3513 1911 VIE WS AND VISIONS Villiam Griffith Class "PS 3 5 ) 3 Book >T?7 C-5 Copyright N?.. ^ COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT; ^llilllllllllllllil^ JnWIIIIIIIIIIIIIIlBi VIEWS AND VISIONS By William Griffith it Sgf New York Moffat, Yard & Company 1911 Copyright, 191 1 By William Griffith CI.A297285 To My Wife ARGUMENT Critic. Someone has mentioned your attempt to modernize a form of dialogue once popular as a manner of dramatic ex- pression. Is the idea original? Author. Others since Virgil and Spenser have used the same vehicle successfully. Critic. It is something of a novelty? Author. Fairly so ; at least with respect to the American application. Critic. While you have used the form of verse, do you think rhyme in dialogue is natural? Author. It may be musical. Critic. One might say that you were trying to realise the poetry of new-world life? Author. Only in so far as others may realise the same thoughts and emotions. Brown personifies an immature mind overshadowed by fatalism. It is not an extraordinary obses- sion, though the character has many necessary limitations. Gray has something of the philosopher about him, and Green is simply a happy medium. They voice only vague murmurs and echoes that have come by intermittently : voices from in- visible verandahs : hints and aspirations and memories and emotions of pulses that beat and have probably beaten forever through the world. Critic. How odd — the names ! Author. I had thought them obvious. Critic. The fatalism you have spoken of is abstract, so far as you have gone. A play would seem more ample for the de- velopment of the idea. Author. Why attempt the impossible? Critic. Impossible? Author. Well, say — a readable play? Critic. Ah ! I understand. Author. Yes? CONTENTS Argument 4 Spring ' Summer 23 Autumn 37 Winter 53 SPRING Scene: New York. Time: The Present. SPRING Brown. Gray. Green. Brown at a table is reading a daily paper. Gray has just entered the room, and is seated near a window. A number of news- papers and periodicals cover the table. Above a confused mur- mur of voices from the outside echoes the commerce of the avenue. Brown. To-day, the same as yesterday, The sun goes toiling west. Gray. Another joyous roundelay Awakens nest by nest. Once more the green Aprilian woods Are brimming with the spring. Brown. And now the wilding mary-buds Are shyly opening. 9 Gray. But never bud nor bloom nor bird, Nor sylvan serenade, Have we on Broadway seen or heard Above the din of trade. By day and night the sounding town Is drumming a refrain Of riches and of rich renown, Of gayety and gain, Of human life becoming cheap, And means of living dear, Until — if one could only sleep Beyond a waking here ! Of course desires and pleasures are Enhanced by death. Brown. The stress Gray. Of living seems to grow. We mar Our health and happiness, In our own souls and bodies, by Imagining the worst Precedes the best. 10 Brown. Mere martvrs ! Gray. Why Be known among the first? Brown. Oblivion is failure still. Gray. Success is understood By only those who have the will To please the multitude. Brown. Success is something more and more Impossible to gauge, Amid the heavy iron roar And thunder of the age. My soul has no dynamic force, Nor energy divine, To follow any other course Than happens to be mine. And whatsoever may befall Is profitless and stale : My youth has been a prodigal At every bargain sale. 11 Gray. I hear the clamor of the town, As something that pursues A fugitive to drag him down, And put him in the news. Anon a trumpet warning peals And challenges the fears That rush and rally at my heels, And gather with the years. On my despairing gaze the sun Of Arcady and Ind Appears like innocence when one Defiantly has sinned. The imagery is as dim As innocence to me, Upon my word ! Brown. A passing whim, To jest at misery. Nor may you ever understand My ghost of haunting woe, When, like a trinket in my hand, The earth swing's far below. 12 Gray. As if by sorcery, the moon Arises from her bowers And slips her shawl — on lilies soon To strav among her flowers. Good — lack ! Brown. The heavy sable shade Is yonder backward drawn ; Behold her walking like a maid, Far on the starry lawn In blossom ! Gray. Dian is abroad Without a chaperone ! Brown. No, no! Gray. Betray and then defraud Yourself — and live alone : For you must answer, ill or well. For all vou do and see. 18 Brown, With eyes that dwell, as one in hell, On far felicity, I still review the simple ways Of happy, hallowed years. Of late the sun has led my days In very sordid spheres. By night a coil of avenues, Around a thousand eyes, Is writhing where the city views Inviolable skies Adorned and jeweled with the stars. Beneath them, waging stark Rebellion, many a toiler wars With hunger in the dark. Blaspheming and beyond the pale Are ghoulish shapes that greet, On every hand, the wan and frail Drab women of the street. By day the sore and feeble stray Amid the sights that breed In lanes and avenues — the prey Of every crouching need. 14 Once — once when, raving in his cell At some derisive nod, They said the convict prayed to hell, I almost doubted God ! Gray. Divinity has been denied By many a brooding mind ; And looking on the darkest side, Drives men and women blind. Though life and love are bought and sold, Remember that the trees Forever mantle as of old With green embroideries. Hearing the matins and the lauds Of heaven chime and ring, The sun still rises and applauds The jocund shout of spring. Brown. On Broadway, by a happy chance, My eyes have freshly seen The soul of April and Romance, Not far from Bowling Green. And something came down from the skies Distilling fresh delight, As though a rose in human guise Had blossomed on my sight. 15 Another once familiar face And presence suddenly Were summoned evermore to grace A fading memory. And like a song that has been sung, Or story that is told, My aching thoughts have been among The happy days of old. Singing heard without SONG They have asked me why the flowers. Lady mine, Cast a shadow on the hours, As they pine. Surely they know not the room In dream-chambers where the gloom May be sweetened by a bloom, Lady mine! If I plucked the stars for roses, Lady mine, And told all that day discloses, As the shine Of the sunlight strikes the shade Round the golden petals laid On your bosom, they would fade, Lady mine. 16 Gray But if I could run a brook, Lady mine, That with chatters through each nook Would entivine, In its ebb and surge and flow, All the roses, do you know What the breeze would whisper low, Lady minef Daphnis is hoarsely hindering The music of the spheres, Rehearsing something he can sing To Chloe. Brown. He appears. Enter Green still singing. A hi the falling years grow heavy, Lady mine. Though the blossoms in your bevy Still are fine, Do you know what Time will do To the roses plucked for you, When the sun has left no dew, Lady mine? 17 Gray. Aha ! with Cupid from the woods. The king-cups you have seen Approach and doff their little hoods Before the Fairy Queen. Brown. A gross anachronism ! Bow Them out of doors ! Green. I seem To see the fairies even now, As in a boyish dream : Away down in a wooded dell, Still trooping through the shade, Step by step to an elfin bell, A gorgeous cavalcade. Anon the warriors gather round With leafy lances bent; The beetle, with his bugle wound, Proclaims the tournament. And dimly, as the airy sprites Upraise a muffled cheer, The firefly in the grasses lights His swinging chandelier. 18 Gray. Since when have you returned From where the twilight veils Arcadia ? Brown. And only learned To label fairy tales Green. Of revelry? A starry fay, With heaven listening Out on the hills, taught me to-day A song the thrushes sing. Something bids the Forest hush Little pinions softly whir; Hardly in the underbrush Does a leaf or shadow stir. Is it playing just in fun Or in tears the Forest grieves, Ere the happy morning sun Glances in among the leaves? O to hear a happy voice, Just the angel of the rain Bidding earth and sky rejoice? Sing on — sing that song again! 19 Gray. What? Brown. Green. On the hills? Yes; let me think. Gray. Oh, never think to pin The angels down ! But up and drink A health to spring! Brown, Begin. Gray. Of seasons there are many more, But in the race we run, Does anybody win before The setting of the sun? A stout heart is the merry heart Upon a fading trail ; So ho ! here in the busy mart, I sing the humming ale. 20 Chorus. We sing the humming ale, good friend ! But here's a health to you, With one more when the race shall end, To show the prize we drew. Heigh-ho ! the bowl, from brim to brim, Lies full. Fill a cup. While now the rosy apples swim, All hail! Drink it up. Green. The siren city offers some Felicity, but oh ! Once more at leisure let me roam Where summer breezes blow ! Once more the sturdy roving foot ; Then with an ample load Of gay hopes and an easy boot, I sing the open road. Chorus. We sing the open road, good friend ! But here's a health to you, With one more to the nappy blend Of Saxon in the brew. Heigh-ho! the bowl, from brim to brim, Lies full. Fill a cup. While now the rosy apples swim. All hail ! Drink it up. 21 Brown. The clamor of the town may sleep A thousand years, and still Dreams in a thousand hearts shall leap Under the urging will. The north may blight the winds that bless ; The gypsy child may rove ; But still, for hope and happiness, I sing the song of love. Chorus. We sing the song of love, good friend ! But here's a health to you, With one more to the hopes that send The parting moments through. Heigh-ho ! the bowl, from brim to brim. Lies full. Fill a cup. While now the rosy apples swim, All hail ! Drink it up. 22 SUMMER SUMMER Persons — The Same The room is lighted by hanging lamps in the center. A mazer bowl is on the table. The moon shines through an eastern window. Green. A clear soprano, filled with sun, The wood-thrush weaves his wedding song. Gray. Once more blithe summer voices throng. Green. Once more the gossip waters run. Gray. Marsh-marigolds, bright flowers of hope, Are twinkling over fens and lakes. Green. Upon a thousand gardens breaks A thunder-shower of heliotrope. Gray. And daisy-blossoms fringe the lanes. 25 Green. Gray. Green. Gray. And where the drowsy primrose dreams The livelong day, the woodland streams Are brimming with the summer rains. The robin beats his golden gong With rapture, leading many a band Of woodland minstrels. Down the land, Come merle and mavis borne along. They say a bird on every tree Is busy with a song. Brown. They say A million human voices pray Upon a second Calvary. A distant sound of weary feet Arises dimly to my ears, As though a fountain-head of tears Were playing yonder in the street. Green. The owl molests the solemn chime In many a belfry far away. 26 Brown. A flash of faces, wan and gray With hunger, haunts our happy time. Green. While happy alto voices ring. Brown. All day the restless millions rush. Green. About this hour a conscious hush Is shattered where the linnets sing. Gray. A conscious hush? Green. As real and dear As loves and happy lovers are, Unseen companions are as far Removed as heaven and as near. Brown. So far may fancy, rather, stray. Green. No, no ! Brown. Then, comrade, let us see Another summer memory, With meadows waving far away. 27 Gray. Turn down the lamps ! Green. Wait! Brown. Turn them out Completely ! Green. You may fail to see. Gray. Dive deep. We promise secrecy. Brown. Begin while silence soothes the doubt. Green. Softly the wandering breezes pass And whisper something through the years, Disclosing all the green frontiers, As in a magic looking-glass. Afar the blue horizon fills And mantles with a rosy foam : And now the herds are winding home, As evening gathers on the hills. 28 A distant ridge :. with shaded eyes, I stand and gaze : and over all The hills and dales a human call Arises clear and dwells and dies: Arises with an echo so Melodious and thin and lone, The thrushes launch a trembling tom j On waves of music sobbing low. And over hill and over dale, As darkness settles on the land, Softly the moon, with cloudy hand, Puts on her lace and silver veil. Then dying, dying out again, The sobbing billows faintly break On phantom shores : the zephyrs shake, And darkness overruns the plain. Brown. An overworn and faded theme. Green. I hear the quails and thrushes sing, In coveys blithely twittering. Brown. I hear the demon whistles scream A hoarse reminder. 29 Gray. O to see A blue-bird singing in the street ! Green. Extremes, wide-circling, often meet ; And discord strengthens harmony. So never mope nor ever dwell On direful woes and ancient wrongs, As maddening as the maddest songs Of cap and bell. Brown. Beneath the spell Of ambushed meanings that dismay My wondering soul, above me leer Devouring eyes — as those of fear. Gray. Green. Unleash the dogs and come away ! A danger, wooed in wilfulness, Caps vanity. Which, capped, avoid. Decisive moments, unemployed, Are swift forerunners of distress. 30 Brown. Who can avoid the human pang That stabs a spirit at the Throne, When many hear the doom of one Green. Gray. Who dreamt his foolish dreams and sang? Or wise or foolish, let us cross No bridges ere we come to them. For evermore the rarest gem Is hidden where the tempests toss. So now, another round of ale, And someone sound a sylvan note. Green. As once in outland ways remote Was heard the whistle of the quail Across the lonely miles and far Away where earth and heaven meet On hallowed ground, in dear and sweet Communion with the evening star. Brown. There are no longer any dews In mist or rain, nor any bell To toll me nearer home and quell The thunder of the avenues. 31 Green, Away from city and from town New hopes may blossom and unfold. Brown. Aspire and dream and feel the old Enthusiasm dying down! Green. Gray. Green. If duty has been reckoned least, A song is nobler never sung. Of course — and rosaries are strung For penitents as well as priest. Well said ! Brown. Albeit feeble speech May touch the story clumsily, Some haunting Presence follows me, Prodigious in its subtle reach. I gaze from heaven, from the gate, Adown our vasty starlit hall, Wherein the nations rise and fall Like shadows, at the whim of fate. 32 A moment near, a moment gone, And sounding on the iron skies, A Voice of thunder dwells and dies And still the world moves on and on. Crowding the distant starry road, With banners fading one by one, The review passes and — alone, I dream the solitude of God. Green. Unreal reality. Gray. Green. Gray. Green. Gray. Green. Ah — \es! The paradox may have a phase Of truth ; but come, a health — to raise This siege of growing moodiness ! A health around ! One more — and then. Good-night. You leave? My holiday. And whither? 33 Gray. England. Green. What? Hooray For Merrie England once again ! Gray. For all the English flags unfurled Beneath the sun ! Brown. And why not our Republic mighty with the power To mold the future of the world With hands as strong and sure as faW The emblem of the flag we fly Is peace, to station manhood high, Or war, to make a nation great. Gray. Green. Gray. The world is watching, from afar, An empire, born of its distress. Awakening to consciousness. The glory of our rising star Shall never wane. The sword and pen We wield as when our fathers saw The dawn of universal law, In England among Englishmen. 34 Brown. . I think of Ireland held in thrall. Gray. I think that I have somewhere heard Of freedom as an Irish word, Revered among us most of all. Green. For Law and Freedom ! Brown. Why not, pray, America — and with a cheer? Green. Brown. Hurrah — stand up Gray. And let us hear From some one with a wassail. Stay ! We have heard the toast to a people Who inherit the English tongue ; By the men of the far horizons Their praises have been sung — 35 Sung by the warder kinsmen Who stand for a common cause, When the vandal cannon thunder Against the iron laws. They talk of the King and the Kaiser War-bent on the thin frontier ; Under the ocean passes A rumor — is it fear? While the great gray seas are chanting Songs under the golden sun, Shall prophets thrive who advertise The end of the world begun? O waste on the west no wassail ! On the east nor the south nor north ! For to-night, as the starry cohorts Break ranks and sally forth, Shine the lights of a beacon empire On either side of the sea ; Drink — drink that the sun shall ever Be shining on the free ! And peace to the cobwebbed cannon ! In peace, as brothers may, While the ships of a whiter squadron Ride on to a brighter day, A health to the Unknown Father! To the Universal Plan! And the Law of a kindred children, From the Straits to Hindostan ! 36 AUTUMN AUTUMN Persons — The Same All entering. Brown. Four months? Gray. To-day. Brown. And you are back From overseas to recommend The treadmill and the beaten track, That lead to nothing in the end? Where men, who want for daily bread, Must follow as the phantom leads, And wear, rebelliously, instead Of coronals, a flow of beads? 39 Foregoing everything, to think Of wandering across the sea, With time enough to breathe, and drink The nectar of such luxury ! Gray. But- Brown. Though Content can house the sun When Joy sits by the ingle-hearth, There is no joy for any one Denied the freedom of the earth. And I am bonded as a slave, Beyond the help of hollow words. Green. Indeed? Brown. Because I dared not brave Dismissal and go where the birds, Across the dreamy golden hours, Through sunny afternoons took flight, And, singing, wakened in the flowers The pulses of a new delight. 40 Gray. Necessity has made me fear The pinch of poverty and need, And drudge and duel daily here, With thoughts of other mouths to feed, Touching the spirit of it all Are still the hornets of distress, As now and then I half recall Some old forgotten happiness. I have a poem that may serve To lift and take you out of town. Green. A poet — you? Gray. It does take nerve To read one. Green. Then you read it, Brown. Brown (reading). WANDERLUST God, with a dawning gaze, Kindles the sun, Forging the iron days One after one: 41 Shapes and designs the trees, And now and then, Fanning the furnaces, Labors on men; Smiting and hammering This from an ape, That from a stammering Primeval shape; Giving them each the vast Reach of the sky, Since the dark ages passed Tardily by. Showing the way to choose Rest and reward From the green revenues Next to the sward; Urging and beckoning City and town Foi-th for a reckoning Now and anon Over the open trail, Clean from the din; Sun — stars — a friendly hail, And the wayside inn. 42 Green. Harken the heavy iron clang, Such as the world was built upon ! Brown. O for the times when Homer sang The holy candor of the dawn ! Gray. Why brood and browse on Once and 1 Hen. When Here and Now are full of hope. And women bravely tread with men The upward and the downward slope? Green. Or whether in or whether out, When Fortune happens down the way. Be thankful for the call. Gray. Brown. Green. Gray. And shout With us who hail the coming day. A far cry ! No! Whom have yon met To introduce so much of gloom? In happiness one must forget. 43 Brown. My spring, that left, forgot to bloom. And happiness, though erstwhile sweet, Was but as poppies ere they swoon, With faces shyly raised to meet A fatal kiss — the kiss of noon. For days grow long, and one grows tired Of shaping ways and means to fit ; You may not know that I am hired — The latest auctioneer of wit. With all the harvest of a youth Misspent, I now am left by art With needless songs, to bear — forsooth ! The burden of a wasted heart. Tf euthanasia were — Green. No, no! We carry burdens of our own. As Jacob did when long ago, His harder pillow was a stone. The moral is as broad to-day As it is long — and new and true As is our greatly simple lay That trumpets the Red, White and Blue- 44 Gray. I heard it in a London mart ; Berlin ; St. Petersburg ; amid The Paris coil : and in the heart Of Venice and of old Madrid, I heard men marvel as they praised The mighty Mother who, at last, Had borne and mightily upraised A people who could shame the past. Green. Begin again! Brown. An epic role, When all around us is the din Of armament. Gray. Brown. A mazer bowl, And we are all immortal ! In The breath of war. it docs suffice To say that laureates — alack ! Are but as foolish little flies Blown in a dusty window-crack. 45 Green. So, out with cares and let us hear How Green has found the countryside ; And how the golden fields appear, With portaled harvests opened wide. Occultly through a riven cloud, The ancient river shines again, Still wandering like a silver road Among the cities in the plain. On far horizons softly lean The hills against the coming night ; And mantled with a russet green, The orchards gather into sight. Through apples hanging high and low, In ruddy colors deeply spread From core to rind, the sun melts slow, With gold upcaught across the red. And here and there, with sighs and calls, Among the hills an echo rings Remotely as the water falls And down the meadow softly sings. A wind goes by ; the air is stirred With secret whispers far and near ; Another token — just a word Had made the rose's meaning clear. 46 I see the fields ; I catch the scent Of odors from the fresh split wood, Where bearded moss and stains are blent With autumn rains, and all is good. An air arising turns and lifts The fallen leaves where they had lain Beneath the trees, then weakly shifts And slowly settles back again. While with far shouts, now homeward bound, Across the fields the reapers go; And, with the darkness closing round, The lilies of the twilight blow. Brown. Cease, cease ! Gray. Green. Around us rings and roars The rush of traffic. Over trees, On wood and orchard nature pours A wave of autumn witcheries. Brown. Around us rolls the roar and rush On every side, on every hand. 47 Green. Beyond us dawns a crimson flush Of glory on the autumn land. Brown. A captive spirit is but one Imploring something beautiful. Gray. Lanier and Whitman saw the sun As something other than the dull Had yet imagined. Brown. Artists crave The hidden soul in everything. Green. I hear the merle and mavis rave, With mellow voices twittering So sweetly ! Brown. Art is but a mood Deluding those who are but wise Enough to crave a mental food Mixed half with truth and half with lies. Green. With lies? 48 Gray. Green. Gray. No, no ! Men meet and part In droves and flocks : but it is rlee'ce Half clothes the world : and, as for art, The city is a masterpiece. And I oft think it is but meet That beauty never grows so fair But that men. searching in the street, May find it there, may find it there. So, fill again, and let us hear Of England and her ancient halls : In the gray empires bring us near The age-old, warrior-guarded walls. When victor over vanquished stood, And men thought chivalry to be A pilgrimage in manlihood. Before the shrine of courtesy. So long ago they went their way That but their shadows now remain, Beyond such things as be to-day, With chivalry upon the wane. 49 Europe is still across a blue, Interminable barricade, And gazes frowning on the new Frontier and order we have made. Yet, as when in that Minster aisle Amid the tombs, at times I see A stately vision slowly file From the old realms of pageantry; When he, the lion-hearted king, Was royally a troubadour, And he, of fame still echoing, Belied his youth at Azincour ; Or when those simple warrior lords. Within the Temple Garden gate. Stood and on high, with fiery words, Raised the red rose and wrecked a State. But wars are only on the chart As guiding periods for those Who storm the head or rule the heart. Above rash feuds of broiling foes. And Shakespeare, as he lives to-day, Is still the maestro who shall sing Such songs as only singers may When joy-bells of a nation ring. 50 Brown. His iron crown permits him reign A prince among the men of rhyme ; A man bid by the fates remain Forever at the heart of time. Gray. Green. Gray. With Bess and Henry? Prince or peer. His sway is over all romance, From Rome to Arden Wood. I fear No eulogies are left for France. Nor for the Man of Destiny Who, in his hour of triumph — lo ! With unawed will was soon to see The ruined dream at Fontainebleau. So let us only mourn the night. Wherein the heavens once again. With Europe watching, leap to light Above the star — the star of Spain. 51 Green. We will not mourn — we will not end, While hope and love continue great. The west is strong. Brown. The west will lend Her strength to aid a crippled State. Cuba, that staggers in the dark, Hastens the dawn and bids us see Clearly the way ahead and mark The milestones of eternity. Gray. Then ho for this young land of ours ! Brown. This child of nations brave to do ! Green. Hurrah ! we bring her native flowers. Gray. We bring her amaranth and rue. 52 WINTER WINTER Persons — The Same Logs blazing in the hearth. Gray. A merry blaze brings in the year. Green. The world is blithe and warm In many a home where none may hear The slander of the storm. Gray. And comfortable cronies know That right as well as wrong Is swaying empires to and fro, And driving them along. Grav years and tears are but as one Wan dew-drop in a cup, Just brimming over ere the sun Forever dries it up. 55 Despair and strength we have in kind, The sunshine and the showers, Wayfaring with this giant, blind, Old staggering world of ours. So come — bring in the ruddy ale A-frothing, to be sure. Desire and happiness prevail That men may but endure. Once more — a health ! Brown. Your mood is light But light and lighter still Must be the hearts of those to-night Who would evade the chill. For yonder crouching in his lair, Now shrewdly shifting — hark ! How clean the claws of winter tear The marrow of the dark ! Ah ! comrades, do you know how wild And piercing, incomplete, Is silence when a little child Begs vainly in the street? 56 Green. I see the idle workman roam, Starving and miserable, Without a friend — presaging some Wan acolyte of hell. By many a hearth, in sore distress, The mother, hollow-eyed, Is hiding from a childish guess Her deep, heart-broken pride. I hear the Christian curse his birth, And strong men crying out Against the heavens and the earth, In blasphemy and doubt. I see despair traced on the wall Where none knew what it meant, In companies ignoring all The smothered discontent. Again they meet. Lo, lo — the tread Of lawless bands ! I see, Upon a thousand faces spread, The scowl of anarchy. Enough — nor dwell on hapless things So blighting to our cheer! For low and loud the birch-log sings A welcome to the year. 57 And while we watch the dancing elves, Just turn another page, And recollect that we ourselves Live in a golden age. O mark you how the flame-flowers soothe The old year into glee, With yon logs crooning low to smooth Your frowns of anarchy ! Brown. Mv anarch frowns? Green. Yes. Brown. Sure you know They shadow darkened moods. I know not why ; but, ah ! the glow Of flame-flowers scents the woods ! Gray. A nibble ! Watch him ! To insist Upon a glowing scent, Is marking you an anarchist. Or else a decadent. 58 Brown. The cavilers may safely cry A hackneyed phrase at large In literature — Gray. Perpol Brown. And fly No reasons with the charge. Gray. Proceed and tell us how you write Between a hope and fear ; And how the learned critics slight A modern sonneteer. Brown. The tale is less than many think Who christen it divine. With no emotions taught to drink Remembrance as of wine. My days are spent pursuing art. With nature as a guide, Amid the lilies of the heart. Through fibres pushed aside. 59 Green. Wherefore I cull me here a rose, With lilies in between ; And reap but where Another sows, To sow where others glean. While plucking blossoms now and then For love alone, I know, Alas ! nor how nor even when Another one will grow. And so beneath the weight of time, My heart, with making sure Of caging songs within a rhyme, Wists them evade the lure Forevermore. No more of moods ! But pipes and glasses bring! For all about us now the woods Are carpeted with spring. Like fugitives from fairyland, With dewy gems impearled, The flowers begin to understand And range the forest world. 60 1 see the sleepy roses peer Around the passing herds, Awakening as if to hear Some carol of the birds. While back and forth the king-cups skip About the blossom-queen ; All watching now the crocus trip A measure down the green. Brown. Already drifting is the snow On roof and square and street. With muted echoes from the slow, Sad tramp of weary feet. Thev come and 2fo who feel the stern Necessities that prop Their failing strength — and only learn The hopelessness of hope. Green. Gray. Hark ! midnight slowly tolls. Time leaps The hurdled universe Once over. 61 Brown. Green. While the city sleeps Securely on its purse Of luxury. No more, for lo ! I only see the woods, As down the year, beyond the snow, A rosy orchard buds ; Wherein, by many a spreading tree, Descending far away, In clean forgetfulness I see The little children play. And vocalized the air now shakes As, after waiting long Beside her nest, the mother breaks Into a world of song. Till gathering from far and near, The wondrous lyrics ring, And daffodils arouse to hear The leaping laugh of spring. Already over tower and town, With night and darkness gone, Around the lily stars are blown The roses of the dawn. 62 Gray. Hurrah ! Green. Aurora bravely pins On high a starry page. Gray. Hurrah ! Brown. The dawn? Green. Whereof begins Another golden age. Brown. sorry jest — and one that rings With mockeries of art ! Gray. It is no jest ; for joy still sings Deep in the common heart. Brown. 1 fear the songs know much distress. Gray. Above the darkest night, The stars still shine. Brown. For happiness? 63 Gray. Immortal souls shall light On earth forever and for aye With their magnificat, While lad and lass together stray. Green. The heavens echo that : For it is love makes life divine. Gray. A million systems move, With crowding suns and moons that shine Beneath the rule of love. Brown. The world begins to tire. Gray. The great World, staggering and hurled From God, is master of its fate. Green. The world! Brown. Alas! Gray. The world! 91! One copy del. to Cat. Div. OCT s i9i| 015 905 666 1 M