PS 3545 •fl754 V4 1915 Copy I yors^ eUude f. 9fashburti orse^ FUude g 9fdshhum 3^^ r ©Cl.A4104eO DEC i>^ 1915 TO MY MOTHER A MORMIMG IN MAT WAS out in tke cool of the morning, WKen tke birds \were beginning to sing; EacK calling to eacK In the day newly born; Each calling to each In the fresh-scented morn,— Calling: "Oh, it is spring! it is spring!" And the dew-laden lilacs about me. And the hum of an early bee's wing. And the murmuring boughs Of the new-lea\)ing trees, And the soft-stirring boughs. Rustling low in the breeze. Whispered: "Ah, it is spring! it is spring!" AM OLD ATTIC N tnrougK tKe gable vJindow pours tKe sun Upon tKe sloping \\'alls and oaken beams, Setting the dust awKirl in slanting streams; And lighting up old cobxiJebs long since spun. Without, there is the twittering of birds. And sound of children's laughter in the street; But here xiJithin it is so still the beat Of my own heart seems to be throbbing words. Relics of years long dead lie all around— A harpsichord, a broken spinning-wheel, Dilapidated boxes that conceal Lavender-scented garments ribbon-bound. It is a place half sorrowful, half sweet, Where one may go at dusk and sit alone, Soothing the heart-ache of the day just gone With the dim memories of this old retreat. IN THE MEADOW H, tKe meadov7-grass v?as KigK When my lo^e came tripping by, Carolling; And my lo^e sKe savJ me not, As I stood there, flushing hot, Worshipping! Sunny hair and laughing eyes. Wilful hair that ever flies, Uncontrolled,— Ah, my \o-0e \Cas fair to see, As she passed so close to me, Overbold! DEATH tl DREAMED I saw DeatK standing by my bed. His face was calm, tKougK very pale and wan; Still was Ke not, as often books Have said, A pkantom horrible to look upon; Yet, knowing wKo Ke \Oas, I would Kave fled, But could not do so, for my strength •vJas gone. Death gaEed upon me with his mournful eyes, And \^hispered, holding forth his hand: 'Arise!" Death's eyes were very tender, and his hair Swept soft above his forehead, and it seemed That suddenly all terror and despair Were quite gone from me, till at last I dreamed I cried out: "Death, ah. Death, but thou art fair! I love thee more than ever I esteemed My life!"— but, smiling sadly, Death replied: ' Nay, an thou wouldst, thou mayst not come. Abide!" THE MASS m IM was it in the nave; the pillared dusk, Soft-perfumed ^)?ith the measured rhythmic swing Of golden censers, incense winnowing, Was fragrant \Oith the scent of myrrh and musk. And from the mighty organ came a plaint, So immemorially sad an air The crimson twilight shuddered it to bear, And the lov?-kneeIing worshippers gre^ faint. SAINT CATHERINE LL in a golden kaze tKere knelt a maid BeneatK a staine'd -window v?Kence, displayed In sacred glory, good Saint Catnerine Looked do'pJn upon Ker as sKe knelt and prayed. Calm >was the maiden's face, save for tke glor»?— Like yellov? lamp-lignt snining on the snov?— Her yellow tresses cast upon Ker cheek, As never did Saint Catherine's, I troxC. Her eyes v7ere brown like amber, and they shone Wet-lashed and tender, while she knelt alone. She knev? not that I watched her as she prayed, Nor had been half so fair if she had known. MY LADY Y lady woke at dead of night, (Stark fear stood in my lady's eyes) And Ker face in tKe shadow was ghastly white, Like the pallid face of a vJraith by night. (But my lady could not rise.) She could not rise, yet she came to me. (Cold, ah cold, v?ere her finger -tips!) Her eyes were wide, but they could not see; And I shook in the ^ery soul of me. (Chill ^ere my lady's lips!) SWEET JESSAMINE ILACS, purple 'gainst tke green Of your dark lea^Jes vJet -with dev?, Perfumed petals wKose pink sKeen Ever skimmers witK the dew,— Ye are very fair, I vJeen: But my love v?ears jessamine. Apple -blossoms drifting in TnrougK tke v?indovi? of my room, Apple -blossoms pink and tkin, Scenting rosy -faint my room,— Ye are fair indeed, I ween: But my love wears jessamine. A DIRGE IN THE FOREST ® Nl tne nignt tKe tree -tops shake and sKake. (WKose Kand is tkis that stirs tKem so?) All moaningly they quake and quake. OK, be still, be still, or my Keart will break! (WKose Kand is tKis tKat stirs it so?) None knovJs Kalf so well as I! It is tKe deatK-wind sweeping by. THE STAR -NET HE star -beams hung in a mist around you, All in a faint star -mist they v7ouncl you, Fragrant, and wistfully swaying, and pale. And lavender -tinted, but, ah, so frail!— I loved you fairly, I loved you rarely. Pressing my lips to the web that bound you. And well I knew you could but be seen thus, Thus, with the soft star -net between us. Woe is me, for the star -veil melted; In a fairy pool the star-beams pelted: And yet more fleet Were your fairy -feet. For the great red eye of the day had seen us. NIGHT SONG ERE on tke roses is dew, TKere is star-tipped de>w on tne clover; A wKippoorwill calls from tKe yew Over and over and over. Fire-flies wKeel by, weaving Of the nigkt a tapestry So frail can you Kelp believing TKe fairy-fqlk must see? OK, tKe meadow is made for dances, And over it breezes Kave strewn All flowers tKat a fairy fancies, BreatKing softly: "Come soon! Come soon! For Kere on tKe roses is dew, "TKere is star-tipped dew on tKe clover; A wKippoorwill calls from tKe yew Over and over and over." DREAMS DOR of lilacs steals to me Fron\ the Dusrt at tne window-sill: Anci over my soul the dreams drift by, Like clouds on a distant kill. AIL flecked witK amethyst and gold They float on noiselessly: But I oelieve, so frail tney seem, T Key are foam of a fairy sea. WitK slow fantastic imagery Forever tKey sKift and cKange, Like pKantom sKadows in tKe Kails Of some old sea-castle strange. And once I would Kave Keld tKe dream I cannot but love most. AK, now, altKougK I watcK alway, TKe fairest dream is lost! Odor of lilacs steals to me From tKe busk at tKe window-sill; And over my soul the dreams drift by, Like clouds on a distant Kill. EMBERS "TT-fjIIME was wKen many tKings seemed beautiful- N-® I ISJigKt, and a rose, and sunbeams on tKe sea, And tKe wKite clouds tkat drifted over me; And now remain but two whicK are not dull, Only tKese two— deatK and tke memory WKicK I evoke from this dead lock of Kair; TKougK I am told tkat God's face too is fair. i6 SONG LL day I dwell with sorrow, And though the day may be Fair, yet the touch of sorrow Clings close, like a memory. All night I dream of roses, And though the dream may be Sad, yet the scent of roses Drifts through, like a melody. THE MOON WAS HID IN A MIST tT HE moon was hid in a mist tonight, Soft as sea-foam and so white! The little stars danced over it, And the little stars swang under it. But the moon was hid in a mist, A sleeping princess not yet kissed Out of darkness into light; And I said: "Where is he who shall keep the tryst? Sees he not that the moon is hid in a mist? "Is there no red star who fain would fight For the moon his mistress in her plight? ' Oh, the moon is hid in a mist!" Like the sound of the surf in a fairy shell. Like the sound of some sweet enchanted bell, I heard the stars laugh over me. The little stars laugh down at me, Though the moon was hid in a mist. Save only one, but I could tell He was too small to break the spell. He was so small Ke could not quite Walk, but crept up through the night, Up and behind the mist. But soon he crept back in gay flight. With laughter of such soft delight, So sweet and slender, well I wist No star could laugh that way in fright. And I said to myself: "Mayhap it is well," And I asked the star, but he would not tell: The moon was hid in a mist. 'weary words wake in new might; And never, never, an37where, Was it more sweet to sing, or right. But the others, Our mute brothers. Lying somewhere in the trenches day and night:— Little time have they for song; they can out watch and fight. Flanders" and France" are words of fire, Alsace" a banner flaunting nigh; Rheims" glows with a deep vengeful ire. Can poets let such words slip by? But, an, brothers, Our mute brothers. Lying somewhere witn your fac^s toward the sky: — Nobler is your silence, though it last eternally. TWO SICILIAN CITIES I. TAORMIMA I HE sky is a painted sky. The sunlight slips So carefully tkrougK almond-blossoms. Pan, A munching goat, smiles placidly at man. Dramatically down, the high cliff dips, To where, enchanted, loved by Attic ships. Haunted by gods since ever gods began. The sea, the sweet, the blue, the Ionian, Kisses the shore with indolent white lips Flowers on the walls, soft perfume in the air, Maidens with jugs set on their sun-burnt hair,— I hat is the village. Yonder your eyes meet The line of Aetna flowing up the sky, And turn back, dazed with beauty, to the street, Where peasants' little painted carts go by. II. MESSINA HIS was tne fairest town of Sicily; But deatn came in tne night and sKattered all The palaces. Still here and there the tall Facades stand flanking the streets hollowly: And through the vacant windows you may see A tattered curtain flapping, or a small Madonna brooding on a ruined wall. Silence, decay, abandon, misery! Nlothing ends ever. All things re-begin,— Life and delight and suffering and sin. A brief half-mile away life grovels. There They have built the new town on a rubbish heap; Long lines of wooden huts, gaunt, ugly, bare. I know not if to wonder or to weep. as FLOWERS IN FRANCE m REAMING of France, I mind me hov? Tne poppies in tKe fields would dance, ToucKing tKe green ^itK scarlet. Now Tnere are no flowers left in France. In the sx»?eet fields no violet breathes. There are no flowers, save, perchance. The barren artificial wreaths They lay upon the graves in France. 26 Copj^iigKted 1915 by Claude C. WashlTum m!mn,f^,!ii'^ °'' CONGRESS 018 395 486 6