COPmiGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
SWORDS FOR LIFE 
 
Ifit oJMi^ c,,^^ cJAX^t. %J^iv4iniL f^ t -jj^-l 
 
 SWORDS FOE LIFE 
 
 BY 
 IRENE RUTHERFORD McLEOD 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 B. W. HUEBSCH 
 
 1916 
 
COPYRIGHT. 1916. BY B. W. HL'EBSCH 
 
 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
 
 
 // 
 
 C-& 
 
 m 24 1916 
 
 A4881'39 
 
DEDICATED TO 
 
 MY MOTHER 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 People to Poets 9 
 
 Unfolding 12 
 
 In the Mirror 13 
 
 Awakening 17 
 
 I Remember a Gusty Night 19 
 
 Lived 21 
 
 Winter 23 
 
 The End 25 
 
 Weakness 28 
 
 Despair 30 
 
 Green Places .i , 34 
 
 Half-Truths 35 
 
 Resolution ...,.- 36 
 
 To My Friend 38 
 
 Song 40 
 
 Youth 42 
 
 Love in the Pinewood 44 
 
 World of Beauty 48 
 
 1 Know When You are Coming 50 
 
 Pause 51 
 
 vil 
 
viii CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Harvest ... 53 
 
 Spring and a Larch Wood 54 
 
 March Winds 59 
 
 Beethoven 61 
 
 A Prayer 65 
 
 One Mother GS 
 
 To Kennte 71 
 
 Fellowship 73 
 
 The Gardener 75 
 
 Love's Guard 78 
 
 A Lullaby 80 
 
 A Dream in Suburbia 82 
 
 Voices 84 
 
 Spring Winds 89 
 
 Night Speaks 91 
 
 Crucified 97 
 
PEOPLE TO POETS 
 
 Arise, O ye singers of life! 
 Gird up your faith for the fight ! 
 Now is the bitterest strife, 
 
 Between darkness and light ! 
 Now is the cry going forth, 
 Hope and despair in its breath, 
 Yours is the battle of worth, 
 
 Life against Death ! 
 
 Yours not to falter and shrink I 
 Yours not to shelter away ! 
 Unto you it was given to drink 
 
 Of the waters of day ! 
 But ye builded your cities of dreams 
 Too fair, and too frail, and too high 
 The blood of humanity streams ! 
 We wither ! we die 1 
 
10 PEOPLE TO POETS 
 
 Establish your heaven on earth, 
 O ye who have life in your hands ! 
 Quicken our seed for new birth 1 
 
 Water our lands ! 
 Famine and drought have us bound, 
 We have drained the last dregs of the cup ! 
 Feed us and cherish our wound ! 
 
 The cry goeth up ! 
 
 Grief hath so swollen our eyes 
 
 With passion and tears, we are blind! 
 
 We grope for the good and the wise ! 
 
 We would follow behind ! 
 O sit not and weep for our tears 
 Lest ye too be prisoned in night, 
 Share not our pains and our fears — 
 
 Fight the good fight 1 
 
 Unto whom shall we turn in our need 
 If your banner of light fall and trail 
 
PEOPLE TO POETS H 
 
 In the dust with our own? Who shall lead 
 
 If ye falter and fail? 
 But Death shall be scattered away 
 When Love brings his sword to the strife ! 
 Lead us out, lead us out into day 1 
 
 An army for Life I 
 
UNFOLDING 
 
 I HAVE strange songs in me, my friend of friends, 
 Music, but all unmeaning, severed, wild. 
 Not crystallised in harmony, it lends 
 No peace to pain, and I am like a child 
 Groping in unfamiliar passages. . . . O, come! 
 Come! Kindle this chaos to creation's power! 
 You can, if you will stay with me . . . and dumb. 
 Close, still. . . . Listen! . . . the unfolding of a 
 
 flower. 
 Petal for petal . . . hush you. . . . What does 
 
 it say ? 
 This rose is in my soul, you, only you. 
 Can hold the noises of the world away. 
 Can teach me that the truth of it is true. 
 
 12 
 
IN THE MIRROR 
 
 Now before the glass I stand 
 
 With my chin cupped in my hand, 
 
 Wondering if I see my face 
 
 As others see it, whether grace 
 
 Is found by other eyes than mine 
 
 Whose grey reflections scornful shine. 
 
 Once, long ago, a grave-eyed child 
 
 Whose moon-pale face shone cold and wild 
 
 Between the dim straight falls of hair 
 
 Stood here, and challenged God to dare 
 
 Let her live on, and not be sweet. 
 
 And red and white, with dancing feet 
 
 Like all the others : she said ..." They lie 
 
 Who call Thee good ! 0, let me die ! 
 
 No! Change me now, and after 
 
 Ten years weeping 
 
 Give me laughter ! 
 13 
 
14> IN THE MIRROR 
 
 Touch my face 
 
 With heavenly grace ! 
 
 While I'm sleeping 
 
 With Thy magic finger trace 
 
 Rosy lips and dimples peeping! 
 
 Steep my eyes 
 
 In the blue of Paradise, 
 
 And there 
 
 Drown two stars from windy skies, 
 
 And shake their gold dust in my hair ! 
 
 O, after 
 
 Ten years weeping 
 
 Give me laughter ! " 
 Again before the glass I stand 
 With my chin cupped in my hand 
 As then, to ask God how He dare 
 Let me live on and not be fair. 
 Not for you, O mirrored eyes. 
 The melting blue of Paradise ! 
 Not for you, heavy brow, 
 The crown of joy, crown shattered now, 
 
IN THE MIRROR 15 
 
 And lost in dust. O, folded lips, 
 
 Down from your touch the joy cup slips. • , . 
 
 Locked gates that hold the surging swell 
 
 Of voiceless hate, while worms of hell 
 
 Consume the heart. . . . O, tragic youth! 
 
 O, sad pursuit of sadder truth! 
 
 O, young cold face, these shadows grey 
 
 Lie dimly there, stealing away 
 
 Youth's right of loveliness ! 0, tears 
 
 In secret shed through all the years ! 
 
 O God, grant this, that after 
 
 These years of weeping, 
 
 Void of laughter. 
 
 Brimmed with pain, 
 
 My soul's the gain! 
 
 That in me, sleeping. 
 Flowers of thought that spring from rain 
 Of tears grow fruitful for my reaping ! 
 
 Then shall my eyes 
 Pierce the mists of Paradise 
 
 And there 
 
16 IN THE MIRROR 
 
 My soul, wringing eternities, 
 
 At last, at last shall greatly dare, 
 
 Shall bring Thee, after 
 
 Long years weeping, 
 Laughter ! Laughter ! 
 
AWAKENING 
 
 I HAVE been young, and wise, and very sane ; 
 I have been wiser than uncareful age 
 Whose wisdom has known folly ; I have trod 
 Fearfully in the roses, and no stain 
 Has blotted my wan youth's fastidious page ; 
 I dared not tilt at windmills for my God, 
 
 Until, blamelessly walking my unsmiling way, 
 I stumbled on a pale hand at my feet. 
 Thrust from the dark unconquered wilderness. 
 And lo, out of the innocent grasses where it lay 
 There sprang red flowers, passionately sweet. 
 Which, leaning to me, crimsoned my white dress. 
 
 Now all is gone, all the old little things. 
 The little paths, the little bolted door. 
 The little tame birds singing little songs. 
 
 17 
 
18 AWAKENING 
 
 All is a little dream . . . now wildest wings 
 
 Flame the indifferent air, and soar 
 
 Beyond men's farthest visions, rights, and wrongs. 
 
 Now all my wisdom drops away with tears, 
 Low kneeling in the dust I pluck these flowers, 
 Then fling my body on the front of thorn 
 Hedging your need from me : O, all the years 
 Are nothing, childhood is dead, mine are new 
 
 powers, 
 New songs, new stars ! By you I am new born. 
 
I REMEMBER A GUSTY NIGHT 
 
 I REMEMBER a gusty night, and a hill we climbed, 
 singing, 
 
 I remember the lash of grass, and grey moths 
 winging, 
 
 Smell of earth, smell of sea, smell of flowers grow- 
 ing, 
 
 And a break in the clouds in the windy west, with 
 one star showing. 
 
 All of the world was left behind in the dim dark 
 
 under, 
 The only word of the world's pain was the sea's 
 
 far thunder. 
 Men's blood, men's tears, men's cruel laughter 
 Were smothered close in the placid depths, and 
 
 could not follow after. 
 
 19 
 
so I REMEMBER A GUSTY NIGHT 
 
 I remember a prayer we prayed in the wild windy 
 weather, 
 
 I remember a vow we vowed, heart and heart to- 
 gether. 
 
 Love's faith, love's strength, love's truth to bind 
 us, 
 
 All of the loveless bonds of men we broke and left 
 behind us. 
 
 Although we walk in the world's ways and the 
 
 world's ways sever, 
 Though living sap our life's blood, and dreams be 
 
 lost endeavour. 
 Though small sins and sad shames swing up the 
 
 scales in sorrow, 
 That infinite short hour shall last to-morrow and 
 
 to-morrow! 
 
LIVED 
 
 Yesterday we stood together 
 In wild and windy weather, 
 We were happy in high places, 
 In infinite blue spaces — 
 Together. 
 
 Yesterday our lips were meeting, 
 Heart on glad heart beating, 
 We dreamed no possible division, 
 Young eyes in mutual vision, 
 Meeting. 
 
 We had left the world behind us. 
 No trivial thing might find us. 
 All we asked of life was given, 
 All but wind and heaven 
 Behind us 1 
 21 
 
LIVED 
 
 Now lie we separately, weeping, 
 In lonely Memory's keeping. 
 Sad with imperishable sweetness, 
 Comfortless in completeness, 
 Weeping ! 
 
WINTER 
 
 Summer, alas, is fled, 
 
 She is dead. 
 Autumn has kissed her ejes 
 
 With cold sighs 
 And the hushed leaves fall 
 
 Over all. 
 Hear the lame padded beat 
 
 Of Winter's feet. 
 Hush, he is stalking on, 
 
 Lean and wan. 
 He counts his destined dead 
 
 With wagging head. 
 Now his stark lips unfold 
 
 For the old. 
 Now his pale hideous tongue 
 
 Licks up the young. 
 
 23 
 
24» WINTER 
 
 Famine steps after him, 
 
 Dumb and grim. 
 Hush, they lie down with Death, 
 
 And their breath 
 Mingles and puffs in one 
 
 To hide the sun. 
 Hush, hand in hand they go, 
 
 Soft and slow. 
 Gathering their harvest in, 
 
 Bodies and sin. 
 
THE END 
 
 Once I strayed in a dream 
 Out of the track 
 Which sorrowful feet 
 For sorrow trod, 
 For sorrow beat. 
 I dropped my pack, 
 I followed a gleam 
 For a smile of God. 
 
 When at last I awoke 
 From sorrow's sleep, 
 One leaned above 
 Compassionately. 
 His look was love 
 That pierced me deep, 
 He never spoke, 
 
 But smiled on me. 
 25 
 
26 THE END 
 
 When night came down like a fold, 
 
 Our peace to cover, 
 
 He was not gone. 
 
 Wrapped round with light 
 
 I was at one 
 
 With my holy lover. . . . 
 
 Now I lie cold 
 
 In the cold night. 
 
 Dawn comes drab in the east, 
 I have lost my way. 
 Light comes dead 
 In the grey wind. 
 And wherever I tread, 
 Night or day, 
 With plaint unceas't 
 One walks behind. 
 
 His footsteps haunt my ears 
 In monotone. 
 His eyes like fate 
 
THE END 27 
 
 Haunt my desires. 
 Him I hate : 
 I would be alone 
 With my own tears, 
 And my dead fires. 
 
 This is the corpse of Him 
 Of the shining hours, 
 Which lightless stands 
 With blank face, 
 In Its hands 
 Withered flowers, 
 Scentless and dim, 
 From the holy place. 
 
WEAKNESS 
 
 I AM tired, tired, tired: swiftly, surely over my 
 
 head 
 The bitter waters are closing, and I know that I 
 
 am dead. 
 Dead the hope, dead the fear, dead the soul of me ; 
 I am done with the fighting now, I am done with 
 
 the will to be. 
 
 I am too tired for the comfort of tears, no more I 
 
 feel the knife 
 Twisting keen in a pulsing heart , . . that was a 
 
 thing of life ! 
 All that lives in me now, I know, is the little noise 
 
 of my breath. 
 I am too tired for living on, too tired for the pain 
 
 of death. 
 
 28 
 
WEAKNESS 29 
 
 Sea may not come in forever against land, I have 
 
 struggled long, 
 I am weary of standing against the tide, weary of 
 
 being strong; 
 Let me sleep a little, somewhere hidden in gloom, 
 To dream of a presence ... a step ... a voice 
 
 . . . and the deep blue peace of a room. 
 
DESPAIR 
 
 My courage tires, 
 
 Low burn the fires 
 
 Of hope, of youth, 
 
 Of zest for truth 
 
 For truth is pain, 
 
 And I am fain 
 
 For peace, and rest. 
 
 Within my breast. 
 
 O, I am worn. 
 
 Diversely torn 
 
 By fear and strength. 
 
 Till now at length 
 
 My dread is sore, 
 
 I can no more. 
 
 O ruthless wind. 
 
 Thou art unkind, 
 
 And yet, and yet, 
 30 
 
DESPAIR 31 
 
 I now forget 
 Thy buffeting 
 And bitter sting. 
 I feel thee not, 
 Thou art forgot, 
 Too dull am I 
 To heed thy cry, 
 Too sunk in gloom. 
 I have no room 
 For any thought. 
 My battle's fought, 
 My die is tossed, 
 And lost, lost, lost. 
 The poplars sough, 
 And swish, and bow 
 Before the breath 
 Of windy death. 
 Down swills the rain 
 In gusts of pain. 
 And footsteps pass 
 In the sodden grass. 
 
3a DESPAIR 
 
 To and fro 
 All night they go, 
 To and fro 
 In hurried woe, 
 I hear the beat 
 Of muffled feet ; 
 The feet of the dead 
 Tramp my head, 
 In merciless drone. 
 In monotone. 
 Sad and dull, 
 With never a lull . 
 And I sit here, 
 With never a tear. 
 Too dead to hate, 
 Or curse my fate, 
 Or wail my doom, 
 I sit in gloom : 
 I am grown old, 
 I am grown cold. 
 
DESPAIR 33 
 
 Ghost hands hold up 
 My bitter cup ! 
 It is on my lips : 
 Nor slips ! Nor slips ! 
 
GREEN PLACES 
 
 I SEEK Thy greener solitudes, 
 
 The echoes of my footsteps in paved streets 
 Haunt me, and all these weary multitudes 
 
 Press on me, crying out their small defeats. 
 
 The pain of humans burns and aches 
 
 In me ; I have a longing for dumb cows 
 
 Munching in peace by little placid lakes 
 
 Where dragon-flies monotonously drowse. 
 
 How green Thy lovely pasture lies ! 
 
 I would put down my face in dewy grass 
 And hide me from the misery of eyes 
 
 Which stab my furtive spirit as they pass ! 
 
 34 
 
HALF-TRUTHS 
 
 Too often pride is vanity misnamed, 
 And freedom is but license unashamed, 
 Beauty's a mirage, truth's a lovely lie. 
 Faith's an old crutch we hobble lamely by, 
 Love's a false glass in which ourselves appear, 
 Fear suckles hope, and hope is blinded fear, 
 Humility's the vainest kind of pride 
 Dispraising self, yet fain to be denied : 
 And all these shams we passionately believe! 
 O God of Truth, how we ourselves deceive ! 
 
 35 
 
RESOLUTION 
 
 MoENiNG creeps round, another day, 
 Windy and damp, and softly grey ; 
 Dreams lie like weights about my head, 
 Chaining a willing slave to bed. 
 Another day, another round. 
 My feet to tread the beaten ground 
 Of days, and weeks, and many years, 
 A circling track marked out with tears ; 
 But all my love, and all my will 
 Is bent to circle wider still. 
 To reach the utter bounds of earth, 
 And give my spirit newer birth. 
 To keep my eager soul afire, 
 To shun content, still to aspire ; 
 And when my vision falls to dust 
 Because I seek with human lust 
 
 36 
 
RESOLUTION 37 
 
 To grasp a star, let dust be mixed 
 With tears for marble! Vision fixed 
 In living art ! O, I must live 
 To shape, to build, to sing, to give! 
 Thus think I as another day. 
 Windy and damp and softly grey. 
 Comes creeping to my window-pane 
 And bids me take the yoke again. 
 
TO MY FRIEND 
 
 When memory, and grief, and fear 
 Assail mj heart with bitter stress, 
 I am not afraid to come 
 
 Begging here. 
 Seeking, for love and quietness, 
 
 Your heart, my home. 
 
 I am not afraid to take 
 Peace, and strength, and kindling fire, 
 I am not afraid to ask. 
 For love's sake, 
 The utmost need of my desire, 
 The highest task. 
 
 Were I less proud I could not speak 
 Thus simply all my need of you ; 
 
 39 
 
TO MY FRIEND 39 
 
 Less strong, my heart could not confess 
 
 Its mood is weak. 
 I could not come were love less true 
 For quietness. 
 
SONG 
 
 O WIND from the sea ! O wind from the sea ! 
 Blow gustily 
 
 Lustily 
 Over the sea ! 
 With thy blast of thunder 
 O tear me asunder ! 
 Annihilate me ! 
 O scatter my dust, 
 My mud, and my rust ! 
 Mustily, 
 Fustily, 
 Blind and a-blunder. 
 So have I lived, but at last I'll be free ! 
 No longer a slave, I'll laugh, I'll rave, 
 Rearing, 
 Sheering, 
 With foam on the wave ! 
 40 
 
SONG 41 
 
 With the elements blending, ^ 
 
 Life without ending ! 
 O happy ! O brave ! 
 O loving and keen! 
 O mightily clean! 
 Careering, 
 Unfearing ! 
 O wind ! O water ! No death ! No grave ! 
 
YOUTH 
 
 Down the valleys and up the hill 
 
 Comes youth with wind behind him! 
 
 O, in his hands are daffodils, 
 
 And never a bond shall bind him ! 
 
 Beneath the blessing of his feet 
 
 The young green corn is singing. 
 
 O, April rain is warm and sweet, 
 And all the earth is springing ! 
 
 The star of the dawn is in bis hair, 
 His lightning eyes are tearless. 
 
 O, every venture he will dare, 
 
 And his rebel heart is fearless ! 
 
 His lovely lips are pitiless, 
 
 He spurns the old before him ; 
 42 
 
YOUTH 43 
 
 O, they vainly clutch at his passing dress, 
 And curse him and adore him ! 
 
 He walks unshamed and unafraid, 
 
 And wind is ever behind him ! 
 O, at his side is a burning blade, 
 
 And never a bond shall bind him ! 
 
 For A. de S. 
 
LOVE IN THE PINEWOOD 
 
 Where we lie under the trees. 
 There is peace at the heart of things. 
 And in our hearts there is lone. 
 Among the pines wind moves and sings. 
 And stars like heavenly honey bees 
 Swarm in the boughs above. 
 
 O none may enter here 
 
 Save those whose hearts are true, 
 
 Who bear the light within, 
 
 Whose faith is strong to hold — to do, 
 
 Whose passion thinks no shame, no fear. 
 
 Or any tripping sin. 
 
 This is Love's holy place 
 Where all true lovers pray 
 To be stripped clean of doubt. 
 44 
 
LOVE IN THE PINEWOOD 45 
 
 Now you and I must tear away 
 
 The masks that hide our spirit's face; 
 
 Let honesty shine out. 
 
 Now open all your doors 
 
 And let me come inside 
 
 To your heart's deepest shrine. 
 
 There would I come and there abide, 
 
 Treading those hospitable floors, 
 
 While you make free of mine. 
 
 Is there a hidden room 
 Where sorrow hides her tears, 
 Enthroned, and blind, and dumb ? 
 I come, usurping, down the years 
 To oust her, where she sits in gloom. 
 Unthroning her I come! 
 
 Is there some chained wild hate 
 Wielding a rusty sword. 
 Unknowing what to smite .f^ 
 
46 LOVE IN THE PINEWOOD 
 
 To him I speak Love's burning word, 
 Point him a star to win from fate, 
 Weapon him with Love's might. 
 
 Is there a starved joy here, 
 
 A starved joy craving food? 
 
 By me his strength shall grow ! 
 
 I'll suckle him with my heart's blood, 
 
 My deepest founts alive and clear 
 
 For him shall spring and flow ! 
 
 Open your doors to me, 
 
 O heart that is my home! 
 
 Love's messenger am I ! 
 
 For Love's proud sake the world I roam, 
 
 And I go lame — but Love goes free I 
 
 And Love ! Love ! Love ! I cry ! 
 
 Where we lie under the trees 
 
 There is peace at the heart of things. 
 
 And in our hearts there is love. 
 
LOVE IN THE PINEWOOD 47 
 
 Among the pines wind moves and sings. 
 And stars, like Tiea'venly honey bees. 
 Swarm in the houghs above. 
 
O WORLD OF BEAUTY 
 
 WOKLD of beauty, hear my song ! 
 
 1 sing because my heart is strong, 
 And soars upon the billowing wind, 
 And shouts, and will not lag behind 
 Earth's stormy rhythm ! I stand high 
 On this green wind-blown hill, and cry 
 My love song to this world I love ! 
 Earth at my feet, and sky above ! 
 Ploughed field, and trackless sea, and town 
 
 wind, you shall not roar me down ! 
 
 1 am a lover ! I am grown 
 Great to contain you ! I, alone, 
 Hold in my spirit all I see. 
 
 And feel, and hear ! All this is me. 
 
 And I am one with all ! O trees, 
 
 Like giants bowed to bend wild knees 
 
 To powers they, shrieking, still defy ! 
 48 
 
O WORLD OF BEAUTY 49 
 
 O mighty, laughter-driven clouds, 
 
 Like thoughts of gods, dark windy shrouds 
 
 Of dying light ! O smoking sun. 
 
 By whom green earth was first begun, 
 
 Your flame-begotten child ! O light 
 
 Chased by the first swift hounds of night 
 
 Across the glimmering fields ! note 
 
 Piped from a last drowsed blackbird's throat 
 
 Against the wind ! O first green leaf 
 
 And flower of Spring's young dancing sheaf 
 
 Of joy! O laughing push of Spring 
 
 Against my heart ! I sing, I sing 
 
 On this green hill my song of love ! 
 
 you are mine ! In me you move, 
 And have undying life . . . for lo, 
 
 1 have been touched by God ! I know ! 
 
 For H. de 8, 
 
I KNOW WHEN YOU ARE COMING 
 
 I KNOW when you are coming 
 
 Wherever you may be, 
 For a deep note is humming, 
 
 Ringing, and singing 
 You're on your way to me! 
 
 Until as you come near me 
 It swells so loud and strong 
 
 The casual world nmst hear me, 
 Ringing, and singing 
 
 All of me in song! 
 
 O I am poised for flying 
 When I see you lean above. 
 
 And suns and moons are crying. 
 Ringing, and singing 
 
 The holy praise of Love ! 
 50 
 
PAUSE 
 
 Beloved, do not move. 
 Keep still, keep still, 
 Lest the spell break. 
 O, let me drink my fill 
 
 From your deep eyes that brood on me above 
 Before I wake. 
 
 O, do not press more near, 
 A touch, a kiss 
 Would come between. 
 Never more close than this, 
 Our separate spirits, naked, burning clear. 
 Have we two been. 
 
 Only your brooding eyes 
 
 Are holding me, 
 
 And your loved face 
 
 51 
 
52 PAUSE 
 
 Looks now immortally, 
 
 Your guardian thoughts my stumbling quest 
 surprise 
 In unknown space. 
 
 So in the common maze 
 Of trivial things 
 Sometimes I find. 
 Peering from folded wings, 
 The moveless wisdom of your spirit's gaze. 
 Passionate and kind. 
 
HARVEST 
 
 Love gave me grace to love you, and to sing. 
 
 These are my songs ; O, take them royally, 
 
 Thank me no more than any other king 
 
 Thanks his own fields for harvest. You crown me 
 
 In reaping me of song. 0, let me bring 
 
 Love's praise, as children to a guardian knee 
 
 Bring prayers, and bless by worshipping. 
 
 Your smiles and tears my highest thanks shall be. 
 
 Less praise of you than praise of Love there is: 
 
 But you shall smile on this who broke the bars 
 
 On Love's wide kingdom in a single kiss 
 
 And gave me flight above high soaring stars. 
 
 O, you so strongly in my spirit move 
 
 My joy sings you whenever I write Love. 
 
 53 
 
SPRING AND A LARCH WOOD 
 
 Like a bird with flightless wings 
 I ran with flapping arms outspread, 
 Singing as a wild bird sings, 
 Little heeding what I said. 
 
 Wmd before, sun overhead! 
 
 Down a wet ploughed field I bounded, 
 And the smell of earth was sweet, 
 All the hills my joy resounded, 
 And I felt my body swinging 
 To the rhythm of my singing. 
 And the rhyming of my feet. 
 
 the joy of being fleet! 
 
 O the joy of laughter 
 And the wind's laugh shouting after ! 
 64 
 
SPRING AND A LARCH WOOD 
 
 O the backward push of knee 
 Spurning ruddy soil behind ! 
 Running riot with the wind ! 
 O the joy of being free 
 To run 
 In the sun, 
 Leaping, crying. 
 Singing, flying, 
 Tireless ! 
 
 the joy of being me! 
 
 Suddenly I was aware 
 Of silence in the air. 
 
 1 had stepped 
 
 Where the eyes of Beauty slept, 
 
 And her hands lay on her breast, 
 
 Nervelessly at rest. 
 
 Like a child. 
 
 Wearied quite of being wild, 
 
 She had drowsied from her play 
 
56 SPRING AND A LARCH WOOD 
 
 And hid herself awaj 
 
 In the wood. 
 
 She had veiled her maidenhood 
 
 In green and golden mystery 
 
 Past which I dared not see. 
 
 I dared not breathe, nor look, nor stir, 
 
 I was so hushed in holiness, 
 
 I was so strangely close to her 
 
 I dared not move to touch her dress. 
 
 I was so bound in quietness. 
 
 The hoyden wind, abashed like me, 
 
 And sunk in piteous surprise. 
 
 Crept to her very wistfully 
 
 Kissing her golden lidded eyes 
 
 With little mournful gusty sighs. 
 
 But I could only hang my head. 
 
 And stand like any sullen boy, 
 
 For lovely Joy had dumbly fled, 
 
 And I was fain to follow Joy, 
 
 But she was fleet, and she was coy : 
 
 Then I was filled with sudden rage 
 
SPRING AND A LARCH WOOD 57 
 
 For Beauty's green cool sanctitude ! 
 And like a beast trapped in a cage 
 Assaulted her sweet solitude 
 With bellowings rude. 
 
 But . . . shudderingly affrighted 
 
 Defiant courage dropped away 
 
 And left me in dismay, 
 
 Woefully benighted, 
 
 Daring not to stay. 
 
 I had desecrated 
 
 Beauty where her angels shine 
 
 At her holiest shrine ; 
 
 Whimpering I hated 
 
 All that looked divine. 
 
 Peevislily I mumbled, 
 
 Sobbing out my little grief. 
 
 And like a hunted thief 
 
 Knew not where I stumbled, 
 
 Groping for relief. 
 
 wonder past belief! 
 
58 SPRING AND A LARCH WOOD 
 
 Where mj rude feet had gone 
 
 Growing by, 
 
 A solitary primrose shone, 
 
 An opened eye ! 
 
 Beauty looked at me. 
 
 Beauty smiled. 
 
 Beauty stared unfrenzledly, 
 
 Undefiled. 
 
 Then I hid my face, 
 And crawled away 
 To a secret s-unless place 
 Peacefully to pray. 
 
MARCH WINDS 
 
 Blow, winds, blow! 
 
 North, south, east, and west ! 
 
 Blow, winds, blow ! 
 
 Give the sluggard world no rest ! 
 
 Lash the trees to screaming rage ! 
 
 Whip the seas to hymns of thunder ! 
 
 Close the lips of withered age ! 
 
 Mammon's smiling gardens plunder ! 
 
 Blow, winds, blow ! 
 
 Out, out! Rave and shout! 
 
 Blow, winds, blow 
 
 Spirit in and ashes out! 
 
 Kindle all the dying fires ! 
 
 Smite all chains that lie unriven ! 
 
 Rouse in man a God's desires ! 
 
 Shake the fixed stars of heaven ! 
 
 59 
 
60 MARCH WINDS 
 
 Shatter ! Shatter ! 
 Rend and scatter 
 Feeble faith and false illusion ! 
 Out of death and devastation, 
 Out of chaos and confusion 
 There shall spring a new creation ! 
 There shall rise the towers of Truth 
 From the rebel hand of Youth ! 
 Blow, winds, blow ! 
 
BEETHOVEN 
 
 Beneath the single lamp's pale glow 
 
 She sits enthroned, her fair round head 
 
 Held high, her tiny body thrilled 
 
 To power, while from her fingers flow 
 
 The deathless torrents of the dead 
 
 Whose living voice may not be stilled 
 
 By death, him who with closed eyes 
 
 Listens, his sombre lips tight locked 
 
 Upon a song unsung, as one 
 
 Deaf to the world, seeking harmonies 
 
 Of all the spheres, a spirit rocked 
 
 In silence, nourished of the sun, 
 
 Beethoven! His are thunder and sleep. 
 
 Calvary, and the silver rain 
 
 Of peace ! He wrung his heart of blood 
 
 To pour like manna in the deep 
 
 Places where no love or pain 
 61 
 
m BEETHOVEN 
 
 May reach to give the spirit food 
 Save love and pain like his: for he 
 So faithfully loved life he gave 
 His holy spirit shape, and then. 
 Beneficent, sent it forth to be 
 A saviour of mankind, to save 
 All strong and suffering hearts of men. 
 Weak hearts must faint before his tide. 
 Which storms their cliffs with little ruth, 
 But those deep visioned and un-calm, 
 Who hurl themselves on Time, and ride 
 His tameless hours to hound down Truth, 
 May dare his battle, and take his balm. 
 
 Born of his spirit, and cast in his mould. 
 To utter him ! She was made for this ! 
 See, her live look of him ! Brows bent. 
 Mouth locked In that grim smiling fold, 
 Dark deep, Ineffable. . . . She is 
 His image, and his Instrument. 
 She breasts his billows like a gull! 
 
BEETHOVEN 63 
 
 He is her elemental sea 
 Wherein alone her passions move, 
 And her clear spirit breathes its full: 
 Brave, tender, deep, and free. 
 She is his child, and loves to love, 
 Which is the word by which we live, 
 We who go forth to dare and do 
 For life: clear-eyed and motionless 
 She sits, her hands outheld to give 
 Through them the beautiful and true, 
 As if to smite! As if to bless! 
 
 As if to bless, as if to smite! 
 
 Lo ! from those singing finger tips 
 
 Her naked honesty shines out 
 
 As an articulate clear light 
 
 Of love, while on her tender lips 
 
 Is silence! Hear her spirit shout 
 
 Her master's word of love! Hear 
 
 The everlasting battle cry 
 
 Of God ! Love ! O, lovers all. 
 
64 BEETHOVEN 
 
 Gird up your strength to tilt at fear! 
 
 Carry the word to gods who die 
 
 Where death and the world hold them in thrall ! 
 
 The word that is ours to do and sing! 
 
 The tree that is ours to root on earth! 
 
 The faith that is ours to live and prove ! 
 
 Come to her hands for the sword and the wing ! 
 
 Come to her hands for the glad new birth ! 
 
 Come to her hands for the founts of Love ! 
 
 Her hands shall smite the coward down, 
 
 And her hands shall bless the truth in you, 
 
 Though dumb her eyes, and dumb her lip, 
 
 She bids you aspire her master's crown. 
 
 She bids you to his word be true. 
 
 She bids you join their fellowship! 
 
 See where he listens with closed eyes 
 
 Whereon the mists of death lie dim, 
 
 He who knows all of heaven and hell. 
 
 Deaf to the world, manblind, godwise. 
 
 Smiles like a god, half sweet, half grim, 
 
 And says ..." my singer, it is well! " 
 
 For Janet Wheeler, 
 
A PRAYER 
 
 O LOVE, give me a passionate heart 
 
 That my heart may be pure. 
 
 Give me, O Love, thy harder part, 
 
 The daring to endure. 
 
 Lead me not in ways too green 
 
 Lest my faith cease to strive. 
 
 Keep thou thy sword for ever keen 
 
 To stab my soul alive. 
 
 give me thy deep strength to hold 
 
 Thy peace within my breast, 
 
 All sick and sorrowing hearts to fold 
 
 In thy enfolding rest. 
 
 66 
 
ONE MOTHER 
 
 Mary! 
 
 I'm quite alone in all the world, 
 Into such bright sharp pain of anguish hurled 
 I cannot pray wise comfortable things ; 
 Death's plunged me deep in hell, and given me 
 
 wings 
 For terrible strange vastnesses ; no hand 
 In all this empty spirit-driven space; I stand 
 Alone, and whimpering in my soul. I plod 
 Among wild stars, and hide my face from God. 
 God frightens me. He's strange. I know Him 
 
 not. 
 And all my usual prayers I have forgot: 
 But you — you had a son — I remember now ! 
 You are not Mary of the virgin brow ! 
 You agonized for Jesus! You went down 
 Into the ugly depths for him. Your crown 
 
 66 
 
ONE MOTHER 67 
 
 Is my crown! I've seen you in the street, 
 Begging your way for broken bread and meat : 
 I've seen you in trams, in shops, among old faces, 
 Young eyes, brave lips, broad backs, in all the 
 
 places 
 Where women work, and weep, in pain, in pride. 
 Your hands were gnarled that held him when he 
 
 died! 
 Not the fair hands that painters give you, white 
 And slim. You never had such hands: night 
 And day you laboured, night and day, from child 
 To woman. You were never soft and mild. 
 But strong-limbed, patient, brown-skinned from 
 
 the sun. 
 Deep-bosomed, brave-eyed, holy, holy One! 
 I know you now ! I seek you, Mary ! Spread 
 Your compassionate skirts! I bring to you my 
 
 dead ! 
 This was my man. I bore him. I did not know 
 Then how he crowned me, but I felt it so. 
 He was my all the world. I loved him best 
 
68 ONE MOTHER 
 
 When he was helpless, clamouring at my breast. 
 
 Mothers are made like that. You'll understand 
 
 Who held your Jesus helpless in your hand 
 
 And loved his impotence. But as he grew 
 
 I watched him, always jealously, I knew 
 
 Each line of his young body, every tone 
 
 Of speech ; his pains, his triumphs were my own. 
 
 I saw the down come on his cheeks with dread. 
 
 And soon I had to reach to hold his head 
 
 And stroke his mop of hair. I watched his eyes 
 
 When women crossed his ways, and I was wise 
 
 For him who had no wisdom. He was young, 
 
 And loathed my care, and lashed me with youth's 
 
 tongue. 
 Splendidly merciless, casual of age, his scorn 
 Was sweet to me of whom his strength was born. 
 • . . Besides, when he was more than six foot tall 
 He kept the smile he had when he was small ! . . . 
 And still no woman had him. I was glad 
 Of that — and then — O God! The world ran 
 
 mad! 
 
ONE MOTHER 69 
 
 Almost before I knew, this noise was war; 
 Death and not women took the son I bore. . . . 
 
 You'll know liim when you see him : first of all 
 
 Because he'll smile that way when he was small ; 
 
 And then his eyes ! They never changed from blue 
 
 To duller grey, as other children's do. 
 
 But like his childish dreams he kept his eyes 
 
 Vivid, and deeply clear, and vision wise. 
 
 Seek for him, Mary ! Bright among the ghosts 
 
 Of other women's sons he'll star those hosts 
 
 Of shining boys! (He always topped his class 
 
 At school !) Lean forward, Mary, as they pass, 
 
 And touch him ! When you see his eyes you'll 
 
 weep 
 And think him your own Jesus! Let him sleep 
 In your deep bosom, Mary, then you'll see 
 His lashes, how they curl, so childishly 
 You'll weep again, and rock him on your heart 
 As I did once, that night we had to part. 
 He'll come to you all bloody and be-mired, 
 
70 ONE MOTHER 
 
 But let him sleep, my dear, for he'll be tired, 
 And very shy. If he'd come home to me 
 I wouldn't ask the neighbours in to tea. . . 
 He always hated crowds. . . I'd let him be. . . 
 
 And then perhaps you'll talce him by the hand 
 And comfort him from fear when he must stand 
 Before God's dreadful throne; then, will you call 
 That boy whose bullet made my darling fall. 
 And take him by the other hand, and say. . . 
 " God, whose Son the hands of men did slay^ 
 These are Thy children who do talce away 
 The sins of the world. . . ." 
 
TO KENNIE 
 
 Have you seen the laughter of grasses 
 
 Where wind passes? 
 
 Sweeping his wild wings over 
 
 Meadows where clover 
 
 Nods and bows 
 
 And golden honey-bees drowse? 
 
 Have you heard how the wild wind hushes 
 
 In swaying rushes, 
 
 And felt the green world listen 
 
 Where waters glisten, 
 
 For the key 
 
 To their murmured mystery? 
 
 Have you seen the delicate lilies, 
 
 Where life ever still is, 
 
 And holy light glimmers 
 
 And the wind shimmers, 
 71 
 
72 TO KENNIE 
 
 Stirring the air 
 
 Into one luminous prayer? 
 
 Even as wind's laughter 
 
 And the hush after, 
 
 And the cool breeze blowing, 
 
 Whence lilies are growing, 
 
 Even so wild 
 
 And so white are the thoughts of a child. 
 
FELLOWSHIP 
 
 I FOUND a little hahy 
 Plajing in the grass, 
 Flowers are his playmates, 
 And all the things that pass, 
 Harebell, and heatherbell, 
 Singing lark, and silver swallow, 
 Happy baby loves 'em well, 
 And his blue eyes follow 
 
 Down the road to the corner 
 Where the white geese are. 
 Up the sky where the long days die 
 To the first pale star, 
 
 I found a little baby 
 Playing on the green! 
 Hi ! You poor old doddling man, 
 Where may you have been? 
 
 73 
 
74 FELLOWSHIP . 
 
 By youth's pride, and man's delight, 
 Folly's fire, and wisdom's sorrow: 
 I go forth to welcome might. 
 And bid the world good-morrow. 
 
 Down the road to the milestone 
 Where all the journeys end: 
 A smile for you to take you through. 
 Poor old friend, 
 
 I found a little baby 
 Playing all day long. 
 He's a mighty lover 
 And makes a mighty song! 
 Big folk, and little folk, 
 Clouds, and carts, and all the things, 
 Love, and pigs, and men, and smoke, 
 He hails 'em all, and sings 
 
 Down the road to the round pond 
 Where the swallows dip. 
 All of these pass by and please 
 To make my fellowship! 
 
THE GARDENER 
 
 Now I go from thee, 
 My little tree, 
 Other hands tend thee, 
 Hands that banish me. 
 
 I made a garden 
 
 To cherish thy seed, 
 
 Daily I laboured 
 
 Thy leaping growth to feed. 
 
 From worms and all poison 
 I tended th}^ roots, 
 From blight and black blizzards 
 Thy green and tender shoots. 
 
 75 
 
THE GARDENER 
 
 I was thy gardener, 
 My little tree, 
 From my own garden 
 These enviers banish me. 
 
 How will they nurse thee, 
 Thou bright flame of Spring? 
 O, may they not plunder 
 Thy fruitful blossoming! 
 
 Now must I leave thee 
 To travel my road, 
 Love for my speeding, 
 And fear, a heavy load. 
 
 But grow thou, my darling. 
 
 My little tree. 
 
 In thy green summer 
 
 I shall come back to thee. 
 
THE GARDENER 77 
 
 Under thy branches 
 I'll come to rest. 
 I was thy gardener, 
 I'll be thy guest. 
 
LOVE'S GUARD 
 
 When first I awake, 
 Half seeing, half dreaming. 
 Morning shadows take 
 Shape and life-seeming. 
 
 A little sweet ghost 
 Calls me, enchants me, 
 He and his bright host 
 Of memories haunts me. 
 
 His hands seek my face 
 Like little leaves falling. 
 There is no quiet place 
 Where he is not calling. 
 
 It is not well with thee, 
 O my darling! 
 
 It is not well with me. 
 
 My little darling! 
 78 
 
LOVE'S GUARD 79 
 
 Thou art stolen away, 
 
 O my darling! 
 This is a long long day, 
 
 My little darhng! 
 
 But my love shall hold 
 
 O my darling! 
 Strong thoughts to enfold 
 
 My little darling! 
 
 Where thou art . . . sleep . . , 
 
 O my darling! 
 Love's guard shall keep 
 
 My little darling! 
 
A LULLABY 
 
 Sleep, little rose, 
 
 Thou flower of my blossoming, 
 Thy petals close. 
 Love now encradles thee. 
 Lights thee and shadows thee. 
 Bud of my winter, and flower of my spring. 
 
 Sleep, little bird, 
 
 The world's winds blow bitterly 
 But sleep thou unstirred, 
 Lcoe now encradles thee. 
 Lights thee and shadows thee. 
 Nest thee, my fledgeling, in Love's faithful tree. 
 
 80 
 
A LULLABY 81 
 
 Sleep, little friend, 
 
 Thy manhood shall testify 
 Love hath no end! 
 Love that encradles thee. 
 Lights thee and shadows thee. 
 Weaves thee a banner to bear by-and-by! 
 
A DREAM IN SUBURBIA 
 
 As I go out into the sun 
 
 To live this first sweet day of Spring 
 
 I think how golden life must be 
 
 Where young-eyed rabbits peep and run, 
 
 And daffodils are growing free, 
 
 And mating birds come out to sing. 
 
 I think I see a cobbled street 
 
 Where blinking cats and children sprawl. 
 
 Where cronies gossip at the door. 
 
 Old cronies, basking in the heat. 
 
 The sunlight shifting on the floor. 
 
 And creeping up a bare white wall. 
 
 82 
 
A DREAM IN SUBURBIA 83 
 
 Perhaps a thousand years ago 
 
 I vagabonded down that way, 
 
 A sunbeam glimmered on my brain 
 
 And printed it for ever. So 
 
 Each passing year on Spring's first day 
 
 My happy dream is born again. 
 
VOICES 
 
 Make up the fire, my old bones are chill, 
 And breath's all gone a-climbing Churchyard hill, 
 I shan't see Spring, friends, something tells me so. 
 My golden crocuses'll push and blow, 
 And daffodils, and me not there to see ! 
 And primroses ! The yellow Spring ! — Let be. 
 My rotten flesh'll make a patch of sod 
 For shining flowers ! — This toddy's hot, thank 
 God! 
 
 n 
 
 Why can't war take men like us, 
 Bag o' bones, and incubus, 
 Dying heart, and crooked back. 
 
 All that's old, and bad, and slack? 
 
 84 
 
VOICES 85 
 
 Keep your cannon balls and shells 
 For workhouse beds, and prison cells; 
 Turn us out into the field. 
 At point of sword, lest weakness yield, 
 Till there be left of us not one — 
 And pray the world be new begun! 
 
 in 
 
 I'm going out to the noise of the drum, 
 
 The delirious beat 
 
 Of marching feet 
 
 Says . . . Come! 
 
 Calls to my blood like love in Spring ! 
 
 Hear them sing! 
 
 Left . . . right . . . 
 
 To fight ... to fight . . . 
 
 The Hun! 
 
 Praise the Lord! 
 
 With a righteous cause and a faithful gun, 
 
 And a glittering deadly sword! 
 
86 VOICES 
 
 Maybe I'll lie in a field of dead 
 
 With a dead man's body to pillow my head, 
 
 What care I? 
 
 Better to die 
 
 For the call of the drum 
 
 Than sleep in a coward's bed! 
 
 I come! 
 
 IV 
 
 Looks as though men must kill each other,- 
 Thafs what the past tells. I don't know. 
 Not all the wisdom of books'll smother 
 Power-lust and blood-lust. Wisdom's slow. 
 And blood is quick, and brain takes fire. 
 And a man is chased by his own desire. 
 
 Power ! There's no lust worse than that lust ! 
 
 I hate war! 
 
 Beauty of ages turned to dust! 
 
 What for? 
 
VOICES 87 
 
 Lest the sword of the strong should rust! 
 
 What does it matter to God or me 
 
 Who rules the sea? 
 
 England or Germany broken and shamed, 
 
 Shall the sea be tamed? 
 
 Let men in their blindness spend and spill 
 
 Money and blood if they will — 
 
 But Rheims ! O God ! God ! 
 
 Is there rape more bloody than the rape of a clod? 
 
 VI 
 
 Hush, you fools, they've killed my boy, 
 Him that was my promised man! 
 He went out in pride and joy, 
 And when he went the war began! 
 
 Flesh, and blood, and bone of me, 
 
 God, my lovely darlmg^s dead! 
 
 1 gave for faith and liberty, 
 
 No woman*s breast to hold his head! 
 
88 VOICES 
 
 Him that was so hard to bear, 
 Him that came a-courting me! 
 Him so young, and fine, and fair, 
 Here^s an end of the war for me! 
 
 vn 
 
 Yet out of futile strife 
 
 There shall arise 
 Purged and triumphant life, 
 
 Chastened and wise. 
 
 Nations shall fall no more 
 
 At one man's word, 
 And offer their sons to War 
 
 In the name of the Lord ! 
 
 Youth shall come into its own 
 
 Splendidly free! 
 Towers over bodies and stone 
 
 Democracy ! 
 
SPRING WINDS 
 
 Lovely lady, come out to plaj^, 
 For here is spring's sweet holiday ! 
 
 Leave your weeping, and leave your woe, 
 Grief may come, and grief may go. 
 
 Leave your shoes and your dainty gowns. 
 To follow me barefoot over the downs. 
 
 Loose your riband and toss your hair. 
 And lay your lovely bosom bare. 
 
 A silver swallow is on the wing, 
 O, how shall you forbear to sing? 
 
 The silver clouds are gay and wild, 
 how shall you not turn a child.'* 
 
90 SPRING WINDS 
 
 I'll kiss your neck, and cheek, and chin, 
 But never a soul shall call it sin. 
 
 I'll kiss your lips both free and long 
 But never a soul shall call it wrong. 
 
 Lovely lady, come out to play, 
 Leave your sorrow and come away! 
 
NIGHT SPEAKS 
 
 O MEN, little men, be still! 
 You with your blood and tears 
 
 My peace offend. 
 Have you gathered no wisdom pf years, 
 Has Time been so feebly your friend 
 That you may not be strong — and not kill. 
 Crying * God ! ' Think you there is any God 
 
 hears ? 
 
 Be still ! 
 It is my holy silence you rend. 
 
 Be still! You clamour in vain 
 
 When you cry on a God to approve 
 
 One cause of blood or another. 
 
 There is no God that shall bend 
 
 This man's or that man's way. 
 
 There is no God has need of your pain. 
 
 91 
 
92 NIGHT SPEAKS 
 
 There is no God for whom you may spend 
 The sacred blood of your brother. 
 
 Know you not God? He is Love! 
 Him you slay! 
 
 Know you not God? Look on high 
 Where the royal sun's dying flame 
 Banners the fields of the sky ! 
 Lo ! This is He in whose name 
 You hate, you clamour, you die. 
 And drag his proud banner in shame! 
 Know you not God? 0, see, 
 
 Hanging over, 
 Where she floats in a shimmer of green. 
 
 Like a calm bird of light, 
 
 Breasting the deep of the sea, 
 
 Venus, first jewel of night ! 
 
 Passionate and serene 
 As the downward gaze of a lover 
 When love like a quenchless torch burns clear in 
 
 his sight! 
 
NIGHT SPEAKS 93 
 
 This is God ! All is one ! This is He ! 
 Know you not God? Look low 
 Where the young green grass waves in the wind, 
 Laughing mantle of earth. 
 In whose green secret folds 
 A myriad little lives 
 She feeds, where each clod holds 
 A world whose life she gives ! 
 Earth who bears in her crown 
 A myriad flowers sweet 
 For adornment of her mirth! 
 See how she lays them down 
 All these, for a carpet under your feet! 
 
 Know you not God? Look low. 
 Him you shall find! 
 
 Know you not God? Lo, between 
 Heaven and earth, flowers and stars 
 Gleams the last greatest sign that shall prove 
 Him who is proven in all! Have you seen, 
 Opened in joy and amaze, 
 
94 NIGHT SPEAKS 
 
 The eyes of two spirits that love, 
 Locked in the long golden gaze 
 Which breaks all familiar bars, 
 Custom, and terror, and shame. 
 Modesty's gossamer screen, 
 Dreams and despair, and desire. 
 Destroying all these in white fire 
 Making one song to worship His name, 
 
 Love ! Love 1 Love ! 
 This is God! All is one! This is He! 
 Love that unlids the soul's eyes 
 When passion has burned out all lies 
 The ultimate vision to see! 
 Love that releases the breath 
 Of two spirits divinely to mingle 
 On lips that are joined in delight, 
 In a paean of praise that none single, 
 None joyless may sing in His sight! 
 Love, the blithe comrade of Fate ! 
 Love, whose pure passion shall move 
 From Man's neck the cold burden of hate 
 
NIGHT SPEAKS 95 
 
 Which he bears like a blind slave of Death, 
 
 And deliver him — free ! 
 
 Love, spirit of all life's forms. 
 
 Love — their activity ! 
 
 Pivot of flame whence swing 
 
 The choiring moons and suns,' 
 
 Leaping sap of the tree, 
 
 Thunder and flash of storms, 
 
 Colour and scent of the rose. 
 
 Motion of birds awing. 
 
 Tide of the trackless sea, 
 
 Law of Earth's little ones, 
 
 Ant, and spider, and bee. 
 
 Song that all lovers sing, 
 
 Pith of all beauty that grows. 
 
 These are God! God articulate! 
 
 He is Law! He is Love! This is He 
 
 Who now is blasphemed with hate ! 
 
 O you whom earth gathers in. 
 Going your homeward way. 
 
96 NIGHT SPEAKS 
 
 Whose eyes have beheld these things, 
 
 The dying sun, the evening star, 
 
 The green fields under the sky, 
 
 And lovers, lovers ... at close of day, 
 
 Peace, when all Earth's creatures lie 
 
 Under the white spread wings 
 
 Of brooding sleep, 
 
 Save Man, listen amid my stillness deep 
 
 How one drowsed, praiseful blackbird sings. 
 
 And judge now, if you may, 
 
 How much against the living God you sin 
 
 When in His Holy name you cry 
 
 War! 
 
 For H. de 8, 
 
CRUCIFIED 
 
 DONG! 
 
 Hush, on the wind's breath 
 Comes limping death, 
 Out of the depths below. 
 Solemn and slow. 
 Dragging its weary note 
 Where seagulls float. 
 Venturing wild and fair 
 On the lulls of the air, 
 
 DONG! 
 
 Listen how humans die. 
 And rot, and lie. 
 Tolled into heaven and hell 
 By book and bell. 
 Sinner and saint they lay 
 In common clay. 
 97 
 
9S CRUCIFIED 
 
 Dust unto dusty they sing. 
 Once more we bring, 
 
 DONG! 
 
 Here thei/ bring no mouldering dead! 
 Here no lagging feet may tread! 
 Only youth may climb so high 
 Underneath the windy sJcy! 
 Here no gentle flowers spring. 
 Here no larks and linnets sing. 
 Only here and there a single 
 Wild blue lupin stars the shingle. 
 Only seagulls swift and shrill 
 Scream about the lonely hill. 
 
 DONG! 
 
 Here, where only youth has trod. 
 Very near the feet of God, 
 Here a broken temple stands, 
 Builded once by rebel hands. 
 Leaving all the world behind, 
 
CRUCIFIED 99 
 
 Temple of the unfettered wind. 
 
 Stark against infinity 
 
 It rears defeated dignity. 
 
 But of its pride there stands no more 
 
 Than the portal of a door! 
 
 DONG! 
 
 By the door there lies weeping the village Idiot. 
 They pluck the flower and let it die! 
 (Vision is a lonely thing.) 
 They wound the bird and let it lie! 
 (Thirsting lips most passionate sing.) 
 And only madness mounts so high! 
 
 DONG! 
 
 There comes to him a " fallen " woman. 
 They mark the lamb when it is born. 
 (Hearken how the Christ-bells ring!) 
 They sow the tares and eat the corn, 
 (How carelessly wild lilies spring!) 
 And daily plait the crown of thorn. 
 
100 CRUCIFIED 
 
 DONG! 
 
 Stephen ! 
 
 Mary ! 
 
 Are you there, Steve? 
 
 Here. 
 Stephen, I've got it. 
 
 Got my whistle? 
 
 Yes. 
 I stole it, Steve; a girl like me can steal 
 And not be much the worse. I'm glad I did. 
 But they don't know. 
 
 Not yet. I heard them say 
 You whistled crazy tunes outside the porch 
 Last Sunday evening when the Word was read. 
 And children dropped their books to hear you 
 
 play, 
 And Annie Dean — whose baby's born last 
 
 night — 
 Stood up and sang as though her wits were gone. 
 And so they took it from you. 
 
CRUCIFIED lOX 
 
 So they did. 
 Thej stole it. Give it me ! 
 
 They'll beat us, Stephen. 
 
 DONG! 
 
 Let them! Let them! Let them! The blasted 
 
 fools ! 
 Besides, that's nothing new, it's not the first time. 
 ... I hate that bell. It's got a silly sound, 
 Silly and slow, like all their silly eyes. 
 It bleats and lies like all their silly tongues ! 
 What docs it mean? I've heard that sound 
 
 before. 
 Death, Steve, it's tolling for my mother. 
 But she's not dead. 
 
 She is. 
 
 She is not dead. 
 Death's not like that. Your mother's dumb, not 
 
 dead. 
 Didn't you see her eyes? 
 
 They've shut 'em down, 
 
10^ CRUCIFIED 
 
 And Isabel put pennies on the lids. 
 DONG! 
 
 That's right. Pennies'll keep 'em down. 
 
 She's blind as death, but she's not dead, I know. 
 
 She is, cold as a stone, and buried in the mud. 
 And all the blinds in Sunnyside are down. 
 And Isabel has trimmed her hat with crape. 
 They wouldn't let me follow ; neighbours say 
 I broke her heart with shame, but I don't care. 
 . . . That bell's stopped now. They've finished, 
 
 and I'm glad. 
 I'm glad my mother's dead. I'm wicked, Stephen. 
 
 Under the earth, and dumb, and deaf, and blind. 
 But she's not dead. I've looked at death before; 
 It's beautiful, except when men kill birds. 
 And that's not death, that's slaughter. 
 
 And I've seen death ; I saw my baby die. 
 
CRUCIFIED 103 
 
 Yes, that was death, lovely, and calm, and bright. 
 She was like a flower, still in the innocent bud. 
 
 lie was a tramp, and lay beside the road. 
 Under the careless stars, and casual wind. 
 
 I thought she was asleep, but her face shone, 
 A light was on her lips, she seemed to laugh. 
 
 All the old wrinkles lay upon his face 
 
 Like letters of old pain . . . and sudden peace. . . . 
 
 Her small hands flung out like a little cross. 
 She would have been a woman. I love death. 
 
 And his gnarled fists stretched in the violets 
 Were clenched and clutched upon eternity. 
 
 When she was born they labelled her with sin, 
 And clacked their tongues on " bastard " ; when 
 
 she died 
 They buried her where bastards lie, in silence. 
 
104 CRUCIFIED 
 
 They cursed him when he begged for their dry 
 
 bread, 
 But there is peace in death. They let him lie. 
 The stars had seen him sleeping there before 
 And were not moved: they were indifferent now. 
 
 Her eyes soon learnt the cruelty of living, 
 
 She smiled at that, and shut her eyes, and went. 
 
 He only pitied them ; they never knew 
 The pride and glory of his goalless way. 
 
 They knew, that old man, and my little child. 
 
 Old age and infancy are loveliest in death. 
 Sin has not smutted one, and from the other 
 Sorrow has washed the tears of old mistakes. 
 Death was her right, life would have taken 
 
 toll. . . . 
 Perhaps I should have left her. . . . 
 
CRUCIFIED 105 
 
 Left her, Stephen? 
 What do you mean? How strange your eyes are, 
 
 Stephen ! 
 I never would believe that you were mad^ 
 But now you look so wild and your lips move, 
 Mumbling and mouthing — Stephen ! 
 
 I am mad. 
 But not so mad as they ! They put red roses 
 In a butcher's shop. Crimson in crimson 
 flesh. . . . 
 
 never mad to me ! Dear Stephen, look ! 
 Here I am, Mary ! And you love me so ! 
 
 There you are, Mary, and I love you so, 
 
 1 love you so, I love you, love you so. . . . 
 
 Guy, guy guy, 
 Stick him in the eye. 
 Put him up the chimney, 
 And there let him die. 
 
f 
 
 106 CRUCIFIED 
 
 They stuck him on a tree, 
 
 And they pierced his hands and feet, 
 
 Sing holy, holy, holy. 
 
 Broken bread and meat ! 
 
 Stephen ! 
 
 Sing holy, holy, holy . . . 
 And there let him die . . . 
 Put him up the chimney. 
 And there let him die. . . . 
 
 Do not sing! Be gentle, Stephen. 
 
 O Mary, deaf, and dumb, and blind, you say! 
 Under the ground, with pennies on her eyes ! 
 I'm sitting on her grave, and she's not dead ! 
 . . . But she was plaiting up the crown of 
 
 thorn. . . . 
 'Twas she screamed . . . crucify! crucify! 
 . . . Mary, I love you, love you. 
 
CRUCIFIED 107 
 
 Kiss me now. 
 
 But see these flowers shining out of dung . . . 
 Stephen, no man has kissed me so before. 
 That other kissed you. 
 
 Yes, but never so. 
 
 You love me. 
 Yes. 
 
 The village lunatic ! 
 
 The whore! 
 And this between us, Mary ! Is this sin, 
 And lunacy? 
 
 Yes, tJiei/ would call it so. 
 
 Mary, you and I ! The most despised ! 
 In all our lives men's hearts have felt for us 
 Laughter, 
 
 Or lust, 
 
 Or pity, never love. 
 Yet now when I look deep in 3'our clear eyes 
 
 1 find no sin, nor anything but love. 
 
108 CRUCIFIED 
 
 And when I look like this I find love too, 
 Not madness, Stephen, only clearest love. 
 
 I have not seen this thing in their dull eyes, 
 I saw two lovers once, but they were cows 
 Munching a vacant self-complacency. 
 Their silly hands were clasped, and in their hands, 
 Nothing! Their speechless silly lips were joined. 
 And on their lips was nothing, nothing, nothing: 
 They know no love, or death, those silly sane 
 ones. ... 
 
 Hush, Stephen, all the depths are muddied now. 
 
 You know they torture birds to make them sing. 
 That's strange, for when he sings they will not lis- 
 ten. 
 
 O Stephen, all the sorrows on your face ! 
 Mary, all the bitterness on yours ! 
 
CRUCIFIED 109 
 
 Do you remember when we went to school? 
 
 yes, they called us good-for-nothings then. 
 
 1 was the dunce, and you were wild and strange, 
 And played the truant every other day. 
 
 I hated them droning their morning hymns, 
 
 And twice-times table, and their doh-re-mi ! 
 
 Their shiny faces each like all the rest, 
 
 Their tuneless tongues, and vacant, sightless eyes, 
 
 Dull to all beauty, lighting up on pain. 
 
 Exulting joyously in passionless cruelty. 
 
 When I was birched ... I remember all those 
 
 eyes , . . 
 Glutting their soulless senses on my tears ! 
 I always cried when I was tortured, Mary : 
 It happened often, for they thrilled to torture, 
 And I was fair game for their little lust. 
 • . . I hated their white collars and their boots! 
 
 They called me slut because I wore no boots. 
 
110 CRUCIFIED 
 
 Thej broke m}^ skin for lack of catechism. 
 
 They would not let me play with Evie Smith 
 Because my father drank, and she was proud. 
 
 I never had a father or a mother, 
 
 Only an aunt who turned me out of doors 
 
 From dawn to sunset with a crust of bread. 
 
 Better that, Stephen, than a prisoner's home. 
 
 O how I hate them, hate them, hate them, hate 
 them! 
 
 O Stephen, do not teach me hate ! I try 
 To pity them, as God forgives my sins. 
 But bitterness comes easy to my soul. 
 
 !As God forgives your sins ! There is no God. 
 
 There is! There is! O do not take God from 
 me! 
 
CRUCIFIED 111 
 
 Or if there is we must forgive His hate, 
 O Mary, who are you to prove your God ! 
 
 Guy, guy, guy. 
 
 Give her wings to fly, 
 
 Break her wings and choke her song, 
 
 Hang her scaffold high ! 
 
 Sing holy, holy, holy ! 
 
 And then let her die. . . . 
 
 I have seen you hunted down the years ! 
 
 1 saw the marks between your unconscious eyes ! 
 Marked like the deer they fatten and then kill. 
 Marked like the lambs they rear, and shear, and 
 
 butcher. 
 Marked like a pigeon ringed for private slaughter ! 
 O Mary, marked like me for crucifixion ! 
 
 God joined us two in handcuffs from the first. 
 Linked in our loneliness with Him and isolate 
 things. 
 
112 CRUCIFIED 
 
 Like moons that turn men mad, and fix 'em moon- 
 struck, 
 And notes I fetch out from a penny whistle 
 That sound like lonely stars, and children's tears. 
 . . , O child, I've seen you shoved, and shamed, 
 
 and sucked, 
 I've seen your lips close up on bitterness. 
 And hang apart in vain for food and drink. 
 There's passion in pity, Mary, steel in love . . , 
 
 Stephen, I have been unhappy, Stephen ! 
 
 There's hate that puts out stars. ... I killed 
 her, Mary. 
 
 Killed her! You killed her, Stephen! 
 
 Yes, I did. 
 
 1 heard you crying, like a singing bird 
 Wounded and scolded by a gibbering cat. 
 Moaning its voiceless pain and impotence. 
 
CRUCIFIED 113 
 
 Then I came nearer, so that I might see 
 
 What new device for torture she had found. 
 
 I saw her face, ghastly with its mean fury 
 
 Glooming above you like a serpent's head 
 
 Wagging from side to side before it strikes. 
 
 I saw her teeth. I remember how they shone, 
 
 I thought how white teeth can be beautiful. 
 
 And then I saw you, with your eyes turned up 
 
 And drawn in fascination on her eyes. 
 
 Your hands hung down, your neck gleamed dim 
 
 and soft, 
 (You wore a black dress I had seen you sew 
 While she was safe away at prayer-meetings, 
 Praying for all lost souls like you and me !) 
 Your lips half smiled, and trembled, as if to meet 
 Her sword with your own lilies, and your tears 
 Starred on your cheeks, and fell upon your neck. 
 And I was still, because your little breasts 
 Curved where the dress was tight, so delicately 
 That all my soul cried out on sweet . . . sweet 
 
 . . . sweet. . . . 
 
114 CRUCIFIED 
 
 all the sins of all the world were blank, 
 Looking on you, and all my tumults ceased, 
 
 And all my thoughts were white, as you were 
 
 white. . . . 
 But slowly, penetrating that round dream, 
 That sudden world of light in which we stood, 
 She pressed, her passion stabbed, articulate. . . . 
 She said . . , you drew men's eyes, and welcomed 
 
 them. 
 And held your sin as honey for their luring! 
 And then . . . O Christ ... I saw her clench 
 
 her hand 
 And strike your gentle breasts three times for 
 
 shame, 
 
 1 saw her spit on your eyes ... and that was 
 
 all. 
 I saw no more. My eyes were full of blood. 
 
 And so you killed her! My compassionate Ste- 
 phen. 
 
CRUCIFIED 115 
 
 Hush! No, she is not dead, her eyes 
 Stabbed you with hate, and so I blinded them, 
 Her hps had spat on you ; I made them dumb. 
 Her hands had shamed your breasts ; I laid them 
 
 still. 
 She is not dead, for death is beautiful. 
 
 How did you do it, Steve .^^ They said her heart 
 Stopped suddenly in her sleep, and that was all. 
 
 I did not mean to kill ; I looked at her — 
 The devil always hated staring eyes. 
 I had no fixed intent. It happened so. 
 On Friday night I ran wild in the woods. 
 Careless as innocence, and swift as joy, 
 Playing on my tin whistle, singing too. 
 And all my songs were little songs of love, 
 I did not hate her, for I love you so ; 
 I had forgotten all I must forget 
 Of lust, and hatred, and humanit3\ 
 
116 CRUCIFIED 
 
 But wandering aimlessly I chanced to stumble 
 Against your garden fence: I vaulted it, 
 And crawled to where I knew she slept, and waited. 
 Presently I drew closer, and I looked. 
 And by the moon's light saw her lying there 
 With wide fixed eyeballs, muttering silly prayers. 
 I pressed my face against the window-pane 
 (I remember how the cold glass made me shiver) 
 Lifted the catch, and wormed my body in. 
 She saw me then ; her mouth fell stupidly. 
 Round as an O, and showed me all her throat 
 Inside, stringy, and soft, and maddeningly red. 
 I fixed her gaze with mine as I came near. 
 The moon was on me. I was white as snow. 
 She did not scream or lift her hands against me, 
 But lay quiet, staring, drawing in her breath 
 In little frightened gasps and rattled sobs. 
 She did not know me for the idiot Stephen, 
 But saw me some wild angel come in wrath, 
 And muttered ..." Mary, save me from your 
 Christ, 
 
CRUCIFIED 117 
 
 He is too young, and youth is pitiless . . . 
 
 I did not plait your crown, young Jesus 
 
 Christ ..." 
 And then, because she lied, and was afraid, 
 — But most because her mouth and eyes were 
 
 silly — 
 I pressed her throat until her stare went blind, 
 And closed her gaping lips, and went away. 
 . . . But O, her teeth were white ! I should have 
 
 left her! 
 She was not old ! I robbed her soul of death ! 
 She cannot see, and so she may not sorrow I 
 And yet . . , your small bruised breasts . . . 
 
 remember that 
 
 • • • 
 
 Stephen, I think she died of fear before 
 You touched her. There was no mark upon her 
 throat. 
 
 Pennies and fear! Fearing and pence! O 
 
 yes . . . 
 
118 CRUCIFIED 
 
 But Mary, wriggling underneath my grasp, 
 
 — Like a dying fish her throat was — her bony 
 
 hands 
 Crossed on her withered heart, and all the room 
 Was filled with terrible music . . . lullabies . . . 
 And terrible small fingers brushed my face. . . . 
 
 Sleep . . . sleep . . . 
 
 ril not scold 
 
 If you weep. 
 
 Bone of my bone . . . 
 
 Sleep. . . bright and mild, 
 
 Blood of my woman's years . . . 
 
 Weep while you can. 
 
 You shall be mistress and mother of 
 man. . . . 
 
 You shall be old. 
 
 And bitter cold. 
 
 You shall be turned to stone, 
 
 And empty of tears. 
 
 My woman child ... 
 
CRUCIFIED 119 
 
 O God, that motherhood can turn so bitter ! 
 Stephen, my mother's dead, and I am glad. 
 
 She is not dead. She will not let us be. 
 Hush, can you hear the silence? 
 
 I hear the sea. 
 
 That's all their voices, laughing, whining, scream- 
 ing, 
 Surging about the valleys of this hill ; 
 Out of the shadows all their hands are clutching. 
 Clutching at you and me . . . 
 
 We are too high! 
 Guy, guy, guy ! 
 There let 'em die! 
 Holy! holy! holy! 
 CRUCIFY! 
 
 Hush, do you hear them, Mary? Crucify! 
 
 Stephen, come close, ah closer! let us love each 
 other ! 
 
120 CRUCIFIED 
 
 Death is triumphant ! only living's shame ! 
 Death is not hard, and living is not life ! 
 
 O let us love, and leave the rest behind ! 
 
 Death must be easy after love, my sweet. 
 
 They crucified us ! God will let us live ! 
 
 He loves his crucified ... 0, kiss me, Stephen. 
 
 We are too high, O hands, and tongues, and eyes ! 
 
 Their sidelong looks can never reach me here. 
 
 They may not reach us now. We are too wise ! 
 
 Only the little opening of a door, 
 
 And passing out of living into life! 
 
 Only to spread our human flightless wings . . . 
 
 . . . The cliffs that sheer into the waiting sea . . . 
 
 Then we may flap new tameless wings on Time 
 
 Into eternal freedom! 
 
CRUCIFIED 121 
 
 Seagulls ! seagulls ! 
 Those sorrowful proud birds! — Tm ready, Ste- 
 phen. 
 We may have done with hate and bitterness, 
 For we are on the heights with love and death. 
 
 When we can laugh at life and smile at death 
 We have climbed higher than the crucifiers ! 
 
 Our bodies shall lie deeper than their scorn ! 
 
 Our spirits shall mount higher than their vision! 
 
SONGS TO SAVE A SOUL 
 By Irene Rutherford McLeod 
 
 American comment 
 
 " One is exhilarated by a fine and lofty passion 
 for freedom, a strong and beautiful spirit of love, 
 made glowingly alive and impulsive by youth. 
 Even these qualities would hardly render the full 
 effect of the natural powers they possess, if a 
 clumsy and halting expression, stammering metres 
 and rhymes, choked and deflected the articulate 
 clearness of communication. Miss McLeod is 
 surprisingly gifted for one so young, with a simple 
 but effective technique. Her metres are mostly 
 always simple, the marvel of them being a lucidity 
 of melody that is haunting. Her common words 
 are always full of brightness, like a ' host in the 
 sunshine ' of Wordsworth's daisies. They dance, 
 they ripple, they wave on the winds of her rhythm. 
 
SONGS TO SAVE A SOUL 
 
 American comment — continued 
 
 . . . Miss McLeod's perfection is in her imma- 
 turity, and I cast no reflections with the state- 
 ment. She's alive, vibrant, eager, curious, 
 impulsive, intense, not with wisdom, but life, which 
 is the better part of wisdom. ... It is a glad 
 little volume, because it is courageous, bold, free, 
 the heart of youth setting sail upon the dreams of 
 life." 
 
 William Stanley Braithwaite in 
 Boston Transcript. 
 
 " But Miss McLeod's great claim to distinction 
 lies in the keen, unaffected joy she has in pursuing 
 the desire of her young eyes. Many an old poet 
 has sung the ecstasy of youth, many a young poet 
 the sadness and vain questionings of it. For the 
 health which goes with the ecstasy is rarely articu- 
 late till the ecstasy is past — the morbidity ac- 
 companying it only too frequently so. So to find 
 a poet who is young and glad, and beautifully 
 vocal, all at once, gives us a delight in her scarcely 
 
SONGS TO SAVE A SOUL 
 
 American comment — continued 
 
 less than her own in the world she celebrates. 
 Miss McLeod sees magic even in a London fog. 
 . . . If Miss McLeod should never write another 
 line, she would live as the author of * Songs to 
 Save a Soul,' a book that is the very Credo of 
 ardent and idealistic youth." 
 
 — New York Times. 
 
 " Now and again there turns up for review some- 
 thing which ought to be quoted entire instead of 
 overlaid with a crust of inadequate critical 
 phrases, many times used. Such a thing is * Songs 
 to Save a Soul,' which has compressed in its less 
 than a hundred pages all the revolt of passionate 
 youth against the stale, the mean and the outworn 
 " — the fond, the smug and the blase — the conven- 
 tional, the fettered, the cynical and the bitterly 
 painful which life forces on its thin-skinned vic- 
 tims. . . Instinct with keen ringing challenge to 
 life, she sings her ' Songs to Save a Soul ' in elo- 
 quent living lyric. Some one once said that 
 
SONGS TO SAVE A SOUL 
 
 American comment — continued 
 
 ' prose is heard, poetry overheard,* and if ever it 
 had meaning it has in these spontaneous song-chil- 
 dren of this fiery-hcarted youngster." 
 
 Howard Devree in Kansas City Star. 
 
 " But there are other signs which nourish the 
 hope of good from the ferment of reckless energy 
 in the veins of this firc-girt and man-wcaponed, 
 if not man-sinewed, young Brunhild of our day. 
 There is a combination of impact and velocity 
 which is auspicious ; there is a capacity for style 
 with preference for substance ; there arc self-curb- 
 ings between the self-loosings or self-lashings; 
 there are traces of design emergent through the 
 nebulosities of adolescence like a planet's broken 
 disk through its envelope of vapor. On the question 
 whether this early power is climatic or merely sea- 
 sonal, whether, in plain words, it means person- 
 ality or youth, whether it can outlast the sharp 
 tests of the advent of maturity and the translation 
 into actualities, the sole authority is time." 
 O. W. Firkins in The Nation. 
 
SONGS TO SAVE A SOUL 
 
 By Irene Rutherford McLeod 
 
 British comment 
 
 " Another new voice, another brave and beauti- 
 ful spirit, young and capable of the poet's insight 
 and expression." — London Daily News, 
 
 " The charm of spontaneity. More than once 
 the true lyrical ring is attained, and with it inner 
 clearness, strength, and coherence." — Athenceum, 
 
 " Here is an authentic singer. Her poems have 
 their own rhythm and freshness, and a depth of 
 sincere feeling that is rare." — Observer 
 
 " Intensely felt and often aptly expressed. All 
 the pieces, even the love-songs, have a true indi- 
 viduality." — London Times, 
 
 "Bears the mark of unmistakable, authentic 
 poetry. Something springing from the very 
 heart of experience." — Land and Water, 
 
 " Her poetry certainly contains and conveys a 
 message. We have the refreshing sense of meet- 
 ing in it a singer who speaks truths." 
 
 — Manchester Guardian. 
 
SONGS TO SAVE A SOUL 
 
 British comment — continued 
 
 " Very seldom is she traditional or perfunctory. 
 She has no manner to keep up. She has the fresh 
 outlook, keen feeling, and sincere expression, the 
 * innocent ' eye and voice, of the lyrist, the poet 
 unspoiled : whose perceptions are unblurred, spirit 
 un jaded, and words undictated. Her modernity 
 is unenervated by weariness, though she can ex- 
 press the weary moods when they come. Her pam 
 and joy are vivid and absorbing: there is no * dull 
 narcotic exercise ' in her versemaking ; even when 
 she sings of hopeless and premature sorrow over- 
 taking a radiant love. She has the zest of town 
 and fi'eld, can love* crowds and solitude, and rejoice 
 in the beauty of the body. She can abandon her- 
 self utterly to love's passion, or carol its peace in 
 perfect simplicity, each in its turn with all her 
 
 heart. ..." 
 
 J. A. Dale in Ottawa Citizen, 
 
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