With fire and pain — 
 But Love had returned, 
 
 Had returned again I 
 
 ZOI 
 
VAIN HIDING 
 
 I SAID : " I shall find peace now, for my love has never 
 been 
 
 Here in the little room, in the quiet place ; 
 The walls shall not quiver around me, nor fires begin, 
 
 And I shall forget his voice and perhaps his face 
 
 And be still for a little space.'' 
 
 But the thought of my love beat wild against the 
 silencing doors 
 There in the quivering air, in the throbbing room, 
 Till his step strode quick and light against the echoing 
 floors 
 And the light of his voice was there for the placid 
 
 gloom 
 And his presence a shed perfume. 
 
 So I said : " There is no peace more, for the place can 
 never be 
 Where the thought of him cannot come, cannot bum 
 me thro*, 
 For the thought of his touch is my flesh, and his voice 
 is a voice in me, 
 And what is the use of all you may say or do 
 When love is a part of you ? " 
 
 I02 
 
" MARY, HELPER OF HEARTBREAK " 
 
 Well, if the thing is over, better it is for me, 
 
 The lad was ever a rover, loving and laughing free. 
 
 Far too clever a lover not to be having still 
 
 A lass in the town and a lass by the road and a lass 
 
 by the farther hill — 
 Love on the field and love on the path and love in the 
 
 woody glen — 
 (Lad, will I never see you, never your face again?) 
 
 Ay, if the thing is ending now I'll be getting rest, 
 Saying my prayers and bending down to be stilled and 
 
 blest. 
 Never the days are sending hope till my heart is sore 
 For a laugh on the path and a voice by the gate and 
 
 a step on the shieling floor — 
 Grief on my ways and grief on my work and grief till 
 
 the evening's dim — 
 (Lord, will I never hear it, never a sound of him?) 
 
 Sure if it's done forever, better for me that's wise, 
 Never the hurt, and never tears in my aching eyes. 
 No more the trouble ever to hide from my asking folk 
 Beat of my heart at click o' the latch, and throb if his 
 name is spoke; 
 
 103 
 
104 ''Mary, Helper of Heartbreak'' 
 
 Never the need to hide the sighs and the flushing 
 thoughts and the fret, 
 
 And after awhile my heart will hush and my hunger- 
 ing hands forget . . . 
 
 Peace on my ways, and peace in my step, and maybe 
 my heart grown light — 
 
 (Mary, helper of heartbreak, send him to me tonight!) 
 
INTERIM 
 
 I HAVE a little peace today, 
 
 And I can pause and see 
 How life is filled with golden things 
 
 And gracious things for me ; 
 
 I can go watch the water run 
 
 And smile to feel the air 
 And love the deep touch of the sun 
 
 And know the world is fair . . . 
 
 Oh, hush, my soul, take comfort now 
 
 And sleepy-singing lie 
 Till Love return to hide the sun 
 
 And veil the earth and sky ! 
 
 los 
 
OTHER PEOPLE 
 
 I LOOK at all the people 
 Who meet me and are gay, 
 
 And wonder have they broken hearts 
 That hurt night and day ? 
 
 So I am very kind to them 
 Whoever they may be, 
 
 Because they may have broken hearts- 
 Broken hearts, like me. 
 
 io6 
 
AND IF YOU CAME— 
 
 And if you came ? — Oh, I would smile 
 
 And sit quite still to hide 
 My throat that something clutched the while. 
 
 My heart that struck my side. 
 
 And you would hear my slow words fall, 
 
 (Men do not know!) and say 
 " She does not love me now at all," 
 
 And rise and go away. 
 
 And I would watch, as quietly 
 
 Your footsteps crossed the sill, 
 The whole world dying out from me . . . 
 
 And speak on, smiling, still. 
 
 107 
 
I WAS STILL A CHILD 
 
 I WAS Still a child 
 
 Till I came to you, 
 Child-eyes, child-heart, 
 
 Child-lips all too true ; 
 
 I went silently, 
 
 With all-wondering eyes . 
 " She is old,'* they said, 
 
 " She is grave and wise." 
 
 Came your touch that burned 
 Eyes and lips and heart ; 
 
 There were no more dreams 
 I could spin, apart: 
 
 Now my lips are gay 
 And my heart untold ; 
 
 " She is young," they say . . 
 I am old — am old ! 
 
 io8 
 
PEACE 
 
 All my days are clear again and gentle with for- 
 getting, 
 Mornings cool with graciousness of time passed 
 stilly by. 
 Evening sweet with call of birds and lilac-rose sun- 
 setting, 
 And starshine does not hurt my heart nor night- 
 winds make me cry. 
 
 I can tie a ribbon now, nor hope of your eyes' pleasure 
 
 Makes its hue intolerable if you come not to see, 
 I can hear old music now, nor stabbing through its 
 measure 
 Come the thoughts I would not have, or tears that 
 need not be. 
 
 All my days are placid now, as quiet children slowly 
 Pacing down a leaf-locked way that has not dale or 
 hill; 
 Peace again and mirth again, and dawn and even 
 holy. . . . 
 / wish I had your hands in mine, and heartbreak 
 still! 
 
 109 
 
ONE WORSE THING 
 
 Last Spring I walked these ways, and a sharp grief 
 walked with me. 
 
 For you had broken my heart with a light kiss, care- 
 lessly, 
 
 And I was young and was new to grief, and could 
 think of no worse thing 
 
 Than to walk abroad with a hurting heart and be hope- 
 less in the Spring. 
 
 But I am older now, and have lived with grief awhile. 
 And there's one worse thing than a hurting heart that 
 
 you have to hide and smile, 
 For I who know what a hurt heart is, and the thing 
 
 that grief can be, 
 I — I have broken a heart with a light kiss, carelessly ! 
 
GIVERS 
 
 My lover kissed my lips, and his arms went round my 
 
 body, 
 But you were kissing the lips of my soul in our own 
 
 wild garden 
 Where the rose-colored moon shone down 
 Through a sevenfold garland of rainbow stars 
 And a river of clear golden music rippled and thrilled 
 In our own place. 
 
 My lover gave me worship and faith and swift sub- 
 mission, 
 
 You gave me a light word, and a touch, before you 
 went from me, 
 
 And an endless demesne where my dreams can live 
 my whole life through 
 
 And a living heart to sing with ; 
 
 There is never cause for grief or cause for laughter 
 
 That I do not run to our country of dreams to tell you. 
 
 Wrapped in your living arms among the heavenly 
 roses, 
 
 Sur6 of your smile . . . 
 
 You, whose heart is a cluster of seven cold stars ! 
 
 Ill 
 
OLD WINE 
 
 If I could lift 
 
 My heart but high enough 
 My heart could fill with love : 
 
 But ah, my heart 
 
 Too still and heavy stays 
 Too brimming with old days. 
 
 iia 
 
I TOOK HIS DREAMS 
 
 I TOOK his dreams from him, 
 Boy-dreams of gold and red, 
 
 I gave him sorrows dim, 
 White grief, instead, . . . 
 
 And for a Httle space 
 
 Joy in my careless face. 
 
 I took his hope away, 
 
 Light hope, a foolish thing, 
 
 I gave him silence gray. 
 Death's comforting . . . 
 
 Was it my soul that sighed. 
 
 Dead on the day he died? 
 
 1X3 
 
CERTAINTIES 
 
 Whether you live by hut or throne 
 Whether your feet tread stone or grass 
 
 Comes the one lad you shall never own 
 Or the one lass ; 
 
 Whether you've pence to spend or gold, 
 Whether you've toil or time to weep, 
 
 Comes the one pain that may never be told 
 And may never sleep; 
 
 Whether you weep or mock in pride, 
 
 Whether you tell or still deny, 
 Comes the one scar that your heart shall hide 
 
 Till the day you die ! 
 
 114 
 
WISE PEOPLE 
 
 I THINK that we are very strong and wise, 
 Mocking at love and at the grief thereafter, . 
 
 For sometimes I forget him in your eyes 
 And sometimes you forget her in my laughter. 
 
 115 
 
UNFAITH 
 
 You hid the love in your eyes — 
 How could you think I knew ? 
 
 It was only a step to his comforting 
 From the hurt of you. 
 
 For even a woman's eyes 
 
 Grow tired of tears — 
 It was so long a way to look 
 
 Down the naked years! 
 
 And I had rest from heartbreak 
 And I had peace from pain. . . . 
 
 Why do you have the love in your eyes 
 Again, again ? 
 
 ii6 
 
SONG: KIND ADIEU 
 
 GooD-BY, my dear, good-by — 
 You woke my heart to break it, 
 So if anotlier take it 
 
 Why need you turn or sigh ? 
 
 New roads are soon to find 
 
 And Heaven may well be sending 
 At every highway's ending 
 
 A lass that will be kind : 
 
 Good luck, my lad — good day! 
 
 Go singing down the year — 
 
 But as for me, my dear, 
 I go another way ! 
 
 117 
 
I 
 
 LOST COUNSEL 
 
 If you were but near me, 
 
 O kindest and best, 
 I could tell you my trouble, 
 
 And I could have rest; 
 
 You would smile and be silent, 
 And then you would say 
 
 Some word that would still me 
 And brighten the day — 
 
 Wisest and kindest, 
 
 If you were but near 
 I could speak of my lover, 
 
 My doubt and my fear. 
 
 You would show me my pathway- 
 
 But what shall I do, 
 Wisest and kindest? 
 
 My lover is you ! 
 
 xi8 
 
I DID NOT KNOW 
 
 I DID not know that I should miss you, 
 So silver-soft your loving came, 
 
 There were no trumpets down the dawning, 
 There were no leaping tides of flame . . 
 
 Only a peace like still rain falling 
 
 On a tired land with drought foredone. 
 
 Only a warmth like light soft-lying 
 On a shut place that has not sun. 
 
 I did not know that I should miss you . . 
 
 I only miss you, day and night, 
 Stilly, as earth would miss the rainfall, 
 
 Always, as earth would miss the light. 
 
 119 
 
AN AFTERNOON 
 
 This was one of the dreary whiles 
 When a woman sits and smiles 
 Wishing all the talk was over, 
 Inward thought a weary rover . . . 
 But my lips smiled vividly — 
 Ah, the women could not see 
 How my hand in yours lay warm 
 Through wide miles of sun and storm 
 (Far away, dear, did you know 
 That I smiled to feel it so?) 
 
 And my eyes burned bright, elate, 
 Into theirs of drearier fate, 
 Seeing your eyes' lovingness 
 Into mine smile deep and bless 
 (Far away, love, did you see 
 On your eyes mine lovingly?) 
 
 While between the words they made. 
 Weary words, I think, dull-weighed, 
 We were talking each to each — 
 Why, too short for all our speech 
 Was the lingering afternoon. 
 Throbbing fast and vanished soon 
 
 120 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
An Afternoon 121 
 
 (Far away, love, did you hear 
 All I whispered in your ear?) 
 
 And they said — I heard them say — 
 " What it is to be young and gay ! 
 How she pleasured in the day ! " 
 
THE WOOD-PATH 
 
 The little wood-path wandered 
 Green and brown and gay 
 
 Up a hill and down a hill, 
 Through a dew-wet way. 
 
 It slipped beneath the pine-trees 
 Where the winds blew sweet, 
 
 Past goldenrod and feverfew 
 And fields of whispering wheat 
 
 So far and wide it wandered, 
 So many a dusk-sweet way, 
 
 I thought the little wood-path 
 Was guiding me astray — 
 
 But oh, the little wood-path 
 
 It knew, it was wise. 
 It led me to your waiting arms, 
 
 To your lips, your eyes ! 
 
 122 
 
WARNING 
 
 As long as you never marry me, and I never marry 
 you, 
 
 There's nothing on earth that we cannot say and noth- 
 ing we cannot do — 
 
 The flames lift up from our blowing hair, the leaves 
 flash under our feet 
 
 When once in a year or a score of years our hands 
 and our laughters meet ! 
 
 For east and west through a sorry world we pass with 
 
 our joy to sell, 
 And they that buy of our song and jest they praise us 
 
 that we do well, 
 But few can sell us the mirth they buy, and few be 
 
 that know a song, 
 And for all of the praise of the kindly folk, their 
 
 speeches are over-long! 
 
 But two of a trade, one always hears, might get in 
 
 each other's way. 
 And you might be wanting to sing, God wot, when I 
 
 desired to play, 
 (Oh, it's rather a danger with folks like us and our 
 
 sparks that are flying free) 
 But I never, never must marry you, and you never 
 
 must marry me ! 
 
 123 
 
124 Warning 
 
 Now when we take breath from songs at last, to be 
 
 what the rest call dead, 
 They'll sigh, ** Ah, noble the songs they made, and 
 
 noble the jests they said ! " 
 And they will inscribe on our monuments regret that 
 
 our day is done — 
 But we will be off in an excellent place, and havisg 
 
 most excellent fun — 
 
 Oh, very proud from a golden cloud you'll stride in 
 
 your crown and wings. 
 Till you hear my little earthly giggle behind my gold 
 
 harpstrings ; 
 And you'll toss your gilt theorbo down on the nearest 
 
 star or moon. 
 And carry me off on a comet's back for a long, wild 
 
 afternoon ; 
 
 And while we're lashing the comet up till it misses St. 
 
 Michael's Way, 
 And laugh to think how the seraphs blink, and what 
 
 the good saints will say, 
 We'll heave a little sigh of content — or a wistful one, 
 
 maybe — 
 To know that I never can marry you, and you never 
 
 can marry me ! 
 
 If 18 
 
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 Nov Dec 1988