iilass"P R 4 00 3 Book. Moods & Outdoor Verses Moods & Outdoor Verses By Richard Askham / i - ? London R. Brimley Johnson 1902 \ '^% r \ r \ Copyright, 1Q02 All rights reset ved G&V^ 5 ■s^*^ij& Pan S 3 Bears after E. FrJmiet—see p. 64 CONTENTS PAGE Deeming Dale I West Wind 4 In the Colorado Desert 6 October 8 November 10 Mermaid 13 Advent 15 Of Bolts and Shells 17 These Forty Years 19 In Solitude H A Testament 25 Reality 28 Music 30 Giordano Bruno 32 vi Contents The Challenge 34 Russia, 187— 37 Atlas 43 Cellini's Prayer 44 A Sunflower in a Town Garden 46 Flowers 48 Apology 5o Ditties An Old Dialogue 53 Dragon's Teeth 56 Holy Marketing 59 Partnership 60 The Labourer 61 Over a Honeycomb 64 The Little People 6 9 Californian Verses March Wind 79 In the Sierras 82 A Railroad Builder 85 In England — May 86 Envoi 89 DEEMING DALE Who is it knocks at my window ? Ho Who is it rides the gale ? " Yonder the Pitiless Ladies go Adown the Deeming Dale : " The cold of a cloud is over them, Open the pane and see ; All the women of perilous dream Go drifting drearily, 2 Moods and Outdoor Verses " One by one on the bitter wind Companionless and grey, With the empty sound of a host behind To bring them on their way. " But yonder, yonder comes the Moon, And yonder see them turn : Jewelled and fierce their hunting shoon Fly flashing through the fern." Now whither do they ride so fast Upon the whirling wind ? " Fasten the pane against the blast ! Hasten and draw the blind." Deeming Dale Who is it knocks at my window ? Ho Who is it rides the gale ? " And who would join the hosts that go Adown the Deeming Dale ?" WEST WIND The billows of the west wind surge and run Lipping along the long length of the wall ; The leaves are parched and weary of the sun, And glad into the windy wave they fall : The old trees laugh because they know once more The surges of the west wind swell and swing About their nakedness, and feel them roar Foaming against the wall to which they cling : West Wind 5 Lipping along the long length of the wall, Stealing away the burden of the year The billows of the west wind sweep and call A message which the old trees laugh to hear. Yon goes the sun ; and cold and clear and pale Rises the first impassive winter's night ; And summer is forgot upon the gale And swept along its billows out of sight. IN THE COLORADO DESERT Salt barren bottom of forgotten seas Wider than the horizon, saving where The bare blue mountain-wall is lifted up ; Bald San Jacintho's eyeless vision looks Across your waste and nothing finds to tell God any more remembers what He made ; No cloud across that blue : no cloud of dust Traversing that grey field with living feet, — No bones to tell aught ever died here : only Desperate devil-weeds and cactus growths Bitter with immemorial neglect. In the Colorado Desert Yet these forgotten creatures of the waste Fiercely remember all ; again they write With crabbed fingers on the burning page Letter by letter that defiant word Which one time was a rose in Paradise. OCTOBER For them that dwell in streets, Cathedrals make A pillared gloom — a haunted twilight, rich With many-coloured low, horizon-lights — Forests of solemn peace, — glades where the wind Of organ-pipes may wander in and out Among the shafts and banners, and where God Amid the worship dwells. But now for me It is October, when the woods begin To let their labours go, and all their ways October 9 Are deep in fallen leaves and thick with gold. About the plumey dark that pine-trees make Swift-running shadows steal, and jewelled lights Silent as sunbeams throng the solemn gloom. Now, through the many pillared stillness, falls A meteor leaf into the yellow pool Beneath the chestnut ; like a crimson pane Rubies a maple in the slanting sun. The fronded undergreen stirs to and fro, The bracken-banners move along the glade, While ever through the fretted space above The wind goes chanting. Oh, the woods are full Of worship ! Christ-like, the October sun Shines and discovers God among the trees. NOVEMBER Tis the season of despair, Nothing grows, and nothing grieves ; The impenetrable air Sulks among the rotting leaves : Nothing grieves, and nothing grows But the toadstools in the moss ; Never any bugle blows, Never any tempests toss : November 1 1 For the year is fall'n asleep Old and rich and well-at-ease ; And they slumber, they who keep Record of our destinies. . . . Blow North-east wind, keen and bare Gleams thy sword across the hill, Shouts the shuddering battle-blare Of thine unrelenting will : And the sleeping woods begin To awake and answer ; strange Voices that are old and thin Cry the syllables of change : 12 Moods and Outdoor Verses Rock the branches overhead, Crying, moaning ; and below Gusts of laughter snatch the dead Leaves and swirl them to and fro. Hail again, terrible One, Lord of passion, King of fear ! Days of peace are past and done And the winter days are here. Only blow not in the spring When the gentler wind-flower blows ; Blast no orchard's blossoming, Murder no adventurous rose. MERMAID Anguish and hope and high and desperate deed Go by me, and I hear unpitying The wild appeal of those that fail, and sink Battered among the rocks ; athwart the storm The lantern urges out into the dark Its passionate vain light. But as for me I have forgotten any kindling care In the world's story. Here I sit and wait The ending of the tale ; then shall I hear 14 Moods and Outdoor Verses A clarion calling from across the deep, And catch a footfall on the impetuous wave, And lo, he comes ! Till when I dream among These idle playthings that the ocean puts Between the empty chasm of years and me. Wherefore on Faralone I watch the ships Making the port, or plunging out away Upon their eager errands. Here I sit : I go upon no errand : I begin No labour, nor accomplish none ; the sound Of ocean is about me, and the drift Of all things going on after the moon. ADVENT I waited : he is come. Oh, I have dreamed Of him and doubted ; now I understand, — In all the day it was his glory gleamed, In all the darkness I have touched his hand. Tis the new life beginning ; now I see This cell is grown too small to hold me : I Am driven out by joy's necessity, For if I were to linger, joy must die. 1 6 Moods and Outdoor Verses So I must out and on. Fling the door wide, Good Porter, whether thou be life or death ! These narrow walls are not for me ; outside The whole world breathes the wonder of his breath. OF BOLTS AND SHELLS Shrieks the wild wind i' the bolted door- That treacherous wind ! But listen, unconfined, He is all mirth across the open moor. Haunted, confused with pent-up sound, This barren shell ; But plain each syllable Of all the shouting waves beyond its bound. 1 8 Moods and Outdoor Verses And so shrieks Fate i' the soul confined — Ah, treacherous Fate ! The heart emancipate Hears her all laughter like the moorland wind. And so, confused as in a shell The pent-up sound, Goes Thought, till all around He feels the Ocean, and breaks through the spell. THESE FORTY YEARS Do I look young ? Oh, I am strangely old : It is forty, forty years since I was young ; There hangs a solid veil of forty years Between me and the sunlight. Forty years — Ah, that is fourteen thousand winter days Of winter sunlight — wan, emaciate, Pitiful happiness, that one cannot tell If it be memory of some far-away Or hope of something farther ; if it be Pale, tearful, tremulous Promise, — or Regret. 20 Moods and Outdoor Verses Only I know it is not gladness. No, You can take hold of gladness, and sit down Here in the midst of time ; let time go by, And have eternity. And well I know, If there be any faith in any thing There is such joy. But it is winter here. You say, 'tis summer ? Summer is for you ; Yours is another latitude than mine ; Half the world lies between your world and me. Then, summer comes ? Nay, pardon me, my friend ; Whether the summer ever come again To me, who once knew summer far away As 'twere in another world, and cannot know These Forty Years 21 Summer among the seasons where I dwell Being in exile, and a stranger here, — That is my secret, and God keepeth it : He opens not His hand that I may see. Tis true I am not old as women are Who win the full enfranchisement of age ; I am young, young in my unyielding years ; Time brings me not his blessed gifts, for still, Though I be very tired of patience, sick Of wintry days, still am I as of old, Life lying yet untasted and undone. I think there is no hunger matched with mine. Here's joy enough for other women ; love 22 Moods and Outdoor Verses Of them I love, — husband and children, yet Ever within the body of my soul There is a hunger of virginity Which dreams in me unsatisfied, until Its veil be rent, and it awake to know The intimate thrill of love discovering it. Now forty years I bear about in me This dream, this hope that is a doubt, this voice That only speaks its one articulate word With dreary iteration, meaningless- Meaningless all these forty years, and yet It mocks the meaning of all words beside. You said that I looked young. But in the glass I see an age-old question-mark that is These Forty Years 23 Written upon my brain : can you not see — Look in my eyes — can you not see it there ? God, I think 'tis stamped into the flesh, So that if any answer ever came 1 should go questioning still unto the end. Into the flesh ? Nay, God Himself must take This soul He made, maddened into despair By His divine delay, with His own hands He must accomplish in it the last change And change it, that it may be satisfied. IN SOLITUDE Lonely he lived ; but, as a sovereign peak Catches and keeps the vapour of the fields When it is sunny noon in them, he sate Folded about in our perplexities. The burden of our battle filled his ears, Sounds of our pain besieged him, — and there closed The fog and cloud of every loveless deed Sullenly in upon his solitude. A TESTAMENT Ah, Change that changeth ! For awhile we touch Assurance with our fingers, then our clutch Is empty, and anon it is forgot ; — Tell me, Beloved, whether love be such. Ah, Change that changeth us from all we know ! We love, who knew not Love an hour ago — Another hour, and Love must be forgot : — Tell me, Beloved, if it be not so. 26 Moods and Outdoor Verses Must thou not pass, and I remain to miss The glory gathered up into thy kiss, — To grope in vain till I forget thee, — thou Waking in other worlds, but I in this ? Nay, but thou wilt not leave me ! Thou and I Together while the changing worlds go by ! For Love is immortality, or else It were a better thing for us to die. Wherefore let us petition Love to be Sole testament and bond 'twixt thee and me : There is no pledge shall bind us, here or there, Like His inalienable liberty. A Testament 27 Though change they bring, and death, He only fears No hurt from the inevitable years : And if we lose His hand, Beloved, then What is there but mortality and tears ? REALITY Rare is that blossom of sweet memory The dreamer's vision, out of days forgot Mystically remembered and reborn In eager, active-fingered, arduous days, Yet never to be native there again. Dream who may dream ! Rarer the ringing act Chiming with act in perfect parallel And building up invincible success, Reality 29 Rounded as lies a poem on the page And perfect as a song. Dream who would dream ! But here's the marble of reality, And dreams may go. But when the deed is done, What is the thing accomplished ? Is 't a flower, A star, a passion, this accomplished thing ? Something to ring forever and for aye, To burn and throb and blossom in God's hand Until the ages cease ? Or is it but Handfuls of barren ashes and vain dust ? MUSIC Yonder they sit in the immortal gloom, Who, laying sacred hands upon the keys, Erstwhiles unlocked their silent mysteries To cry, with chords and clarions, of doom And world-bewildering promise, till there come Answer from all that dwell between the seas. But now there is no noise about their knees ; Only afar the deathless echoes boom : Silent are they and still. Then who is he Dares enter now beside them and sit down Music 3 1 To shake those keys again with mortal hand ? Calmly he comes to that high company : He only sees the Music smile and frown, He only hears the sound of its command. GIORDANO BRUNO The flames leap up : leap angry flame, Kind minister of Death and Shame ! Your blazing blade hews down the gate, Loosing me to a larger fate. Spirit of Fire, ardour of God, Avenge me on this sullen clod ! Your light vest fitter seems for me Than earth's time-tattered livery : Yours are the spiritual wings Whereon must ride the soul that sings Giordano Bruno Music the body may not bear, And hears what only spirits dare. Leap up, ye flames ! Bite out your smart, And loose me to creation's heart ! 33 THE CHALLENGE Where Freedom is there once the women chose To purchase it ; and now at break of night Ever across that land a bugle blows Their challenge, and declares their ancient right :— " These fields that ye inherit, we the unknown Mothers of our Unconquerable Dead, Have in the long-forgotten ages sown Proudly for you, and left unharvested. The Challenge 35 " Yielding no miserable gift to heaven Dumbly obedient, as those who must, We of our own unfettered choice have given Our glory to you in eternal trust : " We gave your land immortal garrison Of spirits unsubdued, for ours were they, Conceived and born of us, and every one Suckled and set upon the dreadful way. " God left it with us whether they should be The petted nurslings of indulgent ease, Gay truants from the toils of destiny ; But they were heroes from their mothers' knees : 36 Moods and Outdoor Verses " They never turned away from hope or fear, Nor dreamed a dream they dared not pledge in blood : We prayed they might die conquerors, and here They stood to perish in the onsweeping flood " If the event were worthy them or no Who questions ? They were true, they would not yield : But they were ours that died for you, and oh, Inalienable is their battle-field." RUSSIA, 187- Because there was a blazing light Kindled of God within his brain, They shut him out of mortal sight, And builded up their lies again. About him fathoms deep, the stone Is set, impenetrable, blind : He stands at bay, guarding alone The desperate treasure of his mind. 38 Moods and Outdoor Voices They took the world from his embrace ; They stole him from our destinies. Sunshine nor shadow haunts that place ; There is no singing of the breeze ; Only the prying sentry light, Only the smothered shrieks that tell How ruthlessly the Hosts of Night Carry some human citadel. I know not whether any more He bears his battle ; even now His body passes through the door The sign of silence on its brow ; Russia, 187- 39 Vacant it goes, and he is gone. Better we all had died instead, For now he dies and we live on With all our light of living dead. It cannot be, my brothers ! Still He lingers ; often leaps his blood With the mysterious inner thrill And heart-throb of our brotherhood : Ay, though Saint Peter and Saint Paul Entombs his body, he is ours, And we will shake that triple wall And we will trample down those towers. 40 Moods and Outdoor Verses Because there is a blazing light Kindled of God within his brain, Ye shut him out of mortal sight And builded up your lies again. But buried deep beneath the stone, And sealed within the silence dim, His heart is like a giant grown ; The whole earth trembles over him. Struggling there in the night, he starts The passion throbbing in our veins ; He wins his victory in our hearts, His vision kindles in our brains, — Russia, 187- 41 And that is Russia. Vainly you, Though half the world be in your fee — Dream to obliterate from view The Russia that is yet to be ! Great White Tsar, I pity you when Peter and Paul shall sometime make Your broken spirit know what men And women suffered for your sake : I pity you when God shall turn Our agony of torture in Upon you ; when you cannot spurn Away the anguish of your sin, 42 Moods and Outdoor Verses But plain before you Russia stands In all the madness and despair Wrought by your own Imperial hands ; When even you become aware How beautiful she is, and how She is not yours, not yours — unless You claim the scar across her brow, And in her voice the bitterness. ATLAS His face is dark ; the burden of the day Rests on his shoulders ; patiently he stands Supporting heaven itself in both his hands : Ah, if he set it down, and went his way ! CELLINI'S PRAYER I COULD not be a beggar, bowing knees Always before You ; for You made me Man To prove what's manhood in the splendid span Of Your broad day ; — to front the Mysteries As one who is a Master, and to seize Boldly what craftsman's instrument he can And chip and carve a corner of the Plan Marked in the Marble of our Destinies. But when You set me forth to stand at bay Upon this Manhood, and to fling it down Cellini's Prayer 45 Dauntless and ultimate before the world, You promised You would set Your back that day To mine and vindicate my faith's renown ; — Then help me now the desperate pledge is hurled ! A SUNFLOWER IN A TOWN-GARDEN HEjiath a kingly image, a sublime Magnificence, as though his spirit were The heart of some world-conquering wanderer : Kindly he condescends to us who climb Shouting and jostling to the gates of time : He too hath striven, but now his royal fare Is for the beggars and the bees to share, — His gold untarnished by penurious crime. A Sunflower in a Town-Garden 47 Surely this is some battle-beaten soul Of long ago, who having victory won, Is now at peace with all the kindly earth ; Who comes contented with an old-time mirth To find this narrow plot and claim control, Sunflower and Viceroy of the very Sun ! FLOWERS Flowers for the heart, and for the body meat, — Feasting that either lacks is incomplete ; Needs must the world have bread, but oh, beside Give me the poppies growing with the wheat ! And when along your mowing fields you pass, Count in the tall moon-daisies with the grass ; Count the June roses, and the trespassing Enchanted lover and his blushing lass. Flowers 49 For joy is gust of life ; and then I wot Will God erase the earth when, like a blot, Unstarred it lies on heaven's manuscript, The song and glory of its birth forgot. APOLOGY I am a child who takes your hand To look into your tearfulness If he may something understand Of that deep darkness of distress Wherein you bear your lonely pain Until the daylight comes again. I am a child to kiss your eyes And with my lips wipe off the tears ; Apology 51 I have no help that satisfies, Yet may it soothe a moment's fears Even with wistful tears of mine And faith that is but infantine. Forgive a child who cannot more Than love you, if he sometime press Too eagerly about the door Of your unspoken bitterness, Or upon sacred silence break With sobbing more than men would make. And then you must forgive a child Where a man could not be forgiven, 52 Moods and Outdoor Verses When he is all too soon beguiled From loving tears ; when, gently driven By Sorrow's self away, he tries To entice you to his paradise. AN OLD DIALOGUE " Who art thou, little one, Sister of the violet ? Haste and tell me, What is thy name ? Prithee — thine eyes are wet, Sweetheart, little one, Is it for shame ?" 11 Me they call Poverty, That is my name. 54 Moods and Outdoor Verses " And thou that askest me — Merry as a Mary-cup Overbrimming Full of the sun — Thou, sir, that standest up - Tall, and askest me — ? " " Me, little one ? Francis, they christened me, Bernadone's son. " Wealth from the woolly sheep Glitters in my father's till Thee to purchase Merrier name : See, now, my hands I fill, An Old Dialogue 55 Give it to thee to keep Sure against shame." 11 Nay, I am Poverty, That is my name." u But oh, sweet Poverty, What is 't I can give thee then ? " Francis, Francis, Child of the sun, Flower in the mead of men, Thou that lovest me God's Little One,— Give me thy merry heart, Bernadone's son." DRAGON'S TEETH While all men were at work, I went To climb the top of Heaven's tent, And looking down I saw beneath An enemy sowing Dragon's Teeth, Dropping them silently in the soil Amid the peasant people's toil ; All day long though the sun was high Nobody saw him sowing but I. Dragon's Teeth 57 Dragon's Teeth are little and grey, Sharp and easily hidden away Till they are to be unconcealed Whetted white for the battle-field. Out of his bag the Sower spills Handfuls into the hopper of mills, And the very bread we eat Is Dragon's Tooth as well as wheat : Out of his bag the Sower spills Handfuls over the flying wheels, And the very clothes we wear Hide Dragon's Teeth among the hair : 58 Moods and Outdoor Verses Out of his bag the Sower spills Handfuls into the running rills, And the fishes streaked and brown And the dead leaves carry them down, Till the diver far beneath Among the pearls finds Dragon's Teeth. HOLY MARKETING To heaven's market holy men repair In vehicles of penitence and prayer With baskets of desire, and there are given All they can carry back again from heaven. PARTNERSHIP The pear-tree thinks a thought divine And reads the mind of God ; She understands how to combine The sunlight and the sod. A little dust — a little rain — Enough ; the passionate pip Fashions a pear-tree. It is plain She hath God's partnership. THE LABOURER I know a little gladsome cot i (My own, God wot) Whose windows sparkle with the light Be 't day or night, Be 't sunbeam, lamp, or merry blaze. Thither all days Homeward my feet come hastening fast, To find at last The wicket, whose familiar creak Doth welcome speak, 62 Moods and Outdoor Verses To see the handle shining out Eager to shout " Come in " to me, but then the mat Reminds it that No dirty-footed man can stray Within that way. Yet even while I rub and stand Handle in hand, The door itself leaps open wide, Some one inside Who is the spirit of the place Finds out my face, Unshaven, unwashen though it be, And kisses me. The Labourer 63 My little cot, for thee I toil And make and moil, As in the cold wet earth the root Digs, for the fruit That hangs in sunshine overhead Juicy and red. OVER A HONEYCOMB (ON A MARBLE GROUP OF PAN AND BEARS, BY FREMIET IN THE LUXEMBOURG) Your God is overcast with care But mine is not so grave ; He is divinely debonair, He is not Sorrow's slave ; For laughter like a tempest blows Across His face, and fun Is kindled there, because He knows The secrets of the sun. Over a Honeycomb 65 Oft when the village steeple calls The sober folk to pray, I climb above the waterfalls And find Him far away : The mass-bell rings, the people kneel, The holy Thing is done ; Fearfully glad the peasants steal From that communion : But up and up the mountain side There is a path I know Where only mountain shadows ride And forest-creatures go ; E 66 Moods and Outdoor Verses Beyond the meadow-plots, beyond The clustering barns that keep The garner of that careful land, Into the forest-deep It enters : there is He at play With glad, innocent things, My God, Whom all the stars obey In all their journeyings ; Who holds the terrors of the night And keeps the morning's keys ; Who closes in His matchless might Ages and destinies. Over a Honeycomb 67 Now where there is an emerald pool Of sunshine in the wood, And the fine mountain grass, that's full Of flowers, is deep and good, I have been watching how there strayed Two solemn little bears And how they found the honey laid To catch them unawares, — The comb of honey in the sun Melting and hot and sweet, — All through the grass the bright drops run Between the bearkins' feet ; 68 Moods and Outdoor Verses Half pushing forward eagerly, Half pulling back in dread, They nudge each other on, while He Leans laughing overhead, Mischievous pleasure in His eyes As though He were a child, — The bearkins are so fondly wise, So prudently beguiled ! And with His rod He lies there yet Poking their snouts, lest they Lost in the honey, should forget The God with whom they play. THE LITTLE PEOPLE / know a Little Folk content to dwell In the eternal twilight of a forest That cloaks the sun and stars, but shelters them : There, all along measureless streets of shadow Between the dark and daylight, haunt the tribes Of Little People. They come who carry lightning in their mien, Whose voices wing the twisted word of magic, jo Moods and Outdoor Verses Who utter fiats and accomplish them, Who send their dreams about the world in thunder : And as they come thickens the throng of those Obedient to them, — The throng of those uncertain and obscure Who have no magic, who imagine nothing, Whose words awake no echo, and whose eyes Kindle no light (but when the vision flashes They flame to it, and when the voice cries, then They are its echo :) These are the Little Folk, and they have all The human joys and woes, yea, love and passion — The Little People 71 But smaller : myriad upon myriad they In every land, so that no record may be Beyond their silly names, their empty years, Their thoughtless labour. As one and one who would account them ? These Are but the creatures of the kings of know- ledge,— Mere human stuff, till a creative hand Take and attempt, and mould it into some- thing ;— Rebels or slaves, they do not understand The giant's purpose. Ruthless the giants seem, in multitudes Treading them for the purple glow of glory 72 Moods and Outdoor Verses That robes a king ; and if the goblets kiss Beneath imperial vows of high achievement, Nations of Little People were but grapes Unto that vintage ; Ruthless sometimes, in insolent contempt Of all who scan not the celestial circles, — Wantonly wise ; but others are there, they That issue from the abysmal court of council Flaming with Fate's sublime decree, their hearts Sternly benignant, Who if they rule with rods yet gather up The woe they give into a great compassion The Little People 73 For these so slow to learn the lore of pain, For these so sudden after flying pleasure ; Yet must they rule, and must the Little Folk Obey or suffer : — Suffer, but not as men who entertain Writhing at every stroke, the triple torture Of bodies learned in the exquisite Secrets of feeling, writhe and yet endure it Supported by the fellowship of all The patient ages: Not so — the brothers minor suffer not After so fierce a pattern ; yet upon them 74 Moods and Outdoor Verses Descends the same inevitable stroke, And they — they are not solaced when they languish By that old cordial, that sovereign cup Of world-communion. They never knew the illimitable noon, They never dipped into the deep of midnight ; Bliss is not theirs though merry, nor despair Though they be ignorant ; daylight and dark They know not, nor the timeless hours that are In Hell and Heaven. / know a Little Folk content to dwell In the eternal twilight of a forest The Little People 75 That cloaks the sun and stars, but shelters them : There, all along measureless streets of shadow Between the dark and daylight, haunt the tribes Of Little People. CALIFORNIAN VERSES ■?a MARCH WIND Out of the breast of the calm inscrutable moun- tains, The irresistible mirth that brightens the face of day Comes galloping over the plains And over the rolling hills, To wake the sea with the songof the wakening earth . Oh, rollicking wind Your steps are in the tree-tops, 80 Moods and Outdoor Verses Your music is a multitude of feet : For you the Cypress shakes her boughs, the Eucalyptus Empties upon you all his silken tassels. Ah, what is the song you sing Stepping in the tree-tops — Words among the murmur Of innumerable leaves ? The Gum-trees in their wonder dance together, They love your footsteps ; they laugh to feel your coming, They bow their lovely heads beneath The insteps of your feet. But as they dance they listen, March Wind 81 They listen, swaying till their tall tops touch ; They stoop, they feel the rushing Of the great words through them ; They sigh back in the silence. They are young Bacchantes Shaken, shivering, Possessed with the surprises of unbearable delight : They have abandoned dream And wakened up to ecstasy. Wakener of forests on your path to the Pacific, Ah, what is the song you sing To these that know your footsteps, — Words that make this murmur Of innumerable leaves ? IN THE SIERRAS The day pours down Unmingled breathless draughts of August heat Out of the great bowl of the blazing sky : It fills the valleys up, and overflows Across the ridges of the hills. A stray syllabic tinkle (Some milking-cow browsing alone along the thin dry grass) In the Sierras 83 Passes unanswered, And sinks into the silence and the slumber Of the untenanted day. But when the bowl is empty, — when Earth turns her shoulder on the masterful sun,- The hills draw a faint breath, and a waft comes Along the valleys, — Comes, quivering up the aromatic paths Heavily sweet with stirring the hot leaves. Then the moon's brow breaks slowly from the pines, Like an amber cloud but purer : 84 Moods and Outdoor Verses Earth wonders at her coming ; the dusky hills Ring to the chirrup of crickets : Then all is still : — the moon Walking the silent piney ridges, Overburdened with light. A RAILROAD BUILDER Long time ago, beside these Sunset Seas, He found this Garden of Hesperides Guarded by dragon distances, and drew His double steel upon them till he slew : But now himself at handle of that blade Keepeth the garden which the gods have made. They who are privileged to taste the fruit Enter therewith upon that wild dispute Which all men bandy, and at last aver He is both tyrant and deliverer. IN ENGLAND— MAY (TO AT THE PIANO) If mine could write it as your ringers play, Across the village and its white highway, Across the park and palings, you should feel The sea-breeze blowing through the Golden Gate Among the many-shouldered hills. The Bay Would bid us out again on holiday, And Tamalpais would set his perfect line Against the blazing noon. In England — May 87 And you and I Would make a lovers' picnic in a nook By some deep runnel, that carves out his way Among the naked roots of giant trees Darkening up above, — ancient until The wonder of the centuries of Man Seems as a child's. Then while the shredded light Twinkled about the gloom of those huge limbs Circling us in, — then would we sigh and say " How good to be in England, just for May ! " ENVOI (TO MY WIFE) So little have I done — this little book — Of all I would do, nor have finished it, Nor any part made perfect as I would Had I the swifter sight, the finer touch ; But little as it is, it is for thee. What were it else but an unmothered thing, An elf-child, a preposterous, pitiful Waif, unrelated to a living soul ? Envoi 89 And, wonder though it is, were 't not for thee What were the wonder of this wide new land — These thronging faces with their challenges To thought, — but hostile, and great loneliness ; But now it is become that generous land Where first we made our home together, first Went hand in hand about the good day's work Gladdening through it hour upon blue hour. East Oakland, California. Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co London &° Edinburgh w* LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 014 433 627 6