HARD LABOR AND OTHER POEMS BY JOHN GARTER Book ^ A 'nS s.H^ Copyright}]" ^fi/ COPYRIGHT DEPOSrr HARD LABOR AND OTHER POEMS HARD LABOR AND OTHER POEMS BY JOHN CARTER NEW YORK THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY 1911 Copyright, 1911, by The Baker & Taylor Company THE 'PLIMPTON -PRESS [W • D -O] NORWOOD 'MASS^U'S 'A ©0I.A297971 TO ONE THAT TURNED NOT THE AUTHOR EXPRESSES HIS AC- KNOWLEDGMENTS TO THE PUBLISHERS OF THE CENTURY MAGAZINE, HARPER's WEEKLY, THE BELLMAN, THE SMART SET, COSMOPOLITAN MAGAZINE, AND LIPPIN- COTTS' MAGAZINE FOR THEIR COURTESY IN GRANTING HIM PERMISSION TO IN- CLUDE IN THIS VOLUME POEMS WHICH FIRST APPEARED IN THEIR PAGES. CONTENTS UNDER THE LASH PAGE Hard Labor 3 Con Sordini 11 Ballade of Misery and Iron 15 Ballade of Twilight and Silence .... 17 Lux E Tenebris 19 Prison Song 23 Prison Sonnet 25 LSTTROIT 27 Out of the Depths 29 A Vision of Release . 31 Shelley 35 A Septime of Despair 39 A Rose in the Wilderness 41 Prison Serenade 43 To Love Unchanging 45 As I Leap Forth 47 IN THE GREATER PRISON The Tramp's Tale 51 The Poet from His Garret 57 Despair in London 59 [vii] CONTENTS PAGE New York Night 63 The Death of the Firstborn 65 Beyond 67 A Song for Your Birthday 69 Sunset on the Dorset Coast 71 Belief 73 Freedom 75 [ viii ] HARD LABOR HARD LABOR I WORK, and as the task is done I brood On what has been and what is yet to pass, A life spilt from an idly-handled glass. And days as this, an endless multitude. Labor and brooding — is there then no rest? Day follows day, and in the silent nights Throng ghostly memories of past de- lights. Faces I loved, and lips that I have pressed, [3] HARD LABOR Until the sullen, deep-toned morning bell Wakes me to face a yesterday again With all its bitter agony of pain. Thou didst not linger, Dante, in thy hell. They say the torture's gone, the dawn's arisen, Mercy, to angered hearts a suitor strange. Has begged her own; yet this they cannot change, I have been free, and I am here in prison. [4] HARD LABOR II We bear upon us different brands of shame, And some the outward insults cannot brook, The gaoler's ready oath, the scornful look. While others grieve in silence; yet the same Rebellious thoughts we share; we hate alike The grudging hand that offers us its dole. And in the deep recesses of the soul The eager voice, half-stifled, whispers " strike !'' A brave pretence we make of merriment. Cut-throats and thieves, a jolly mur- derous crew; [5] HARD LABOR "The DeviFs Own Brigade" — he spake most true, And here and there, who knows? one innocent. Nay, we are innocent all, we never stole, A madman has condemned us; it may be We shall go hence to-morrow, par- doned, free. Free in the body, yes. But in the soul.? [6] HARD LABOR III THOU beloved of the cloud-dark hair, Whose hands I clasp no more, whose lips I crave, thou who art so beautiful and brave. Avert thine eyes; look not on my despair. 1 have not breathed thy name since first this gate Shut, and the wall upreared its frown- ing height. Unless some stealthy turnkey in the night Has heard a whisper, sobbing-passionate. Four gaunt years have I mouldered in this place, Am I not then repentant of my sin? 1 know not, for my heart is dead within, Thou art so far — I cannot see thy face. [7] HARD LABOR And yet, if thou hadst died, I had re- turned To holy thoughts and long-forgotten prayers. So might thy God be cozened unawares To yield a moment of His heaven un- earned. [8] HARD LABOR IV Labor and brooding, and a shattered Grail, And at the last a few square feet of earth. What care I for your jargon of new birth? To live and strive again, again to fail? The deadly sin atoned, the shame forgot. To rise triumphant to a Love-God's breast I crave not. Mine the certainty of rest. Ruthless I lived; unpitied let me rot. [9] CON SORDINI There is but silence; yet in thought I heard The desperate chords of that wild polonaise, The sixth of Chopin's wizardry, but blurred. As o'er a battle-field a mournful haze Blots out the dying from the dead men's gaze. Why, all the pageantry of war was there. Cannon and standard, ruined hearth ablaze. The muffled roll of death-drum, trumpet- blare. And lonely women, mute in measureless despair. [11] HARD LABOR Nay, this is Cornwall; hear ye not Isold' Cry to her lover in the starlit night? Swiftly, thou puppet-hero, seize and hold, Until with blood-red fire the heaven's alight. Ah ! on the morrow, Tristan, thou shalt fight; Thou art foredoomed to loneliness and pain. Thy valiant arm, invincible for right, Upraised in evil, conquers not again. Soon in thine ear she pours full-throated song in vain. The violins are hushed; a somber chord Startles the dim cathedral; tremblingly Pure boyish voices supplicate their Lord, Chanting a dirge-like minor melody. "'In Babylon we wept, remembering thee, O Zion" • . . but they know not what they sing. [12] CON SORDINI "Out of the depths, O Lord'' ... but they are free. And through their veins the hot blood, rioting. Attunes their care-free hearts to madri- gals of spring. Ye that have tamed the wilderness of sound. Of your proud minstrelsy my share I claim. I have not, in the darkness here fast- bound. Denied the brilliance of your sacred flame. There is no power in agony or shame To bar me from the fire-crowned heights ye hold. In deepest silence, I may hear the same Unearthly music that I loved of old. I crave no dole, who draw from stores of wealth untold. [13] BALLADE OF MISERY AND IRON Haggard faces and trembling knees, Eyes that shine with a weakKng's hate. Lips that mutter their blasphemies. Murderous hearts that darkly wait: These are they who were men of late. Fit to hold a plough or a sword. If a prayer this wall may penetrate. Have pity on these my comrades. Lord ! Poets sing of life at the lees In tender verses and delicate; Of tears and manifold agonies — Little they know of what they prate. Out of this silence, passionate Sounds a deeper, a wilder chord. If a song be heard through the narrow grate. Have pity on these my comrades, Lord! [15] HARD LABOR Hark, that wail of the distant breeze, Piercing ever the close-barred gate, Fraught with torturing memories Of eyes that kindle and lips that mate. Ah, by the loved ones desolate Whose anguish never can pen record. If Thou be truly compassionate. Have pity on these my comrades. Lord ! L'Envoi These are pawns that the hand of Fate Careless sweeps from the checker- board. Thou that know'st if the game be straight. Have pity on these my comrades. Lord! [16] BALLADE OF TWILIGHT AND SILENCE Rumble and whir of dray and car, Thousand feet on the great highway, Torturing chords that throb and jar, A restless melody, wildly gay. Under the lilt o' the tune they play, The silent grief of the city lies, And menacing-swift, at close of day. The shadows fall and the music dies. Deep in the virgin woods afar, A thrush pours forth his soul to the May, And never a hurried note shall mar The ecstasy of the magic lay. In drowsy measure the branches sway Till the sun burns low in the cloudless skies, [17] HARD LABOR And peacefully upon leaf and spray The shadows fall, and the music dies. Out of the dark where no songs are, I that have sinned and gone astray. Moth-like, lift mine eyes to a star, Voicelessly to a far God pray. See, from His heav'n in bright array A messenger to the dim cell flies ! The echoes wake to his singing — nay. The shadows fall and the music dies. L'Envoi O beloved, I know as they. This is the one thirfg right and wise. Weep no longer, now and for aye The shadows fall and the music dies. [18] LUX E TENEBRIS At the day's end your lamp is lit, And I that wander am glad of it. I may not sip of the glowing fire That burns in your eyes, O Heart's Desire. But out of the lantern's steadfast gleam In utmost dark I weave me a dream. The line forms sullenly; there is no sound, Save a sharp voice that rasps its "For- ward march!" The shuffling feet creep onward through the arch; Locks clatter; and in weariness profound Most sink unconscious to a dreamless sleep, [19] HARD LABOR While some few through the night long vigil keep. With the sunrise your voice lifts clear, And I that wander afar may hear. Vainly harps the wind in the trees That ever the song accompanies. But out of the harmony incomplete I weave an anthem of praise, my sweet. Ah, we that knew the better from the worse Our deeper guilt must pay a thousand- fold. In mourning garb come those we loved of old And some weep silently; but others curse. "Ye filled the cup; why should ye not then drink?" The words are just; our whipped souls can but shrink. [20] LUX E TENEBRIS But the lamp's alight, and the clear, proud song Shall reach to the throne of God ere long. The night must pass, and a strange, new dawn Burst upon field and copse and lawn; For out of the warp of shame and tears I weave the joy of the coming years. [21] PRISON SONG Thou that hast cherished me, Thou of my starvehng Ufe the nobler part, From the shamed sorrow of thy Calvary Look up, dear heart! Dark is the silent night. Yet do I hear the restless winds afar; Lo in the east the somber heaven's aUght, Shines forth a star. Eagerly I crave life. Scorning the thousand shadows that assail. Thou hast so armed me for the utmost strife, I dare not fail. [23] PRISON SONNET I DREAMED the woman who is all my care Had stretched her arms to me; a weakling's tear Dropped to my cheek unbidden; near, so near She seemed, I strove to touch in my de- spair The empress' coronal of night-hued hair. But anguish graven on her face I read. And in a sudden agony of dread I forced my lips to unaccustomed prayer: ''If Thou art God, despite my unbehef, Guard her who hath not sinned against Thy word. Who hath not mocked Thee in her deep- est grief; [25] HARD LABOR So shall my mouth revile no more, O Lord!" Sleep veiled from me the splendor of her eyes. Who knows if it be thus that He replies? [26] INTROIT The very blind A noble heritage of song may seize, A broad domain, wherein the uncon- quered mind May rest at ease. And we who dwell Within the shadow that the glad world easts. Against our tyranny of shame rebel While music lasts. Life hath no chain Beyond the power of joyous song to break. Hark! in the mystery of the pure strain God is awake. [27] OUT OF THE DEPTHS Beaten, blinded and maimed. Stabbed with a twist of the knife, Broken, branded and shamed — Some of us call it life. Maybe you call it life, Torn from all you held dear. Out in the light your wife. And you in the dark, you here. Ruled by a wave of the hand. Watched and bolted and barred; Maybe it's God's command. Some of us call it hard. [29] A VISION OF RELEASE What rarest hues enrich the dingy street! What unimagined harmonies arise! And every beggar-maiden that I meet Is fit to grace a throne in Paradise. Ah, such a greeting laughs from hps and eyes, It seems the sternest anchorite would hear The swelling note of joy that underlies This chord of fellowship; clear and more clear The quivering strings resound in hearts that know not fear. Yet is the city wearisome; I pass Beyond its gates to where the sunlight falls In noon-day brilliancy on the cool grass, [31] HARD LABOR And from his hidden nest a bluebird calls. Comrades of yesterday, within your walls Ye faint beneath your load of misery. Here am I spouse of Nature, in whose halls I rule a revel, turbulently free. The pensive river smiles; the hills laugh back at me. Hour upon hour I drink my fill of this. Deep-sunk in ecstasy; till twilight creeps Over the landscape; and the night-winds kiss The trembling poplar; and the shy moon peeps From the dark chamber where her master sleeps. Poor, starved folk that have escaped the chain, [32] A VISION OF RELEASE Ye know not how the enfranchised spirit leaps To greet the wanderer, fair Night, again Whose loveHness outlasts infinities of pain. Night, and the surge and sweep of new desire That blots to nothingness the written line. At last my eager footsteps may aspire To where sirocco mates with Apennine. Proud Rome and dark Byzantium are mine And she who queens it o'er the Cyclades. Mohammed calls me to his ancient shrine, Egypt unveils her deepest mysteries. Of rose and nightingale murmurs a Per- sian breeze. [33] HARD LABOR The wind-song fails; closed are the temple-gates; The revelry is hushed, the vision spent. Reluctantly the lingering mind awaits New dawn and old, unchanging dis- content. "Are they indeed so spotless-innocent Who draw away from me their gar- ments' hem.? If I be slave of slaves, what punish- ment Shall an almighty God reserve for them.?" So in my waking thought I judge, and I condemn. [34] SHELLEY We talked of Shelley far into the night Till the proud stars, his playmates, jealously Looked down upon your eyes that, daz- zling-bright, Would rob their lover of his loyalty. I pray, if the Most High may grant one plea, A fragment of that ecstasy to keep. The actual, breathing moments may not be. Yet a rewarding harvest may I reap; There is no drought can parch the shadow-field of sleep. We cherished most the tender, bird-like songs; [35] HARD LABOR Not ours to measure doomed Pro- metheus' woe. Nor that sad maniac's, who bore his wrongs To Hstening JuHan and Maddalo. Spring wakened love in us; we could not know The sordid question the long w^inter brought, TMiether to make of misery a show. Of shame a merchandise, or as we ought To bear grief silently, the master-work un wrought. As Shelley wrote in heart's blood, even so Unnumbered threnodies my pen in- dites, Of faithful love dishonored long ago. And dark remorse that fills the age- long nights. This, at the least, a world of pain re- quites; [36] SHELLEY Though on my pilgrimage no sun may shine, I follow not the lure of wand'ring lights, But till, Samaritan, your hand clasps mine, I stagger feebly on to the far-distant shrine. [37] A SEPTIME OF DESPAIR How weary are the hours! The long, long years how slow! Time, palsied, scarce devours The minutes as they go. My cringing spirit cowers Before unworshipped powers. Lord! Must these things be so? How weary are the hours ! The long, long years how slow ! I mock your tales of towers, Of heroes long ago. Spring scatters down her showers, I reck not of her flowers. Lord! Must these things be so.?^ How weary are the hours! The long, long years how slow! [39] HARD LABOR For, though the dark sky lowers Above our shame, we know That there be magic bowers That jessamine endowers. Lord! Must these things be so? How weary are the hours ! The long, long years how slow ! [40] A ROSE IN THE WILDERNESS They have spilt the wine, they have shattered the cup, They have prisoned me. The songs that I sang are scarce stored up In memory. But hither, where naught but henbane grows, God has sent me a wild, red rose And my heart is free. Your love came light as a breeze in May, As a raindrop's patter, A chance word dropped in an artless way In random chatter. But the love that came so light, my dear. Has made of this grim old prison here A little matter. [41] HARD LABOR Parley not with haggard Despair In the lonely nights; Let him not shroud the distant flare Of the beacon-lights. A few scant years of shamed defeat, Then with your arms about me, sweet, Then — to the heights ! [42] PRISON SERENADE This is the outer darkness, Hither shines never a ray. Souls are deadened and damned, Lips have forgotten to pray. Out of the silent shadows Comes the sound of a lute. And, is it sobbing or singing? Close the mouth of the brute. '"Eyes, blue eyes, and hair of gold, Are they yet as they were of old? And lips so red? Softly tread Over the ashes; love is dead." This is the realm of silence, Speech is not, but cries, [43] HARD LABOR Strange and dark and terrible, Out of the stillness rise. Cries, and hark ! that whisper, Is it speech or a blur? "Have not pity on me, O Lord, Lord! Have pity on her!'' "Quit ye like men,'' they tell us, "Whine, nor quarrel, nor faint; So, our brothers in heaven. Ye shall be free of taint." And in the silent shadows Quivers the lute's soft chord. And ever mumbles the crime-scarred, "Pity not me, O Lord!" [44] TO LOVE UNCHANGING They do no evil to imprison me. Else might I not this faithfulness revere Of love that keeps no count of day nor year. Else might I not drink deep this ecstasy. The lifting of the cloud when I am free May light a life new-born, but in her eyes Who blessed the beauty of the darkened skies No more beloved, nor worthier can I be. What wonder that I proudly hold my head. Or that I bear with ease my little frets? Such memories as these are not regrets, [45] HARD LABOR They are the ladder's rungs that I must tread. In one pure realm, fair as the maiden spring, No malefactor am I, but a King. [46] AS I LEAP FORTH As I leap forth Into a strange, kind world, a moment halt My footsteps; and the chance which makes my worth I weigh with that mischance they call my fault. This joy that springs From the dank swamp of hideous misery I am not worthy; but the gay thrush sings Triumphant, and the sun smiles down on me. Unreal it seems, Half ecstasy, half weariness and pain; For so I fear this haven of my dreams Shall vanish, and the storm come back again. [47] HARD LABOR Past, it is past. Before the sweep of dawn the shadows flee. I, from the heart of Hfe long since out- cast, Return, in body as in spirit, free. [48] IN THE GREATER PRISON THE TRAMP'S TALE It's a desolate world to-night, Cold and leafless and murky white. The drunken moon adrift in the sky- Hides and emerges fitfully. The wind to a whining prayer is bent, A mendicant's prayer, impenitent. Dirty and torn to a rag. My coat is the thing I am, A thing for a decent man to damn. My feet that lag On the twisting tracks have burst Through to the knife-keen air; and thirst Wrings and maddens the soul of me. [51] HARD LABOR Free, I said, free! From the eternal monotony of the old time, The feeble slaving for a fool's reward. The cant of folk ^'for ever with the Lord,'' Whose solemn-folded hands are steeped in slime. Free too from those Whose clinging lips suck out between their kisses The souls of men, who shower a thousand woes For every of their petty, doled out bhsses. And at the last Laugh at the starveling from their arms outcast. So I felt as I drifted Forth to the road, and I lifted My voice in a measured song: [52] THE TRAMP'S TALE "I heard in the dusty town The call of the wanton June, And straight over dale and down I followed the breathless tune, Till, past man's farthest abode. In a region of drought and dearth, I sought, by a winding road, The utmost ends of the earth. '^And soon, in the desert places Beyond the horizon's rim. The eager, sorrowful faces Of those I had loved grew dim. But the sun and the careless breeze For the old griefs offered amends, And the olden melodies I sang to the stars, my friends. "Yet Night, as a magic cup Commingled of wine and tears, Hath memories treasured up Of those our radiant years; [53] HARD LABOR And, deep as the grave that Hes Between you and my defeat. The mystery of your eyes I have not forgotten, sweet." Truly a notable song, and quite sincere As far as it went; Only they made the truth appear Awkward and different. A charming tale of a girl is the one they tell. Of a babe new-born, Left lonely to face the hell Of the world's scorn. Free, I said, free! And fate comes behind and scourges me. Till I fling scarred hands to the sky, and curse The God that made me a something worse Than His meanest brutes, and for all my pains [54] THE TRAMP'S TALE Loads and galls me with thoughts for chains. Black thoughts I am doomed for ever to think — Ah . . . give me drink. [55] THE POET FROM HIS GARRET Arrogantly, Above the dazzling^ city, darkness-zoned, I look down on the fools that scoff at me, As one enthroned. Sadly the street Its never-ending monotone uplifts. Across the silent heavens, f earing-fleet. The pale moon drifts. Long, long ago A maiden watched from every storied tower. And to the meanest churl that sighed below Might cast a flower. [57] HARD LABOR Canst thou not see My deep-red rose that lies beneath the lamp? Nay, o'er the luckless petals, wantonly A thousand tramp. [58] DESPAIR IN LONDON It was but yesterday that London seemed The gateway to a kingdom of romance. Upbuilt with mansions where no harm might chance The wanderer, of whose vast halls I dreamed Myself a conqueror. I little deemed That in the happiness of thy bright glance Lay all my triumph, all the radiance That on my pilgrimage a moment gleamed. To-day is sorrow's, and the dull streets moan In sombre answer to my stifled cry. But hearing not, the stranger-souls throng by, [59] HARD LABOR Each with his separate burden, forward faced To some dim goal, whence with relentless haste Again to-morrow he shall pass, unknown. Six barren years of shame, and at the last An ecstacy beyond my power to sing Of love supernal, re-awakening Within my soul dim creeds long since out- cast. What matter? They are vanished, over- past. The raptured moments of our golden spring, And twicefold grief is ours, remember- ing Their fulness through the dreary winter- fast. O laughter-laden Muse, I weave no more [60] DESPAIR IN LONDON Gay crowns of hyacinth for thy fair head, The madrigal is still, to darkness sped The lawless torch of fantasy, whose light. Flaunted so lately in the face of Night, No ministry of labor may restore. O sov'ran city, 'neath whose ancient sway Gigantic empire-forces strive and strain, Hear'st thou, amid the tumult of thy pain. The piping dirge-note of the tune I play. Ah no, the harsh, inexorable gray Of tower and tenement I search in vain, No laurel-garland weave I, but a chain Whose galling links shall fetter me for aye. So that unshaken trust on which I lean. And all our memories, shall be as nought. [61] HARD LABOR No cross shall mark the battle that we fought, No song commemorate the hours of gold, Only the sluggish river shall enfold Once more to its embrace a thing obscene. [62] NEW YORK NIGHT A SUMMER day grows old, And a moment over the town The towers are aflame with gold. As the sun goes down. Tired workers homeward throng In an endless, hurrying stream, And folly awakes ere long To its hour supreme. At last, from square and park. Like a shadow, the silence creeps. Cafe and saloon grow dark. And the city sleeps. So, when life's tumults cease. May the noise of the restless fight Be merged in the sacred peace Of a summer night. [63] THE DEATH OF THE FIRSTBORN "Weep not, beloved; for the all-wise God, That takes this little life to Him again, Is yet all-kind: His weary feet have trod The road of pain." "He has not borne the burden of my grief, Else would He not have robbed me of my son. How can I say of your almighty Thief His will be done.?'' "We may not question Him; our babe that sleeps Shall not the sorrows of the world endure. [65] HARD LABOR Nay, let us think Him merciful, who keeps The lips so pure." "But I could minister to his despair. His deepest infamy I could atone. There is no prison that I could not share Save this alone.'' "Yet if, my sweet, another there shall be. Whose greedy lips shall hang upon your breast. Will you not then in new-found joy agree God's way is best.?" "There is no other that can take his place. Peace there may be; but this shall not depart; Now and for ever is my baby's face Graved on my heart." [66] BEYOND Is it as that one said, Who saw between our frank, desiring eyes Veil upon veil beside our power to tear? Are we then prisoners, who may not share Our servitude, until the body lies In its last bed? Nay, even at the end He said we should not know, but dream- lessly Wait for a nothingness, till, blotted out From this wild book wherein we read but doubt. Our very memories shall cease to be, And cease to blend. Why does he speak of rest? As those storm-driven ones whom Dante hailed Amid the depths, better it were to toss [67] HARD LABOR Hither and thither, shouldering a cross, Until our clasped arms have flagged and failed, Your lips have pressed Mine without agony. And heart has called no more to answ'ring heart. Ah, we are slaves, entangled by a lure Of fate, and bound together to endure The eternal fool's-parade of hfe and art Unchangingly. I will not have it so, There is no veil shall hide your soul from mine. From star to star, onward and upward borne; We shall but laugh death's menaces to scorn. Seeking at last what else may be divine, Save that we know. [68] A SONG FOR YOUR BIRTHDAY Light words spring from thy lips, As I listen and dream, Like the rustle of fairy ships On a fairy stream. Proud looks flash from thine eyes. So proud, my sweet. The shadow of evil lies Dead at thy feet. Thy soul is a sheltered close. In whose twilight deeps Full many a wild wood-rose Blossoms and sleeps. Beloved, through whom I guess At a light divine. Passionate, measureless. Thy heart is mine. [69] SUNSET ON THE DORSET COAST A FINE rain drips on the sluggish sea And the barren down. The mist enshrouds with its panoply The dreary town. And far aloft in a settled gloom, Vast sentinels of decay and doom, The dull cliffs frown. In a cold embrace the shadows fall On the ocean's breast. Bitter the pain of the gulFs harsh call Winged to its nest- But ere the tyrannous hand of Night Can grasp Day's sceptre, a sudden light Startles the west. [71] HARD LABOR The storm-clouds quiver and gleam and flare, As the dying sun With gold and crimson, radiant-rare, Tints one by one; And clear to the ocean's farthest line, A web of fire as gossamer fine The Master has spun. Slowly the splendor wanes and dies, While the dark cHffs stand As naked truth a mirage of lies Born to command; Till the moon in elfin ecstasy Tips with a glamor of faery The desolate strand. [72] BELIEF There is a God above the tenement Who knows its misery, but gives no sign; A holy Spirit, puissant, divine, Yet is the sword sheathed and the gold unspent. I, that would be with little gods content, I, that have worshipped at a mortal shrine. Under such weight of mystery am bent. Nor may belief nor faith in Him be mine. O friend, it is not granted me to trust In One all-powerful, but this I know: Our souls that 'mid this sea of life and lust Are derelicts the winds toss to and fro. Beyond the confines of the charted seas In a fair anchorage might ride at ease. [73] FREEDOM I I WILL go back to those for whom I cried, Outcasts and thieves and slayers of their kind, I will go back with a contented mind, For there, in bondage, may rich truth abide. There, at the least, is hate not deified, And those I welcomed as my friends were free Of that inexpiable infamy By whose dread weight overburdened, Ferrer died. No need have I of joy, no fear of pain, There, in the stillness, none may chain my thought. [75] HARD LABOR Your trivial liberty, so dearly bought. Freely and gladly I give back again. I pray you, comrades, open wide your gate. Nay, pity not, I was with you of late. [76] FREEDOM II Into the gray world whither I return Few wander who may voice its mys- tery. One jester-priest there was, who curi- ously Strove the calm face of Sorrow to dis- cern, Dropping her tears upon the gruesome urn. He knew, who sang of Reading, all that lies Behind the watchful penetrative eyes Of these my friends, save that he could not learn; For, as bare hillsides through an evening mist Are robed in dreams, so that firm- bolted grate. Through which he could but gaze dis- consolate, [77] HARD LABOR Seems but a lattice where Delight keeps tryst, And they whose sins ye think beyond all cure To me are holy, in that they endure. [78] FREEDOM III Ah no, I may not seek, beloved, there My haven; lest thine arms around me twine No longer, and thy lips, that breathe on mine Triumphantly, pale to a swift despair. The cross that I have given thee to bear Presses too hard, it must not crush thee, sweet, And this last hour of sorrowful defeat Must be forgotten in the joys we share. So much is won, we may not lose the rest; So much is known, we may not start nor shrink; If there be poison in the cup we drink Together, surely is it not unblest. And though to the great silence we depart I shall be prisoner within thy heart. 179] NOV 11 ISIi One copy del. to Cat. Div. NOV jg \9\\