PS 1277 
 .U5 
 1896 
 Copy 1 
 
 UNDERTONES 
 By 
 
 Madison Cawein 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 
 
 Chap. , Copyright No. 
 
 Shelf__i2^_.__^ 
 
 ■ ZF7^ 
 
 UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 
 
OATEN STOP SERIES 
 III 
 
v:: 
 
 VNDERTONES 
 
 BY MADISON CAWEIN 
 
 BOSTON COPELAND AND DAY 
 M D CCC XCVI 
 
 
 
-Us- 
 
 COPYRIGHT 1896 BY COPELAND AND DAY 
 
INSCRIBED TO THE PATHETIC 
 
 MEMORY OF THE POET 
 
 HENRY TIMROD 
 
Long are the days, and three times long the nights. 
 
 The nveary hours are a hea^y chain 
 
 Upon the feet of all Earth's dear delights. 
 
 Holding them enjer prisoners to pain. 
 
 What shall beguile me to believe again 
 
 In hope, that faith ivithin her parable ''writes 
 
 Of life, care reads ivith eyes ivhose tear-drops 
 
 stain F 
 Shall such assist me to subdue the heights F 
 Long is the night, and o<verlong the day. — 
 The burden of all being ! — is it <zvorse 
 Or better, lo ! that they nvho toil and pray 
 May ivin not more than they ^who toil and curse F 
 A little sleep, a little lo^e, ah me I 
 And the slo^w ^weight up the souVs Calvary ! 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 
 THE DREAMER I 
 
 gUIET 2 
 
 UNQUALIFIED 3 
 
 UNENCOURAGED ASPIRATION ... 3 
 
 THE WOOD 4 
 
 WOOD NOTES 5 
 
 SUCCESS 7 
 
 SONG 7 
 
 THE OLD SPRING 8 
 
 HILLS OF THE WEST lO 
 
 FLOWERS II 
 
 SECOND SIGHT 12 
 
 DEAD SEA FRUIT 1 3 
 
 THE WOOD WITCH I4 
 
 AT SUNSET 16 
 
 MAY 17 
 
 THE WIND OF SPRING 1 8 
 
 INTERPRETED I 9 
 
 THE WILLOW BOTTOM 20 
 
 THE OLD BARN 22 
 
 CLEARING 23 
 
 REQUIEM 25 
 
 AT LAST = c . . 26 
 
 vii 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 
 A DARK DAY 27 
 
 FALL .28 
 
 UNDERTONE 29 
 
 CONCLUSION 30 
 
 MONOCHROMES ^Z 
 
 DAYS AND DAYS 34 
 
 DROUTH IN AUTUMN 35 
 
 MID-WINTER 36 
 
 COLD 37 
 
 IN WINTER 38 
 
 ON THE FARM 39 
 
 PATHS 41 
 
 A SONG IN SEASON 43 
 
 APART 44 
 
 FAERY MORRIS 45 
 
 THE world's DESIRE 46 
 
 THE UNATTAINABLE 47 
 
 REMEMBERED 5I 
 
 THE SEA SPIRIT §2 
 
 A DREAM SHAPE 53 
 
 THE VAMPIRE 54 
 
 WILL-O'-THE-WISP 56 
 
 THE HEADLESS HORSEMAN .... 57 
 
 THE WERE-WOLF 59 
 
 THE TROGLODYTE 62 
 
 THE CITY OF DARKNESS .... 63 
 
 TRANSMUTATION . 6$ 
 
 viii 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 THE DREAMER 
 
 EVEN as a child he loved to thrid the 
 bowers, 
 And mark the loafing sunlight's lazy laugh j 
 Or, on each season, spell the epitaph 
 Of its dead months repeated in their flowers 5 
 Or list the music of the strolling showers, 
 Whose vagabond notes strummed through 
 
 a twinkling staff"; 
 Or read the day's delivered monograph 
 Through all the chapters of its daedal 
 
 hours. 
 Still with the same child-faith and child- 
 regard 
 He looks on Nature, hearing, at her heart, 
 The beautiful beat out the time and place, 
 Whereby no lesson of this life is hard, 
 No struggle vain of science or of art. 
 That dies with failure written on its face. 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 QUIET 
 
 A LOG-HUT in the solitude, 
 A clapboard roof to rest beneath! 
 This side, the shadow-haunted wood j 
 That side, the sunlight-haunted heath. 
 
 At daybreak Morn shall come to me 
 In raiment of the white winds spunj 
 
 Slim in her rosy hand the key 
 
 That opes the gateway of the sun. 
 
 Her smile shall help my heart enough 
 With love to labor all the day. 
 
 And cheer the road, whose rocks are rough, 
 With her smooth footprints, each a ray. 
 
 At dusk a voice shall call afar, 
 
 A lone voice like the whippoorwill's; 
 
 And, on her shimmering brow one star, 
 Night shall descend the western hills. 
 
 She at my door till dawn shall stand. 
 With Gothic eyes, that, dark and deep, 
 
 Are mirrors of a mystic land, 
 
 Fantastic with the towns of sleep. 
 
UNENCOURAGED ASPIRATION 
 
 UNQUALIFIED 
 
 NOT his the part to win the goal, 
 The flaming goal that flies before. 
 Into whose course the apples roll 
 Of self that stay his feet the more. 
 
 Beyond himself he shall not win 
 Whose flesh is as a driven dust, 
 
 That his own soul must wander in. 
 Seeing no farther than his lust. 
 
 UNENCOURAGED ASPIRATION 
 
 IS mine the part of no companion hand 
 Of help, except my shadow's silent self? 
 A moonlight traveller in Fancy's land 
 Of leering gnome and hollow-laughing elfj 
 
 Whose forests deepen and whose moon 
 
 goes down. 
 When Night's blind shadow shall usurp 
 
 my own; 
 And, mid the dust and wreck of some 
 
 old town. 
 The City of Dreams, I grope and fall alone. 
 
 3 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 THE WOOD 
 
 WITCH-HAZEL, dogwood, and the 
 maple here; 
 And there the oak and hickory; 
 Linn, poplar, and the beech-tree, far and 
 near 
 As the eased eye can see. 
 
 Wild-ginger; wahoo, with its wan balloons; 
 And brakes of briers of a twilight green; 
 And fox-grapes plumed with summer; and 
 strung moons 
 Of mandrake flowers between. 
 
 Deep gold-green ferns, and mosses red and 
 gray, — 
 Mats for what naked myth's white feet ? — 
 And, cool and calm, a cascade far away 
 With even-falling beat. 
 
 Old logs, made sweet with death; rough 
 bits of bark; 
 And tangled twig and knotted root; 
 And sunshine splashes and great pools of 
 dark; 
 And many a wild-bird's flute. 
 4 
 
WOOD NOTES 
 
 Here let me sit until the Indian, Dusk, 
 
 With copper-colored feet, comes down; 
 Sowing the wildwood with star-fire and 
 musk. 
 And shadows blue and brown. 
 
 Then side by side with some magician 
 dream. 
 To take the owlet-haunted lane. 
 Half-roofed with vines; led by a firefly 
 gleam. 
 That brings me home again. 
 
 WOOD NOTES 
 
 THERE is a flute that follows me 
 From tree to tree: 
 A water flute a spirit sets 
 To silver lips in waterfalls, 
 And through the breath of violets 
 A sparkling music calls : 
 
 "Hither! halloo! Oh, follow! 
 Down leafy hill and hollow. 
 Where, through clear swirls, 
 5 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 With feet like pearls, 
 Wade up the blue-eyed country girls. 
 Hither! halloo! Oh, follow!" 
 
 II. 
 
 There is a pipe that plays to me 
 
 From tree to tree : 
 A bramble pipe an elfin holds 
 To golden lips in berry brakes. 
 And, swinging o' er the elder wolds, 
 A flickering music makes : 
 ** Come over! Come over 
 The new-mown clover! 
 Come over the new-mown hay! 
 Where, there by the berries. 
 With cheeks like cherries. 
 And locks with which the warm wind 
 
 merries, 
 Brown girls are hilling the hay, 
 
 All day! 
 Come over the fields and away! 
 Come over! Come over!" 
 
SONG 
 
 SUCCESS 
 
 HOW some succeed who have least need, 
 In that they make no effort for! 
 And pluck, where others pluck a weed. 
 The burning blossom of a star. 
 Grown from no earthly seed. 
 
 For some shall reap that never sow; 
 And some shall toil and not attain, — 
 What boots it in ourselves to know 
 Such labor here is not in vain. 
 When we still see it so! 
 
 SONG 
 
 UNTO the portal of the House of Song, 
 Symbols of wrong and emblems of 
 unrest, 
 And mottoes of despair and envious jest. 
 And stony masks of scorn and hate belong. 
 
 Who enters here shall feel his soul denied 
 All welcome: lo! the chiselled form of Love, 
 That stares in marble on the shrine above 
 The tomb of Beauty, where he dreamed and 
 died! 
 
 7 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 "Who enters here shall know no poppyflowers 
 Of Rest, or harp-tones of serene Contentj 
 Only sad ghosts of music and of scent 
 Shall mock the mind with their remembered 
 powers. 
 
 Here must he wait till striving patience carves 
 His name upon the century-storied floorj 
 His heart's blood staining one dim pane the 
 
 more 
 In Fame's high casement while he sings and 
 
 starves. 
 
 THE OLD SPRING 
 
 UNDER rocks whereon the rose, 
 Like a strip of morning, glowsj 
 Where the azure-throated newt 
 Drowses on the twisted root; 
 And the brown bees, humming homeward, 
 Stop to suck the honey-dew; 
 Fern and leaf-hid, gleaming gloamward, 
 Drips the wildwood spring I knew. 
 Drips the spring my boyhood knew. 
 8 
 
THE OLD SPRING 
 
 II. 
 
 Myrrh and music everywhere 
 Haunt its cascades; — like the hair 
 That a naiad tosses cool, 
 Swimming strangely beautiful, 
 With white fragrance for her bosom, 
 For her mouth a breath of song; — 
 Under leaf and branch and blossom 
 Flows the woodland spring along, 
 Sparkling, singing, flows along. 
 
 Still the wet wan morns may touch 
 Its gray rocks, perhaps; and such 
 Slender stars as dusk may have 
 Pierce the rose that roofs its wave; 
 Still the thrush may call at noontide, 
 And the whippoorwill at night; 
 Nevermore, by sun or moontide. 
 Shall I see it gliding white, 
 Falling, flowing, wild and white. 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 HILLS OF THE WEST 
 
 HILLS of the west, that gird 
 Forest and farm. 
 Home of the nestling bird, 
 
 Housing from harm. 
 When on your tops is heard 
 Storm: 
 
 Hills of the west, that bar 
 
 Belts of the gloam. 
 Under the twilight star, 
 
 Where the mists roam. 
 Take ye the wanderer 
 Home. 
 
 Hills of the west, that dream 
 
 Under the moon. 
 Making of wind and stream. 
 
 Late-heard and soon. 
 Parts of your lives that seem 
 Tune. 
 
FLOWERS 
 
 Hills of the west, that take 
 
 Slumber to ye, 
 Be it for sorrow's sake 
 
 Or memory. 
 Part of such slumber make 
 Me. 
 
 FLOWERS 
 
 OH, why for us the blighted bloom! 
 The blossom that lies withering! 
 The Master of Life's changeless loom 
 Hath wrought for us no changeless thing. 
 
 Where grows the rose of fadeless Grace ? 
 Wherethrough the Spirit manifests 
 The fact of an Immortal race. 
 The dream on which religion rests. 
 
 Where buds the lily of our Faith ? 
 That grows for us in unknown wise. 
 Out of the barren dust of death. 
 The pregnant bloom of Paradise. 
 
 In Heaven ! so near that flowers know ! 
 That flowers see how near! — and thus 
 Reflect the knowledge here below 
 Of love and life unknown to us. 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 SECOND SIGHT 
 
 THEY lean their faces to me through 
 Green windows of the woodsj 
 Their white throats sweet with honey-dew 
 
 Beneath low leafy hoods — 
 No dream they dream but hath been true 
 Here in the solitudes. 
 
 Star trillium, in the underbrush, 
 In whom Spring bares her face; 
 
 Sun eglantine, that breathes the blush 
 Of Summer's quiet grace; 
 
 Moon mallow, in whom lives the hush 
 Of Autumn's tragic pace. 
 
 For one hath heard the dryad's sighs 
 
 Behind the covering bark; 
 And one hath felt the satyr's eyes 
 
 Gleam in the bosky dark; 
 And one hath seen the naiad rise 
 
 In waters all a-spark. 
 
DEAD SEA FRUIT 
 
 I bend my soul unto them, stilled 
 
 In worship man hath lost; 
 The old-world myths that science killed 
 
 Are living things almost 
 To me through these whose forms are filled 
 
 With Beauty's pagan ghost. 
 
 And through new eyes I seem to see 
 The world these live within, - — 
 
 A shuttered world of mystery. 
 Where unreal forms begin 
 
 The real of ideality 
 
 That has no unreal kin. 
 
 DEAD SEA FRUIT 
 
 ALL things have power to hold us back. 
 Our very hopes build up a wall 
 Of doubt, whose shadow stretches black 
 O'er all. 
 
 The dreams, that helped us once, become 
 Dread disappointments, that oppose 
 Dead eyes to ours, and lips made dumb 
 With woes. 
 
 13 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 The thoughts that opened doors before 
 Within the mind's house, hide away 5 
 Discouragement hath locked each door 
 For aye. 
 
 Come, loss, more frequently than gain! 
 And failure than success! until 
 The spirit's struggle to attain 
 Is still! 
 
 THE WOOD WITCH 
 
 THERE is a woodland witch who lies 
 With bloom-bright limbs and beam- 
 bright eyes. 
 Among the water-flags, that rank 
 The slow brook's heron-haunted bank: 
 The dragon-flies, in brass and blue, 
 Are signs she works her sorcery through; 
 Weird, wizard characters she weaves 
 Her spells by under forest leaves, — 
 These wait her word, like imps, upon 
 The gray flag-pods; their wings, of lawn 
 And gauze; their bodies gleamy green. 
 While o'er the wet sand, — left between 
 
THE WOOD WITCH 
 
 The running water and the still, — 
 
 In pansy hues and daffodil, 
 
 The fancies that she meditates 
 
 Take on most sumptuous shapes, with traits 
 
 Like butterflies. 'Tis she you hear. 
 
 Whose sleepy rune, hummed in the ear 
 
 Of silence, bees and beetles purr. 
 
 And the dry-droning locusts whirr; 
 
 Till, where the wood is very lone. 
 
 Vague monotone meets monotone. 
 
 And slumber is begot and born, 
 
 A faery child, beneath the thorn. 
 
 There is no mortal who may scorn 
 
 The witchery she spreads aroimd 
 
 Her dim demesne, wherein is bound 
 
 The beauty of abandoned time. 
 
 As some sweet thought 'twixt rhyme and 
 
 rhyme. 
 And by her spell you shall behold 
 The blue turn gray, the gray turn gold 
 Of hollow heaven; and the brown 
 Of twilight vistas twinkled down 
 With fire-flies; and, in the gloom. 
 Feel the cool vowels of perfume 
 Slow-syllabled of weed and bloom. 
 But, in the night, at languid rest, — 
 When like a spirit's naked breast 
 
 IS 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 The moon slips from a silver mist, — 
 With star-bound brow, and star-wreathed 
 
 wrist, 
 If you should see her rise and wave 
 You welcome, — ah! what thing shall save 
 You then ? forevermore her slave ! 
 
 AT SUNSET 
 
 INTO the sunset's turquoise marge 
 The moon dips, like a pearly barge 
 Enchantment sails through magic seas, 
 To fairyland Hesperides, 
 
 Over the hills and away. 
 
 Into the fields, in ghost-gray gown. 
 The young-eyed Dusk comes slowly down} 
 Her apron filled with stars she stands. 
 And one or two slip from her hands 
 Over the hills and away. 
 
 Above the wood's black caldron bends 
 The witch-faced Night and, muttering,blends 
 The dew and heat, whose bubbles make 
 The mist and musk that haunt the brake 
 Over the hills and away. 
 i6 
 
MAY 
 
 Oh, come with me, and let us go 
 Beyond the sunset lying low. 
 Beyond the twilight and the night. 
 Into Love's kingdom of long light. 
 Over the hills and away. 
 
 MAY 
 
 THE golden disks of the rattlesnake-weed, 
 That spangle the woods and dance — 
 No gleam of gold that the twilights hold 
 
 Is strong as their necromance : 
 For, under the oaks where the wood-paths 
 
 lead, 
 The golden disks of the rattlesnake-weed 
 Are the May's own utterance. 
 
 The azure stars of the bluet bloom 
 
 That sprinkle the woodland's trance — 
 
 No blink of blue that a cloud lets through 
 Is sweet as their countenance: 
 
 For, over the knolls that the woods perfume. 
 
 The azure stars of the bluet bloom 
 
 Are the light of the May's own glance. 
 
 17 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 With her wondering words and her looks 
 she comes, 
 In a sunbeam of a gown; 
 She needs but think and the blossoms wink, 
 
 But look, and they shower down. 
 By orchard ways, where the wild-bee hums. 
 With her wondering words and her looks 
 she comes, 
 Like a little maid to town. 
 
 THE WIND OF SPRING 
 
 THE wind that breathes of columbines 
 And bleeding-hearts that crowd the 
 rocks ; 
 That shakes the balsam of the pines 
 With music from his flashing locks, 
 Stops at my city door and knocks. 
 
 He calls me far a-forest; where 
 The twin-leaf and the blood-root bloom j 
 And, circled by the amber air. 
 Life sits with beauty and perfume 
 Weaving the new web of her loom. 
 18 
 
INTERPRETED 
 
 He calls me where the waters run 
 Through fronding ferns where haunts the 
 
 hem; 
 And, sparkling in the equal sun, 
 Song leans beside her brimming urn. 
 And dreams the dreams that love shall learn. 
 
 The wind has summoned, and I go, — 
 To con God's meaning in each line 
 The flowers write, and, walking slow, 
 God's purpose, of which song is sign, — 
 The wind's great, gusty hand in mine. 
 
 INTERPRETED 
 
 WHAT magic shall solve us the secret 
 Of beauty that ' s born for an hour ? 
 That gleams like the flight of an egret. 
 Or burns like the scent of a flower, 
 With death for a dower ? 
 
 What leaps in the bosk but a satyr ? 
 
 What pipes on the wind but a faun ? 
 Or laughs in the waters that scatter. 
 But limbs of a nymph who is gone, 
 When we walk in the dawn ? 
 19 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 What sings on the hills but a fairy ? 
 Or sighs in the fields but a sprite ? 
 
 What breathes through the leaves but the airy- 
 Soft spirits of shadow and light. 
 When we walk in the night ? 
 
 Behold how the world-heart is eager 
 To draw us and hold us and claim! 
 
 Through truths of the dreams that beleaguer 
 Her soul she makes ours the same. 
 And death but a name. 
 
 THE WILLOW BOTTOM 
 
 LUSH green the grass that grows between 
 The willows of the bottom-land j 
 Verged by the careless water, tall and green, 
 The brown-topped cat-tails stand. 
 
 The cows come gently here to browse. 
 Slow through the great-leafed sycamores ,• 
 You hear a dog bark from a low-roofed house 
 With cedars round its doors. 
 
THE WILLOW BOTTOM 
 
 Then all is quiet as the wings 
 
 Of the high buzzard floating there j 
 
 Anon a woman's high-pitched voice that 
 
 sings 
 An old camp-meeting air. 
 
 A flapping cock that crows ; and then — 
 Heard drowsy through the rustling corn — 
 A flutter, and the cackling of a hen 
 Within a hay-sweet barn. 
 
 How still again! no water stirs ; 
 No wind is heard ; although the weeds 
 Are waved a little j and from silk-filled burrs 
 Drift by a few soft seeds. 
 
 So drugged with sleep and dreams, that you 
 Expect to see her gliding by, — 
 Hummed round of bees, through blossoms 
 
 spilling dew, — 
 The Spirit of July. 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 THE OLD BARN 
 
 LOW, swallow-swept and gray, 
 Between the orchard and the spring, 
 All its wide windows overflowing hay. 
 And crannied doors a-swing. 
 The old bam stands to-day. 
 
 Deep in Its hay the Leghorn hides 
 
 A round white nest ; and, humming soft 
 
 On roof and rafter, or its log-rude sides. 
 
 Black in the sun-shot loft. 
 
 The building hornet glides. 
 
 Along its com-crib, cautiously 
 As thieving fingers, skulks the rat ; 
 Or, in warped stalls of fragrant timothy. 
 Gnaws at some loosened slat, 
 Or passes shadowy. 
 
 A dream of drouth made audible 
 Before its door, hot, smooth, and shrill 
 All day the locust sings. . . . What other 
 
 spell 
 Shall hold it, lazier still 
 Than the long day's, now tell ? — 
 
 22 
 
CLEARING 
 
 Dusk and the cricket and the strain 
 
 Of tree-toad and of frog ; and stars 
 
 That burn above the rich west's ribbdd stain; 
 
 And dropping pasture bars, 
 
 And cow-bells up the lane. 
 
 Night and the moon and katydid, 
 
 And leaf-lisp of the wind-touched boughs; 
 
 And mazy shadows that the fire-flies thrid ; 
 
 And sweet breath of the cows j 
 
 And the lone owl here hid. 
 
 CLEARING 
 
 BEFORE the wind, with rain-drowned 
 stocks, 
 The pleated crimson hollyhocks 
 
 Are bending ; 
 And, smouldering in the breaking brown, 
 Above the hills that edge the town. 
 The day is ending. 
 
 The air is heavy with the damp 5 
 And, one by one, each cottage lamp 
 
 Is lighted ; 
 Infrequent passers of the street 
 Stroll on or stop to talk or greet. 
 
 Benighted. 
 
 23 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 I look beyond my city yard, 
 
 And watch the white moon struggling hard, 
 
 Cloud-buried 5 
 The wind is driving toward the east, 
 A wreck of pearl, all cracked and creased 
 
 And serried. 
 
 At times the moon, erupting, streaks 
 Some long cloud ; like Andean peaks 
 
 That double 
 Horizon-vast volcano chains. 
 The earthquake scars with lava veins 
 
 That bubble. 
 
 The wind that blows from out the hills 
 Is like a woman's touch that stills 
 
 A sorrow: 
 The moon sits high with many a star 
 In the deep calm : and fair and far 
 
 Abides to-morrow. 
 
 24 
 
REQUIEM 
 
 NO more for him, where hills look down. 
 Shall Morning crown 
 Her rainy brow with blossom bands! — 
 
 Whose rosy hands 
 Drop wild flowers of the breaking skies 
 Upon the sod 'neath which he lies. — 
 No more! no more! 
 
 No more for him where waters sleep. 
 
 Shall Evening heap 
 The long gold of the perfect days ! 
 
 Whose pale hand lays 
 Great poppies of the afterglow 
 Upon the turf he rests below. — 
 
 No more! no more! 
 
 III. 
 
 No more for him, where woodlands loom. 
 
 Shall Midnight bloom 
 The star-flow' red acres of the blue! 
 
 Whose brown hands strew 
 Dead leaves of darkness, hushed and deep. 
 Upon the grave where he doth sleep. — 
 
 No more! no more! 
 
 as 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 IV. 
 
 The hills that Morning's footsteps wake j 
 
 The waves that take 
 A brightness from the Eve j the woods 
 
 O'er which Night broods, 
 Their spirits have, whose parts are one 
 With his whose mortal part is done. 
 
 Whose part is done! 
 
 AT LAST 
 
 WHAT shall be said to him. 
 Now he is dead ? 
 Now that his eyes are dim, 
 
 Low lies his head ? 
 What shall be said to him. 
 Now he is dead ? 
 
 One word to whisper of 
 
 Low in his ear j 
 Sweet, but the one word ** love '' 
 
 Haply he '11 hear. 
 One word to whisper of 
 
 Low in his ear. 
 26 
 
A DARK DAY 
 
 What shall be given him, 
 
 Now he is dead ? 
 Now that his eyes are dim, 
 
 Low lies his head ? 
 What shall be given him. 
 
 Now he is dead ? 
 
 Hope, that life long denied 
 
 Here to his heart. 
 Sweet, lay it now beside. 
 
 Never to part. 
 Hope, that life long denied 
 
 Here to his heart. 
 
 A DARK DAY 
 
 THOUGH Summer walks the world to- 
 day 
 With corn-crowned hours for her guard. 
 Her thoughts have clad themselves in gray. 
 And wait in Autumn's weedy yard. 
 
 And where the larkspur and the phlox 
 Spread carpets wheresoever she pass. 
 
 She seems to stand with sombre locks 
 
 Bound bleak with fog-washed zinnias. — 
 
 27 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 Fall's terra-cotta-colored flowers, 
 
 Whose disks the trickling wet has tinged 
 
 With dingy lustre when the bower's 
 
 Thin, flame-flecked leaves the frost has 
 singed j 
 
 Or with slow feet, 'mid gaunt gold blooms 
 
 Of marigolds her fingers twist, 
 She seems to pass with Fall's perfumes, 
 
 And dreams of sullen rain and mist. 
 
 FALL 
 
 SAD-HEARTED spirit of the solitudes, 
 Who comest through the ruin-wedded 
 
 woods ! 
 Gray-gowned with fog, gold-girdled with 
 
 the gloom 
 Of tawny twilights ; burdened with perfume 
 Of rain-wet uplands, chilly with the mist ; 
 And all the beauty of the fire-kissed 
 Cold forests crimsoning thy indolent way, 
 Odorous of death and drowsy with decay. 
 
 28 
 
UNDERTONE 
 
 I think of thee as seated 'mid the showers 
 Of languid leavesthat cover up the flowers, — 
 The little flower-sisterhoods, whom June 
 Once gave wild sweetness to, as to a tune 
 A singer gives her souFs wild melody, — 
 Watching the squirrel store his granary. 
 Or, 'mid old orchards I have pictured thee : 
 Thy hair's profusion blown about thy back j 
 One lovely shoulder bathed with gipsy black; 
 Upon thy palm one nestling cheek, and sweet 
 The rosy russets tumbled at thy feet. 
 Was it a voice lamenting for the flowers ? 
 A heart-sick bird, that sang of happier hours? 
 A cricket dirging days that soon must die ? 
 Or did the ghost of Summer wander by ? 
 
 UNDERTONE 
 
 AH me! too soon the Autumn comes 
 Among these purple-plaintive hills! 
 Too soon among the forest gums 
 Premonitory flame she spills, 
 Bleak, melancholy flame that kills. 
 
 29 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 Her white fogs veil the morn that rims 
 With wet the moonflow"" r' s elfin moons 
 And, like exhausted starlight, dims 
 The last slim lily-disk 5 and swoons 
 With scents of hazy afternoons. 
 
 Her gray mists haunt the sunset skies, 
 And build the west's cadaverous fire, 
 Where Sorrow sits with lonely eyes. 
 And hands that wake her ancient lyre, 
 Beside the ghost of dead Desire. 
 
 CONCLUSION 
 
 THE songs Love sang to us are dead: 
 Yet shall he sing to us again. 
 When the dull days are wrapped in lead, 
 And the red woodland drips with rain. 
 
 The lily of our love is gone. 
 
 That touched our spring with golden scent j 
 
 Now in the garden low upon 
 
 The wind-stripped way its stalk is bent. 
 
 30 
 
CONCLUSION 
 
 Our rose of dreams Is passed away, 
 That lit our summer with sweet fire j 
 The storm beats bare each thorny spray, 
 And its dead leaves are trod in mire. 
 
 The songs Love sang to us are dead j 
 Yet shall he sing to us again, 
 When the dull days are wrapped in lead. 
 And the red woodland drips with rain. 
 
 The marigold of memory 
 Shall fill our autumn then with glow j 
 Haply its bitterness will be 
 Sweeter than love of long ago. 
 
 The cypress of forgetfulness 
 
 Shall haunt our winter with Its hue 5 
 
 The apathy to us not less 
 
 Dear than the dreams our summer knew. 
 
 31 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 MONOCHROMES 
 
 I. 
 
 THE last rose falls, wrecked of the wind 
 and rain ; 
 Where once it bloomed the thorns alone 
 remain: 
 Dead in the wet the slow rain strews the 
 rose. 
 The day was dim; now eve comes on again, 
 Grave as a life weighed down by many 
 woes, — 
 So is the joy dead, and alive the pain. 
 
 The brown leaf flutters where the green leaf 
 
 died; 
 Bare are the boughs, and bleak the forest side : 
 The wind is whirling with the last wild 
 leaf. 
 The eve was strange; now dusk comes weird 
 and wide. 
 Gaunt as a life that lives alone with grief,— 
 So doth the hope go and despair abide. 
 32 
 
MONOCHROMES 
 
 An empty nest hangs where the wood-bird 
 
 pled J 
 Along the west the dusk dies, stormy red: 
 The frost is subtle as a serpent's breath. 
 The dusk was sad ; now night is overhead, 
 Grim as a soul brought face to face with 
 death — 
 So life lives on when love, its life, lies dead. 
 
 Go your own ways. Who shall persuade 
 me now 
 To seek with high face for a star of hope ? 
 Or up endeavor's unsubmissive slope 
 Advance a bosom of desire, and bow 
 A back of patience in a thankless task ? 
 Alone beside the grave of love I ask, 
 Shalt thou ? or thou ? 
 
 Leave go my hands. Fain would I walk 
 alone 
 The easy ways of silence and of sleep. 
 What though I go with eyes that cannot 
 weep, 
 
 33 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 And lips contracted with no uttered moan, 
 Through rocks and thorns, where every 
 
 footprint bleeds, 
 A dead-sea path of desert night that leads 
 To one white stone! 
 
 Though sands be black and bitter black the 
 
 sea, 
 
 Night lie before me and behind me night. 
 
 And God within far Heaven refuse to light 
 
 The consolation of the dawn for me, — 
 
 Between the shadowy bournes of Heaven 
 
 and Hell, 
 It is enough love leaves my soul to dwell 
 With memory. 
 
 DAYS AND DAYS 
 
 THE days that clothed white limbs with 
 heat. 
 And rocked the red rose on their breast. 
 Have passed with amber-sandalled feet 
 Into the ruby-gated west. 
 
 34 
 
DROUTH IN AUTUMN 
 
 These were the days that filled the heart 
 
 With overflowing riches of 
 Life; in whose soul no dream shall start 
 
 But hath its origin in love. 
 
 Now come the days gray-huddled in 
 The haze ; whose foggy footsteps drip ; 
 
 Who pin beneath a gipsy chin 
 The frosty marigold and hip. — 
 
 The days, whose forms fall shadowy 
 Athwart the heart ; whose misty breath 
 
 Shapes saddest sweets of memory 
 Out of the bitterness of death. 
 
 DROUTH IN AUTUMN 
 
 GNARLED acorn-oaks against a west 
 Of copper, cavernous with fire ; 
 A wind of frost that gives no rest 
 
 To such lean leaves as haunt the brier. 
 And hide the cricket's vibrant wire. 
 
 35 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 Sear, shivering shocks, and stubble blurred 
 With bramble-blots of dull maroon ; 
 
 And creekless hills whereon no herd 
 Finds pasture, and whereo'er the loon 
 Flies, haggard as the rainless moon. 
 
 A 
 
 MID-WINTER 
 
 LL day the clouds hung ashen with the 
 
 And through the snow the muffled waters 
 
 fell; 
 The day seemed drowned in grief too deep 
 
 to tell. 
 Like some old hermit whose last bead is told. 
 At eve the wind woke, and the snow-clouds 
 
 rolled 
 Aside to leave the fierce sky visible ; 
 Harsh as an iron landscape of wan hell 
 The dark hills hung framed in with gloomy 
 
 gold. 
 And then, towards night, the wind seemed 
 
 some one at 
 My window wailing : now a little child 
 Crying outside the door ; and now the long 
 36 
 
COLD 
 
 Howl of some starved beast down the flue. 
 
 I sat 
 And knew 'twas Winter with his madman 
 
 song 
 Of miseries, whereon he stared and smiled. 
 
 COLD 
 
 A MIST that froze beneath the moon 
 and shook 
 Minutest frosty fire in the air. 
 All night the wind was still as lonely Care 
 Who sighs before her shivering ingle-nook. 
 The face of Winter wore a cruder look 
 Than when he shakes the icicles from his 
 
 hair, 
 And, in the boisterous pauses, lets his stare 
 Freeze through the forest, fettering bough 
 
 and brook. 
 He is the despot now who sits and dreams 
 Of Desolation and Despair, and smiles 
 At Poverty, who hath no place to rest. 
 Who wanders o'er Life's snow-made path- 
 less miles, 
 
 37 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 And sees the Home-of-Comfort's window 
 
 gleams, 
 And hugs her rag-wrapped baby to her 
 
 breast. 
 
 IN WINTER 
 
 WHEN black frosts pluck the acorns 
 down. 
 And in the lane the waters freeze ; 
 And 'thwart red skies the wild-fowl flies. 
 And death sits grimly 'mid the trees ; 
 When home-lights glitter in the brown 
 
 Of dusk like shaggy eyes, — 
 Before the door his feet, sweetheart. 
 And two white arms that greet, sweetheart. 
 And two white arms that greet. 
 
 When ways are drifted with the leaves, 
 And winds make music in the thorns ; 
 
 And lone and lost above the frost 
 
 The new moon shows its silver horns ; 
 
 38 
 
ON THE FARM 
 
 When underneath the lamp-lit eaves 
 
 The opened door is crossed, — 
 A happy heart and light, sweetheart. 
 And lips to kiss good-night, sweetheart, 
 And lips to kiss good-night. 
 
 ON THE FARM 
 
 HE sang a song as he sowed the field, 
 Sowed the field at break of day : 
 " When the pursed-up leaves are as lips that 
 
 yield 
 Balm and balsam, and Spring, — concealed 
 In the odorous green, — is so revealed, 
 
 Halloo and oh ! 
 Hallo for the woods and the far away! " 
 
 He trilled a song as he mowed the mead. 
 
 Mowed the mead as noon begun : 
 *< When the hills are gold with the ripened 
 
 seed, 
 As the sunset stairs that loom and lead 
 
 39 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 To the sky where Summer knows naught 
 of need, 
 Halloo and oh ! 
 Hallo for the hills and the harvest sun ! " 
 
 He hummed a song as he swung the flail, 
 
 Swung the flail in the afternoon : 
 " When the idle fields are a wrecker's tale. 
 That the Autumn tells to the twilight pale, 
 As the Year turns seaward a crimson sail. 
 
 Halloo and oh ! 
 Hallo for the fields and the hunter' s-moon ! '' 
 
 He whistled a song as he shouldered his axe, 
 
 Shouldered his axe in the evening storm : 
 
 " When the snow of the road shows the 
 
 rabbit's tracks, 
 And the wind is a whip that the Winter 
 
 cracks, 
 With a herdsman' s cry, o'er the clouds' 
 black backs, 
 Halloo and oh! 
 Hallo for home and a hearth to warm!" 
 40 
 
PATHS 
 
 WHAT words of mine can tell the spell 
 Of garden ways I know so well ? — 
 The path that takes me, in the spring. 
 Past quinces where the blue-birds sing, 
 Where peonies are blossoming, 
 Unto a porch, wistaria-hung, 
 Around whose steps May-lilies blow, 
 A fair girl reaches down among. 
 Her arm more white than their sweet snow. 
 
 What words of mine can tell the spell 
 Of garden ways I know so well ? — 
 Another path that leads me, when 
 The summer-time is here again. 
 Past hollyhocks that shame the west 
 When the red sun has sunk to rest j 
 To roses bowering a nest, 
 A lattice, ""neath which mignonette 
 And deep geraniums surge and sough. 
 Where, in the twilight, starless yet, 
 A fair girl's eyes are stars enough. 
 
 41 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 What words of mine can tell the spell 
 Of garden ways I know so well ? — 
 A path that takes me, when the days 
 Of autumn wrap themselves in haze. 
 Beneath the pippin-pelting tree, 
 ' Mid flitting butterfly and bee ; 
 Unto a door where, fiery. 
 The creeper climbs ; and, garnet-hued. 
 The cock's-comb and the dahlia flare. 
 And in the door, where shades intrude, 
 Gleams out a fair girPs sunbeam hair. 
 
 What words of mine can tell the spell 
 Of garden ways I know so well ? — 
 A path that brings me o'er the frost 
 Of winter, when the moon is tossed 
 In clouds ; beneath great cedars, weak 
 With shaggy snow; past shrubs blown bleak 
 With shivering leaves ; to eaves that leak 
 The tattered ice, whereunder is 
 A fire-flickering window-space j 
 And in the light, with lips to kiss, 
 A fair girl's welcome-giving face. 
 42 
 
A SONG IN SEASON 
 
 WHEN In the wind the vane turns round, 
 And round, and round j 
 And in his kennel whines the hound; 
 When all the gable eaves are bound 
 With icicles of ragged gray, 
 
 A glinting gray ; 
 There is little to do, and much to say. 
 And you hug your fire and pass the day 
 With a thought of the springtime, dearie. 
 
 When late at night the owlet hoots. 
 
 And hoots, and hoots ; 
 And wild winds make of keyholes flutes j 
 When to the door the goodman's boots 
 Stamp through the snow the light stains red. 
 
 The fire-light's red ; 
 There Is nothing to do, and all is said. 
 And you quaff your cider and go to bed 
 With a dream of the summer, dearie. 
 
 III. 
 
 When, nearing dawn, the black cock crows. 
 
 And crows, and crows ; 
 And from the barn the milch-cow lows j 
 
 43 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 And the milkmaid's cheeks have each a rose, 
 And the still skies show a star or two, 
 
 Or one or two j 
 There is little to say, and much to do. 
 And the heartier done the happier you. 
 With a song of the winter, dearie. 
 
 APART 
 
 WHILE sunset burns and stars are few. 
 And roses scent the fading light. 
 And like a slim urn, dripping dew, 
 A spirit carries through the night. 
 
 The pearl-pale moon hangs new, — 
 I think of you, of you. 
 
 While waters flow, and soft winds woo 
 The golden-hearted bud with sighs j 
 And, like a flower an angel threw. 
 Out of the momentary skies 
 
 A star falls burning blue, — 
 I dream of you, of you. 
 
 44 
 
FAERY MORRIS 
 
 While love believes, and hearts are true. 
 So let me think, so let me dream ; 
 The thought and dream so wedded to 
 Your face, that, far apart, I seem 
 To see each thing you do. 
 
 And be with you, with you. 
 
 FAERY MORRIS 
 
 THE winds are whist ; and, hid in mist, 
 The moon hangs o'er the wooded 
 height ; 
 The bushy bee, with unkempt head. 
 Hath made the sunflower's disk his bed. 
 And sleeps half-hid from sight. 
 The owlet makes us melody — 
 Come dance with us in Faery, 
 Come dance with us to-night. 
 
 The dew is damp ; the glow-worm's lamp 
 Blurs in the moss its tawny light ; 
 The great gray moth sinks, half-asleep, 
 
 45 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 Where, in an elfin-laundered heap, 
 The lily-gowns hang white. 
 The crickets make us minstrelsy — 
 Come dance with us in Faery, 
 Come dance with us to night. 
 
 III. 
 
 With scents of heat, dew-chilled and sweet, 
 The new-cut hay smells by the bight j 
 The ghost of some dead pansy bloom, 
 The butterfly dreams in the gloom. 
 Its pied wings folded tight. 
 The world is lost in fantasy, — 
 Come dance with us in Faery, 
 Come dance with us to-night. 
 
 T 
 
 THE WORLD'S DESIRE 
 
 HE roses of voluptuousness 
 Wreathe her dark locks and hide her 
 eyes ; 
 Her limbs are flower-like nakedness. 
 Wherethrough the fragrant blood doth press, 
 The blossom-blood of Paradise. 
 
 46 
 
THE UNATTAINABLE 
 
 She stands with Lilith finger tips, 
 ather 
 and sips 
 
 With Lilith-laughter-lightened lips 
 The soul as from a crystal cup. 
 
 What though she cast the cup away ! 
 The empty bowl that flashed with wine ! 
 Her curled lips' kiss, that stained the clay. 
 Her fingers' touch — shall not these stay. 
 That made its nothingness divine ? 
 
 Through one again shall live the glow. 
 Immortalizing, of her touch ; 
 And through the other, sweet to know 
 How life swept flame once 'neath the snow 
 Of her mooned breasts, — and this is much ! 
 
 THE UNATTAINABLE 
 
 MARK thou ! a shadow crowned with 
 fire of hell. 
 Man holds her in his heart as night doth hold 
 The moonlight memories of day' s dead gold j 
 Or as a winter-withered asphodel 
 In its dead loveliness holds scents of old. 
 And looking on her, lo, he thinks 't is well. 
 
 47 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 Who would not follow her whose glory 
 sits, 
 Imperishably lovely on the air ? 
 Who, from the arms of Earth's desire, 
 flits 
 With eyes defiant and rebellious hair ? — 
 Hers is the beauty that no man shall share. 
 
 He who hath seen, what shall it profit him ? 
 He who doth love, what shall his passion 
 gain ? 
 When disappointment at her cup's bright 
 brim 
 Poisons the pleasure with the hemlock 
 pain ? 
 Hers is the passion that no man shall drain. 
 
 How long, how long since Life hath touched 
 
 her eyes. 
 Making their night clairvoyant ! And how 
 
 long 
 Since Love hath kissed her lips and made 
 
 them wise. 
 Binding her brow with prophecy and song ! 
 Hope clad her nakedness in lovely lies. 
 Giving into her hands the right of wrong ! 
 
 48 
 
THE UNATTAINABLE 
 
 Lo ! in her world she sets pale tents of 
 thought, 
 Unearthly bannered ; and her dreams' 
 wild bands 
 Besiege the heavens like a twilight fraught 
 With recollections of lost stars. She 
 stands 
 Radiant as Lilith given from God's hands. 
 
 The golden rose of patience at her throat 
 
 Drops fragrant petals — as a pensive tune 
 Drops its surrendered sweetness note by- 
 note ; — 
 And from her hands the buds of hope are 
 strewn, 
 Moon-flowers, mothered of the barren moon. 
 
 So in her flowers man seats him at her 
 
 feet 
 In star-faced worship, knowing all of this ; 
 And now to him to die seems very sweet. 
 Fed with the fire of her look and kiss ; 
 While in his heart the blood's tumultuous 
 
 beat 
 Drowns, in her own, the drowsing serpent's 
 
 hiss. 
 
 49 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 He who hath dreamed but of her world shall 
 give 
 
 All of his soul unto her restlessly: 
 He who hath seen but her far face shall live 
 
 No more for things we name reality: 
 Such is the power of her tyranny. 
 
 He, whom she wins, hath nothing 'neath the 
 sun; 
 Forgetting all that she may not forget 
 He loves her, who still feeds his soul upon 
 Dreams and desires, and doubt and vain 
 regret, — 
 Life's bitter bread his heart's fierce tears 
 make wet. 
 
 What word of wisdom hast thou. Life, to 
 
 wake 
 Him now ! or song of magic now to dull 
 The dreams he lives in! or what charm to 
 
 break 
 The spell that makes her evil beautiful! 
 What charm to show her beauty hides a 
 
 snake. 
 Whose basilisk eyes burn dark behind a skull. 
 
 SO 
 
REMEMBERED 
 
 HERE in the dusk I see her face again 
 As then I knew it, ere she fell asleep; 
 Renunciation glorifying pain 
 
 Of her soul's inmost deep. 
 
 I shall not see its like again! the brow 
 Of passive marble, purely aureoled, — 
 As some pale lily in the afterglow, — 
 With supernatural gold. 
 
 As if a rose should speak and, somehow 
 
 heard 
 By some strange sense, the unembodied 
 
 sound 
 Grow visible, her mouth was as a word 
 
 A sweet thought falters 'round. 
 
 So do I still remember eyes imbued 
 With far reflections — as the stars suggest 
 The silence, purity and solitude 
 
 Of infinite peace and rest. 
 
 She was my all. I loved her as men love 
 A high desire, religion, an ideal — 
 The meaning purpose in the loss whereof 
 God shall alone reveal. 
 
 51 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 THE SEA SPIRIT 
 
 AH me ! I shall not waken soon 
 From dreams of such divinity ! 
 A spirit singing in the moon 
 To me. 
 
 White sea-spray driven of the storm 
 Were not so wildly white as she! 
 She beckoned with a foam-white arm 
 To me. 
 
 With eyes dark green, and golden-green 
 Loose locks that sparkled drippingly. 
 Out of the green wave she did lean 
 To me. 
 
 And sang ; till Earth and Heaven were 
 A far, forgotten memory ; 
 For more than Heaven seemed hid in her 
 To me: — 
 
 Sleep, sweeter than love' s face or home j 
 Love, more than immortality; 
 And music of the dreamy foam 
 For me. 
 5a 
 
A DREAM SHAPE 
 
 Pass over her with all thy ships 
 With all thy stormy tides, O sea! 
 The memory of immortal lips 
 For me! 
 
 A DREAM SHAPE 
 
 WITH moon-white hearts that held a 
 gleam, 
 I gathered wild flowers in a dream. 
 And shaped a woman, whose sweet blood 
 Was odor of the wildwood bud. 
 
 From dew, the starlight arrowed through, 
 I wrought a woman's eyes of blue j 
 The lids, that on her eyeballs lay. 
 Were rose-pale petals of the May. 
 
 I took the music of the breeze. 
 And water whispering in the trees, 
 And shaped the soul that breathed below 
 A woman's blossom breasts of snow. 
 
 Out of a rose-bud's veins I drew 
 The fragrant crimson beating through 
 The languid lips of her, whose kiss 
 Was as a poppy's drowsiness. 
 
 53 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 Out of the moonlight and the air 
 I wrought the glory of her hair, 
 That o'er her eyes' blue heaven lay 
 Like some gold cloud o' er dawn of day. 
 
 A shadow's shadow in the glass 
 Of sleep, my spirit saw her pass : 
 And, thinking of it now, meseems 
 We only live within our dreams. 
 
 For in that time she was to me 
 
 More real than our reality; 
 
 More real than Earth, more real than I - 
 
 The unreal things that pass and die. 
 
 THE VAMPIRE 
 
 A LILY in a twilight place ? 
 A moonflow'r in the lonely night ? 
 Strange beauty of a woman' s face 
 Of wildflow'r-white ! 
 
 The rain that hangs a star's green ray 
 Slim on a leaf-point's restlessness, 
 Is not so glimmering green and gray 
 As was her dress. 
 54 
 
THE VAMPIRE 
 
 I drew her dark hair from her eyes, 
 And in their deeps beheld a while 
 Such shadowy moonlight as the skies 
 Of Hell may smile. 
 
 She held her mouth up redly wan, 
 And burning cold, — I bent and kissed 
 Such rosy snow as some wild dawn 
 Makes of a mist. 
 
 God shall not take from me that hour, 
 When round my neck her white arms 
 
 clung ! 
 When 'neath my lips, like some fierce 
 flower. 
 Her white throat swung! 
 
 Or words she murmured while she leaned! 
 Witch-words, she holds me softly by, — 
 The spell that binds me to a fiend 
 Until I die. 
 
 55 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 WILL-O'-THE-WISP 
 
 I. 
 
 THERE in the calamus he stands 
 With frog-webbed feet and bat-winged 
 hands; 
 His glow-worm garb glints goblin-wise j 
 
 And elfishly, and elfishly. 
 Above the gleam of owlet eyes, 
 A death' s-moth cap of downy dyes 
 Nods out at me, nods out at me. 
 
 II. 
 
 Now in the reeds his face looks white 
 As witch-down on a witches' night; 
 Now through the dark old haunted mill, 
 
 So eerily, so eerily, 
 He flits; and with a whippoorwill 
 Mouth calls, and seems to syllable, 
 
 " Come follow me! come follow me ! " 
 
 Now o'er the sluggish stream he wends, 
 A slim light at his finger-ends; 
 56 
 
THE HEADLESS HORSEMAN 
 
 The spotted spawn, the toad hath clomb, 
 
 Slips oozily, slips oozily ; 
 His easy footsteps seem to come — 
 Like bubble-gaspings of the scum — 
 
 Now near to me, now near to me. 
 
 There by the stagnant pool he stands, 
 A fox-fire lamp in flickering hands; 
 The weeds are slimy to the tread, 
 
 And mockingly, and mockingly, 
 With slanted eyes and eldritch head 
 He leans above a face long dead, — 
 
 The face of me! the face of me! 
 
 THE HEADLESS HORSEMAN 
 
 ON the black road through the wood 
 As I rode. 
 There the Headless Horseman stood j 
 By the wild pool in the wood. 
 As I rode. 
 
 57 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 From the shadow of an oak, 
 
 As I rode, 
 Demon steed and rider broke} 
 By the thunder-shattered oak, 
 
 As I rode. 
 
 On the waste road through the plain. 
 
 As I rode, 
 At my back he whirled like rain} 
 On the tempest-blackened plain. 
 
 As I rode. 
 
 Four fierce hoofs shod red with fire. 
 
 As I rode, 
 Woke the wild rocks, dark and dire j 
 Eyes and nostrils streamed with fire, 
 
 As I rode. 
 
 On the deep road through the rocks, 
 
 As I rode, 
 I could reach his horse's locks} 
 Through the echo-hurling rocks. 
 
 As I rode. 
 
 58 
 
THE WERE-WOLF 
 
 And again I looked behind. 
 
 As I rode, — 
 Dark as night and swift as wind. 
 Towering, he rode behind. 
 
 As I rode. 
 
 On the steep road down the dell. 
 
 As I rode, 
 In the night I heard a bell. 
 In the village in the dell. 
 
 As I rode. 
 
 And my soul called out in prayer. 
 
 As I rode, — 
 Lo! the demon went in air. 
 Leaving me alone in prayer. 
 
 As I rode. 
 
 THE WERE-WOLF 
 
 She. 
 
 NAY; still amort, my love ? Why dost 
 thou lag ? 
 
 He. 
 
 The strix-owl cried. 
 
 59 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 She. 
 
 Nay! yon wild 
 
 stream that leaps 
 Hoarse from the black pines of the Hakel 
 
 steeps, 
 A moon-tipped water, down a glittering 
 
 crag. — 
 Why so aghast, sweetheart ? Why dost 
 
 thou stop ? 
 
 He. 
 
 The demon-huntsman passed with hooting 
 horn! 
 
 She. 
 
 Nay ! 't was the blind wind sweeping through 
 
 the thorn 
 Around the ruins of the Dumburg's top. 
 
 He. 
 
 My limbs are cold. 
 
 She. 
 
 Come! warm thee in 
 mine arms. 
 60 
 
THE WERE-WOLF 
 
 He. 
 
 Mine eyes are weary. 
 
 She. 
 
 Rest them, love, on 
 mine. 
 
 He. 
 
 I am athirst. 
 
 She. 
 
 Quench on my lips thy thirst 
 
 O dear belovdd, how thy last kiss warms 
 My blood again ! 
 
 He. 
 
 Off! . . . How thy eye- 
 balls shine! 
 Thy face! ... thy form! . . . So do I 
 die accursed ! 
 
 6i 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 THE TROGLODYTE 
 
 IN ages dead, a troglodyte, 
 At the hollow roots of a monster 
 
 height, — 
 That grew from the heart of the world to 
 
 light, — 
 I dwelt in caverns : over me 
 Were mountains older than the moon; 
 And forests vaster than the sea, 
 And gulfs, that the earthquake's hand had 
 
 hewn. 
 Hung under me. And late and soon 
 I heard the daemon of change that sighed 
 A cosmic language of mystery; 
 While life sat silent, primeval-eyed. 
 With the infant spirit of prophecy. 
 
 Gaunt stars glared down on the Titan peaks; 
 And the gaunter glare of the cratered streaks 
 Of the sunset's ruin heard condor shrieks. 
 The roar of cataracts hurled in air. 
 And the hurricane laying his thunders bare, 
 And rush of battling beasts, — whose lair 
 
 62 
 
THE CITY OF DARKNESS 
 
 Was the antechamber of nadir-gloom, — 
 Were my outworld joys. But who shall tell 
 The awe of the depths that heard the boom 
 Of the iron rivers that fashioned Hell! 
 
 THE CITY OF DARKNESS 
 
 W IDE-walled it stands in heathen lands 
 Beside a mystic sea, 
 With streets strange-trod of many a god, 
 And templed blasphemy. 
 
 Far in the night, a rose of light 
 It shines beside the sea; 
 But overhead an unknown dread 
 Impends eternally. 
 
 There is a sound above, around 
 Of music by the sea ; 
 And weird and wide the torches glide 
 Of pagan revelry. 
 
 There is a noise as of a voice 
 
 That calls beneath the sea ; 
 
 And all the deep grows pale with sleep 
 
 And vague expectancy. 
 
 63 
 
UNDERTONES 
 
 Then slowly up — as from a cup 
 Seethes poison — lifts the sea; 
 Wild mass on mass, as in black glass, 
 The town glows fiery. 
 
 Red-lit it glowers like Hell's dark towers 
 Set in the iron sea; 
 
 And monster swarms with awful forms 
 Roll though it cloudily. 
 
 Still overhead the unknown dread. 
 Whose shadow dyes the sea, 
 At wrath-winged wait behind its gate 
 Till God shall set it free. 
 
 A taloned flash, an earthquake crash. 
 And, lo! upon the sea. 
 Black wall on wall, a giant pall. 
 Night settles hideously. 
 
 And where it burned, a rose inurned. 
 Red in the vasty sea. 
 The phantasm of the dread above 
 Sits in immensity. 
 
 64 
 
TRANSMUTATION 
 
 TO me all beauty that I see 
 Is melody made visible: 
 An earth -translated state, may be, 
 Of music heard in Heaven or Hell. 
 
 Out of some love-impassioned strain 
 Of saints, the rose evolved its bloom 5 
 And, dreaming of it here again, 
 Perhaps re-lives it as perfume. 
 
 Out of some chant that demons sing 
 Of hate and pain, the sunset grew; 
 And, haply, still remembering, 
 Re-lives it here as some wild hue. 
 
 THE END 
 
 65 
 
FIVE HUNDRED AND FIFTY COPIES OF 
 THIS BOOK (thirty-five COPIES OF 
 WHICH ARE ON HANDMADE PAPER) 
 WERE PRINTED DURING MARCH BY 
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