■..' /.'All/ 
 
 
 m--:^^\ 
 
 
 
 
 
aass_E^ .. L 
 
 Gopiglit}v^____^lli 
 
 CflPXRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
INTERLUDES 
 
INTERLUDES 
 
 By 
 
 HAROLD CRAWFORD STEARNS 
 
 NEW YORK. 
 
 JAMES T. WHITE & CO., 
 
 1918 
 

 
 n"^ 
 
 For permission to reprint many of these 
 poems I desire to thank the editors 
 and jHiblishers of The Smart Set, The 
 BeihnaH, Contemporary Verse, The Bos- 
 ton Transcript, Poetry : A Magazine of 
 Ve7se, The Madrigal, The Midland, 
 The New York Tribune, The Pagan, 
 The Stratford fournal. The Quill, 
 Southern Woman's Maf^azine, The 
 Masses, Railroad Man's Magazine, 
 The New York Sun, Parisienne, The 
 Book News Monthly, The Lyric, Social 
 Progress, and other periodicals. 
 
 COPYRIGHTED 1916 BY 
 JAMES T *Hlr E a CO. 
 
 m -0 1919 
 
 ©CI.A51.lo7 5 
 
I DEDICATE THIS LITTLE BOOK 
 
 TO 
 
 MY MOTHER AND FATHER 
 
CONTENTS 
 Interludes 
 
 a song for the makers of songs 12 
 
 questant 1 3 
 
 SHADOW 13 
 
 UNCONQUERED 15 
 
 BROTHERS 16 
 
 REUBEN ROY 18 
 
 I AM A LOVER OF CITIES 20 
 
 DRIFTWOOD 21 
 
 THE TREAD OF PAN 22 
 
 MY CHILDREN 23 
 
 THEN AND NOW 25 
 
 GLAMOUR 26 
 
 THE JESTER 29 
 
 ECHOES 30 
 
 HELEN, NOT OF TROY 3 1 
 
 WILL-O'-THE-WISP 32 
 
 THE SCHOOLMASTER 33 
 
 WANDER SONG 35 
 
 A PORTRAIT 36 
 
 NOCTURNE 37 
 
 AT DUSK OF DAY 38 
 
CO'STE'STS— Continued 
 
 LIFE 39 
 
 WISDOM +o 
 
 THE MADMEN 41 
 
 A RHYME OF THE RED ROMANCE 42 
 
 APOSTASY 44 
 
 LIMBO 45 
 
 TO YOU WHOM I DARED NOT SEE 46 
 
 WAYFARERS 47 
 
 I HAVE MADE TWO SONGS FOR YOU 48 
 
 M AURYA 49 
 
 QUANDARY 5 1 
 
 CAOINE 52 
 
 JILL, DO YOU REMEMLER? 53 
 
 PERADVENTURE 54 
 
 VILLON 55 
 
 GOD IS SINGING 56 
 
 THERE ARE TWO LADIES IN OUR LITTLE TOWN 57 
 
 THE PRAYER OF ISEULT OF THE WHITE HANDS 58 
 
 A LITTLE TOWN 59 
 
 SOUNDS 60 
 
 GOD 61 
 
 A vagrant's RHYME 62 
 
 RUE 63 
 
CONTENTS— Cow/inwr^ 
 
 GOSSIP 64 
 
 HAUNTS 65 
 
 under the sea 66 
 
 interval 67 
 
 Ragnarok 
 
 WAR 71 
 
 A PRAYER 72 
 
 THERE ARE NO DOYS IN COLLEGE NOW 73 
 
 AS OF YORE 74 
 
 SOULS 75 
 
 WHO WILL BUY OUR DREAMS 76 
 
 EXORDIUM 77 
 
 THE SACRIFICE 78 
 
 MASTER FRANQOIS, CLERK OF PARIS, SINGS FROM 
 
 THE GRAVE 79 
 
 THE SILENT SINGERS 80 
 
 JOAN OF ARC WAS THERE 81 
 
 ROBIN HOOD 82 
 
 "VIVE LA FRANCE !" 83 
 
 "BOOT, SADDLE, TO HORSE, AND AWAY!" 84 
 
 IN A HOSPITAL 85 
 
 CUL-DE-SAC 86 
 
 A LITTLE SONG 87 
 
INTERLUDES 
 
A SONG FOR THE MAKERS OF SONG 
 
 Sonf[ is our bread, 
 
 Sofig is our wine; 
 Tables are spread — 
 
 Lei us dine! 
 
 Lanterns are moons. 
 
 Candles are stars. 
 Poets make tunes 
 
 Out of scars. 
 
 Elves' eyes are brown, 
 
 Roses have ears. 
 Some poets drown 
 
 Ln their tears. 
 
 Song grinds the mill. 
 
 Song reaps the wheat; 
 
 Life pays the bill — 
 Let us eat! 
 
QUESTANT 
 
 IS there a dream 
 In all the earth, 
 Be it wistful 
 
 Or full of mirth, 
 
 That I can take 
 
 And weave in a song 
 To sing to you 
 
 Your whole life long? 
 
 Is there a dream 
 
 Under the sun. 
 Be it sorrowful 
 
 Or full of fun, 
 
 From which I can make 
 
 A song for you, 
 A song all shimmering 
 
 Through and through 
 
 Like a very jewel 
 
 Or tlie moon's beams . . . ? 
 Tell me, lady, 
 
 Are there such dreams? 
 
 13 
 
SHADOW 
 
 IT comes at night, 
 When the moon is bright 
 And the stars spray Earth 
 With a silver mist; 
 
 It comes from the hills, 
 Whose purling rills 
 Call youth from toil 
 
 To a dreamland tryst; 
 
 It comes from the wood 
 Where the elf-elm stood. 
 And the elves once played 
 So long ago; 
 
 It comes on the breeze 
 Of distant seas. 
 The breasts of which 
 No sailors know; 
 
 It comes at dawn. 
 When night has gone 
 Like a vulture-hawk 
 Upon the wing; 
 
 It glows and gleams 
 Through all men's dreams: 
 The song no words 
 
 Have learned to sing. 
 
 14 
 
UNCONQUERED 
 (Electricity speaks:) 
 
 I move your mills and your trains, 
 I talk to your friends and foes — 
 Up hill, down dale, in calm and gale, 
 Wherever your pleasure goes! 
 
 I steer your ships in the night, 
 I manage your belching guns, 
 
 I flash your words, I forge your swords 
 As fast as your craving runs! 
 
 But when you call me a slave. 
 Remember my daily toll! . . . 
 
 My brawn your chain, but not my brain. 
 Nor the secret of my soul! 
 
 15 
 
BROTHERS 
 
 MY brother wandered far and wide 
 To find the rainbow's end, 
 While I stayed home till father died 
 
 To run the farm and half-pretend 
 I loved the work — the long, hot daj^s 
 
 In meadow, field and dyke. 
 The winter months before the blaze, 
 Debarred from everything I like. 
 
 And after father died I staj'ed, 
 
 Because a farm, I'm sure, 
 Is pleasanter than any trade, 
 
 In spite of all one must endure. 
 Our farm, through diligence, has paid, 
 
 And I am satisfied; 
 Sometime my brother's dreams will fade 
 
 And show him how a rainbow lied. 
 
 He lives a year in old Cathay, 
 
 A year in Greece or France. 
 I read his letters day by day 
 
 And in the cornfield weave romance. 
 Lest I should be a loutish thing 
 
 When he comes home again 
 To tell me stories and to bring 
 
 A whiff from lands beyond my ken. 
 
 16 
 
1 know today wliat I shall do: 
 
 Hitch up the buckboard team 
 And meet the train at half-past two 
 
 That stops an hour to get up steam. 
 My brother, in his careless way, 
 
 Will pile his bags on me, 
 Then clamber to my side and say: 
 
 "You haven't changed — as I can see." 
 
 While he is hunting I shall work, 
 
 But when the nighttime falls. 
 He'll spin me tales of Kurd and Turk. 
 
 Of French chateaux and Chinese walls. 
 And I shall smile and listen well 
 
 And ask him so-and-so . . . 
 Oh, I shall never have to tell. 
 
 And he will never have to know. 
 
 17 
 
REUBEN ROY 
 
 A LITTLE fellow, brown with wiiid- 
 I saw him in the street 
 Peering at numbers on the posts, 
 But most discreet, 
 
 For when a woman came outdoors, — 
 
 Or slyly peeped instead, — 
 He'd turn away, take off his hat 
 And scratch his head. 
 
 I watched him from my garden-wall 
 Perhaps an hour or more, 
 
 For something in his attitude, 
 The clothes he wore, 
 
 Awoke the dimmest memories 
 
 Of when I was a boy 
 And knew the story of a man 
 
 Named Reuben Roy. 
 
 It seems that Reuben went to sea 
 The night his wife decried 
 
 The fence he built before their house 
 And on the side. 
 
 He wanted it but she did not, 
 Because it hid from view 
 
 The spot in which her mignonette 
 And tulips grew. 
 
 18 
 
Nobody saw his face again, 
 But each year, unawares, 
 
 He sent a sum for taxes due — 
 And fence repairs. 
 
 My curiosity aroused, 
 
 I sauntered forth to see 
 
 Whether this individual 
 Were really he. 
 
 "Who are you looking for?" I asked. 
 
 His eyes, like two bright pence 
 Sparkled at mine, and then he said: 
 
 "A fence." 
 
 "Somebody burned it Halloween, 
 When people were in bed; 
 
 Before the judge could prosecute 
 The culprit fled." 
 
 Well, Reuben only touched his hat 
 And mumbled, "Thank you, sir," 
 
 And asked me whereabouts to find 
 A carpenter. 
 
 19 
 
I AM A LOVER OF CITIES 
 
 I AM a lover of cities, 
 Streets that are paved and electric lights, 
 Whir of wheels and the myriad ditties 
 
 Flung through the murk of throbbing nights. 
 
 You who would brag of the meadows. 
 
 Songs of birds and the soft, cool dew, 
 
 Walk with me at the hour of shadows 
 Down a rain-gilt avenue! 
 
 I am a lover of places 
 
 Brimming and panting with life and love . . . 
 Trade one block for a mountain's graces? 
 
 No! Nor its lamps for the stars above! 
 
 20 
 
DRIFTWOOD 
 
 I AM a piece of Driftwood. 
 Mike Slanner, the village scavenger, 
 Found me on the shore of Crooked Brook 
 And nailed me into the floor of his hut. 
 Bums, 
 Thieves, 
 
 Rats and cockroaches 
 Walk over me . . . and yet . . . 
 
 Once, very long ago, 
 
 I was an apple tree in France — Domremy. 
 
 A little girl 
 
 With wooden shoes and dreams 
 
 Used to lean against me 
 
 And look into the sky. 
 
 I had dreams, too. . . . 
 
 I am a piece of driftwood 
 
 In Mike Slanner's hut on Crooked Brook. 
 
 21 
 
THE TREAD OF PAX 
 
 IF you £r.d a daSodil 
 r bbing in the sna. 
 If Tcu see a silver rill 
 Faster, faster run. 
 
 If you hear sweet echeir-g 
 At the break o'day. 
 
 You ■will know Par/s frolicki 
 Xot so far awav! 
 
MY CHILDREN 
 
 Maury a 
 
 THE stars — did you ever see stars 
 Not white, 
 Nor blue. 
 But both? 
 
 And violets that dared to grow 
 Beside a grizzled stone 
 In a wood? 
 
 Rupert 
 I had a sword 
 
 Long, long ago when I was a boy — 
 A rapier. 
 
 The ebony hilt was cracked. . . . 
 "Open, in the name — " — Crash! 
 Screams, firelight, 
 White arms, candles. . . . 
 
 Sheila 
 Twenty-four dreams. 
 Twelve for daylight in Spring; 
 Twelve for nighttime in December. 
 Dreams, dreams. 
 Tender little things 
 
 23 
 
Like pansies 
 And babies' ears 
 And the catch in your throat- 
 When some one says, 
 "Jeanne d'Arc." 
 
 Charles 
 "Yes, Madam, to the sea. 
 His new sedan — this morning. 
 Yes, Madam, to the sea." 
 Cliff and wind and sun, 
 Sun and cliff and wind. 
 Wind and sun and cliff. 
 "Yes, Madam, to the sea." 
 
 24 
 
THEN AND NOW 
 
 I NEVER knew how strong life was 
 Till love passed by my gate; 
 I never knew the wrong life does 
 Till love walked in — too late. 
 
 25 
 
GLAMOUR 
 
 A RED sun tortured the tawdry crowd 
 Surging along the street; 
 A flower-vender babhled loud 
 
 Of things she misnamed sweet; 
 
 Dogs were fighting away in the dirt 
 
 Because of a measly feast; 
 A woman neared our table to flirt . . . 
 
 And Rawley murmured, "The East!" 
 
 Rawley had been at the mine a week. 
 
 A Mundy novel or two 
 Had brought him out on the jump to seek 
 
 Adventure. They sometimes do. 
 
 He downed his glass at a gulp and cried, 
 
 "Isn't it great and wild! 
 It makes me feel like a god untried!" 
 
 Kavanaugh only smiled. 
 
 "Certainly, Rawlc}-, my lad," said he, 
 
 "It's all very nice to you. 
 The color and blaze, I must agree. 
 
 Are great — so long as they're new. 
 
 26 
 
"I've got a story I want to tell — 
 
 If most of yon chaps don't care?" 
 
 And then he paused till a languid bell 
 
 Had summoned the town to prayer. . . 
 
 "Father was stationed at Singapore, 
 And there I opened my eyes 
 
 And closed my ears to the hellish roar 
 And the far-famed Chinese lies. 
 
 "When I was fifteen, mother died, 
 
 And relatives thought it best 
 To ship me out — though I cursed and cried- 
 
 For schooling and all the rest. 
 
 "You see, I fell for the peaceful ways 
 I learned in my father's home: 
 
 Snoozing away the dreamy days 
 And using the nights to roam. 
 
 "Winter it was when I reached the States, 
 Christmas and — you boys know. 
 
 Think of the novelty: skis and skates 
 And the earth all glinting snow! 
 
 27 
 
"I lived in a quaint New England manse — 
 
 Little and white and clean — 
 That seemed a palace of grand romance, 
 
 With everything, — sure! a queen; 
 
 "Oh, she was a kid with hair like gold 
 
 And eyes just built for fun! 
 We studied at night, when all was cold. 
 
 And played each day in the sun. 
 
 "The months flew on in a careless way 
 
 Until the roses came; 
 Then the queen grew weary . . . and went away 
 
 And things weren't quite the same. . . . 
 
 "Rawley, my lad, so this is romance? 
 
 Well, maybe it is for you; 
 For me, it's an ivy-covered manse, 
 
 And meadows wet with dew. 
 
 "Mystery here, and the glamour-land? 
 
 People differ, you know; 
 I'd trade the riches of Samarkand 
 
 For stars on a field of snow!" 
 
 Kavanaugh stopped; it was still as death, 
 For most of us knew the goods; 
 
 Then Rawley started, under his breath, 
 " — The hush of the Mahim woods. — " 
 
 28 
 
THE JESTER 
 
 MY friends, kind friends, withhold your blame 
 Until my dust blows down the wind. 
 Nor praise me, lest I blush with shame. 
 Until I play the last, grim game 
 And leave my dreams behind. 
 
 My friends, dear friends, reserve your tears, — 
 No thing of worth can grow from chaff, — 
 
 But when the least among you hears 
 
 The sob and sigh of dying years. 
 Remember me, and laugh. 
 
 29 
 
FXHOES 
 
 MY two old salts are funny chaps; 
 From dawn till dark they sit outdoors 
 With brass-bound books upon their laps 
 And talk, I think, of pirate wars. 
 
 I watch them from my shadowed lawn 
 Across the sprinkled, muddy street, 
 
 Their well-worn blouses loosely drawn 
 And carpet slippers on their feet. 
 
 Oh, they are garrulous enough 
 
 When no one comes to interfere. 
 Because their voices, quick and gruff, 
 
 Are quite the only sounds I hear. 
 
 Yet when I cross and join them there 
 
 Where cool, white boughs whisk to and fro. 
 
 They nod and smile but scorn to share 
 The meanest tale of all they know. 
 
 W^e damn the heat in quiet tones . . . 
 
 jind each of us, as sure as doom, 
 Is dancing under Skull and Bones 
 
 To clang of sivord and cannon boom! 
 
HELEN, NOT OF TROY 
 
 HERO-KINGS of old 
 Launched a thousand ships 
 When a Trojan, overbold, 
 
 Touched a Greek girl's lips. 
 
 She, of course, was fair, 
 
 Else would chivalry 
 In its eagerness to dare 
 
 Cross a haunted sea? 
 
 You who bear her name 
 
 Dim her from afar, 
 As the moon a candle's flame. 
 
 As the sun a star! 
 
 Lovelier than love, 
 
 Merrier than joy, 
 Helen I am singing of — 
 
 Helen, not of Troy! 
 
 September 9 
 
 31 
 
WILL-O'-THE-WISP 
 
 I HAVE seen love in the dark, 
 Gleaming like an anvil-spark; 
 I have seen love in the dawn, 
 Dancing on and on and on! 
 
 I have heard love's madrigal, 
 Every lyric rise and fall 
 Glad as laughter in the Spring, 
 Sad as Autumn's whispering. 
 
 I have heard love tune a star — 
 Always faint and fair and far; 
 I have seen love climh the j^ears- 
 Always through a mist of tears. . . 
 
 32 
 
THE SCHOOLMASTER 
 
 FOUR o'clock and work is over; 
 All the little lads and lasses 
 Wander home through the clover, 
 Through the grasses. . . . 
 
 And I can dream — 
 
 Of what? 
 
 Well, Camelot, 
 
 Or border-thieves 
 
 Who have crossed the stream 
 
 And catch the gleam 
 
 Of a town ahead — oh, each horse heaves 
 
 For the day is hot! . . . 
 
 Or let me dream of a city street, 
 
 Where rich-man, poor-man, beggar-man meet; 
 
 A street just shining after a rain, 
 
 Where women, very fair and sweet, 
 
 Flash by in high disdain. . . . 
 
 Four o'clock and work is over; 
 
 All the little lads and lasses 
 Wander home through the clover. 
 
 Through the grasses. . . . 
 
 And I can dream. . . . 
 
 33 
 
Some morning they will find the door 
 Bolted, and when the yokels pour 
 Into the room, they will see 
 Sorry me 
 
 Lying there with my poor, old head 
 Open wide, and my dreams on the floor. 
 And all of us, who were underfed, 
 Quite dead. 
 
 34 
 
WANDER SONGS 
 
 Today 
 
 A QUIET road and the deep dust 
 And nowhere to go but on, on; 
 A fire at night and hard crust, 
 A dream and a song at dawn! 
 
 A roof is the thing when storms blow. 
 And silver and gold inake light load, 
 
 But where can my singing dreams grow 
 So fair as along the road? 
 
 Tomorrow 
 A little house is all I ask, 
 
 (I see its shadow in the fire), 
 To dream by day my only task, 
 
 To dream by night my one desire. 
 
 The roses kindle on its walls 
 
 And choke the gravel garden-walk, 
 Where robin sings and bobwhite calls 
 
 And happy cliildren laugh and talk. 
 
 A wee, white house — all mine! Just wait; 
 
 Some night when God regrets my scars 
 He'll lead me gently to the gate 
 
 And put on guard a crowd of stars. 
 
 35 
 
A PORTRAIT 
 
 A ZEPHYR from the evcr-nuirmurous ocean 
 Seemed, in a spirit full of sweetest praise, 
 To kiss the tendrils of her hair to motion. 
 To hide the silver strands of after-days. 
 
 In her brown eyes, bedimmed with tears of yearning, 
 There shone at once a passionate, girlish gleam. 
 
 I dreamed of roses in the winter burning, 
 
 And sunbeams shimmering through a shaded 
 stream. 
 
 36 
 
NOCTURNE 
 
 THE niglit-wind wailed about the eaves 
 And hurled against my window pane 
 Bits of dead branches and sodden leaver, 
 And wisps of rain. 
 
 A shutter raised; the night-wind found 
 A quiet form upon my bed. . . . 
 
 Oh, what are night and wind and sound, 
 When one is dead? 
 
 n 
 
AT DUSK OF DAY 
 
 GLIMMERING over the marshes, 
 It calls me still, 
 Though I have lived long years 
 High on a hill. 
 
 Where winds and the little stars 
 
 Lull me to sleep 
 As night creeps on and on 
 
 Out of the deep. 
 
 Once, in a twilight wood, 
 
 I walked alone; 
 Suddenly something whispered — 
 
 And then it shone! 
 
 I pressed it to my breast. 
 
 Until my heart 
 Burst into flames and scattered 
 
 The fairer part. 
 
 And so on mj' windy hill, 
 
 At dusk of day, 
 My heart knows the bit of a dream 
 
 It lost for aye. 
 
 38 
 
LIFE 
 
 WHEN I was young and gay and proud, 
 A woman sneered and passed me by. 
 Self-pitying, I wailed aloud: 
 "O God, I want to die!" 
 
 When I am old and mean and sour. 
 
 The whole world sneers, and I forgive. 
 
 I whisper dully, hour by hour: 
 "O God, I want to live!" 
 
 39 
 
WISDOiM 
 
 HOP- A LONG Callahan 
 Hopped too far. . . . 
 He burned his fingers one fair night 
 Plucking at a star. 
 
 Bridget o'the Crossroads 
 
 Told me true: 
 Wherever Pan kissed mortal lips, 
 
 There a wild rose grew. 
 
 "Never sit a-dreaming 
 
 Underneath the moon," 
 Said Sarah Jane, "or learn the truth 
 
 All too soon." 
 
 40 
 
THE MADMEN 
 
 THEY find it — God, what you will — 
 In the heart of a rose, 
 Or a pool of mud, 
 Or a woman's soul. 
 And God, 
 Lest He be drawn 
 
 Through highway, field and market-place, 
 Whispers' in the ears of the rest: 
 "Listen not to their talk; 
 Hide them away from the world; 
 They are mad." 
 
 41 
 
A RHYME OF THE RED ROMANCE 
 
 I HAVE seen Egyptian armies cringe before the 
 Hyksos spears 
 Where the fires of NiUis driftwood redly 
 gleamed; 
 I have known in mean, small years 
 Myriad joys and myriad fears — 
 
 I have stormed the walls of Elfland, I have 
 dreamed! 
 
 Alexander, Cyrus, Caesar, name one hero of them all 
 In whose council-tent I have not planned and 
 schemed; 
 
 Name one lover of a brawl 
 
 Who has sent me fruitless call — 
 
 I have lived in gay Valhalla. I have dreamed! 
 
 When the "sauve qui peut!" rang madly down the 
 field of Waterloo, 
 It was I who spiked the cannon where they 
 screamed; 
 When at Five Forks Lee withdrew. 
 Leaving glory to tlie Blue, 
 
 I and Sheridan were schoolboys — I have 
 dreamed! 
 
 42 
 
Ages pass like little minutes, kings and nations fade 
 away, 
 While I fill the castles thought of mine has 
 teemed. 
 Take tlie gold I scorn, and play — 
 1 have mined the yesterday, 
 
 I have stormed the walls of Elfland, I have 
 dreamed ! 
 
 43 
 
APOSTASY 
 
 YOU and I beside the ember-glow; 
 Quiet, and the shadows ever3'where. 
 Nothing but the eyes and lips I know. 
 And your hair. 
 
 Life and death, the world and dreary wars- 
 I am tired of thinking; let me rest. 
 
 Nothing is, or seems, but night, tlic stars . . 
 And your breast. 
 
 44 
 
LIMBO 
 
 IF you and I were old, 
 How good this crackling fire would seem! 
 Before it we could sit and dream 
 Of all the myths romancers told 
 When girls were fair and knights were bold. 
 How we should talk and plan and scheme, 
 H you and I were old! 
 
 If you and I were young, 
 
 The meadow lands of far-away 
 Would call us at the break of day 
 
 To seek their breasts, where flowers had clung 
 
 And all the poet-birds had sung. 
 We should forget today in play. 
 
 If you and I were young. 
 
 But you and I, my dear. 
 
 Are not quite old enough to know 
 The need and cheer of ember-glow. 
 
 Nor yet quite young enough to hear 
 
 Forgotten calls of wood and weir. . . . 
 
 We are in limbo — spare a tear 
 For by-and-by and long-ago! 
 
 45 
 
TO YOU WHOM I DARED NOT SEE 
 
 YEARS and years ago 
 You and I, my dear, 
 Knew what lovers know, 
 Feared what lovers fear. 
 
 Only yesterday 
 
 I passed througli the town, 
 Quiet, sombre, gray, 
 
 Wliere you settled down. 
 
 For the tiniest space — 
 
 Please to understand! — 
 I would see your face, 
 
 I would hold your hand. 
 
 Then I thought of things 
 
 Every mortal knows 
 Apropos of Springs, 
 
 Beauty and the rose. 
 
 Years and years ago . . . 
 Let our song be sung! 
 We did so-and-so — 
 
 Bui the ivorld ivus young! 
 
 ^6 
 
WAYFARERS 
 
 WHEN I am dead, and stumbling through the 
 gloom 
 Down paths where other dim and sad ghosts 
 
 fare, 
 I'll grieve until you thrill along the air, 
 The only gleam of light in that vast tomb. 
 
 When I am dead, and lonely longing grips 
 My inner soul to hear a song again. 
 The dark will roll away a moment — then 
 
 My name will glow to music on your lips! 
 
 When I am dead, and finally understand 
 
 How dear our comradship on earth had been, 
 You'll come with word of stranger worlds to 
 win. 
 
 And we shall wander toward them, hand in hand. 
 
 47 
 
I HAVE MADE TWO SONGS FOR YOU 
 
 I HAVE made two songs for you: 
 One for heaven, one for hell, 
 One that you can tell to few, 
 One that you can never tell. 
 
 I have planned them all these years; 
 
 Out of star-dust one was made, 
 And the other, dull with tears. 
 
 Out of twilight and blue shade. 
 
 I have made two songs for you: 
 One for giving, one to hold. 
 
 Sing the first, as youth must do; 
 Hug the last when you arc old. 
 
 48 
 
MAURYA 
 
 (For Katherine) 
 
 MAURYA came in the Springtiiv 
 A wistful bit of a thing; 
 Oh, Maurya came in the Springtime, 
 And the morn's awakening. 
 
 We found her at our doorstep, 
 
 A gift of the mystic Shee, 
 And so she lived from then on 
 
 With mother, father and me. 
 
 Father would toss her arms-high. 
 Or dandle her on his knee; 
 
 Mother would sing her to sleep nights; 
 And I — she was nought to me. 
 
 As strong, she grew, as a larch tree, 
 With eyes like a bluebird's wings. 
 
 And hair the shade of an ash-bud. I — 
 I told her none of these things. 
 
 One night, in the Spring, when crossing 
 The glen where she used to play, 
 
 I heard, a laugh, all soft-like; 
 
 "Slan leat!" it seemed to say; 
 
 49 
 
And when I got to our cottage. 
 
 There mother, on father's breast, 
 Was sobbing, "O Maurya, Maurya!" — 
 And both of the dears had guessed 
 
 Father sighs when the birds come 
 To nest in our whitethorn tree; 
 
 Mother ^veeps when the birds come; 
 And I . . . she was nought to me. 
 
 (Slan leat: Farewell) 
 
 50 
 
QUANDARY 
 
 I WOULD sing you songs 
 Dawn and evening, 
 Sad songs, mad songs, 
 About everything — 
 
 Passion and flowers, 
 
 Starlight and dew. . . , 
 
 This alone hinders: 
 Who are you? 
 
 51 
 
CAOINE 
 
 SPRING again, and the green things growing, 
 Birds in song and the roses blown; 
 Spring again, but it's I am knowing 
 
 Spring is dead when a dream has flown. 
 
 Colleens laugh at the lads they're meeting, 
 
 All of the world is love in tune 
 Thrilling the air, and blithely greeting 
 
 Life and youth and another June. 
 
 Spring again, and the starlings flying 
 
 Over a land where the glad elves tread; 
 
 Spring again, but my heart is crying — 
 
 "Spring means nought when a dream is dead. 
 
 52 
 
JILL, DO YOU REMEMBER? 
 
 JILL, do you remember 
 How in wintry weatlier, 
 Snowy, wild December, 
 
 We would fare together • 
 
 To the little grill 
 
 Always open wide, 
 Where was room for Jill, 
 
 Jack — and none beside? 
 
 Jill, do you recall 
 
 When Spring, aquiver. 
 Woke each waterfall. 
 
 Valley, hill and river. 
 
 How we went a-wending. 
 
 Pals of Fancy Free, 
 Ours for just the spending 
 
 All eternity? 
 
 Do you, too, remember still 
 
 All ijje planned and dreamed for, Jill.^ 
 
 53 
 
PERADVENTURE 
 
 IS love so kind, 
 Is love so blind 
 As poets try to tell? 
 Will love uphold 
 The young and old 
 As well? 
 
 Is love so grave, 
 Is love so brave 
 
 To see the riddle through? 
 Will love endure? 
 I'm not quite sure — 
 
 Are you? 
 
 54 
 
VILLON 
 
 SOMEHOW, I do not picture him as one 
 Who brawled in dirty inns from dusk to dawn, 
 Who slobbered wine and fondled gutter-spawn 
 From daybreak, void of rest, till set of sun. 
 
 He must have known the fields outside the town. 
 Where flowers bloomed and little children 
 played; 
 
 He must have wandered there, and flung him down 
 To dream awhile, unhindered, unafraid. 
 
 I do not picture him as one to sell 
 
 Untainted love for pleasures soon grown cold; 
 
 I do not picture him as young or old. 
 Because he sneered at love — then loved too well. 
 
 55 
 
GOD IS SINGING 
 
 Man : 
 
 GOD is singing in the morning 
 Some old song of toil and law; 
 God is working on a vision 
 Angels never saw. 
 
 IV Oman: 
 
 God is singing in the twilight 
 
 Lullabies that have no theme; 
 God is fashioning a cradle 
 
 Out of pain and dream. 
 
 56 
 
THERE ARE TWO LADIES IN OUR 
 LITTLE TOWN 
 
 THERE are two ladies in our little town 
 Who look like Knossan ivory statuettes; 
 They neither smile nor speak, as up and down 
 The street they walk, both sombre with regret. 
 
 Miss Maurya loves the world and fears to tell, 
 Because she had a lover long ago; 
 
 Miss Barbara believes the world a hell — 
 
 Because she had a lover . . . strange, you know. 
 
 To lift their sorrows, we would gladly give 
 Our very all, and we have tried and tried. 
 
 Their souls? One died when it had learned to live; 
 The other did not live imtil it died. 
 
 57 
 
THE PRAYER OF ISEULT OF THE 
 WHITE HANDS 
 
 WHEN I shall die, some folk will say 
 That I was loth to go. 
 He thoughtless. . . . They who talk that way 
 Are not quite tired enough to know. 
 
 When I shall die, dig deep the grave 
 
 Beneath my hawthorn tree. 
 Where earth I prayed on will not save 
 
 The weary, wayward husk of me. 
 
 I want to slumber on and on. 
 
 Nor hear the wild birds sing. 
 I shall not know of dusk or dawn, 
 
 Of love or pain or anything. 
 
 Oh, I shall never dream in vain 
 
 When Spring laughs down the glen; 
 
 And I shall never feel the rain, 
 
 Nor weep weak tears, nor care again. 
 
 58 
 
A LITTLE TOWN 
 
 I KNOW a little town 
 Hidden in the hills, 
 A fair town, a rare town 
 Of noisy saw-mills 
 
 And bordered about 
 
 By fields of ripe wheat, 
 
 And barley, and clover 
 Blossoming and sweet. 
 
 I know a little town 
 
 Of houses white. 
 Where whistles blow mornings 
 
 And bells ring at night. 
 
 Where children play hide-and-seek 
 
 And mumbledy-peg, 
 Where no folk are rich folk 
 
 And none has to beg. 
 
 I know a little town 
 
 Nestled in the blue 
 Of low, long ago hills, — 
 
 And you do, too! 
 
 59 
 
SOUNDS 
 
 I HEAR the selfsame sounds each day — 
 The screech of wheel, the clang of bell. 
 Whistles, and cries that fade away 
 Like winds among the asphodel. 
 
 But in the night, far in the night. 
 
 The strangest whispers come to me 
 
 From some vast deep, from some vast height. 
 Suppose they ii:ere eternity! 
 
 60 
 
GOD 
 
 MY God is just a little chap, 
 With curly hair and rosy cheeks, 
 Who wears a checkered cricket-cap 
 
 And smiles all day but seldom speaks. 
 
 My God is hardly three feet tall; 
 
 He never scolds nor gets real mad, 
 Even when ugly wars befall, — 
 
 But oh, his eyes are sad. 
 
 61 
 
A VAGRANT'S RHYME 
 
 LIFE is a mile on a cobbled road 
 Of pain'; 
 Life is a crust that's burned, a stinging goad, 
 God's one reward the kiss of the rain. 
 
 Vagrant I am till I come to die 
 
 Amain ; 
 Then for my soul to fly where wild birds fly! , 
 
 My dust cool mud in the soft, dear rain. 
 
 62 
 
RUE 
 
 I NEVER see the dark 
 Edging up the street 
 But I think of nights 
 
 Long, long ago, 
 When we fashioned dream's. 
 Dainty ones and sweet, 
 Out of those things 
 Only lovers know. 
 
 I never hear the wind 
 
 Singing day to sleep 
 But I think how you. 
 
 Long ago in Spring, 
 Fled with all our dreams — 
 
 As if that could keep 
 Them and me and you 
 
 From remembering! 
 
 63 
 
GOSSIP 
 
 I NEVER come nor go away, 
 I never laugh nor sigh, 
 I never stop to play — 
 
 But gossip-elves are by. 
 
 They find in all my simple deeds 
 Subject for whispered words 
 
 That multiply like weeds 
 
 And noisy sparrow-birds. 
 
 I wonder idly whether you 
 
 (As I) are dancing now 
 To stories, old and new, 
 
 Blown through the world somehow? 
 
 64 
 
HAUNTS 
 
 I KNOW their haunts — the long, long dead- 
 For in the night I hear them tread 
 Out of the mists of yesterday 
 Into the streets where old dreams play. . . . 
 
 Here Guinevere and Lancelot 
 
 Climb up the hills to Camelot; 
 
 There Abelard and Heloise 
 
 Saunter beneath the almond trees 
 
 Of Paris town; in Rimini 
 
 Paul and Francesca peacefully 
 
 Walk through the moonlight hand in hand, 
 
 For Dante, made to understand. 
 
 Discards for aye his sorry hell. . . . 
 
 I know their haunts, I know them well. 
 My favorites have always been: 
 Below dark walls the Fir-cone Inn, 
 Where Frangois hides with smirk and leer, 
 Until the windows, blindly drear. 
 Tell him the past has slipped away; 
 And Oxford Street, dust-blown and gray. 
 Where Ann pursues her weary tramp 
 But shuttered door and corner-lamp. 
 I love these two more than the rest, 
 And Oxford Street I love the best. 
 
 65 
 
UNDER THE SEA 
 
 AMONG no grasses whispering 
 Old songs of high desire 
 Shall I find death, nor yet where Spring 
 
 Riots afire, 
 But to a cavern, cold as snow, 
 
 Where broods my destiny, 
 Shall I arise some night and go — 
 Under the sea, 
 Under the sea. 
 
 Upon no cloud-lumg mountain peak, 
 
 Within no tangled glen 
 Will husk of mine arouse to seek 
 
 Its soul again, 
 But in a cavern, child of night. 
 
 They will combine and be 
 A fearless essence, clear and white, — 
 
 Under the sea, 
 
 Under the sea. 
 
 66 
 
INTERVAL 
 
 You told ine why a flower grows, 
 You told me how a spider spins, 
 
 You told me where the ocean flows 
 And where the dawn begins. 
 
 You told me why a skylark sings. 
 
 You told me why the night is black, 
 
 } 'o7i told 77ie that a dream has wings 
 To fly afar, and back. 
 
 You gave me eyes and mind and soul. 
 
 Then went away . . . Till you return 
 
 I creep where waves of chaos roll 
 And broken idols burn. 
 
 67 
 
RAGNAROK 
 
 [For Lester, Brotlier and Soldier] 
 
WAR! 
 
 DROWNING the noise of cities, 
 Louder than ocean's roar, 
 Shivers the call of a nation's all: 
 War! War! War! 
 
 Out on the lonesome prairie, 
 
 Over the sun-baked plain, 
 Down in the street where the millions meet 
 
 Rumbles the brave refrain: 
 
 "We who are slow to anger, 
 
 Ready to proffer ruth, 
 Battle at last for our gloried past. 
 
 Honor and right and truth! 
 
 "God in his highest heaven 
 
 Knows we have prayed for light; 
 
 God will not blame, for we breathe his name 
 Now, as we rise to smite!" 
 
 Clearer than sound of bugle. 
 
 Straight from the nation's core. 
 
 Surges the hymn of a land grown grim: 
 War! War! War! 
 
 71 
 
A PRAYER 
 
 THEY go with ringing laughter on their lips, 
 They go with iron and glory in their hearts, 
 They go — our hope — down to the hungry ships, 
 And all the fields are lonely and the marts. 
 
 We cannot know the horrors they are near, 
 
 Nor dark and evil tides their might must 
 stem. . . . 
 O days, be fair! O nights, be sweet and clear! 
 
 O hours that creep toward peace, be kind to 
 them! 
 
 n 
 
THERE ARE NO BOYS IN COLLEGE NOW 
 ^HERE are no boys in college now, but men! 
 
 T" 
 
 No longer do they saunter down the street, 
 
 Bound for the theatres and picture-shows, 
 
 Chaffing the girls (the pretty ones) they meet, 
 
 Singing and whistling, full of fun— and pose. 
 
 No longer do they bluff and flunk and cut. 
 
 Then ask of "unfair" deans another chance; 
 
 No longer do they think of pleasures, but 
 
 How to get ready — quick — for jobs in France. 
 
 O soft old days, never to live again, 
 There are no boys in college now, but men! 
 
 IZ 
 
AS OF YORE! 
 
 AT Lexington and Concord rang the call. . . . 
 Away with scythes, and over ditch and wall 
 Rallied the Anglo-Saxon in our sires, 
 Rallied and plunged unthinking in the fires! 
 
 From immemorial days of wrack and flame 
 They knew the forfeit — and they alwaj's came! 
 
 At Gettysburg, Antietam, Mobile Bay, 
 Our fathers showed that Right is strong to pay; 
 Now in France, where Liberty's bell has pealed, 
 Our flag and blood and honor take the field! 
 
 Down through the ages, proud of heart and name. 
 They knew the forfeit — and they always came! 
 
 74 
 
SOULS 
 
 I HAVE a German neighbor 
 Who has a son 
 Twelve years old. 
 Yesterday afternoon 
 He was playing in the yard. 
 Some other youngsters passed 
 And called out: 
 
 "Hey, Jimmy, you Germans are going to get licked. 
 How do you like being a German, Jimmy?" 
 Jim's cheeks flamed 
 And his little fists clenched. 
 "I ain't a German, see!" he cried. 
 And there were tears in his voice. . . . 
 
 And his soul? 
 
 Were tears there, too? 
 
 We and ours 
 
 Must be very careful these days 
 
 About the souls 
 
 Of youth. 
 
 75 
 
WHO WILL BUY OUR DREAMS? 
 
 WHO will buy our dreams? Why see, 
 Here is one of Spring, 
 Lilacs, April bashfully 
 Learning how to sing! 
 
 Here is one of ice and snows, 
 
 Holly, Christmas trees; 
 Here is one that dawns and glows 
 
 Far on southern seas. 
 
 Name a mood j-ou think yon love; 
 
 Wc shall sell today 
 All our hearts are masters of. 
 
 Visions gold and gray. 
 
 Wc are surging on to France, 
 
 WHiere an Eagle screams: 
 "Fight for God! Forget romance!" . . . 
 
 W'ho will buy our dreams? 
 
 76 
 
EXORDIUM 
 
 WE reap the harvest tears and blood have sovk^n; 
 We learn the lesson misery has taught; 
 At last we face the Hun and not alone, 
 
 For while we slumbered France and Britain 
 fought. 
 
 A chantey booms wherever sea-tides break; 
 
 A glory warms the darkness as a spark . . . 
 America has heard the voice of Drake! 
 
 America has seen your face, Jeanne d'Arc! 
 
 n 
 
THE SACRIFICE 
 
 IF you should hear earth moan, and fail to heed; 
 If you should turn your back on writhing pain; 
 If you should close your eyes when nations bleed, 
 You would be one with Cain ! 
 
 Although you give your riches to the state. 
 
 Although you yield your body, clean and whole, 
 
 You shall receive a dim reward from fate — 
 You must present your soul! 
 
 78 
 
MASTER FRANCOIS, CLERK OF PARIS, 
 SINGS FROAl THE GRAVE 
 
 FALLEN on strange ways, 
 I rejoiced in sombre things — 
 Stormy nights and brawling days 
 And the sadness singing brings. 
 
 Born in sorry times, 
 
 I exulted with my kind 
 In mad deeds and madder rhymes 
 
 And the evil I could find. 
 
 Fallen on strange ways. 
 
 These loves only wove romance 
 Through the fever of my days — 
 
 Sword and tankard, song and France. 
 
 79 
 
THE SILENT SINGERS 
 
 THOSE boys, the lyric ones who diced with death 
 In Belgian villages and fields of France; 
 Those boys who passed with songs on their last 
 breath 
 Left to the world an autograplied romance. 
 
 But oh, the rest: the million silent chaps! 
 
 Their hymns of praise, their chants of finer gold, 
 They saved for days beyond the sound of taps, 
 
 And each anthology the seraphs hold. 
 
 80 
 
JOAN OF ARC WAS THERE! 
 
 I WALKED along the boulevard. 
 Across each quiet square; 
 I saw young faces, grim and scarred, — 
 And Joan of Arc was there! 
 
 I sought the town of Domremy, 
 And found it calm and fair, 
 
 Just as they said it used to be 
 When Joan of Arc was there. 
 
 I sought the north, where battles gleam, 
 And youth the brave and yare 
 
 Is dying for an old, old dream — 
 And Joan of Arc was there! 
 
 "O God of Justice, France is blessed!" 
 My simple, humble prayer 
 
 Broke forth like lightning in my breast, 
 For Joan of Arc ivas there! 
 
 81 
 
ROBIN HOOD 
 
 ROBIN HOOD, Robin Hood, wind your horn 
 ag'ain, 
 Break tlTC Sherwood silence, call your merrie men! 
 
 Robin, England staggers, horrible in pain; 
 
 I-eave your sleepy forest, thunder down the plain, 
 
 Dim your olden glory, shame your olden skill, — 
 Trench can never stop you, bog, nor barren hill! 
 
 That is Vimy Ridge there, just an ugly scar. 
 But in every British heart glowing like a star! 
 
 Robin, Robin, Robin, summon all your men! 
 God and Merrie England! take the field again! 
 
 82 
 
"VIVE LA FRANCE!" 
 
 "So Joseph Jacques Cesaire Joffre rode into the 
 heart of Neiv York." — Neivs Item. 
 
 OVER the roar and clangor, 
 Sharp as a soldier's lance, 
 Thundered the diapason: 
 "Vive la France!" 
 
 Women and little children. 
 
 Fervid and wonder-strung, 
 Work-worn men, knowing youth again. 
 
 Cheered in an alien tongue. 
 
 Broadway, the mark of sneerers, 
 
 Streets that have awed the earth, 
 
 Bathed the air in a glow of prayer — 
 Hope in the throes of birth. 
 
 Out of the sobs and tumult, 
 
 Crown of a world's romance, 
 
 Trembled the benediction: 
 "Vive la France!" 
 
 83 
 
'BOOT, SADDLE, TO HORSE, AND AWAY!' 
 
 NEARLY a hundred years ago 
 Three bards flourished and toiled and died, 
 Still in the glamour youth may know, 
 Life a joy, but its best untried. 
 
 Nearly a hundred years ago 
 Three bards vanished as sunsets go. 
 Leaving a fame no time-god cheats — 
 Shelley and BjTon and Keats. 
 
 Now, in the span of two short years, 
 
 Youngsters of sword as well as song 
 
 Pay romance on the far frontiers. 
 
 Death a joy, for their hearts were strong. 
 
 What of the songs they might have sung? 
 Deeds are songs when the world is young! 
 Dreams, and death for a fleeting look — 
 Ledwidge and Seeger and Brooke. 
 
 84 
 
IN A HOSPITAL 
 
 NEARER the cot she leant 
 To looTc at the shattered clod. 
 "So this," she whispered, "was what he meant 
 By dottig his bit for God." 
 
 Slowly she rose and turned. 
 
 "His bit and his God," she said. 
 Her bosom heaved and her two cheeks burned, 
 
 But her eyes, her eyes were dead. 
 
 85 
 
CUL-DE-SAC 
 
 IF all the wonder of a child 
 And all a mother's love could be 
 Refined in some vast crucible 
 
 And scattered, warm and free, 
 Through all the hearts in all the worlds 
 That gleam and hurtle down the blue. 
 What would the war-gods dare to think — 
 Or do? 
 
 86 
 
A LITTLE SONG 
 
 I KNOW that war is very mad; 
 I know that life is blind with tears, 
 Dulling her dreams, so fair and glad, 
 
 In other years. 
 I know that love is growing wan— 
 And yet a little song sings on. 
 
 I know some evil thing is fired 
 
 With all of Earth's abysmal pain; 
 
 I know that God, distraught and tired, 
 Would sleep again. 
 
 I know these things but, night and dawn, 
 
 A little song throbs on and on. 
 
 87 
 
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