i V *< .• i* .."•« *c kV * "*' ^ ; ^o« *.^ , *■ .ft c^ • < L« ^. A^ ♦ **A •HO.. fiti, V «f <*-♦♦ .*£fer-, \>\-j^. * aV *^v • r^^ft o^^^?» A.V"** -N A ... ^'^P A 6* ... *0 -..• A <\ ... ^ •-. L*" »•*•. "> 5* .."'. ** .»S^. '*. cP* .C^!. °0 ,*' .1^.1' ** r .»"•-. ^ SEVEN SONNETS and Other Poems J. CAREY THOMAS, 2nd. BOSTON THE GORHAM PRESS 1917 Copyright 1917, by J. Carey Thomas, 2nd. All Rights Reserved • The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. OCT 20 1917 rv \ Dedication To Elisabeth this book CONTENTS Pages Seven Sonnets to Elisabeth 9 Peccavi 13 Triolets 14 The Lost Key 15 The Hidden Heart 15 Light and Darkness 16 Triolets to Spring 16 Ballade 17 Our Teachers 18 Two Ballades 20 The College Student's Ballade of Desire 22 Ballade for the Glorious Fourth 23 To Susanne 24 To O — and M — on their Wedding Day 25 Rondeau — a Dweller in Meroz 26 Sonnet 27 From the German of Heinrich Heine "Die Lorelei" 28 From the German of Goe\the "Wanderers Nachtlied" 29 From the Fench of Victor Hugo "Extase" 29 Horace, Book v, Ode ' , "Paraphrase" 30 A Translation from Dante's "Vita Nuova" 31 Another from the Same 32 Sunset 33 Tuckerton Creek 34 Eventide 35 The Snow 36 The Snow, Second Treatment 37 The Castle of Dreams 38 To Shelly 39 The Last Poet 40 To Walt Whitman 41 To the Late Dr. R. H. T 42 The Eyes that Weep 43 Fame 44 / 45 Truth (?) 46 CONTENTS Page Written Under Eugene Field's "Christmas Treasures" 47 Welcome to Sleep 47 The Passover 48 An Altar in Gilgal 49 The Waning Moon 50 The Wangaloo 51 In a Volume of W. S. Calverley's Poems 51 The Land of Sleepy-Eye 52 A Reverie 52 My Lady of The Moon 53 Sweet My Heart 53 Verses 54 The Wrong Combination 54 Past , Present and Future 55 To a Pet Snake that Died 56 The Boss 57 The Death of Balder 58 The Scarlet Shore 59 A Fragment 60 To— 60 A Prayer 62 SEVEN SONNETS and Other Poems SEVEN SONNETS TO ELISABETH I I came upon the tennis court one day, And there you were ! And all the fire of spring Took hold of me and made me want to sing ; And yet there were no words for me to say ! Just thoughts — such thoughts that blossom, as in May The trees do, when the gentle breezes swing The bursting, formless buds on high, and fling Their unknown scents from every dancing spray. Why could I fit no words to my soul's tune? Nor find fit phrases for a worship-song? Nor bind you with the Norseman's magic rune, Whose spell is stronger than all else is strong — All save the love-warmth born of sun and June? I could do naught of this; — but long, and — long! II I laughed at love! And being young, my scorn Raised flairing banners, from the loom of pride, Far-flaunting; and it pleased me to deride Such fools as fancied-love had caused to mourn. Those vaunting banners now indeed are torn ; My scornful boasting of itself has died ; And I am that which erstwhile I decried: A slave to love, and fearful, and forlorn. It could not otherwise have been with me; Nor would I have it seem that I complain. That only is at length which was to be ; For all my early confidence is vain In that I knew not that I knew not thee Whom knowing, I must build again in Spain. Ill O, feathered songster on the barren spray, Why dost thou sing? For lo! the leaves are dead And all things joyful with the summer fled ; — Yet still thou singest through the livelong day. " 'Tis love for which I sing", the bird did say, "I glory; for my heart at length hath bled Within me, and my peace of mind hath sped ; And love's sweet bitterness now holds me prey." And I, dear Beth, I know the bird spoke true, At least in part, for I, I too must sing Because of— just because of loving you, Than which I know not any other thing Save that my soul, a phoenix born anew, Love-resurrected from this flame shall spring. 10 IV The snow of night is falling, dear, and I Can see it glimmer through the silent night Across my study window's path of light As musing, in my morris-chair I lie. And as in tangled dance the snow-flakes fly All merry that my lamplight makes them bright; So whirl my thoughts about in mazy flight, My love for you the light I see them by ! My love for you ! The only single ray Of light that ever set my soul aflame! That burns untended both by night and day, By day and night untended — yet the same! Could you but see all that its beams display ! Could you but answer when I call your name ! V As time goes by, and as I see you more I find my love increasing hour by hour; I find myself completely in your power With head bowed down to worship and adore. Ah, could my love but give me wings to soar! From what undreamed of heights would I not lower O'er all these little, futile folk that cower Before Love's house and its half-opened door! And if your love for me were half as great As mine for you, there is no destiny Within the shut scroll of unseeing fate Would be beyond the reach of you and me, If we should come to be — or soon or late — What God has always meant that we should be. II VI Dear Heart, the very breeze is whispering Thy name, in sweetly modulated tone, To me, as I am standing here alone And harkening to the thousand voiced spring Whose many sounds harmonically sing Thy praise. Ah, could these love-wrought songs atone A little for the time so vainly flown Through fault of mine, that I delayed to bring That heart to thee that is thy very own ; — If this might be there is no reasoning Of human wisdom that could hinder me From pilgrim-travel to fair Venus' shrine Apart from all the world, with only thee, Dear Heart of Love, to pour the votive wine. VII Deart Heart, when first the great Creator made A woman, I am very sure that He Was blindly groping for a one like thee. But lo! His great conception was delayed; For so the voice of all-wise Nature bade: "Oh, not too soon! Let man not sudden see, Nor all at once, the climax of desire!" So age by age the great Creator wrought, And fashioned woman toward His primal thought As gold is shapen, soft'ning fire by fire, From each re-issuing into something higher, Until He found in thee all that He sought. Thou art, Dear Heart, the perfect thought of One Whose lesser thoughts were Earth, and Moon, and Sun! 12 PECCAVI Last night I gazed upon a scorching fire ; — The very atmosphere was heated red With that fell flame, whose amorous lust was fed With my own spirit, that did there expire Sapped by the red flame's passionate desire, That had its utmost will of it till dead. All shuddering from the shame of that embrace, I saw my spirit lie, all black of hue ; The mad flame kissed the back-turned lips anew, And fondled still the unresponsive face; And everywhere it kissed — in that same place A dead soul's blood came rushing into view. My spirit, lust-consumed before its hour — Lay dead, deflowered of its life and power. I saw the embers glowing red and white, The poor dead things that once had been my soul) Th' extatic flame still kissed each glowing coal; And still its kisses, like a withering blight, Seared all they touched, and lust-consumed it quite With heat of passion, strong beyond control. And in exuberance of lustihood, And wild delirium of fulfilled desire It clasped the fragments shattered by its fire; And seemed to welter in my spirit's blood, As 'twere some all revivifying flood Unto whose potency it did aspire. But lo! Full suddenly from out that flame, My soul, a phoenix, from its ashes came. 13 TRIOLETS It is easy to write If your verses be triolets. You can see at first sight It is easy to write ! If you wish to indite Something nice with your violets, It is easy to write — If your verses be triolets. II II y a beaucoup de fleurs Dans mon jardin de Tame; Sur mon parterre du coeur II y a beaucoup de fleurs Qui toujours demeurent Pour les choix de ma dame. II y a beaucoup de fleurs Dans mon jardin de Tame. Ill Little bird, sing to me ; Summer has fled! Is there aught you can bring to me? Little bird, sing to me ! Why did you wing to me, Hope being dead? Little bird, sing to me; Summer has fled! 14 THE LOST KEY. Love one day was playing Hide and seek with me. Need is not of saying Love one day was playing ! Within my heart estraying, Love mislaid the key. Love one day was playing Hide and seek with me. Love, I hold you now Locked within my heart. Safe and fast, I trow, Love, I hold you now! The lime is on the bough ! The bird may not depart ! Love, I hold you now Locked within my heart. THE HIDDEN HEART I hid my heart in a bed of clover, A fitting bed for an empty heart, Far from the sight of the meanest lover. I hid my heart in a bed of clover, And the fragrant blossoms covered over The poor dead thing I had hidden apart. I hid my heart in a bed of clover, A fitting bed for an empty heart ! 15 LIGHT AND DARKNESS When the sun shines on high There is joy in the world. The birds laugh as they fly When the sun shines on high; And we blissfully lie On the grass, lightly curled. When the sun shines on high There is joy in the world. In the darkness of night All our joy flees away, All our pleasure takes flight. In the darkness of night All is wrong, naught is right, For we live but by day. In the darkness of night All our joy flees away. TRIOLETS TO SPRING Sing me a roundel of spring, Little bird, little bird. Lift up your sweet voice and sing, Sing me a roundel of spring, Songs of sweet love and a ring. Silver throat, sweetly heard, Sing me a roundel of spring, Little bird, little bird ! 16 BALLADE He lighted his pipe in the teeth of the gale, The old sea-dog with a full match case, And he laughed as he squinted aloft at the sail; But I asked, as I clung to the starboard brace, "Why couldn't you do that with equal grace, The other day in a dead flat calm ?" And he said, as he smiled into distant space, "Oh, it's easy only when you do not give a damn!" And I've often thought, when I try and fail To do some thing or to win some race, Of the words he spoke through the tempest's wail While the waves were dashing their spray apace Over the bow like fine spun lace. And I sometimes feel that in truth I am Not wholly to blame ; for its surely the case That it's easy only when you do not give a damn! To Nancy, and Mary, and Abagail I've written verses with easy grace. But now — that I've seen the Holy Grail — The words won't come in the proper place ; And the Muse is awfully hard to chase ; And I stand as mute as the fabled clam, Untongued before your mocking face — For it's easy only when you do not give a damn. L'Envoi Then, Princess of mischief and laughter, hail! Through the stream of my thoughts you have built a dam Which I try to go over or round, but fail; For it's easy only when I do not give a damn. 17 OUR TEACHERS Ye who have toiled in our making that we might be men, Who have given you years in their fulness to us for our own ; We have drunk of your wisdom and folly, have drained you — and then Have forgotten! Or have we forgotten the seeds ye have sown? Ye were the law of our childhood. But now we are grown, Still out of the past time ye guide us, ye living, ye dead! And our lives which we live, to our seeming, automic — alone, Are only the ultimate rivers your soul springs have fed. Lo ! we who have scoffed at your wisdom and railed at you then, Not seeing the truths ye would teach us — our child- hood has flown! We now stretch our hands through the distance — all we become men — In search of the flower of wisdom ye offered full blown, Which we in our folly rejected. All we now atone For the fault of our folly: not seizing your wisdom instead ! Yet in spite of our fullness of folly, our lives we must own Are only the ultimate rivers your soul springs have fed. The truth and the soul, of your teaching was out of our ken, And the bread ye were burning to give us we took as a stone, And in blindness we cast at the giver his giving again. 18 But our blindness ye lighted; our faults ye were wont to condone; And with infinite patience engrafted on our souls your own, Till in spite of our earnest endeavors, our footsteps were led Into paths of your choosing at length, and ourselves now full grown Are only the ultimate rivers your soul springs have feci. L'Envoi Then on ye, who have hewn and shaped us, and made of us men, On ye, O our teachers, the light of God's spirit be shed ! For your will or ours notwithstanding, the souls of us then Are only the ultimate rivers your soul springs have fed. 19 TWO BALLADES I O sweeper of the cobwebs that festoon The palaces that I have reared in Spain, Dear comrade of the morning, night, and noon, Thou inmate of the chambers of my brain, May I not crave the wished for thing in vain ! And one day, blessed, may my eyes behold, Awake, and not return to sleep again, The dross of dreams transmuted to life's gold! Lo! I have hearkened to that magic tune Which gods, nor men, nor brutes, nor stones disdain ; And all the chambers of my heart the moon Has lighted oft, and oft shall light again. Yet there is yet one thing that I would fain Have come to pass before my years are told, And stay with me, that I may not complain : The dross of dreams transmuted to life's gold! Dreams are, however sweet, but dreams; and soon We wake, nor even memories remain — Save as some mystic, half translated rune — And we are forced to sleep and dream again. But thou who dustest my chateaux in Spain, As thou hast swept away their fancy-mould, Oh! show to me through life's untarnished pane The dross of dreams transmuted to life's gold. L'Envoi O Sweet my Heart, I ask a single boon, My fancy's saint, if I may be so bold: That I may see — it cannot be too soon — The dross of dreams transmuted to life's gold. 20 II The sweeper of the cobwebs that festoon The castles I have builded me in Spain Has left those castles bare ; and all too soon Has fled, nor ever will return again. And all my dreams are empty things and vain, As empty as this goblet that I hold, For my one hope no longer may sustain: The dross of dreams transmuted to life's gold. Lo! All the silver glitter of the moon Is tarnished, and its light obscured by rain ; For my whole soul is sadly out of tune, And shrieks its discords in a world of pain Where only sorrow now and tears remain Of all that wont to comfort me of old When I had hoped to see — e'er hope was slain — The dross of dreams transmuted to life's gold. Yea, all my joy is over now; and soon I too shall travel down the endless lane. Although my day of life is at its noon, My light of life is early on the wane ; But for all that, of one thing I complain, One only! Verily I would have sold To have that one, my hope of heavenly gain : The dross of dreams transmuted to life's gold ! L'Envoi To you, my dear, for whom I built in Spain, I pray but this, although your heart is cold : To see — allbeit I know the prayer is vain, — The dross of dreams transmuted to life's gold. 21 THE COLLEGE STUDENT'S BALLADE OF DESIRE The burden of much study: oil by night, Much strong tobacco and an ice-bound brow, And muttered curses at my sorry plight! For lo, the term's end is upon me now And I must get, I know not where nor how, The knowledge requisite to pull a C, Or those in power by no means will allow That I annex a bachelor's degree. The burden of ambition: day and night I struggle with the sweat upon my brow, At football or at cricket, for the right To wear an H. One letter is enow! And I am not so anxious anyhow, When all is said, to sign myself A. B. An H for mine, though no one shall allow That I annex a bachelor's degree! The burden of desire: Oh, that I might, When I shall come to make my final bow, Be proud possessor of the twofold right That I so crave and struggle after now, Perplexed of brain and sweat-bedewed of brow: To grace my bosom with an H pardee ! And that the faculty at last allow That I annex a bachelor's degree ! L' Envoi You, prince or president, endowed with might, Within whose power alone this thing shall be, The H is up to me — but give the right That I annex a bachelor's degree. 22 BALLADE FOR THE GLORIOUS FOURTH Once more our patriotic minds we tune To all the pleasures of the fourth again, While jealous rockets try to quench the moon, And burning powder gathers into rain ; And kids, with patriotism on the brain, Set crackers off, and have no word to say Of powder burns; for they must not complain To celebrate our Independence Day! Lo ! on the morrow we shall see full soon, From California, through the land to Maine, That patriotism is a blessed boon, When reading of the little children slain. But what are mothers' tears and fathers' pain? For, yesterday were they not passing gay? And surely they cannot have died in vain To celebrate our Independence Day ! And when next year with garlands we festoon The graves where heroes of the land are lain, Shot down in civil conflict's red monsoon, Then let us bring one flower of the plain To clothe the couch of children, who remain Locked fast in sleep long after dawn is grey, And may not hail the rising sun again To celebrate our Independence Day. L'Envoi Ye Gods, Oh ! May we not complain ! But still pursue our patriotic way And each year strive afresh with might and main To celebrate our Independence Day. 23 TO SUSANNE The burden of verse making: I am sure That I have written them to every maid That I have met, or laughing or demure ; Where, in the usual platitudes arrayed, My wounded heart seemed scarcely to endure — As always happens to the heart of man — The bitter burden on its weakness laid. Yet not a verse have I for you, Susanne! The old lost loves of yesteryear, their wooer, And all the things we thought but never said, And all the longing love alone can cure, And all the sweet and bitter prayers I prayed, And all the things for love I would abjure: These things I wrote as only lovers can And almost daily into verses made. Yet not a verse have I for you, Susanne ! Whene'er an old love faded, lo, a newer Next evening came, and on my heart-strings played ; So I was ever drawn by that lure Whereof men do but well to be afraid For that the strongest may not long endure. Then all these loves I set within the span Of ode or sonnet, as my fancy bade. Yet not a verse have I for you, Susanne ! L'Envoi Dear, would my very living might be made Into one poem of eternal plan And all of it at your loved feet be laid. I have no other verse for you, Susanne ! 24 TO C— AND M— ON THEIR WEDDING DAY The song eternal has again been sung, That great refrain whose words are living fire ! And while the mellow wedding bells are rung Two hearts have gained at last their heart's desire ; Two souls the heaven to which they did aspire! Hearts doubly blessed in having reached so high! Souls doubly blessed in knowing nothing higher! The perfect love alone may deify! Ye are of those who move at ease among Those places where all sweetest breaths suspire From fairest flowers while the spring is young, And where the strings of many a sweet toned lyre Vibrate through incensed chambers of desire ; And yet ye faint nor falter not, as I With senses deadened by the suave samphire. The perfect love alone may deify! Lo, Venus bending from on high, has swung For you, the whole of life a little nigher The sources whence the stream of life has sprung, The centre of the universe's fire! To your live love all old dead loves conspire, That whence they crawled, your love full fledged might fly And bear you ever onward, ever higher. The perfect love alone may deify! L'Envoi And, oh, my friends, if haply I aspire To what my feeble hand should never try, Forgive me by the strength of my desire. The perfect love alone may deify! 25 A DWELLER IN MEROZ Rondeau A dweller in Meroz, I live at my ease, On the small of my back in the shade of the trees, With Omar Khayyam and a few other friends. The life that we live in this paradise tends More and more towards doing whatever we please. Our faces are cooled by the breath of the breeze; While the ripple of water, the murmur of bees A sensual longing for laziness lends A dweller in Meroz. Oh! the sounds that one hears, and the sights that one sees, Stretched out in the shade of the sheltering trees! How the voice and the aspect of everything blends Here, where pleasure begins, and where weariness ends! Oh! come with me, Dear Heart, and live, among these, A dweller in Meroz. £6 SONNET Whene'er in fancy's realm I wander far, Untrammelled by the nearness of the world Naught seeing save the heavens over-pearled With clouds, and gemmed with many a star; Night, cloaked more gorgeously than any czar, With crimson mantle round his person furled; My soul then stretches yearning hands on high And prays to him clothed the lofty sky In misty drapery of clouds light curled, To veil the ebon beauty of the night From the too curious gaze of the lorn earth. At such a time our solemn thoughts have birth And naked in our own and Maker's sight, Stand full revealed beneath the star's dim light. 27 DIE LORELEI From the German of Heinrich Heine Oh, I know not of what 'tis a token That sadness oppresses me so; A story in olden days spoken, A tale of vast centuries ago. It darkens, and the air is chill, While quietly flows the Rhine ; The crests of mountain, knoll, and hill Sparkle in the sun-set shine. A maiden sits on the hill crest, A maid of beauty rare, In gleaming golden garments dressed, And combs her golden hair. She combs it with a comb of gold, And sings a song meantime That has a beauty all untold, — A melody of rhyme. A boatman in his little boat, Has woe unamed thereby : The frowning cliff he does not note. His gaze is fixed on high! Alas! For the waves, high flinging, The victory have won ! And this with her fairy singing, Cruel Lorelei has done. 28 WAND'RERS NACHTLIED From the German of Goethe Over all the trees Silence falls; And the gentle breeze, 'Midst sylvan halls, Has fallen asleep! The birds have ceased their song; And e'er long You as well the silence keep ! EXTASE From the French of Victor Hugo "Et j'entendis une grande voix." L 'Apocalypse. I stood alone by the ocean, o'er me the starry sky; Not a cloud in the dark vault of Heaven, not a sail on the sea I spy; And I seem to look into the future with a more than mortal sight; And the woods, and the hills, and the mountains green In a hurried murmur a question seem To ask of the lamps of night. And those golden points above me, the infinite legions of stars, With a burst of melodious music, said to my hark- ening ears, Bowing their heads crowned with lustre, bowing with one accord ; And the waves of the sea that unbridled roam, Said, lifting their crests bedecked with foam: "Tis God! 'Tis Christ, the Lord!" 29 A PARAPHRASE Horace, Book i, Ode 5 I ask you, Pyrrha, is there any slender boy, Perfumed with sweetest waters, who can still enjoy To wreath your head with roses in some sheltered grot, That you so bind your flaxen tresses in a knot? Alas, how oft will he lament your faith untrue, And fickle Destiny! Alas, how he will view And wonder at the sea deep-stirred by every breeze, For that he did not know that maids love as maids please ! Alas for him, too trusting in your fickle love, Who holds you as a priceless blessing from above; Who, ignorant how the fleeting storm has waged, Expects at all times he will find you disengaged! Alas for him who knows you not, so deems you fair ! That is a garment I have ceased for long to wear. A votive tablet on the sacred wall shall be A sign I offer it, a tribute, to the sea. 30 A TRANSLATION FROM DANTE'S "VITA NUOVA" To every captive soul and loving heart Beneath whose glance this writing haps to fall, That it may gain an answer from ye all, Fair greeting I from Love, your lord, impart. Almost completed was the first third-part Of that still season which the stars recall, When Love appeared to me — immensely tall — Whose aspect wakened terror in my heart. Love seemed to me full joyful ; and he had In hand my heart; and in his arms was placed My lady sleeping, somewhat lightly clad. He waked her; and albeit terror-mad, My burning heart he made her humbly taste; Then weeping, he departed passing sad. 31 ANOTHER FROM THE SAME You, who on the road of love pass by, Rest now and hear my cry. And is there any love as great as mine? 1 pray you but to listen patiently And then — oh, then, reply What torments in my person you divine! Love, not that virtue in myself is high But through his potency, Has granted me a life so sweet and fine That oft behind me I have heard one sigh: "Ah, with what dignity And perfect joy he bears Love's signet-sign!" But now, alas, my happiness has fled, Which from a love-full treasury I had, To leave me poor and sad ; That, seeming so, I tell it blushing red. And so I bear me like a wretched lad Who hides from shame his poverty girt head, With outward joy bestead, While deep within, my heart is sorrow clad. SUNSET The placid waters peaceful flow Beneath the slant sun's ruddy glow, While cresting every wavelet's height Flash diamond-sparkling points of light. The sky is azure overhead, Shot through with streaks of coral-red. While interspersed with iris-blue, And dight with many a gorgeous hue, Above the meadows, brilliant green The richly tinted clouds are seen. Resplendant o'er their purfled crest The sun is sinking to his rest. No strident sound of life is heard: Nor plash of fish nor cry of bird ; The world, adoring, bows to pray For morrow like the blest today. 33 TUCKERTON CREEK Quietly flows the water of the beautiful Tuckerton Stream ; And down through the gold-red ripples the rays of sunlight beam. They shine on the roots of cedars, and the blades of river-grass That grow on the sandy bottom in many a gorgeous mass. And the dull-red cedar water, with the sunlight streaming through, Softens the glaring colors to a delicate neutral hue. The rocks along the bottom glow with paintings wondrous rare! And the logs submerged beside them are every whit as fair! On banks grow many cedars, from whose overreach- ing arms, Covered with moss and lichens, sound the grackel's harsh alarms; There the cedar-bird is flitting, and the red-wing trills his lay; But the creek flows on unconscious, to the ever restless bay. 34 EVENTIDE The day is swift declining, And darkness comes apace ; The stars will soon be shining The ebon night to grace. The vesper-sparrow is singing Adown by the rippling brook, The robin is homeward winging, And homeward flies the rook. Over the hills before me Is the rim of the setting sun. A feeling of peace comes o'er me ; The day at length is done. 35 THE SNOW Hail the dazzling whiteness Of the soft, sweet snow! Hiding light, and hiding brightness In the world below. Sibilent at times, then silent As it strikes the pane; While the wild wind, wild and violent, Roars again! Tall trees tremble, bending, breaking, While the whirl-wind blows; And anon, the echoes waking, Spread sound o'er the snows. Now the snow has ceased from falling, And the pane is clear ; While no more the echoes calling Strike the ear. Silent stillness broods and hovers O'er the coming night; Silent whiteness hides and covers All from sight. And the homes of sin and sorrow Lie beneath a pall Of whiteness, that they seem to borrow Purity for all. 36 THE SNOW Second Treatment Fairest of all things fair, whitest of all that is white, Swiftly and silently swirl, cover the fields in the night ; Hide all the dirt and the dust ; conceal all that's ugly from view; Spread out your mantle, and hide the old 'neath the cloak of the new. Whiten the dwellings of sin ; cover the houses of greed ; Cover, and hide, and conceal the shame and the shape of the weed ; Make all that is ugly seem fair; make all that is wicked seem good; Make pearls out of pieces of coal, and marble from pieces of wood. Then melt, and reveal in a day the ill you have covered and hid: The mud, and the filth, and the slime that we wal- low and flounder amid. Pass from the face of the earth in streams that are blacker than sin ; Pass and be gone, that the Master of Evil may grin. Fairest of all things fair, whitest of all that is white, The Devil has speeded you down to cover the fields in the night. Covering evil and sin, hypocrisy gives you the cue! Cover the dwellings of sin ; hide all that's ugly from view. 37 THE CASTLE OF DREAMS I have builded a beautiful mansion In the Ultima Thule of dreams, Where a wish is the father of having, And everything is as it seems ; Where life is eternal fulfillment Of thoughts half expressed in the mind; Where natural laws are refuted, And bent to the will of mankind. This beautiful mansion is furnished To suit every need of the soul ; Every wish in this place is accomplished By light handed Genius or Troll. In the garden are fruit trees and flowers: Hesperian and Asphodel; And a beautiful fountain of water Where the beautiful fairies dwell. And I flee to this castle of fancy When my thoughts are too full of the world, When my soul is weighed down by its sorrow, And the wings of my spirit are furled. For a chamber there is in this palace, Stored full of the wisdom of time, Where the world weary soul is replenished And soothed with the essence of rhyme. 'Tis a place of retreat in the tempest, Where naught may come near to annoy; Where sorrow and sighing are banished, And the spirit is swaddled in joy. 38 TO SHELLY When the mournful mother of music is mute In the grey and the green of the dawning day, And the languishing languor of lyre and lute No longer lives in the winding way; And the sad soul, seeking in solemn sorrow For the vanished voice of him who had Such a sweetness of song that the birds might borrow, Is so fearful from failure the mind goes mad; Then the soft sweet strains of a sweet soft song Come to me, calling from fires that fade And falter, as fires that no longer long To fold his form who is now a shade ! But so are the sweet and the bitter blent In the songs of her son, that the mother of sound Hushes her speech, e'er it be spent To hear them rising from the ground. 39 THE LAST POET They have sung sweetly in the fields of Arcady! But now they sing no more, nor sport upon the lea, Nor wake the woodland echoes by the dim lake shore ! The thirsty deer in vain uprears his antlered head Before he drinks, to hear their voices who are dead. Yea dead ! who living caused him anything but fear ! In vain all wild things of the forests, lakes, and fields Roam calling for their friends. The roaming noth- ing yields ! Their loving search is ended as all searching ends! FJor death and darkness have gone on before their feet ; And where was melody, and all things sounding sweet, There is no music but the mourning of the sea! Here, where music once upon a time was heard To swell the livelong day, no longer any bird Is found to lift its voice in song upon the spray. And lo ! a tombstone bearing many ancient names Uprears its sorry face, and to the world proclaims That of the sweetest poets, all have run their race. And this last name, whose letters are not even dry! The sweetest, sadest name of all that galaxy! Can you and I live on, — since Swinburne had to die? 40 TO WALT WHITMAN Thou art a poet after my own heart, O Walt Whitman ; Thy thoughts are pure, unlike the prurient Schuyl- kill River. Yea, thy verses are the epitome of nobility ! They remind me of the green grass that is covered with yellow dandelions. Thy thoughts are beautiful, for they are of the people, for the people and by the people. Out of the people thou earnest, out of the dust of New York! As the flower grows in the grave yard, out of the bones of dead generations, So didst thou grow up out of surroundings that were worse than death. Like a star thou spedest out of utter darkness, and like a star thou spedest back! But the darkness was no longer darkness, for the white light of the mind shone there. Throughout thy life thou wert free: Liberty, Equality, and Fraternity were thy bedfellows; Nay more, they were thy brothers, whose love has warmed thy spirit till the present hour. I love them, and I love thee, for ye are all part and parcel of Nature, who is God. Yea, I am of Nature also. So are all things. Who then will say that anything is not good ? 41 TO THE LATE DR. R. H. T. The angel of the Lord, on silent wing, Came softly whispering to this noble soul, And led him to that place where Seraphs sing: His one desired abode, his life's great goal ! And two great cities in two distant lands Are sunk in sorrow that he left them so. Each grieves, though little either understands What joy it was at last for him to go; What sweet unutterable bliss was his When he could lay aside his burden, life, To greet his Maker with a loving kiss, And then lie down to rest, well earned in strife. For his has been a life of bitter pain ; And his slight body, by disease made frail, His soul as oft, by faith, made whole again, That he might seek and find the Holy Grail. And he has found it in that place where Death, And Life, and Hope do mingle into one Eternal, beautious being, one whose breath Inspires a man with joy, his work well done. And yet we grieve for him, dear friends, but why? Why are we sad that he has gained his own ? What sweet relief he must have felt to die! How joyfully his spirit must have flown! Ah, he was far too good to live on earth ! Such souls as his for Heaven alone are framed ! Though of the flesh, and fleshly was his birth, His heart and talents by his God were claimed ; His every thought, his practice and his speech : "God's will be done !" And doing it he lived And died! Such deaths as his rare lessons teach Of faith and trust in Him who sinless lived. The Father, Son, and Holy Ghost — thrice one — Were his sole tutors till the hour he died. And dying, life for him had but begun : The life eternal by his Maker's side! 42 THE EYES THAT WEEP The sun God kissed them and waked them up, The poor little poppies that wanted to sleep; And the dew God dropped in each scarlet cup A shining tear from the eyes that weep. And the poor little poppies swayed and danced In the smile of the God, but they wanted to sleep. And the tear drops in the sunlight glanced Flashes of light from the eyes that weep. Her mother kissed her and bade her rise, The poor little maiden who wanted to sleep : And the mother saw in the dear blue eyes Two shining tears from the eyes that weep. And the poor little maiden rose and dressed, And went to her tasks but she wanted to sleep; Sleep and return to the Isles of the Blessed Where there are no tears, and no eyes that weep. The sun went down, and poppies and maid Closed their eyes, for they wanted to sleep; But they lay next morning side by side, The red on the blue; — Oh, eyes that weep! 43 FAME I stood without the door, and gazed a while. And lo, a vision as of wealth and style, And voices in a ceaseless buzz of talk, A merry whirl of chatter and of smile ! Methought, from far, a whispered murmur came, And cried aloud: "Behold! For this is fame!" And one who stood beside the open door And took no part but watched, for he was lame, Did smile as, gazing on the whirling throng, He oped his lips as though to sing a song. Behold! A mighty presence filled the room And lashed the revellers with a leathern thong. "Forbear!" I cried, and strove to pierce a veil That she enwrought, as seemed, with moonbeams pale. Ah vain ! And I was left out in the dark, Nor might I see at all the Holy Grail. And yet again that voice, and far away, That ever through the distance seemed to say: "Behold! For this is fame!" And then the sun Arose in the far East, — for it was day ! 44 t Golden sunlight in the valley! Golden sunlight on the mountain! Birds enthusiastically Bathing in the sunlit fountain ! Gloom of midnight in the city! Gloom no tongue can rightly utter! Little children — Ah, the pity! — Bathing in the loathsome gutter! Grasses, green and flowers waving, Growing in the country fields ! Filthy streets, slime covered paving, This the crop the city yields! Broad and pleasant country lanes! Filthy city streets and narrow! And o'er all this a Being reigns Who notes the fall of every sparrow ! 45 TRUTH (?) Night asked me, walking by her side, "Ah, tell me what is truth?" she cried. And all around the silence seemed to say, "What is the truth? What is it, pray?" Then, reading from the pages of my mind, I answered, saying, "Are ye blind? Ye ask me 'what is truth?' Age knows is not, nor verdant youth!" And then a smile o'erspread the face of night ; And in that smile I saw the light Of truth shine out, and straightway said, "You lie, O smile, for truth is dead!" 46 WRITTEN UNDER EUGENE FIELD'S "CHRISTMAS TREASURES" I read these verses time and time ; The author seems to draw more near, As swimming through the unshed tear, The printing fades, and leaves the rhyme. Ah Field, thy tones of sadness seem More real than those of other men; My heart thy sorrow feels again, And yearning, followeth the gleam. WELCOME TO SLEEP Come gentle sleep, and breathe on me, And far away all pain shall flee. My soul sweet comfort feels when thou Dost gently kiss my weary brow. Bid thou, sweet sleep, dull care depart, And draw — oh, draw me to thy heart! That folded in thy fond embrace, My weary brain no more need trace, In musings sad and meloncholy, My wicked life, my heedless folly. Pray from my memory erase Both good and bad, both fair and base; Cast off despair, and let me don The robe that brings oblivion! 47 THE PASSOVER The Angel of Death, with a pestilent breath, Walked stark through the trembling land; And his withering rod Was the anger of God, That he bore in his imminent hand. With monotonous beat, his inaudible feet Were felt to the uttermost part Of that land whence the race Of the children of grace Were forbid by the king to depart. Through the midst of the night he strode on in his might, And he paused on his way at each door ; And woe to that roof That bore not the proof Of a threshold bespattered with gore! For the sentence of doom was pronounced in each room Of that house by the Angel of Death; That each mother, next morn, Should bewail her first born Who had gazed on the Angel of Death. And through Pharo's broad lands there was wringing of hands, And the rending of garments in twain ; While the breath of despair Was borne on the air In the hand of the Demon of Pain; For the Angel of Death, with a pestilent breath, Had passed through the stillness of night; And his withering rod Was the anger of God, That smote with an infinite might. 4 8 Through the stillness and gloom, like a breath from the tomb, The Angel of Death glided by; And he struck at each door That was stainless of gore With his rod, that an inmate might die. For God puts forts his might in the cause of the right To shelter his children from harm. What a wonderous thing Is the love of this king That shelters his children from harm. AN ALTAR IN GILGAL I have read in some book of the ancients, some tome of long ages ago, Of a people who builded in Gilgal a shrine, that their children might know How their fathers were brought out of bondage, and into a land of their own By the hand of God, and His chastening rod, To a land where the harvest was grown. Let us, like the wandering Israelite, establish by precepts and deeds, In the hearts of our fellow mortals, a name that no monument needs. For the pilgrim that travels through lifetime with the spirit of God in his heart Needs no pillar of stones to rise o'er his bones Lest his fame from man's memory depart! 49 THE WANING MOON Thou silvery moon, thou silvery moon, that floatest there on high, I pray thee tell me truly : Is it pleasant in the sky ? And dost thou love the star-child, that I see so close to thee, As I the little youngster who is riding on my knee? Dost thou lead a life of pleasure in that field of azure hue, Free from care, and full of pleasure, in that lofty dome of blue? Dost thou feel no sad repining when thou fadest out of sight, No pang of grief nor sadness when thou'rt forced to loose thy light Or dost thou know, fair Luna, that e'er a month be sped Thou'lt rise again resplendent, as One rose from the dead, And shed thy glorious radiance through the darkness of the night, That we poor mortal beings may choose our paths aright ? It was thus in former ages, that a Greater Lustre shone, To guide through deeper darkness, the sinner to his home! That Light was once extinguished, that the world might thereby learn How great would be the darkness should It cease at length to burn. For full three days It shone not, and the earth was filled with night; Then It burst again resplendent, and the world once more had light. Since then It has been shining, to point the narrow way, That the sad and weary traveller in the darkness may not stray; And the pits along life's roadway by Its radiance clear are seen! 50 Keep that Light for e'er before thee, and thy path is plain, I ween ; But shouldst thou turn thee from It, that thy shadow fall before, Thou'lt stumble in that shadow, and be lost forever more! THE WANGALOO Krumpish was the wangaloo, As he sleeked across the lea, For his curliboss was blue As the whango colored sea. The hair upon his jibaloon Was all befugged with jam. His gruelish teeth were in the moon; His toes were in his cram. And all the while he scrooped with glee A maukish frangopeer, And with contusion, said to me He'd rather far have beer. Then seeing that his frimpish words Were lacktish to my taste, He plunged into some slimperish curds, And drowned his grief in haste. IN A VOLUME OF W. S. CALVERLEY'S POEMS With parody and nonsense light We wander on our merry way ; Our tongues are quick, our lips are bright With parody and nonsense light! Yea, through the fire lit winter night; Yea, while the bright sun shines in May, With parody and nonsense light We wander on our merry way ! 51 THE LAND OF SLEEPY-EYE Little children, come with me ; We shall wander o'er the sea, O'er the mighty roaring deep Where the great whales lazy sleep, Where the shark and sword-fish fight 'Midst a phosphorescent light, To a fair land far away, Where the little fairies play; To a bright land, free from pain, Where the brownies live again ! In this place there is no sorrow, No last night, and no tomorrow! 'Tis the land of Sleepy-eye, — Maybe that's the reason why! A REVERIE By the quietly flowing river Where the fairest grasses quiver, Where the rarest sunset glows, Is a spot the lover knows. Where the current flows must slow, Bended like the blind God's bow, Where the purple iris grows, Is a spot the lover knows. Where the nesting redstart swings, Where the vesper-sparrow sings While the gentle zephyr blows Is a spot the lover knows. 52 MY LADY OF THE MOON Was it only three short nights ago That I looked in your laughing eyes, And there found things that I longed to know, My queen of the moonlit skies? Have I only seen you for three short days? Three thousand years, I vow, Of sun, and moon, and golden haze Have passed 'twixt then and now. Three thousand years of life and light, A thousand to a day, Have added to my strength and might, And taught my soul to pray: Dear Lord, on bended knee I crave One single blessed boon: For my love's love I pray Thee save My Lady of the Moon. SWEET MY HEART Sweet my Heart, it is a dreamy day, And hand in hand by stream we stray; It babbles love below our feet, Dew-spattered by its silver spray. Sweet my Heart, the stream has seen Our foot-steps on its lip of green, And gently wondering, kissed the spot Where such a miracle has been. Sweet my Heart, the snow white rose Where'er the stream has kissed upgrows; And by this chaste, pure bower of love The envious stream sighs as it flows. 53 VERSES Think you, dear, the stars could shine Were it not for love divine ? Or the very source of light But for love be half so bright? Think you, dear, the grass could grow Did not Nature love it so? Think you anything could be Were not love its entity? How long think you then shall I, Unloved by you, escape to die? Dear, if you would have me live, Then give me life as you can give! THE WRONG COMBINATION A maiden on a stairway, A youth in evening dress! You'd say they're in a fair way To secret thoughts confess; The time and place propitious, Far from the noisy whirl ! But fate is so capricious, For — she is not the girl ! 54 PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE Aged about, — well say thirteen, With her long dark hair loose flung, Full of life when boys are seen: This is Anne when she was young! Done with idle dreams and fancies, 'Uld be engaged, if she knew how, Has a "p er fe ct " time at dances: i This is Anne as she is now! Rats and switches, paint and powder, Grabbing after any he, Laughing loud, and talking louder: This is Anne as she will be ! 55 TO A PET SNAKE THAT DIED Most graceful of all creeping things, Who many a day has charmed my eye Where even now your mem'ry brings A bitter tear, why did you die ? Why have you left me thus bereft, My little snake? How joyfully you used to greet Me three times daily when I came To bring you lucious flies to eat; And always answered to your name As if you knew who called to you, My little snake ! For five long months you lived at ease, A wooden box of earth your world, Until one night a passing breeze Espied you, lying tightly curled, And dreaming dreams of long lost streams, My little snake. It whispered in your sleeping ear, That it would take you back again To those scenes you still held dear ; You heard the whisper, went, and when I rose from bed, I found you dead, My little snake. Beneath a gloomy cypress tree I sadly laid you in a grave. And from my window now I see The mournful cypress branches wave; While softly cries each leaf where lies My little snake. 56 THE BOSS He has traveled the way of the mire and the clay, He has raked the political muck. He has burrowed in dirt to his ultimate hurt, And the dugs of the trusts gave him suck. He offers the hand that was born to command To the hand that was born to obey; He bellows his scorn of the fool who was born To walk in an honester way. And once every year he comes forth without fear, To gather the harvest of votes ; And with expert performers, o'errides the reformers, And forces pure graft down their throats. He has traveled the path of our scorn and our wrath, And he smiles when we call him a thief; We may talk as we will — he will keep on until We act to his ultimate grief? 57 THE DEATH OF BALDER Balder, the beautiful Asa, is dead! The shadow that lay on his heart, That lay, like a pall, on his heart Crushing him down, at length hath fled! And Balder, the beautiful, is dead! 'Twas Hoder, the sightless, dealt the blow! With a weapon of Loki's device, Of the infamous Loki's device. With a mistletoe twig, as white as snow, Hoder, the sightless, dealt the blow. And Asgard mourns for the God so fair, While Loki is wild with delight, Wild with a wolfish delight. But Oden to Hella hath sent a prayer, For Asgard mourns for the God so fair ! And thus answers Hella to Oden, the wise: "If Balder is wept by the world, By each separate thing in the world, Then, but not elsewise, will Balder arise!" Thus answers Hella to Oden, the wise ! Then forth from Valhalla the Valkyries fly, Crying: "Oh, weep for the slain! For the beautiful, well beloved slain !" And the whole world weeps at the anguished cry, As forth from Valhalla the Valkyries fly. But an old hag is sitting before a dark cave, And they cry out: "Oh, weep for the slain! Weep, Thaukt, for the well beloved slain!" But she won't shed a tear young Balder to save, This old hag grim-sitting before her dark cave. 58 Then back to Valhalla the Valkyries wend ; And Asgard is heavy of cheer, Is heavy and doleful of cheer, For the bright life of Balder has come to an end As back to Valhalla the Valkyries wend ! THE SCARLET SHORE Out of the shore that is named not of mortals; There where the king on a scarlet throne Sits holding the key of the scarlet portals That no man has opened forever alone ; There, in the region of sinning and sorrow, The sweet and the bitter are one and the same; And no one shall sever today from tomorrow, But both be as one in the heat of the flame. For the life of that land is the fullness of lust, And the breath of its being the fullness of sin ; Where the wings of our innocence trail in the dust, And our masks are laid off, and our real selves begin. There the waters are blended of honey and gall ; And the bacchanal stoops to the basin's verge With lips outstretched for the drops that fall, Till lust in fulfillment of lust shall merge. And a man may not ever untended stand, Nor a woman alone, on that scarlet shore; But ever the two shall come hand in hand To love, and to live — and return no more. 59 A FRAGMENT I am too full of sorrow now to write in prose! I am too sad to even miss the rose That winter's icy hand has stripped of life And scattered on the sombre frozen earth. No longer can I glory in great Nature's virile strife To fertilize the fecund earth in time for Summer's birth ; For my heart is gripped by a hand as cold As the hand that slew the rose ! By a hand as cruel and thrice as cold As the hand that slew the rose! And the burning grip of that icy hand Is crushing my heart, and crushing my will, And killing my power to understand As only an exiled love can kill ! TO— Why do I love you ? And why do I long for your love, Though I know that you cannot return The love that I hold heart-fast ? You are the Goddess I pray to; You are the first and the last ! Lo, out of my dreams when I slumber, And out of my thoughts when I wake, You float to me over the ocean, And laugh in the waves as they break! And when I am weary of waking, Ah, then You sit on the arm of my chair, And your fingers wander idly And loose themselves in my hair; Then hand fast together we wander Away to the infinite void ; 60 And the force of my love thrills through you And makes you eternally mine, A part of my very being As a day is a part of all time! Ah, in dreams you are kinder than kindness; Do I sleep Or but dream half awake ! But I know, Oh, I know, dearest Dear Heart That never in life may it be ; — That only in dreams, through the moonlight Will you float to me over sea. Yet I love you! And ever must love you! And ever would love you, my sweet ! Though all else the spirit might care for Lay there for My spirit to greet, Yet would I not linger a moment To make any of these things mine; But press ever onward, and onward, Well knowing it vain, To that land of dreams Where alone it seems May I ever live again. 61 A PRAYER Thou art the red God, Living in fire, Strong with the force of insatiate desire, Full of the lust of insensate desire! Ardent and burning The yoke of thy power ! Oh, the wild, the unquenchable yearning To be in thy bower ! Then the throb of the blood in inaudible ears, And the wordless speech of the heart, That cries to the loved one through numberless years ! Oh, the eyes that are brimming with love, like tears! Oh, the fingers that play on my heart, That strike great chords in the ears of lust, The great wild chords of desire, Till the very world is crumbled to dust And the onliest God is fire! Fire that is red, and withering, and young — Yes, young as the self of sin, As the self of a crimson sin! O Eros, great God of desire, Hear me I pray. Enkindling, infectuous Sire, Who sweepest the strings of my soul, Hear me I pray: Make me one with her ; make us one whole, O Eros, O fire! Enkindle the blood in her veins With unquenchable fire, That shall swell through her delicate veins From a heart that is bursting with pain Which is near to the kinship of bliss; May it burn in her ardorous kiss, And with passion enkindle her face ; May it sap me with utmost desire; May it drag me to nethermost Hell, Handfast in a longed for embrace Making Heaven of Hell. 62 Let us sin! If we must — let us sin! Oh, breathe on her heart with your breath ! Fan — fan it to infinite flame That may weld us together till death, And fashion us one and the same. Oh, make it thy highest regard, Great Eros, I crave, That the fire of her love shall strain meward And utterly ruin, or save! Thou art the red God, Living in fire! My heart thou hast stricken, And hers thou shalt strike With a note that shall quicken Our passions alike. For thou are the red God ! Thou are desire! 63 19 <^ * * ' # ■ v* °* * • " ° k . *U* : ?«+. . ^ • ' ^ s*mfc- %** :mm-r ^ *« £ * ■V ©V ? -k* /»♦ .*i«it*% ^ .•* ^ ft ^ * # ' 1- *T BOOKBINDING I V • * Vl'* ^>* <0^ » « # °* ^ .wv