HI ill I ill Class 1 « Book. . _— Copyright N°_ ' CfiEffilGllT DEPOSm POEMS ("VERSES" AND " LATER POEMS") BY E. E. H. (Emma Endicott Hicks) CAMBRIDGE JJrinteU at Clje Eitoeratije {Jresg 1922 Copyright, 1895, and 1922 By EMMA ENDICOTT HICKS Second Edition, 1922 ©CI.A681587 NOTE To this second edition of " Verses " are now added some other poems, classified under the title of " Later Poems " ; the two collections being combined under the general title of " Poems." This edition of " Verses " differs slightly, in some instances, from the first, by reason of a few changes of expressions. E. E. H. Milton, 1922 VERSES SDetucation* TO MY SISTER "There's pansies, that 's for thoughts." Will you take these little pansies? They are plucked for you; Not because I dare to deem them Rare in scent or hue, — But because in my own garden They have chanced to grow; How or why they came, I know not, — Whence, I do not know. Some were plucked in happy moments, Some with tears were wet; Breathe whate'er there is of fragrance, And aught else — forget ! E. E. H. Milton, 1895 CONTENTS VERSES IN MEMORIAM. page W. H. H. {My Father) 3 S. M. H. ( My Mother) 5 PENSfiES. VOICES ON THE AIR II CHIARO-OSCURO 15 SPIRIT OF MY HAPPY DAYS . . . . l8 HAVE STRENGTH 20 TO H. J 22 UNDEFINED 24 NOVEMBER 26 THE POET 27 TO A FRIEND 3° A SEARCH FOR PEACE 32 THE CHILDHOOD OF THE YEAR . . . .35 COURAGE 38 MOUNTAIN MIST 4° EASTER SONG 42 WAITING 44 A REVEILLE 46 THE NIGHT-BLOOMING CEREUS . . .48 A NOCTURNE 50 TO MY MOTHER ON HER BIRTHDAY . . .52 TO J. G 54 CONTENTS NOONDAY WALK IN THE COUNTRY 55 THE AFTERGLOW .... 56 58 THE WAYSIDE WORDS .... 60 . • 63 TO A. A. J • 64 . 66 TO OUR MOTHER 68 . 70 TO A BUTTERFLY .... 72 A TRANSFIGURATION .... 75 THE SOUL'S INQUIRY . . 76 AN INVOCATION 80 . 81 THE SADDEST THING .... . 84 SALUTING THE FLAG . 86 FAR AWAY 88 A SEPTEMBER AFTERNOON . . 89 A YEAR 90 LATER POEMS A LYNTON MEMORY .... 99 THE NEW ALLEGIANCE . . 104 AT THE HOME OF WORDSWORTH . I06 TO S. H. A. (Miss Sarah Holland Adams) . . II4 EASTER MORNING .... . Il6 TO J. D. (Miss Jane Dow) , . Il8 THE IDEAL IS THE REAL I20 CONTENTS XI THE MAY-DAY MEETING OV. B. W.) . 124 a triolet: in may .... . 126 AN EFFECT AT PROVINCETOWN 127 THANKFULNESS 129 TO E. C. {Miss Ellen Charming) . 132 A SUMMER MORNING . • 134 THE WAY OF THE SPIRIT . 138 AN ACKNOWLEDGMENT 142 . 144 TO L. D 146 . 148 THE UNSPOKEN THOUGHT 149 A PILGRIMAGE TO YARROW . 152 TO MY SISTER (/. M. H.) . . . . 156 A FAVORITE AUTHOR . . ♦ . . 158 CHRISTMAS EVE • 159 BY THE SEA 164 CARCASSONNE • • 165 IN MEMORIAM W. H. H. HARK! I hear him singing, As he used to sing, — Sweet and glad hosannas To the Heavenly King! Voice and heart were ever — In accordance fine — Tuned to purest measures, And to songs divine. With celestial choirs His voice mingles now; And a soft and hallowed Light is on his brow. Radiant and white-robed, Do I see him stand, And his own child-angel Holds him by the hand. (3) W. E. H. With new life, new beauty, With joy heaven-born, He is sweetly singing, This bright Sabbath morn ! Night is merged forever In Eternal Dawn! Roxbury, June i, 1873. (Nc*e. — The little poem, W. H. H., was written in part by my sister, on the date recorded, and later was finished by myself. — E. E. H.) S. M. H. WHERE art thou now? — O thou whose constant presence, Hath ever blest my life, until to-day J Whose loving words and looks, like heavenly manna, Have dropped their nourishment upon my way! Where art thou now? — This vacancy and silence Tell me distinctly of thy worth at last; Like music only known by the vibrations That thrill our heart-strings when the sound is passed. Where art thou now? — What realm, what starry mansion, Hath opened to receive thy spirit bright? (5) 6 S. M. H. Thou who didst love, in reverent devotion, To watch the heavenly splendors of the night? Where art thou now? — Didst thou with dying daylight, Pass through the western portals far away? And in the bright apocalypse of sunset, Find the new glories of another day? Where art thou now? — My spirit reacheth forward Into the darkness of its night's abyss; Wilt thou not answer? — Is there no connec- tion That love can use, when sense is power- less? Where art thou now? — Still, still the question riseth; Still I reiterate the plaintive cry; And strive with finite powers to interpret The mysteries of earth, and air, and sky. S. M . H. 7 Where is that Spirit Land? that wondrous Country? That Heaven, that hath opened wide for thee? While we — with outstretched arms, and eager vision — " Stand gazing upward," like those "men of Galilee !" Milton, January 22, 1893. PENSEES VOICES ON THE AIR ANGEL voices on the air, When we most are unaware, Come, like answers to a prayer. Not alone at some rare time, When our spirits upward climb To the mountain heights sublime, When we feel ourselves to be Nearer to divinity, And our thoughts from earth set free, Like the birds in homeward flight, Or the flowers to the light, Strive to reach the Infinite; Not alone in some sweet mood, When, in happy solitude, Everything seems fair and good; (ii) 12 VOICES ON THE AIR When to us all nature brings Sweet and tender utterings, With a rustling of wings; Not alone at times like these, — Times of ecstasy or ease, Or of holiest sympathies, — But as often when we wear In our souls some grief or care, Come these voices on the air; Lingering, although unsought, Till our minds from them have caught Something of diviner thought. Sometimes in the silence deep, Of the night-time, while we keep Nature's sacred tryst with Sleep, — Then through dreams I feel the sense Of a brooding influence, Like a sweet intelligence. VOICES ON THE AIR 13 Sometimes in the busy maze, And along the narrow ways, Of life's most prosaic phase, — Something that I do not see, Something pure and heavenly, Comes between the world and me. And upon my heart they fall, — Voices, very still and small, Yet distinct as bugle call; Waking to new consciousness, My dull spirit, where may press Too much weight of earthliness; To a consciousness of right — Of an all-pervasive light, Of a clear and wider sight. Ever keep, heart of mine! One pure space, a sacred shrine, For the messages divine! 14 VOICES ON THE AIR They will surely come to thee, Trooping in, by two and three, — A celestial company! And a peace divine they '11 bring, - Surely as the seeds of spring Make the summer's blossoming ! CHIARO-OSCURO I ASK not for a quiet sea, Over whose smooth expanse Of undisturbed monotony, No billows ever dance. I ask not for a cloudless sky, — A sky forever blue, — An endless sweep of heavenly But never-changing hue. I ask not for a day so calm That there will never be Some murmur of the breeze, to stir The dead tranquillity. I ask not that the course of life Too peacefully should flow; We cannot know the worth of joy Until we taste of woe. (15) 16 CHIARO-OSCURO We cannot know how sweet it is To be beloved, unless We sometimes feel within our hearts, The pain of loneliness. It is the sorrow that is born Of parting, that can bring The joy of meeting, — and that makes Our love a living thing. It is the waves upon the sea — Not the impassive calm — Which measure its immensity, And give to it its charm. It is the changing clouds that float Across the summer sky, Which make it lovelier when they veil Its blue intensity. It is the mingled light and shade Over a lifetime thrown, Which gives to every happy scene A beauty of its own; — CHIARO-OSCURO 17 A beauty that it could not have Without the shadow too; 'T is only in the night-sky, that We see the stars shine through. So let me have — if have I must — Some moments that are sad; Lest too much peace should lose for me, The power to be glad. SPIRIT OF MY HAPPY DAYS SPIRIT of my happy days! In my heart will be — In my heart of hearts — a place Sacred still to thee! Thing of beauty and delight, Let me hold thee still! Let again thy presence bright All my being fill! Let thy sunny influence Shine upon my way, — Sending through the gloom most dense, A divinest ray! For the memory of thee, Is a joy more sweet Than any fair reality That I now may meet. (18) SPIRIT OF MY HAPPY DAYS 19 May I never lose thy trace, Through receding years! Never seek in vain thy face, Through a mist of tears! But though clouds encompass me, And the world grow cold, May my thoughts still turn to thee, Spirit fair of old! And thou, answering my prayer, In my heart wilt seem Like a living presence there, — My real life the dream ! HAVE STRENGTH H AVE strength to love, heart! though thou art grieving No sweet return! Joy cometh more with giving than receiv- ing, — As thou wilt learn! Have strength to hope, O heart! — though where thou stray est, No light may shine! That dayspring from on high for which thou prayest, May yet be thine ! Have strength to bear, O heart! — though clouds and sorrow May be thy lot! For in the glorious, eternal morrow, 'T will matter not! (20) HAVE STRENGTH 21 Have strength to praise, heart, the mighty Giver! — Though there may be Some of Earth's fairest blessings that are ever Denied to thee! Have strength to feel, O heart, — though dark the way is, — The Hand that guides! 'T will lead at last to where the perfect day is,— Whate'er betides! TO H. J. " There 's pansies, that } s for thoughts." DISTANT Friend! — so I must call you, Though, alas! I have not seen You in mortal form, but only In that mystic time, between Sleep and waking, I have fancied What must be your face and mien. I do not attempt the measure Of your praises to repeat; I must leave the theme to others, Who more ably it can treat; Yet — I would as your admirer, Lay this tribute at your feet. 'T is a pansy, — so we '11 call it, — For a kind and loving thought! And across the broad blue ocean Do I send it to you, fraught (22) TO H. J. 23 With the most delightful wishes That a pansy ever brought. And it thanks you, who have given Me so many pleasant hours. With earth's fairest things I class you, — With the sunshine and the flowers; And your words upon the spirit Fall like sweet, refreshing showers. More, I trust, — Oh many more, from Your enchanted pen may flow! They are surely sweetest pansies, That around our pathway grow. I would hold their charm and fragrance With me, wheresoe'er I go! Will you take this little pansy? Small, imperfect though it be, It is the attempted utterance Of a heart's sincerity, — Though it pales before the laurels That upon your brow I see. April 15, 1879. UNDEFINED UNNUMBERED blessings strew my path, My cup is running o'er; Some of life's sweetest gifts are mine; I dare not ask for more. And yet — within my heart there is One little empty spot, Which even in my happiest mood, Is never quite forgot. It is a longing undefined; It is not quite a thought; I cannot form it into words, Though for them I have sought. It is so very vague a thing, That even, if some day, A heavenly messenger should come, — An angel fair, — to say — (24) UNDEFINED 25 " Child, I will listen to thy prayer, And grant thee thy request, If thou wilt tell to me the cause Of this divine unrest," — I think that even then I could Not tell him what to give; Yet — in my heart, this nameless need, Distinct, though negative. NOVEMBER IT is November! — Sadness deep Broods over nature. No sweet song Of bird does to this time belong. Oh, is this Death, or is it Sleep? I seek the garden that I loved; Each flower and leaf is stricken down. Oh, where is all that beauty flown That lately my glad eyes approved? I wander in the woods alone; The dry leaves rustle 'neath my tread; And through the branches overhead The winds pass, with a dreary moan. My heart takes up the sad refrain, And grieves, because so much of good, So much we would keep, if we could, Is gone, — and may not come again. (26) THE POET OTHOU that hast " the vision and The faculty divine," The poet's heart to understand, — What heritage is thine! Some may have beauty, honor, gold; But unto thee is given A source of happiness untold, Which lifts thee near to heaven. Whichever place thy home may be, A castle, or a cot, Whether in wealth or penury, To thee 't will matter not. No matter if thy friends are few, And fate is stern to thee; The good, the beautiful, the true, Are with thee constantly. (27) 28 THE POET Thou lovest Nature's every mood; And solitude to thee, — If thou canst call it solitude — Is sweet society. The dawning day, the twilight hour, The starry solemn night, The whispering breeze, the summer shower, All fill thee with delight. And every little bird that sings, And every flower that blows, Speaks to thee of divinest things, Only a poet knows. These are thy friends, — thy spirit's friends, And they are true to thee. A constant joy their presence lends, Never satiety. Hold on thy way, poet heart! For, to thy loving quest, Life's lowliest things may yet impart Thoughts that are tenderest. THE POET 29 And this is the " reward" it brings, — Thy heaven-born " Ideal," Thy fitful sweet imaginings, — These make for thee, the "Real." TO A FRIEND PLAYMATE of childhood's days! Ever to thee, • Memory turns her gaze, Most lovingly. Then we were children twain, Trusting and true, Without a thought of pain, Life was so new. We wandered hand in hand, All the bright hours; Earth seemed a pleasant land, Fair were its flowers. Friend of maturer years ! Still did I find All the hopes fancy rears, Round thee entwined. Thou wert my friend and guide, To thee I turned, (30) TO A FRIEND 31 And first by thy dear side, Life's meaning learned. All my best thoughts I brought, Thy mind to greet, There to find what I sought, Sympathy sweet. Now, — thou art gone from me ! And nevermore May I commune with thee, By wood or shore. Yet in my heart I keep The ancient love; Though it be buried deep, I feel it move. And in thy distant home Over the sea, Where the azaleas bloom, Think, dear, of me! A SEARCH FOR PEACE ANGEL of Peace! — Oh, fold thy shining wings ! Abide with me ! The beauty and the light thy presence brings, At length I see ! .■For I have searched, — but searched for thee in vain, So many years ! "Yea, oftentimes with weary heart and brain, With blinding tears. I searched amid the worldly joys that youth Seeks eagerly; But there, I found at last, that thou, forsooth, Couldst never be. I searched in nature, — and in one sweet spot I found thy trace; (32) A SEARCH FOR PEACE 33 But only that, — there even, I could not Behold thy face. And then I waited, — and I watched and prayed; But evermore Thy gracious coming was for me delayed; My heart was sore. I gave up searching for thy presence, then; It could not be. I calmly took life's burden up again, Nor thought of thee. And so it came to pass, that day by day I grew more strong, More patient with life's strait and narrow way; And before long, The day came, — when 'round me a light did shine, So sweet, so pure, 34 A SEARCH FOR PEACE I knew it was — could only be — divine, And I felt sure That thou wert come. I raised my eyes, — and oh ! There didst thou stand! With radiant face over me bending low, With outstretched hand ! At last, I found thee, — then thou cam'st to me, — I know not how; — Cam'st in an hour when least I thought to see Such joy; — and now, Angel of Peace! oh, fold thy shining wings, Ne'er let us part ! The benediction which thy presence brings Now fills my heart! THE CHILDHOOD OF THE YEAR THRICE welcome, every sight and sound That doth thy advent tell! gentle Spring! O happy Spring! Beauty ineffable! If I could make a calendar, The first of May should be The birthday of the year, — for then Is thy nativity. For then are all things new; a new Heaven and earth appear; Nature is born again; thou art The childhood of the year! The summer's glory, or the wealth Of autumn is not thine, — But yet, thou hast a sweeter grace, A beauty more divine; (35) 36 THE CHILDHOOD OF THE YEAR A fairer charm than any that Those later times disclose, — As morning is more fair than noon, The rosebud than the rose. I stand with reverence before Thy hidden mysteries; Thy state of promise seems far more Sweet than completion is. Each fibre of my being owns Thy mystic influence ; My heart is full of new-born hope; I have a deeper sense Of life, of nature, and of God, — And, with each opening flower, I feel my heart expand, to hold The promptings of the hour. I love thee all, — thy fragrant air, Thy leaves of tender green, Thy violets — the sweetest flowers That ever grow, I ween ! THE CHILDHOOD OF THE YEAR 37 And so thou art my favorite ! And so to thee I bring This offering of song and praise, To thee, young lovely Spring! COURAGE "True repentance is not a backward-looking despair, but a forward-looking courage, and hopeful endeavor." — Rev. Dr. Putnam. COURAGE, O heart! — and be not "back- ward looking!" Let dull despair no longer with thee stay; Brood not over thy yesterday's sad failure; Live in the glad, all-possible To-day! Waste not thine energies in vain regretting ; But strive thy present duties to fulfil. The Past is dead; it is beyond recalling; But we may mould the Future as we will. And we may profit by each sad experience; May let each failure be a stepping-stone To something that is higher, purer, nobler, — And thus we may be able to atone. (38) COURAGE 39 Life is so full of deep and tender meaning, Such glorious possibilities abound, That every "hopeful," every true "endeavor," With good and grand results may yet be crowned. Now God be thanked that unto us is given, A new, fresh field of action every day. Then courage, heart! and be not " backward looking," But for new strength of purpose humbly pray. MOUNTAIN MIST DIM and distant seem the mountains, Barely can they be descried; Strange portentous clouds they look like, Yet my soul is satisfied; For I know that they are waiting In their majesty and might, Till the fog-dispelling sunshine Shall reveal them to my sight. So a tender blessing often The dull garb of sorrow wears, For our narrow-sighted vision Sees it through a mist of tears. But I ween in that bright morning When our tears are wiped away, And we see things clearly, in the Light of the Eternal Day, — (40) MOUNTAIN MIST 41 Then we shall find grace and beauty Where we deemed they could not be, — For earth's sorrows will be blended In a heavenly harmony. EASTER SONG I HEAR angel voices singing! Wondrous tidings they are bringing! Strangely sweet their heavenly music, beauti- ful the words they say! And my heart is quickly beating, As I listen to the greeting, — " Weeping Earth, put off your sadness, Christ the Lord is risen to-day!" Loving friends come at the dawning Of the holy Easter morning, — But the sepulchre is empty, and the stone is rolled away. To the cry from hearts forsaken, "Where has my dear Lord been taken?" — Comes the blessed answer, — "Seek not here, for He is risen to-day!" grave, thou art not victorious! Morning cometh, glad and glorious! (42) EASTER SONG 43 Clouds of doubt and darkness vanish, faith is come, with us to stay. Bring earth's flowers for a token That the sleep of death is broken, That we too shall rise immortal, as our Lord is risen to-day. Earth this day puts off her sadness, And all nature feels the gladness! Every bird of air proclaims it, and each flower by the way! The long winter night is over, Hope's fruition we discover, And we sing with hosts angelic, — " Christ the Lord is risen to-day!" WAITING HIDDEN in the marble quarry, — Prison walls indeed — Waiting till some artist spirit Shall its being heed, There is many a form of beauty, Longing to be freed. There are melodies undreamed of In the organ's breast; Depths of pathos, heights of rapture, Never yet expressed; Waiting till some hand inspired Wakes them from their rest. » And the air is full of poems, Waiting to be sung. (44) WAITING 45 Ofttimes in my heart their mystic Cadences have rung. Who is he, so pure, so tender, That he may their beauty render, In our mortal tongue? A REVEILLE WAKE, my soul! Enough of slumber! Dream no more the hours away; — These bright hours that in the counting Make our little day. Fields of action lie before thee, Beautiful, and grand, and true; Wilt thou linger by the wayside With the goal in view? Wilt thou cease from thine endeavor, When thy task is almost done ? Wilt thou lay aside thine armor, Ere the battle 's won? Nay! — but with a will unwearied, Forward press, no duty shirk! For too soon the night-time cometh, When no man can work. (46) A REVEILLE 47 Wake, — and answer then the roll-call! For the moments will not stay; In our lifetime's calendar, there Is but one To-day! THE NIGHT-BLOOMING CEREUS BEAUTIFUL spirit of a flower! That for an hour, Comes with ethereal loveliness, This world to bless, — We gaze with reverence upon your perfectness. When other flowers close their eyes, Then you arise ; And while all Nature seems to sleep, Your vigils keep; As if to hide your radiance in shadow deep. But even darkness could not hold The tale untold, — For on the summer evening air, Your perfume rare, Rising like incense from your shrine, would guide us there. (48) THE NIGHT-BLOOMING CEREUS 49 Some inspiration of a dream To me you seem; That with the dawning of the day Passes away; Some pure, celestial visitor, that will not stay. Like nothing earthly you appear ; Our atmosphere Cannot sustain a flower so fine; Too soon you pine ; — But you may bloom in Heaven, perhaps, with life divine ! A NOCTURNE ,r TpIS gone, — the sunset's lingering gold, -L And night doth spread Its shadows sad and manifold: The day is dead. The trees look weird against the sky, And seem to me To stretch their giant arms on high Imploringly. The soft, blue outline of the hills No more is seen; There is a deep, dark wall that fills The space between. There is no movement of the air; No sound is heard; No leafy murmur anywhere; No voice of bird. (50) A NOCTURNE 51 Before some mystic influence, Nature seems bowed In silence that is so intense, My thoughts seem loud. This strangely solemn hour would My soul oppress With feelings of disquietude And loneliness, — But it is given me to know A great delight, — For thou art with me, dear — and so, It is not night! TO MY MOTHER ON HER BIRTHDAY i 804-1 886 T T 7E come with gift, and flower, and song, * » Which rightly to this time belong, — And an innumerable throng Of prayers, and wishes sweet; And on this joyous tenth of May, Our little offerings we lay At your dear feet. In the far-distant sunny South, Where Nature wears perennial youth, Your flower of life had birth; — in truth Of this fair month a part. And you — though joy may oft have slept — Have ever through life's changes kept Some Maytime in your heart. The record saith fourscore and two! But gently hath time dealt with you, (52) TO MY MOTHER ON HER BIRTHDAY 53 And when in memory you look through The vista of past years, You see across the pathway laid, Much more of sunshine than of shade, More smiles than tears. Fourscore and two! — Yet can it be? So little change in you we see, You wear your years so gracefully, Your life is still so bright ! With you most truly doth abide The promise, that "at eventide It shall be light!" And so, we do not choose to say That time hath borne a year away, But rather, on this happy day, Another year is given! Another pure and perfect gem Is added to the diadem Bestowed by Heaven! Milton, May 10, 1886. TO J. G. July 12, 1886 ON this thy birthday morning, my friend ! What can I give to thee, of fair or sweet? To thee, whose life is now so all complete With the full joys which love and friendship lend, And blessings manifold which Heaven doth send! 'T is useless to lay flowers at thy feet, — Thou with a garden full, — and yet 't is meet That on this day, some word of mine should blend With the kind wishes others wish for thee ; So from my heart of hearts I ask for thine Its own desire to infinity; — And that more summers' suns may o'er thee shine In happy sequence, and that strength may be The added blessing from the Hand divine! (54) NOONDAY WALK IN THE COUNTRY A SUMMER noontide! — Bathed in con- fluent light, The landscape lies before me, warm and fair. A dreamy silence broods upon the air, Almost as perfect as the dead of night, — And broken only by the humming flight Of insects in the sun. All objects wear The calm expression of surcease from care. No signs of human movement greet my sight, — The cattle lie and ruminate at will, — The flowers turn their beauty toward the ground. All 's motionless, as if the sun stood still, — As if the world, tired with turning round, Paused, — and forgot her duty to fulfil. Such utter rest! Such solitude profound! (55) THE AFTERGLOW SAD the day had been and sunless, Desolate each sight and sound; Autumn winds distinctly moaning, Dead leaves fluttering to the ground; Earth and sky with one expression, — That of dreariness profound. But there came — a sunset glory, A divinely gold surprise, — Like the door of Heaven seeming To my dazzled mortal eyes; Like an infinite desire, That at last we realize. Sad the day had been and sunless, In my heart, — for hope had fled. Through the valley of the shadow I believed my pathway led ; And the " colors of my spirit" Dimmed the daylight overhead. (56) THE AFTERGLOW 57 But through the encircling shadows, Suddenly I saw — thy face ! Beaming like a star above me, With its soft, effulgent grace; Like the beauty of the sunset, Making luminous the place. Then, like captive bird from fetter, Quickly was my heart set free ! Nature wore another aspect, Beautiful exceedingly! For my hope, my dream, my longing, Was at last fulfilled for me ! A MEMORY i THOUGHT that it was buried 'neath the weight of years, — I thought that it was dead. But no! — it only slept — and it to-day up- rears Its beautiful, prone head, And gazes at me with those wonderful sad eyes, Reproachfully, which say, — "Thou art less faithful, O my friend, than I! Arise To truer life to-day! " Oh, how couldst thou imagine I was dead, — I who Am of thy life a part? Oh, how couldst thou those vain and fleeting forms pursue, Which pressed me from thy heart? " (58) A MEMORY 59 I listen, — and the floods of wakened thoughts which come O'erwhelm me with their might. The present fades from my inverted gaze, like some Star in the dawning light. And in that dawn, in which I wake as from a dream, One thought — all thoughts above — Holds precedence within my heart; once more I seem To live, and breathe, and love. "Oh, stay, forever stay, dear memory!" — I cry,— "I hold thee as mine own! I now can let full willingly the world go by, — I need but thee alone!" THE WAYSIDE WORDS On a grassy slope, close by the wayside of one of the country roads of Milton, every passer-by during the summer and autumn has observed these words, — cut in the turf, very simply, but with beautiful exactness, — "Jesus Only," — with a cross between. JESUS Only!" — Like a tender "In remembrance of me," These sweet words have graced the wayside For all eyes to see. In their beautiful distinctness, Even he that ran could read ; Ne'er was flower-garden tended, With such loving heed. It was like a benediction, Coming on them unawares, With a heart perchance o'erburdened With its worldly cares. (60) TEE WAYSIDE WORDS 61 They were such a sweet reminder Of redeeming love and grace, That that rural hillside seemed a Consecrated place. They have drawn my footsteps thither, Many a time in sun or shade ; For I went to feel the blessing That their presence made. All the country road seemed fairer, With its charms of wood and sky, With its charms of field and flower, That delight the eye. And the cottage homes reposing In that blest retirement, Seemed illumined with a radiance, By those letters lent. And the lives within them surely Must more gentle be and true, Waking morning after morning, With those words in view. 62 THE WAYSIDE WORDS " Jesus Only!" — Though their beauty I may now no longer see, Still I feel them — as we feel some Finished melody. Some with noble aim and tender, Have to men evangels taught; Some perchance have written poems, Born of purest thought. But those letters by the wayside, Have as much a power proved; For a poet's prayer is answered, If one heart is moved. So I give thee thanks, unknown one, For this graceful work of thine; Be thou high, or be thou humble, 'T was a thought divine! Milton, January, 1890. ILLUMINED NOW hath thy presence made Sunshine where else were shade, Beauty for ashes laid Over the land! And on my lashes wet, Where there may linger yet, Some trace of past regret, Lay thy soft hand! Open thine arms to me, With thy large sympathy, So that my heart may be Beating with thine! Over my spirit's night Beams thy reviving light, Making my pathway bright With day divine ! (63) TO A. A. J. FRIEND of childhood! gone before me To the far mysterious Land, Where no sound of voice may reach thee, And no writ of hand ! Latest link of all that bound me To my childhood's home, which lies Like a distant star which memory's Halo sanctifies! Though I may not miss thy presence, For so many suns have set Since our hands have touched in greeting, Or our eyes have met, — Yet I will miss very keenly The sweet interchange of thought Which through many years our white-winged Messengers have brought. (64) TO A. A. J. 65 And through all the days that may be In the future, there will be In my heart one spot forever Consecrate to thee. And that spot will hold in keeping — Like a safe retreat of rest — Some of childhood's fairest memories, And its tenderest. Memories that through life's changes, Ever young will keep, and bright, And amid the evening shadows, Carry morning light. For how close the tie that held us, Only thou canst understand ! — Friend of childhood, gone before me, To the far mysterious Land ! July, 1891. MY HOUR IT came so near! — this precious thing, - I need not tell you what; A heart, a flower, or a gem, — For now, it matters not. It came so near ! — this ecstasy, — If I my hand had stirred, Or raised an eyelid, or pronounced The lowest murmured word, I might have drawn it to myself. But in that hour supreme, — That hour for which my soul had longed, In waking thought and dream, — That hour which Heaven had granted me As mine beyond dispute, — My spirit failed, — and I remained But motionless and mute. (66) MY HOUR 67 It came so near ! — and then it passed Forever on its way. My opportunity is now A thing of yesterday. Of yesterday, — or years ago, — It is the same to me; That hour is sunk into the past, So deep and utterly. ye, who dream of higher flight In unrestricted air, — Pray duly when the hour comes, For strength divine — to dare! TO OUR MOTHER ON HER EIGHTY-EIGHTH BIRTHDAY, WITH THE PRESENTATION OF A CANE YOUTH has beauty for its dower; Strength and wisdom wait On maturity's full hour; But the pomp of state, And the sceptre-wielding power, Come with eighty-eight ! So to you we bring this token Of our love most true; Of our fealty unbroken, All the ages through; Of the vows we erst have spoken And once more renew! (68) TO OUR MOTHER 69 For a sceptre, strong and steady, Is this ebon wand ! Wield it, O most gracious lady, With a gentle hand! We, your subjects ever ready, Bow to your command. Milton, May 10, 1892. HOW A POEM CAME I FELT an influence, pure, divine, unseen, To me descend, as to mown grass the rain; And hovering midway, earth and heaven be- tween, Lift me a little, from my lower plane. And in that altitude, my spirit caught A sense of ecstasy, supreme and whole; Each earth-born longing, and unworthy thought Fell off — like Lazarus' cerements — from my soul. Another atmosphere surrounded me, — So free I felt, — so infinitely blest; My loosened spirit seemed in harmony With all that truest is, and tenderest. (70) HOW A POEM CAME 71 A measured cadence floated on the air — Wordless and vague, — and yet distinctly felt; Itself repeating like a voiceless prayer, Till deep within my heart it seemed to melt. And presently, — though whence I do not know, — Beyond my own volition, came a phrase, And then another, with the cadence, — so, To me a poem came — one day of days. TO A BUTTERFLY BUTTERFLY, with wings of gold, To whose velvet beauty clings All the sweetness manifold, Of a hundred blossomings, — Poising in suspended flight, Where the fairest flowers be, Fluttering from left to right, In a sweet uncertainty, — Then a fine selection making, Of the loveliest of all, And some soft communion taking, For a resting interval, — Your resplendent wings with pleasure, Gently fanning to and fro, As to mark some fairy measure, For our human ears too low, — (72) TO A BUTTERFLY 73 Sailing brightly through the air, Like a sunbeam vivified, Claiming your ecstatic share Of the wondrous summer-tide, — Tell, oh, tell me what you are, Product of the summer hour ! Are you, sweet, a fallen star, — Or a risen flower? MY AMULET ORING of gold, with chrysoberyls rare! Thy mystic circle holds a memory. Thou art the link that binds two friends to me; One living still on earth, — one in that fair And far-away celestial City, where — As the divine Evangelist did see In his apocalyptic mystery — The streets are purest gold beyond compare ; And gates of pearl; and each foundation stone Of such transcendent brilliancy, that they Resemble thee; and so I think that thine Must be a heavenly substance ; that I own In thee an amulet — that o'er my way Can ever shed an influence benign! (74) A TRANSFIGURATION I FROM my window, at the dawn of day, Gazed on a world transfigured ! Heavenly white, The snow — o'er earth fresh-fallen through the night, — Like a pure resurrection garment lay; And in a sky of opalescent gray, A morning moon! Through all, a strange sweet light, Diffusive, without shadow! — 'T was a sight Too beautiful for pencil to portray, Or pen interpret, — for it was much more Than beauty, and beyond analysis. The essence of a prayer it seemed to me ; That I, in that still hour, bowed before The apotheosis of Earth, — that this Mortal had put on immortality! Milton, January 10, 1893. (75) THE SOUL'S INQUIRY WHAT is life, — I vainly pondered, — With its dreams, and high intents? With its spiritual longings, And its deep abandonments? What am I in my estate, One with all, yet separate? I have asked the murmuring waters, — I have asked the solemn woods, — And the stars that hold their vigils Through the midnight quietudes; And each bird that sings by day Its ecstatic roundelay. But, although my heart stops beating That the voices may be heard, — (76) THE SOUL'S INQUIRY 77 Neither woods, nor murmuring waters, Shining stars, nor note of bird, Ever any answers bring To my human questioning. While I mused, a seer approached me, — Radiant eyes, and haloed head, And a look of peace effulgent; And unto myself I said, — "He can tell what answers be, To my soul's inquiry." So with reverent mien and measure, I the radiant one addressed; — "Tell me, prophet, from thy wisdom, And thy height of peace possessed, — Thou who conquerest in the strife, Tell the meaning of my life!" And to me the seer made answer, — "Many a restless human heart Seeks, as thou dost seek, a knowledge That the world may not impart; 78 THE SOUL'S INQUIRY Asks as thou dost, — and the cry Finds but echo for reply. "Like a traveller who wanders Wearily in distant lands, In pursuit of plant or pebble, — And returns with empty hands, Finding at his cottage door, What his life was longing for, — " So with thee in thy researches; — Seek not through the earth and sky, For an answer to the mystic Problem, — ' What and why am I? ' — For that answer unexpressed, Lieth latent in thy breast. " Veil thine eyes, invert thy vision, Fold thy hands, — with bated breath, Listen to the sweet and silent Teachings that the spirit saith! Listen with quiescent will, As to holy oracle ! THE SOWS INQUIRY 79 "Thus — and thus alone — thou learnest What thy being doth presage, What its highest human meaning, What its heavenly heritage. To thine introspective thought, Is the word and vision brought." AN INVOCATION O DREAM divine — to which my thoughts aspire, When they are freest, best, and happiest, — Oh come to me again, with influence blest! Come with thy pure and pentecostal fire, And regulate each earthly-born desire That would oppose the spirit's high behest! Come like immortal love made manifest, And draw me up to purer planes and higher ! — 'T is possible, in this our low estate, To feel a blessedness that can assuage Our vague unrest, and bid all sorrow cease. For this my longing soul doth supplicate, To claim by right this blessed heritage, — The Spirit's fruit, — of "love, and joy, and peace!" (80) CHRISTMAS "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good mil toward men" AGAIN it comes! This holiest season, bringing The blessedness of promise verified. And happy bells throughout the land are ring- ing A welcome to the joyous Christmas-tide. Again we ponder o'er the sacred story, With its deep pathos, and its joy sublime, — How Jesus came with "trailing clouds of glory," To live on earth, in that far-distant time. We see a vision of the manger lowly, Which Mary, the sweet mother, bends above, (81) 82 CHRISTMAS While a soft halo, luminous and holy, Surrounds the wondrous Child like heavenly love. We see the faithful shepherds, who are keep- ing — Throughout the star-lit hours of the night — Their silent watches while their flocks are sleeping, Until aroused by the archangel bright, Who comes, the beautiful evangel bringing, Of promised blessing which to earth be- longs; While angel hosts from highest Heaven are singing That tenderest of all immortal songs. — *O k Distinct above the murmur of earth's voices, Rises the cadence of that strain divine, — And listening hearts, it evermore rejoices, As when it sounded first in Palestine. CHRISTMAS 83 " Peace, peace on earth!" — This is the Christ- mas greeting, — The sweetest, and the holiest, and the best! " Glory to God, goodwill toward men!" re- peating The sacred words by angel choirs expressed. When we can understand the heavenly pleas- ure, The highest meaning that the song im- parts, And when our pulses beat to the sweet meas- ure, — Then we may hold a Christmas in our hearts. THE SADDEST THING WHAT is the saddest thing on earth? Is it the farewell given To those who fade from human sight And from our arms' encircling might, And wing their way to Heaven? Is it when love has been withdrawn? — Love which we thought to be So true in its divine excess, That we could hold its blessedness Through life's entirety? — Though earth's farewells, or love's eclipse, The loss of all that's glad, May take the sunlight from our days, — There seems to me another phase, More desolately sad. (84) THE SADDEST THING 85 *T is when, (O heart of mine! implore That thou mayst never know The depth of this superlative, When living is to cease to live, Life's pulses are so low) — 'T is when, with faith's ideal gone, — That dayspring from above, — A heart hath lost its right to be, With its divine capacity Of knowing how to love. This is the saddest thing on earth! — The darkest, loneliest lot That thought can reach — and Holy Writ In solemn words amrmeth it — Is his, that "loveth not." SALUTING THE FLAG Milton, April 27, 1894 IT was a hero's birthday! — when The flag was floating high, In grateful memory of one Who was "not born to die." From out the country schoolhouse came Children, in rank and file, Who 'round the green enclosure marched In military style. And then about the flag they paused, — A semicircle bright — Child faces, beautiful in noon's Illuminating light! Each head was bared, each small right hand Was reverently raised, — And while upon the emblem which O'ershadowed them, they gazed, (86) SALUTING THE FLAG 87 Their voices blended in a vow To guard their country's good; An infant vow of loyalty, Allegiance, gratitude. And we, who looked and listened, felt Within our hearts a sense Of newly- waked devotion, And of deeper reverence. A something in those childish tones Stirring the quiet air, — Which thrilled one like a touch divine, Like sacrament, or prayer. And memories of other scenes, Too sacred to forget, Came with a rush of tenderness That filled the heart, — but yet, We felt no sweeter vow could be, No purer from above, Than that which infant lips pronounced Of loyalty and love. FAR AWAY FAR away! — But earthly distance, Sweep of land, and sweep of sea, Cannot with their blended forces Keep my thought from thee ! What is distance, as we measure? What is time, and what is place? When the spirit moves unswerving, Unrestrained, through space? Far away? — The words I utter, But I heed not their decree! What so animate as spirit? Or as thought so free? (88) A SEPTEMBER AFTERNOON OUR pathway leads us to a little lake, As " placid" as Lake Leman, and as "clear!" With bowered banks, and fragrant pine-trees near. Here we draw rein ! — Distinct reflections make A double picture; the still waters take The blue sky to themselves, which doth ap- pear More lovely mixed with silver. Far and near A silence — that no faintest echoes break — Pervades the air, and in the heart doth fall Like a divine impulsion; golden haze — With beauty and with charm ineffable — Illumines like a halo! It is all Too sweet for sadness, — yet these perfect days Bring us the message of their own farewell! (89) A YEAR A YEAR of seasons and of days! Of mornings with their golden haze, Of noon's illuminating rays, Of evening quietudes! A year like Nature's other years, In form and sequence it appears, With its commingling of tears, And smiles, and varying moods. Like Nature's other years, — but yet, Deep in my inmost heart are set Impressions I can ne'er forget, Which make it different. One is a shadow, like the night, And one above it hovers bright, A halo of divinest light, Of heaven-born intent! (90) A YEAR 91 And when in thought I live again The moments of the shadow's reign, — There ever comes to soften pain, This holy benison. It comes like a descending dove, Bringing a message from above, Under whose influence of love I feel — " Thy will be done." It breathes a blessedness and calm That silences my heart's alarm; It fills my spirit with the balm Of the still words it saith. So, by the shadow's mystery, A glory is revealed to me, Till then, I could not truly see, — The radiant angel, — Faith! MY DAY-DREAM I HAVE a dream, — a pleasant dream, - A day-dream that I cherish! A living thing within my heart, Whatever else may perish. Whatever else may turn aside, Or in allegiance falter, My spirit's guest in faithfulness, Nor time, nor chance, can alter. It comes to me when shadows drift Across my day's completeness. It brings a sunlight of its own, That fills me with its sweetness. If one should question, "Which is more Like truth — life as we make it, Or this thy dream?" — I could affirm, — "The dream is, as I take it." (92) MY DAY-DREAM 93 And so — what matters it, though stars Grow dim, or flowers perish, — If I but hold my pleasant dream, My day-dream that I cherish? LATER POEMS TO MY SISTER Still to you, my dear companion, do I dedicate my verses — Which come, unbidden and unsought, from earth and air and sky; With you, I share the messages the spirit-world rehearses — As " we wander on together, you and I." E. E. H. "The Terraces" Milton, 1922 A LYNTON MEMORY SHELLEY'S "Skylark!" — Who can ever Read that rhapsody sublime, And not feel the spirit quicken, And the heart beat time? Those enrapt and thrilling phrases Shelley, only, could indite; He, whose winged fancies, seem like Skylarks, in their flight. But we know — for he has told us, In his rare apostrophe — The "blithe spirit's" presence, was a Twilight mystery. Thus it was, my heart desired, Not alone that I might hear That enchanted music, seeming From another sphere, (99) 100 A LYNTON MEMORY But that I might see the singer, — Bird, or angel in disguise, — Were it not too near to Heaven, For my human eyes. And the longing found fulfilment; Now, with rapture, I can say, — I have seen the dream, the spirit, The fair star of day! 'T was one summer morn in Devon, — Shelley there had lived and sung, That we wandered on the upland, Ferns and flowers among, While below us lay the rural Beauty of the peaceful dale, And o'er all, the sky of England, With its silvery veil. Presently — from out the stillness — Came a flood of melody, So divine and so ecstatic, So from earth set free, A LYNTON MEMORY ioi That it thrilled one's heart to hear it — And on looking upward — there, Far above, in flight suspended, Like some spirit fair, We beheld the feathered songster, We beheld the star of day, — For we had, upon the upland, Reached the lark half-way. We could note the quick yet rhymic Movement of the glancing wings — As to mark the music's cadence, With their flutterings. Long we looked and listened, while the Mystic bird still held on high, Its unswerving and aerial Vantage in the sky; While it still, unceasing, warbled Its glad paeon, strain on strain — Till we learned by heart, the measure Of the sweet refrain. 102 A LYNTON MEMORY Till we felt, the while we waited, The lark did to us belong; That to us, its heart it opened, And for us the song. Long we looked and listened — then came One most sweet, last, lingering note, And the song was ended ; — and we Watched the singer float, Gently, like a blessing, downward From the blue of Heaven's dome, Downward, with an aim unerring, To its leafy home. It was gone ! — and from our spirits, The sweet tension was released; Then — that sense that comes when some- thing Beautiful has ceased; — That strange sense, of happy sadness, Of a loss that is not pain — A LYNTON MEMORY 103 For the beauty and the essence Of the joy remain. Still, for me, the lark is singing — Time and place, no barriers are; For within my heart, I hear it — When I listen with the spirit — Inward echoes from afar. THE NEW ALLEGIANCE VERY reverently and gently We would lay the Old Year down, With the burden of his crosses, With the glory of his crown. Thanks we give for many a blessing His beneficence hath brought, Many a hope fulfilled — or thwarted — Many a solemn lesson taught. Yet, though tears perchance are welling, As we lay the asphodel On his bier — we may not linger O'er repining, or farewell, — For there enters at the portal One illumined with the dawn — And with requiem, are blending Aves to the guest new-born. (104) THE NEW ALLEGIANCE 105 Confident in heavenly purpose, Pure without reproach or fear, Hope, his strength and inspiration — Thus he comes, — the glad New Year! We confess his peerless knighthood, We would follow where he leads; Dreams shall merge into fruition, Good thoughts into noble deeds. And we spring to catch his banner That it may not touch the dust — W'hile we pledge a new allegiance. Oh, for strength to keep the trust! AT THE HOME OF WORDSWORTH "rydal mount" I TREAD, with reverent steps, the path Which thou didst tread before, — The terrace on the woodland slope, That leadeth from thy door. Thou art not here — but yet, I feel Thy presence evermore. Nature's dear poet, everywhere Thy touch divine, I trace; Thy spirit's touch — there lingers still, A fine, reflected grace, — The essence of thy gentle thought, Which consecrates the place. Each mossy stone, each blade of grass, Each bird and flower and tree, Speaks in a language of its own, A mystic melody, — (106) AT THE HOME OF WORDSWORTH 107 The language of the spirit-world, Interpreted by thee. Each note of Nature's symphony, From lowliest flower that grows, To grandeur of Helvellyn's height — Thy living poetry shows. To thee, did Nature willingly, Her inmost heart disclose. My mind recalls a thousand things That unto thee belong, — The field of waving daffodils, The reaper's plaintive song; Yarrow — and all thy high intents That strove to lessen wrong. The things thy hand, perchance, hath touched, Are now, within my reach; My heart has " thoughts that lie too deep For tears" — too deep for speech, — Thoughts of the messages divine, Thy poems ever teach. 108 AT THE HOME OF WORDSWORTH 'Tis here, thou must have walked — here sat — And here it was, I know, That thou, as Nature's worshipper, Didst gaze, with quickened flow Of feeling, on the beauteous scene That spreads itself below. And, as I gaze on the expanse Of garden, lake, and lea — I feel the influence of its charm, — I feel myself to be Partaking of the spirit's food, Which helped to nourish thee. RE-CREATED BEYOND the cloistered precincts of my life, Beyond the limits of the place and hour, 'T is sometimes given to my soul to pass — By guidance of some kind, angelic power — Untrammelled pass, through gateways Beau- tiful; And in the light of the divine tran- sition, No longer darkly, but as face to face, My soul, with new receptiveness of vision, Sees "the immenseness of the fair and good;" And hears — with sense known to the spirit only — (109) no RE-CREATED The harmony that underlies all sound, And each cessation we call silence lonely. A sweet, pervasive influence is felt, A consciousness of Love divine, a merg- ing Of self within the Infinite intent, Around all and through all forever surg- ing. These are the moments of the spirit's growth, The sacred moments of the soul's expan- sion; Then is revealed, as in apocalypse, Some gleaming forecast of a Heavenly mansion. What is it that can open gateways Beau- tiful?— Some lovely phase of Nature has the power; Some strain of music, or some loving word — A memory even, or an opening flower. RE-CREATED III The vision passes — but there still remains A glory — for the spirit, re-created, Has learned, how near to grandeur is our dust, How closely earth to Heaven is related. A WISH " There is, in man, a higher than love of Happiness ; he can do without Happiness, a)id instead thereof, find Blessed- ness." — Carlyle. "\ T 7HAT is the highest thing, my friend, * » That heart may wish for thee? What is the thing to hold most dear, Standing, as now, at the New Year, In sweet expectancy? All happiness? On every side We hear the glad refrain; And yet — there is a heart's desire, With aim that holier is and "higher;" To this we would attain. For "happiness" may prove too vague, Too fleeting to possess; And then it is, the earnest mind "Instead thereof" at last can find A crown of "blessedness." (112) A WISH 113 So this, the highest thing, I wish: — May blessedness be thine! The grace which cometh from above, Giving to human life and love A touch of the divine! TO S. H. A. A PEN PICTURE ONE there is, whose youth supernal, And whose gracious sympathy, Are as living waters, ever Flowing beautiful and free. And to us, to whom is given The sweet privilege to sit At her feet, to learn life's meaning, As she doth interpret it, — Unto us it seems, age cannot Touch her, with its stern decree; Nor can custom ever stale, her Infinite variety. From her treasure-house of knowledge, Still she giveth without end; Never doth she fail us — she is Guide, philosopher, and friend. (114) TO S. H. A. 115 She, in truth, hath climbed Parnassus — And, enshadowed in her hair, We can see the wreath of laurel, Of which she is unaware. What are years — four-score or over — When, like angels, they confer Only gifts that are divinest? Verily it seems, with her, Years bring but increase of wisdom, And of gentleness and love; And of beauty — a reflection From the light divine, above. — This the picture, that I cherish Very fondly in my heart. 'T is thy portrait! — though its blended Half-tones show us but in part, What, in fulness of completion, Dearly-beloved friend, thou art. 1909. EASTER MORNING FROM the portals of the day Is the darkness rolled away, As the stone, by shining angel, that first Easter morn. And upon my spirit's night Come, with healing wings of light, Morning joy and revelation and a hope new- born. The divineness of the hour Blends with bird and sky and flower; And the fulness of their measure leaves no room for sadness. Hearts perforce with Nature sing At the sweet awakening Of the radiance of spring-tide and the Easter gladness. (n6) EASTER MORNING 117 "Earth is beautiful," we say; But — for one who yesterday Walked with us in human presence — unto her are given Visions in diviner guise, Fairer flowers, purer skies, And the high and holy Easter symphonies of Heaven. TO J. D. DEAR Friend — whose gentle steps have trod The road of Ninety Years — We come to greet you where you stand, — Serene upon life's table-land, Immune from cares and fears; For through the vista of the Past, You gaze without regret; And calmly, with transcendent faith, You wait, for what the Future hath In keeping for you, yet. Your heart still beats with sympathy For all who joy or mourn; This sheds a light about your way, Making the sunset of your day, As beautiful as dawn. (118) TO J. D. 119 And so, we cannot wish for you More than you now possess, — For Faith and Hope and Charity, Make an angelic company, To guard you, and to bless. Still the fair circle of your life, Works to its perfect round. When spirits — which from Heaven come — Return to their Celestial Home — Then is completion found. June 3, 1909. THE IDEAL IS THE REAL BECAUSE he is revealed less fine, less noble, Because the circling halo 'round his head, Is faded — as the day fades into gloaming — Because the flower of friendship lieth dead; Shall I, because of this, my faith relinquish In love, in honor, in sincerity? Shall I affirm that instincts the divinest — Which give to life its worth — have ceased to be? Not that, not ever that — my heart's recesses Still hold — like saint enshrined — my fair Ideal; This is my friend, I do not know — the other; This, and this only, is for me, the Real. (120) "YADDO" WOODLAND paths and placid waters, Where the bending branches meet Their own beauty in reflection, And the sylvan scene repeat; Velvet lawns and bordering hedge-rows, Flower gardens, where are blent Summer's lingering hues with autumn's, — This is the environment Of a mansion, wide and stately, Diamond-paned and ivy-clad — And we ponder, — "Here, if ever, Must the heart of man be glad!" "What" — we question — "do they call this Spot where Art and Nature meet, In so beautiful an aspect, And a union so complete?" (12!) 122 YADDO And the answer, — "This is ' Yaddo' — Which aright interpreted, Was a child's own word for shadow; When a happy mother, said, — "'We will call our castle, " Sunshine," ' — The child-poet interposed, — 'Where there 's sunshine, there is yaddo!' Verily there seemed disclosed "To that infant mind, a vision Of what coming days might bring, — For, full soon, the radiant picture Knew a great o'ersh ado wing. "For there came a Heavenly mandate — Sweet and low, yet positive — '■ To the children, — ' Come up higher, In a Home divine to live!' "And the children all responded To the roll-call from above; Earthly beauty could not hold them, Nor the power of human love. YADDO 123 "So, when loneliness and sorrow Came like shadows to abide, — Then it was, the name of 'Yaddo/ Seemed a word that signified All the pathos of the Present, And the joy the Past implied." THE MAY-DAY MEETING W. B. W. COMES again, the May-Day meeting With its joy, and friendly greeting, Ready wit and cheer! By this function, thus enacted, Kind exchanges are transacted, And old friendships re-compacted For another year. Comes again, the May-Day meeting — Joys of other years, repeating! And the thought of these, Adds, with cumulative measure, To the present May-Day's pleasure, For, within our hearts we treasure, Troops of memories. (124) THE MAY-DAY MEETING 12, And he, who upon us, showers Words of welcome, favors, flowers, — Our beloved host — May he have, as life advances, Everything his spirit fancies, And his happiness enhances ! — This for him, our toast. Milton, May 1, 1912. IN MAY OH, to be born in May — in May, When all the world is young ! When Nature holds divinest sway. Oh, to be born in May, in May, When every heart keeps holiday, The month the bards have sung! Oh, to be born in May, in May, When all the world is young ! (126) AN EFFECT AT PROVINCETOWN AMONG the pictures that my soul doth keep For retrospect and solace — there is one So beautiful it may not be outdone : — Buff sand-dunes, gray-green herbage, and a sweep Of sky and ocean, of a blue so deep, Divine, and wonderful — 't is like to none In beauty but itself. A noon-day sun Seems with its radiance to immerse, to steep Each breadth of color in Eternal Day, Without a cloud or shadow. Verily, A picture which no artist could portray On any earthly canvas; and to be Possessed of it there is a single way, — To once have seen — then hold the memory. (127) WHAT IS DEATH WHAT is Death — but the awaking, When this dream of life is o'er? But Eternal Morning, breaking For eyes that shall weep no more? What is Death — but Heaven's portal, Wide and beautiful and free? But the birth of this, our mortal, Into Immortality? What is Death — but a desire Of the soul — divinely sent? But a step beyond and higher, Toward a full development? What is Death — but the most faithful Of all friends, through ages past? — 'T is the name of the kind Angel That shall lead us Home, at last. (128) THANKFULNESS "Oh, give thanks unto the Lord, for he is good ; for his mercy endureth forever ." WHEN skies of summer bend their blue above us, — A benediction felt, although unsaid — When in green pastures beside quiet waters Our willing steps are led, — When by dear friends, and true, we are com- panioned, Life's fairest flowers in our brimming hands, When heart responds to heart in love's sweet language Love only understands, — When thus environed, in our exaltation, Heart, mind, and being in divine accord, Our happiness, in reaching for expression, Gives " thanks unto the Lord." (129) 130 THANKFULNESS But when the way is rough, perchance, and weary, When flowers wither, and the day is sped, And when our loneliness, like that in Rama, Will not be comforted, — Oh, then 't is very hard for us to utter Those words of thankfulness — we cannot see The goodness and the mercy — we are living Our own Gethsemane. But when at last through suffering comes knowl- edge, And faith divine, clearer than morning sun, Sheds its pure radiance upon our pathway, Revealing, one by one, Each roughness circled with a heavenly halo, And angel guides for every steep ascent — Then, we thank God for "mercy that en- dureth," And for enlightenment. THANKFULNESS 131 And full as beautiful as skies of summer, Or pastures green, or fairest flowers e'er given, Will seem to us our valley of the shadow, When it conducts to Heaven. TO E. C. DEAR my friend — if I should ever Try thy virtues to portray — To assist in the endeavor, I should call upon the day — I should call upon the sunshine, And the flowers by the way. On the sunshine — for the brightness That thou ever dost impart; On the flowers — for their lightness, Beauty, grace, — like them thou art; And the time — it should be morning, For thy youthfulness of heart. But what pen could shape the phrasing, That the record might be true, And not merely idle praising? — Perhaps Wordsworth's pen would do — Or a quill from Shelley's skylark, Wafted downward from the blue. (132) TO E. C. 133 Thus equipped and thus conditioned, I, thine attributes could sing; I should hold myself, commissioned To do this — and to thee bring A love-poem, true and tender, For a votive offering. A SUMMER MORNING THE waking world revolves from out the shadows, Into a veil of opalescent mist. The morning dawns — through eastern gates uplifted, And clouds of pink and gold and amethyst. I feel the gentle movement of its coming — A presence, beautiful to every sense; The flowers and the grasses stir — performing A mute obeisance, as in reverence. The birds, their matin hymns of praise are singing, And everything in Nature seems to be Attuned to gladness. My own heart's emotion Is one of tense and quiet ecstasy. (134) A SUMMER MORNING 135 The beauty and the freshness, and the fra- grance — Like incense upward borne from Nature's shrine — The blessings manifold " new every morning," Are signs and messages of Love divine. The morning dawns ! — Life's duties and life's pleasures Are waiting, to attend us on our way. 0, soul of mine, put on thy morning panoply, Of faith and hope and love, to meet the day ! THY PANSIES C. S. G. THY pansies on my heart I wore — Each flower a though t*of thee; From morning until even-tide, I felt thy spirit by my side, In conscious sympathy. When from their biding-place, I loosed The flowers, with soft regret — Each leaf and petal drooped, as dead; " But ye have served your day," — I said "The day is ended." Yet, Because of this, I could not cast Them utterly away; I tended them, as one tends flowers, Then left them through the midnight hours; — And at the break of day, (136) THY PANSIES 137 At first I felt, and then I saw, A radiance in my room, — Each pansy, into life re-born, Lifting its face, to greet the dawn, In fresh and perfect bloom. "Dear flowers," — I said, — "it seems to me Another thought, ye prove, — That fainting hearts, if true and tried, Can surely be revivified, Through alchemy of Love." THE WAY OF THE SPIRIT LEAD me again — oh, take my hand, Dear spirit-guide of old ! Bear me to that Elysian land, Where dreams, like flowers, unfold — And where things, best and truest, come un- bidden and untold. Those are the sweetest melodies By mortal ear unheard; They come to us in silences, When hearts are deepest stirred ; Like that divine, that still small voice, that came without a word. Again I feel, dear spirit-guide, The sweet security, Thy haloed presence by my side, Doth ever bring to me, — That sense of earth-detachment — yet of finest sympathy. (138) TEE WAY OF THE SPIRIT 139 The sense that shows to me, a light, A beauty, never known On sea or land — because the sight Is for the soul alone; The sense that helps me hear, and feel, life's rhymic undertone. TO S. H. A. ON HER NINETY-FIRST BIRTHDAY DECEMBER 27, I914 ANOTHER year has passed away ! Again, upon this happy Day, You sit, like some fair Queen of May, Enthroned among your flowers ! Without, the world is white with snow But here, within, we only know The charm of summer hours. We cannot say — we do not own — That shadows may be longer grown, Although the years, by record shown, Have reached to Ninety-One; For, at this time, with joy still rife, This high meridian of your life — There is no set of sun! (140) TO S. II. A. 141 The light, your presence radiates, Each friend you smile upon, elates, And in its quality partakes Of the sweet light of morn. Stars did in unison combine To form a horoscope divine, The day that you were born. And now, before your shrine, to-day, Our votive offerings we lay — Our gifts of flower and roundelay, To grace the year that 's done. But more than these things, you receive, — Blessings and love and honor, weave A Crown — for Ninety-One ! AN ACKNOWLEDGMENT THANK you, sweet, but unknown singer, for the beauty of your singing ! Thank you for the thoughts it brings me, — " thoughts that lie too deep for tears." In my heart, the measured cadence of the music still is ringing, Waking from their slumbers, tender memo- ries of by-gone years. It has been a revelation; it has made me purer, stronger; It has touched a chord within me, that has tuned my heart aright. Worldly cares and apprehensions hold me with their force, no longer; To my mind has come releasement, to my eyes a clearer sight. (142) AN ACKNOWLEDGMENT 143 With this sense of spirit-freedom, I go on my way with gladness; Every object in my pathway, now assumes a new, sweet guise ; And the star of hope, whose brightness can dispel the shades of sadness, Shines upon me like a holy benediction from the skies. But you — my unknown inspirer — you are lost to me forever. With the ceasing of the music, you have gone — I know not where. And although these words I utter, on this earth may reach you never — Undeterred by doubt, I waft them dove-like on the pathless air! IN AUTUMN ALTHOUGH the roses all have died, With leisure days and long, Although no little bird outside My lattice, in the morning-tide, Delighteth me with song, — Although from elm and maple tree The dead leaves flutter down, And lined against the sky I see The delicate, sad tracery Of tangled branches brown, — Although my steps no longer tend By mountain-side or shore, Although the gentle-hearted friend Who did to life new meaning lend, Now walks with me no more, — (144) IN AUTUMN 145 Although all sights and sounds express The one sad word, farewell — Yet, in my spirit's deep recess, That mystic, inner consciousness Where mind and memory dwell, — 'T is there I keep, as evidence That good can never end, — More real it seems than outward sense — The sweet, enduring influence Of bird and flower and friend. TO L. D. November 30, 1916 ON this bright Thanksgiving morning, — With an atmosphere like May — Do we come, dear friend, to greet you, And our little gifts to lay At your feet, with loving wishes For your happiness To-day! But much fairer gifts and higher, Heaven did on you bestow, That Thanksgiving-Day, you wandered Earthward — Ninety Years ago — Holding fast your gifts, as blessings For the waiting friends below. Goodness, Gentleness and Beauty — These the gifts! You surely could (146) TO L. D. 147 Nothing sweeter bring, as blessings — And when all is understood, These the attributes most needed For our " nature's daily food." FRIENDSHIP THE sweetest thing that we can find, In all our earthly quest, The thing that gives to human life, Its beauty and its zest, That in the spirit's darkest night, Like star of morning, glows, That makes the desert to rejoice, And blossom as the rose, — Is Friendship ! — Let us cherish it, And lay before its shrine, The faith and reverence and love, We give to things divine ! (148) THE UNSPOKEN THOUGHT BEFORE I dare to supplicate For life's divinest thing, Before I reach expectant hands, For the fair offering — 0, let me with my heart commune, In solemn questioning. " O heart of mine, art thou so pure, So spirit-whole, so good, That thou shouldst seek to claim as thine, This high beatitude? To stand on ground as consecrate, As that where Moses stood? " Hast thou, in vision and in thought, Attained that highest height, That heavenly environment, Where self is lost to sight, — As stars of morning, lose themselves In day's transcendent light? (149) 150 THE UNSPOKEN THOUGHT "If this thou art, if this thou hast Attained, O heart of mine, Then, thou art worthy, by thy grace, To be the sacred shrine, For this high thing which thou wouldst have, This fairest, most divine." — Before this inquisition, which I with my spirit hold — I can but bow my humbled head, In sorrow uncontrolled. 0, what am I, that I should dream Of blessedness untold? And yet — is not this earnest wish, This hearts desire, this need, A force to bear my spirit up, To higher thought and deed? May I not count it as a voice, For me to intercede? I think its strength of being doth Its own divineness show — THE UNSPOKEN THOUGHT 151 I think it is a guide, to light The way that I should go — To lead me to my higher self, Perchance to Heaven, — and so, Before the mercy-seat, my heart's Unspoken thought, I lay; And dare to hope fulfilment for The wish I may not say, — Because it lies too deep to find A pathway to the day. A PILGRIMAGE TO YARROW YARROW! — A dream that I had dreamt — That Wordsworth's poems taught me — A dream that flights of fancy lent, And musing hours brought me ! We 'd gazed on many a charming spot, Immortalized in story, On castles, ne'er to be forgot, And mountains high and hoary. Yet — in my heart did still abide A thought, akin to sorrow; And ofttimes to myself, I sighed, — "I never have seen — Yarrow!" We wandered on, from place to place, In mental exaltation; So full was time, there seemed no space For further exploration. (152) A PILGRIMAGE TO YARROW 153 But ah, at length, there dawned a day, — A happy space, though narrow — When we could say, — " We '11 make to-day Our pilgrimage to Yarrow!" O'er Ettrick hills — that day of days — A pleasant way, we wended, Where sheep, amid the heather graze, By "Ettrick shepherds" tended. It led to "still St. Mary's Lake," Which opened to our vision Like sunshine between clouds that break — So sweet was the transition. So motionless its waters lie, That unto them is given The beauty of the bending sky, — One knows not which is heaven. To this divinest source, the stream Of Yarrow owes its being; Which, although lovely in a dream, Was lovelier in the seeing. 154 A PILGRIMAGE TO YARROW More beautiful the flowers and trees, Upon its borders growing; More beautiful the melodies, It murmured in its flowing. Fair the expanse of meadows green, As made for childhood's pleasures; And fair the "braes" — which oft have been The theme of poets' measures. Rising above the travelled ways, Is ancient Newark Tower; Where echoes faint of minstrel lays Come from a by-gone hour. — I had — that day without alloy — A feeling — not of gladness, A feeling, too subdued for joy, And yet too sweet for sadness. Yarrow! — Where lights with shadows wait, For those who see and know it; A spot that is made consecrate By lover and by poet. A PILGRIMAGE TO YARROW 155 Its beauty, I devoutly felt — So much unseen revealing; Its charm into my heart did melt — Vague, mystic, yet appealing. Among the pictures I love best, For retrospect to borrow — The fairest and the tenderest, The most beloved, — is Yarrow. TO MY SISTER ON HER BIRTHDAY August 29, 1919 DEAR — another birthday cometh, with its blessings and its beauty! And although the shadows lengthen, yet the shadows are but few; Summer skies are bright above you — still the sun performs its duty; And the light and shade commingled, make the radiance more true. Flowers bloom about your pathway, — flowers of friendship and affection; Through this garden of the Present, you are moving calm and free, — With a Past of good achievement, to uplift you, in reflection — And those words of blessed import, — " Ye have done it unto Me." (156) TO MY SISTER ON HER BIRTHDAY 157 And, dear — we are still together! — happy memories behind us, And the star of faith before us, with its guidance from on high, For our garden of the Present — to inspire and remind us — As "we wander on together, you and I." A FAVORITE AUTHOR HE is not dead — for spirit never dies. 'T was only through the spirit that we met. Then wherefore, any feeling of regret, If to Empyrean heights, beyond the skies, His spirit has obeyed the call to rise? To me, no change has come. I will forget That he is gone. With me, there lingers yet The rapture of possession — which defies Material circumstance. The printed page Still offers me the charm of intercourse; Through that blest medium, I still can find The food my spirit needs; my heritage It is, — a sweet and a perennial source Of joy, and of refreshment to the mind. (158) CHRISTMAS EVE HEMLOCK boughs are twined, and holly, 'Round the window-panes to-night; And the moon shines through the lattice, And the Yule-tide log burns bright. I would live again the fancies That my heart and brain invite. And they come — a long procession, Through the vista of the years, — Some with joyous mien and measure, Some just visible through tears, Some illumined with the halo That a holy sorrow wears. Memories they are of other Christmas eves that once I knew; And they seem in their distinctness, Very tangible and true — (159) 160 CHRISTMAS EVE As they pass before my vision — Shining angels in review. One there is that lingers longest — One the fairest that I know; It is pictured in the moonlight, It reflects the fire's glow; Beautiful in tender half-tones — For it was so long ago. 'T is of childhood — there is firelight — And a presence most benign, Folds me in a fond embracement — Sheltering love and strength combine; While a voice in gentle cadence, Tells me of the Child Divine; Of the song of hosts angelic, Of the star which led the way To the humble spot and holy, Where the infant Saviour lay; He whose cradle was a manger, And "whose softest bed was hay." CHRISTMAS EVE 161 And my child-heart thrills with feelings Much too deep for childish speech, — With a soft, adoring pity, With a love no word can reach. For so wondrous are the lessons That this story old can teach. While I muse, the fancy passes — And the firelight fades away — And the beautiful calm moonlight Holds its undisputed sway; While the midnight chime announces Yet another Christmas Day. ATTAINMENT I MY cherished wish have won ! Stress and striving now are done. I, the mountain-height have gained, Of my spirit's hope attained. I, my cherished wish have won, — But within my heart, is none Of the exaltation free, That attends on victory. Beautiful about me seems This fulfilment of my dreams; Beautiful — but yet mine eyes Turn, to where below me lies, On the slope, a wilderness, Sun bereft and flowerless — And amid the shadow deep, One is toiling up the steep; (162) ATTAINMENT 163 Striving, with undaunted will, To o'ercome each obstacle. Will his spirit still prevail, Should the signs of promise, fail? Can he, when life's shadows seem Deepest, still discern — "the Gleam?" " Follow it," and find his way To the amplitude of day? When my friend the height has gained Of his spirit's hope attained — Then, and only then, for me, Will be joy in victory. BY THE SEA EVENING THE evening comes ! The sea is sad ! It mourns the day departed. In melancholy tones, it chants A requiem broken-hearted. — My spirit, vaguely, is oppressed With apprehension and unrest. MORNING The morning comes ! The sun-lit sea Performs a friendly greeting, — Its dancing waves, with rhymic grace, Advancing and retreating — To music of their own, as if A happy song repeating. How beautiful, the wide, blue sea, In its sublime immensity! My spirit feels itself to be Glad, with it all, in sympathy. (164) CARCASSONNE TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF GUSTAVE NADAUD 11 T'M sixty! I am growing old! -*■ A life of toil has been my part, With never time to satisfy The chief desire of my heart. I 've learned, there cannot be, on earth, Full happiness for anyone; My fondest wish is unfulfilled; — I never have seen Carcassonne! "That radiant city on the height! It lies behind yon mountains blue. And to attain to it, one must Five lengthy leagues of road pursue; And then the same length to return. Ah ! if kind fate would smile upon The vintage — then perchance — but no, I never shall see Carcassonne! (165) 166 CARCASSONNE "They say, it seems there, neither more Nor less than Sunday, every day; The people always look so fine, In new coats, and in white array; They say, the towers and battlements Are grand as those of Babylon; A bishop and two generals there ! Alas! I know not Carcassonne! "The vicar, he is always right, He said, — our indiscretions can Despoil our lives, and that in truth, Ambition is the bane of man. But yet — if ever I could find Two days, when autumn work is done — Mon Dieu! contented I should die, If once, I had seen Carcassonne ! " Mon Dieu ! mon Dieu ! If this my prayer Offendeth Thee, O, pardon me! In age, as well as youth, our dreams Are higher than reality. CARCASSONNE 167 My wife and eldest son, Aignan, Travelled as far, once, as Narbonne; My god-son has seen Perpignan; And I — have not seen Carcassonne!" Thus sighed a peasant near Limoux; His form was bowed with toil and sorrow. I said to him, — "My friend, have hope! We '11 go to Carcassonne to-morrow." We started — but when half-way there, (May Heaven his little faults condone,) When half-way there, the good man — died. He never looked on Carcassonne. LIBRARY OF CgjfjSgSi 015 905 940 6