KATHARINE MORSE ^ GwigtaN"- /■y^js. CQEffilGHT DEPOSrC A GATE OF CEDAR K ■^ THE MACMILLAN COMPANY NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO MACMILLAN & CO.. Limited LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA MELBOURNE THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. TORONTO A GATE OF CEDAR BY KATHARINE MORSE Author of The Uncensored Letters of a Canteen Girl ^etD |9orfe THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1922 All rights reserved PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA Copyright, 1922, BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY Set up and printed. Published January, 1922 FERRIS PRINTING COMPANY NEW YORK CITY FEB 15 1922 g)n!,A554650 THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO MY MOTHER Ihe Shuiamite and Verses for a Guest Room appeared in the Century Magazine under the pen name "Anne Arrabin." FOREWORD I PIPE not to the world, For it were bold of me To think that such a one as I Could pipe for others' glee : For some have pipes of gold And some of mellow brass; My pipe is but a hollow reed Bound with a blade of grass. Some pipe to courts and kings, Some to the crowding mart ; But I, I pipe not to the world, I pipe to my own heart. CONTENTS PAGE FOREWORD ix THE CEDAR GATE: Maple Tree 17 My Garden 18 Autumnal 19 Bumblebee 20 Colors 21 Awakening 22 The Shriving 23 On The Hill-top 24 A Sunset 25 Twilight 26 In the Orchard 27 Birds 28 Humming-bird 29 Thrasher 30 Crow 31 Chickadee 32 The Oak Tree 33 A Bee Sets Sau. 34 The Sumachs: Fall 35 The Sumachs: Winter 36 Fog 37 Blithe Bird Bold Bee 38 Winter in The South 39 xii CONTENTS OUT OF THE PAST: PAGE The Regicide 43 The Witch 46 Dan Kellog Entertains Shay's Army 48 Stephen Burroughs Defends Himself 50 The Privateers 53 The Pioneer's Thoughts Turn East 55 Gettysburg 56 FOR ANY LOVER: Prelude 63 The Dreamer 65 Premonition 66 He Troubles Me 67 Love's Advent 68 Love's Dawn 69 The Shadow 70 I Dare Not Tell 71 The Tryst 72 For Thee 73 Now You Are Sleeping 74 Affirmation 75 The Shulamite 76 Kiss Me 78 The New Moon 79 Fancy's Garden 80 The Fear 83 The Mirror 84 The Wanderer 85 His Letters 87 Heigh-ho! 88 Love's Grave 89 Humoresque 90 The Rain 91 Renunciation 92 CONTENTS xiii FOR ANYONE: PAGE Tryptich in Ash and Ebony: Left Panel: Three Centurions 95 Right Panel: A Group of Soldiers 96 Central Panel; The Two Thieves 98 A Room: The Rosewood Cabinet 100 A Japanese Print 101 The Spinet 102 The Horsehair Sofa 103 A Portrait 104 The Little Dancer 106 Idylle Francaise 110 Hadley Meadows 112 The Ferries 113 The Listener 115 The Marionettes 116 Caprice 118 The Homestead 119 The Last Desire 121 The Dead 122 Upstairs 123 The Angel 124 At Bethany 125 Life 126 LASSES LOVE The Way of Righteousness 129 The Message 130 The Daisy 131 The Calendar 132 If I Were a Lad 133 I Loved in Laughter 134 xiv CONTENTS FOR A CHILD: PAGE Tree 137 Goose-girl 138 From the Nursery Window 139 Columbines 140 The Faerie Frock 141 The Elf Child 142 The Moon 143 FOR SOME I LOVE: Truant 147 To One Away 149 The Wind 150 Verses for a Guest Room 151 To Anne 152 To 153 To E.A.L 154 Apotheosis 155 An Old Photograph 156 To A.D.M 157 The Gardener 158 In Memoriam 159 Historical Notes 160 A GATE OF CEDAR MAPLE TREE Now fall mints gold from out the green of June ; Golden as honey in the comb, Pagan and perfect as some temple dome My maple burns against the blue of noon. Under its shining shade I lie and gaze Up through dark branches veining amber tints Over whose arch the gold light gleams and glints Lovely as lacquer, lucent as old glaze; Till, lying so, I dream there drips Wine and wild honey on my lips. 17 MY GARDEN My garden is a harlequin, With careless colors tumbled in ; And neither proper beds nor rows But every gipsy flower that grows; Larkspurs and blazing stars and phlox, Petunias and hollyhocks, And marigolds and feverfew And campions and f our-o'clocks ; Scarlets and blues and pinks and corals With every saucy scent and hue . . . And should you comment ; Such a garden Is little suited, by your pardon. To our New England modes and morals, Pray tell me then the reason of it ! I'll only say; The wild bees love it. And what the bees love, I love too. 18 AUTUMNAL Rust on the field and on the thicket, A cicada, a shrilHng cricket, Wild apples from a hill-side bough With skin like flame and flesh like snow, With chestnuts brown and warm and sleek And shining as an Arab's cheek. Grapes garlanding a twisted vine. The sumachs ruddy as red wine, And under sharp October skies Your sunburnt smile, your gipsy eyes! 19 BUMBLEBEE In a satin chamber I surprised a bee Tippling draughts of amber From cup of porphyry. With buccaneer bravado The velvet debauche Booms blustering defiance, Then swaggers it away. 20 COLORS No color is so glad as green; — When the full flood of April shakes The world and each bud stirs and wakes Amid the woods where woodland lakes Shine bright as bluebells in between; Or when June quickens and the rye Lies tender-hearted to the sky, Or when the young maize shoulder-high Takes from the light a shifting sheen : If God should say to me; Now choose Which hue to keep since you must lose All colors from the earth but one : I'd say; Dear God, I would regret The hyacinth and violet, The cowslip brimmed with morning sun, The phantom rainbow and the mist At dawn of pearl and amethyst; And may I die ere I forget The blue of yonder hill-top, — yet God, give me green ! 21 AWAKENING The dawn is a kiss on my face I throw wide the dark door of night, I leap to the day's embrace, I give myself to the light. 22 THE SHRIVING Beneath a breaking sky Amid the wild grass, I Have shrived myself anew; Austere, immaculate, withdrawn, The Angel of the Dawn Has pierced my naked heart with light And sealed my brow with dew. 23 ON THE HILL-TOP From the cup of the sky With hps long starved I drink the bhie dawn, Unafraid ; While in my hands I hold the earth, — A sphere of green jade Curiously carved. 24 A SUNSET Fish Silver Luminous Lazily poised; Foam streaks Of far-off ships : Tides Amber Fathomless ; Dark waves Brooding of storm Eclipse. 25 TWILIGHT Dusk the grey reaper gathers in The golden harvest of the sky; Thin and more thin The faihng color shows : Retarded in its flight As by a Titan's touch The rhythm of the light Perceptibly now slows : The old earth, tired and spent And having suffered much, Yet happily content, Turns with a drowsy sigh Its slow cheek to the night. 26 IN THE ORCHARD There are no hours more gold than these Beneath the autumn apple trees, When every laden twig and bough Is bright with fruit like colored flames : If I were but a poet now I'd make a sonnet of their names : There's Belle Fleur Jamie and Belle et Bonne, Wonder and Duke of Wellington, Arkansas Baptist and Louise, Victuals and Drink and Bread and Cheese, With Texas Pride, Kentiicky Queen And Salome and Magdalene, Gloria Mundi, Gillyflo-wer With Winter Wine and Szveet and Sour. Scarlet and gold I count each one From Maiden's Blush to Jonathan, And each is lovelier than the rest; I do not know which one is best. 27 BIRDS A BLUEBIRD in an apple tree A glad adventure is to me ; While, sudden glimpsed, the swallow's dart Like laughter flicks across my heart ; Grey-shadowed gulls with wide blown wings Wake in me vagrant hankerings; A silver thrush at dusk of day Calls from dim woods and then I pray. 28 HUMMING-BIRD The fashion of the humming-bird ;- At soul bhthe bee, Caught in a case of Cloisonne From oversea; A little whiff of Orient In prim New England morn, To vex the heart with Araby And leave forlorn; A vagrant note of scarlet joy That bell and book should ban, A bit of pagan pageantry To flout the puritan. 29 THRASHER The thrasher in my aspen tree Has set his sleek brown throat a-bubble; The drollest scamp of lovers, he To court by code will take no trouble; He flouts his sweetheart while he woos, Cajoles, caresses, spites and teases, Then all at once croons, coaxes, coos; He plays with moods just as he pleases, A puckish, now a poignant, note, Some whimsy of a waggish wit, Then all Arcadia in his throat; I can but sense the drift of it, For mortal wits at best are thick When love's a-brewing, — more's the pity! But this is clear; Sweet, Sweet, come quick! Come merrily, my Pretty, Pretty ! 30 CROW A GENTLEMAN,, Sedate, severe, In black habiliments monastic, Of sombre mien and speech austere, — • To dub him robber were fantastic! Indeed his solemn cawings say; Nine flies and five fat slugs each day Sufilice for my ascetic diet : — What did I hear you mutter? Corn! I will not trouble to deny it ! Such slanders best are met with scorn I Pax tecum, friend, I must be flying; The hour grows late. What's that you say? The Blacksmith's old white mare is dying? The Deacon's early garden's sprouting? Thanks, I'll be going by that way ; Caaa caw! We'll settle this past doubting. 31 CHICKADEE You wee grey gamin of a bird, Shy, daring, curious, alert. Pranking in antic airs absurd, — An arrant flirt ! Frequenter of our winter boughs In garb as staid as any Quaker, A bit of cricket and of mouse Went to your making, merry-maker! You darting, starting Httle bobbin ! Our snow-bound days it seems dehght you,- More venturesome than wren or robin, — Bless you, you saucy little sprite, you! 32 THE OAK TREE With the wind I awoke In the night, Lying huddled and warm Harkening to the storm ; Sudden I sat upright, Beat on the dark with a cry, Knowing that you my own Mighty and steadfast oak Were fallen, were overthrown. Now in the dark I lie Watching the altered day Dawn in an empty sky. 33 A BEE SETS SAIL The wind blows east, the wind blows storm, And yet this very hour I saw a bumblebee embark In frigate of a flower; An admiral in epaulets, He strode the scented deck And in the teeth of tossing gales He rode without a wreck. More valorous adventurer I never hope to see, — Though mariners be gallant men, — Than that same bumblebee. 34 THE SUMACHS Fall WiDE-flocking birds of scarlet flame In Orient imaginings Which yet no cage could hold or tame . . I do not dare draw near Lest there should suddenly arise A blinding tumult of great wings Whirled upward with strange tropic cries. 35 THE SUMACHS Winter Grey with the cold They shiver bare and stark, Yet holding each aloft Insistently, defying, A crimson torch Whereof the spark Is dying. 36 FOG Berkeley The wings of the fog have brushed the barren hill-tops, — White wings poised and hovering on high ! — Swift wings soar and sweep across the heavens, The wings of the fog have blotted out the sky! The wings of the fog are brooding close above us, — White, white, white like a great flag unfurled! — The wings of the fog have filled the air with blind- ness, The wings of the fog have covered all the world ! n BLITHE BIRD BOLD BEE Blithe bird, bold bee Be tolerant of me; Flit near Blue Chevalier Of beechwood tree. Swift dragon-fly, No alien I ! Mine host, Almost, In inns of sky. Thrush, robin, wren, Greet ye again! Brave company! To me My countrymen. 38 WINTER IN THE SOUTH The north land, the home land, Ah God! If I were there! Just to see the pointed pines And steepled cedars growing . . A cold air and a keen air And the snow Blowing. 39 OUT OF THE PAST Rhymes Written Concerning Certain Personages and Events in New England History 41 THE REGICIDE Deep are God's ways, passing man's little wit, His wisdom as His grace is infinite : His will be done; though by His will I live Exiled, an outcast and a fugitive. Destined through all my wanderings to spread Danger like pestilence, to eat the bread Of charity in secret, yea almost Living among the living like a ghost. Shut from the good green earth, shut from the sky, A dweller in dark rooms, until I die. His will be done! Have I not done His will? Vengeance is mine. He saith ; Thou shalt not kill. Yet for the sake of England, — England's fate Hung in the balance while the seed of hate Sprang to red war and he who wrought it so. Tyrant and traitor, murderer and foe Of England's weal, faithless and false, a thing More like a wanton woman than a king, 43 44 THE REGICIDE Ruled in a bitter and a cruel reign And lied and swore and broke his oaths again. And so I judged him, yea and put my name On the death warrant, witnessing the same. . . . The great axe cleft the air, the false head fell . . . England ! O proud land loved and served too well ! What dooms great hearts have undergone for her ! Yet fond and fickle, foolish like the cur Returning to his vomit, purged in vain, She bows beneath the tyrant's yoke again! So God disposes of what man has planned; The shadows shift and lengthen and the sand Runs from the hour-glass. We are doomed and driven, Vessels without a compass. I have given All for this one small bitter boon of life . . . And thou, brave heart, O well-beloved wife, A friendless wilderness, a savage sea Cry dumb denial betwixt thee and me! Day follows day, so age creeps on apace, And I shall die and never see her face . . . THE REGICIDE 45 Never to see her face nor England's shore, Green as the garden of the Lord, once more, — England and all life's stately ordered ways, England and all the splendor of past days! But for me rather endless exile spent In hiding on an uncouth continent. Until my days, like dark birds that have flown, Are told and I die nameless and alone. Lord, who hast deigned, to compass Thy intent, To make of me an humble instrument. Be merciful to me a sinner and instil Thy peace Avithin my heart ; have I not done Thy will? THE WITCH So please your Worship, I'm not doing any harm ! An old lame dame, her basket on her arm. Hobbling along the rutted road by hitches. Hunting for herbs beside the weedy ditches. Spells, did you say? God's mercy! my poor jaws Are fit for nothing but an old wife's saws. You heard me mutter? Aye! some foolish words Between me and my gossips here, the birds, — Wee saucy merry rascals, cock and hen! He roves abroad, — a way with gentlemen ! — She sits at home, snug in the thorn-tree boughs, And plays the prude and keeps his little house. Who's coming yon ? Eh ! who but Parson Jones ! May the flesh rot from off his marrow bones ! "Doddering old scald crazy crone," he said. Eh well! Eh well! Some night he'll lie abed 'Twixt dark and cockcrow feeling fifty pins Pricking his lean hide and his scrawny shins. Then there's that Goody Boltwood and her brat, She did me spite, the slut! She'll pay for that! 46 THE WITCH 47 Eh hey! Perhaps I know a thing or two Some folks would give a-plenty if they knew! And my old rheumy eyes have seen some sights ! What would you say, along o' moonshine nights When proper folk are snoring sound to see, Down in the Black Swamp by the willow tree, The devil, fiddle under chin, Fiddling away as gay as sin In a high cocked hat and scarlet hose ; While seventeen imps with thumbs to nose Go spinning, kicking heels and toes Till one's that giddy goodness knows! What's that you say? A witch? Now Heaven f orf end ! I'm a poor woman, sir, that's near her end. And an old tongue does sometimes play queer tricks. Eh! Give a dog a bad name and it sticks. DAN KELLOG ENTERTAINS SHAY'S ARMY We're Shay's men, fighting men, and we want rum; We're dry, dry as cinders and we'll drink till Kingdom come; Shutesbury and Petersham, Pelham Hill and Hollow, We're ranting roaring rebels, sir! and Shay's the man we follow! Here Tom Conkey sings solus Old man Kellog was a toper and a Tory, He szvore by the croivn and he lived on gin and glory, He drank to the King and he blessed his soul; They came to tar and feather him, he hid him in a hole; He took his boots and Bible and went to win the zvar; Up with your bumpers boys and toast our host once more! 48 DAN KELLOG ENTERTAINS SHAY'S ARMY 49 Long-legged stiff-necked lean pumkin-heads, There's neither man nor devil, sir! that any of us dreads ! Rough ready roisterers hailing from the hills, Every musket has its ball every bullet kills; We're sick of courts and lawyermen and laws and all such bunk, And some of us are sober but most of us are drunk : We've had one revolution and we've only just begun. We've had one revolution, — s'blood, we'll have another one ! For we're Shay's men, fighting men, full of rum and sin. We'll lick the whole damn continent and drink up all the gin; Shutesbury and Petersham, Pelham Hill and Hollow, Up with your bumpers, boys ! Shay's the man to follow ! STEPHEN BURROUGHS DEFENDS HIMSELF AGAINST ALL SLANDERERS, TRADUCERS AND MALICIOUS TONGUES Alias Davis . . . rascal . . . ripe for Jiell . . . The noted Stephen Burroughs . . . preacher, — Well? Scalawag, schoolmaster, vagabond of sorts. Pilloried, whipped, fined in a dozen courts, Old Parson Burroughs' son and life-long grief, Jail-bird, impost er, counterfeiter, thief! Without defender and without a friend, Foredoomed to hang! Sirs, have you made an end? Such titles so unsparingly conferred Disprove themselves. Admitting I have erred, Which of you, gentlemen, dare cast a stone? To err is human, have I erred alone? To itemize the charge . . that coining scheme . . / was the dupe, betrayed by that old dream 50 STEPHEN BURROUGHS DEFENDS HIMSELF 51 Of turning dross to gold, — a luckless quest Which history assures us has obsessed The minds of wise men since King Solomon, — Helvetius, Sendevogius, Pope John; And where such worthy precedents exist Proving the status of the alchemist, Is it so strange that, guileless of deceit, I fell the victim of a cunning cheat? Touching the matter of those sermons now, — A trifling matter, faith! for such a row! Whether myself had written them or not. They had their brimstone served them just as hot! Mean-minded busybones, they got their dues! Thinking to trap me with their text; "Old shoes And clouted on their feet." Ill-doomed intent! I preached their sermon! Waxing eloquent, I proved they were the wearers of the shoes, the clouts Were envies, jealousies, suspicions, doubts; With such sleek sophistries as parsons use, Leaving them dumb, condemned by their own shoes ! 52 STEPHEN BURROUGHS DEFENDS HIMSELF Jail-bird ? In sooth ! And yet who needs be taught Five greater rogues go free for each wretch caught ? Judges are Wind, the law is halt and lame, Lawyers are lies and justice but a name? Again, if you should urge that I perchance Have strayed in paths of sinful dalliance; What heart so cold but knows the charms of love, As witness, — Caesar, Alexander, Jove! Time passes, sirs, when all is done and said. We live, we sin, we suffer, we are dead; And just to prove I don't do things by half, See, I have written my own epitaph; Stephen etcetera, student of arts, A mind of talent and a man of parts. Slandered, maligned, misrepresented, One who has erred yet much repented, A gentleman, a scholar and a wit . . . Too long, you say? Then just write: — counter- feit! THE PRIVATEERS Sloop from Magadore with ebony and gum, Schooner from San Salvadore loaded down with rum, Merchantman from Africa with ivory and gold, — Ho ! she'll bring a pretty price when her cargo's sold! Blow us south to Rio Grande, blow us east to Spain, Blow us north to Newfoundland and blow us back again. Here's a buss for Peg and Meg and Moll, the pretty dears. Every lass in every port who loves the privateers ! Schooner from the Indies with silks to dress a queen. Lumber boat with beaver skins bound for Aber- deen, Barque from Demerara with indigo and dyes, Malaga and Trinidad to make a Yankee prize. 53 54 THE PRIVATEERS Run the colors up the mast, warn her with a shot, By the Lord, she's British, boys, give it to her hot! Half the game is Yankee aim, half is Yankee luck; Round shot, grape shot, — Glory ho! She's struck! Ho! Blow us south to Rio Grande, blow us east to Spain, Blow us north to Newfoundland and blow us back again! Here's a buss for Nell and Belle and Poll the pretty dear, Where's the lass in any port but loves a privateer? THE PIONEER'S THOUGHTS TURN EAST On the far hill-side in the spring I drove the grey team harrowing, When like a cry within my breast A word thrilled through me; — zvest, west, west I It rang and rang and would not still Though I would plough, though I would till. To whatsoever task I turned That thought still bit in me and burned . . . Ah God! my little hill-side farm Green pastured in the east. Low roofed with long sheds sheltered warm, Smooth fare for man and beast; At dusk I see within my mind Just how the long light falls On the low-mounded hills behind And on the old stone walls . . . And I who put this back of me Must watch strange seasons bring Their arid fruits, and friendless see The alien face of spring. 55 GETTYSBURG How can I bear it? Well the question's fair, Yet life must answer it, I sometimes think That God himself can't know what women bear. Reach me that skein of wool, Dear. No, the pink; The rose against the purple makes it rich; And still we go on sewing, stitch by stitch, While summer ripens with a scent of box Along the borders belled with hollyhocks. The fledglings from the eaves will soon be flown, — And still God lets this wicked war go on! You never saw my sons, you say? That's true, You didn't come to town till sixty-two . . . John is the elder one, the younger, Paul, Is dark and slight while John is fair and tall. Grey-eyed, with hair the color of ripe corn; I was just turned nineteen when John was born. Paul was an ailing child, I used to fear Each spring he wouldn't see another year; 56 GETTYSBURG 57 But John was strong and hearty. So they grew, And they were all the world to me, — these two! Then Andrew died, the fall of forty-seven; John was thirteen, Paul going on eleven, — Two little heedless happy lads, half -grown, — And I was left to care for them alone. Only a mother knows with what heartache From dark to dawn a mother lies awake. John was a comfort, to be counted on, — No woman ever had a better son ! But Paul was contrary and proud and wild And passionate and wilful from a child. With eyes that flashed and hair just like a girl's. Silky and thick and soft, — I kept those curls! Always the two of them were falling out, I don't know what their quarrels were about. Only if John liked red then Paul liked blue; — And yet they loved each other. ... So they grew From boys to men and I began to fear The day when they would find some other woman dear. John played the friend, was kind but never cared; 58 GETTYSBURG I was his only sweetheart, he declared, And he would never have another one, but all The pretty girls were making eyes at Paul. Then the war threatened . . . broke. . . . Night after night They argued; North and South and wrong and right,— I think Paul took the South"s side out of spite. Well that's my story; you may guess yourself What happened after; on the mantel shelf There, side by side, stand pictures of my two; Paul is the one in grey while John wears blue. See ! it is almost finished, just this row And then the corner. Women sew and sew And talk of trifles; why the hens don't lay And when the drought will break. The papers say That a great battle has been fought At Gettysburg. Oh, we are tamed and taught To live by little things from day to day. GETTYSBURG 59 A letter? . . . With bad news, you say ... Be quick ! Tell me the worst ! My boys are wounded ? . . . sick? Not dead ! . . . Not he ! . . . Not Paul, my little son! Oh Christ! If it had only been the other one! FOR ANY LOVER PRELUDE Spring like a white flame has swept o'er The hearts of lovers; They that loved before Are new enkindled as from hazel covers, Delirious, the floods of love-song pour. And those that knew not love? Ah! they Are pitiful indeed! For none may say What measure of dim longing is their meed, Faint troublous tenderness and thoughts astray. They see the glad leaf leaping from the seed, Yet feel no stir: The rune they cannot read; They sense the young sap surge through pine and fir, Yet know not what they need : 63 64 PRELUDE But, piteous in wistful wondering, Till, sudden-wise. They turn and kiss and cling; Then look upon the world with altered eyes And, — startled, — know the meaning of the spring- THE DREAMER Ah ! dreams, dreams, dreams. Ye are the heart of me ! The white ships melt in the mistland At the shadowy verge of the sea, And where they go I do not know Nor what their names may be; Ah! dreams, dreams, dreams, Ye are the heart of me! 65 PREMONITION I DREW the curtains of my heart, I closed the shutters tight; Then searched and stopped each cranny In dread of that great light Which should assault its casements; Then, safe from sharpest ray, Defied in stricken darkness The miracle of day ! 66 HE TROUBLES ME He troubles me ; I cannot sleep ; While dark of night fades into dim I can do naught but wake and weep Because of him, because of him. He troubles me; I cannot smile, For when I would mine eyelids swim And all the world goes dark a while Because of him, because of him. He troubles me; I cannot pray; I fear the jealous seraphim That guard my dreams are flown away Because of him, because of him. 67 LOVE'S ADVENT I THOUGHT to hear high silver trumpets blown Across the world to warn me Love drew near And thrill my heart with rapture and with fear; So harkening, heedless of One long known, Till on a day I woke to find him grown Close to my heart, inestimably dear; Then when I thought Love's voice at last to hear Just with a look he claimed me for his own. 66 LOVE'S DAWN I WAS not unaware . . . For tears had touched my eyehds while I slept; I woke and found them wet upon my hair, — I knew it was for no light thing I wept. I rose and clad me in my whitest gown, Through the hushed hallways silently I crept, And still the strange slow tears fell softly down; Still must I weep yet knew not why I wept. I turned the blind key in the creaking lock, I drew the door wide with a shaken hand, I had not heard his step nor known his knock. Yet on the threshold I beheld him stand : Beneath the shadow of his wings I knelt, He took my hands within his own and drew My breast against his bosom, straight I felt His tears against my cheek and then I knew. 69 THE SHADOW I COULD not stay to bind my hair, I could not stop to smooth my dress; There was no moment to prepare So sudden was the blessedness. This thought struck sharp through all the sweet; The stains upon my garment's hem, The dust upon my toil-worn feet, Alas! what will he think of them? Oh Love, my Love, I grieve with shame, My heart is shaken with distress, I am so bitterly to blame For this; — my hfe's unreadiness! He smiled and spoke; "Thy garment's hem Shines as if woven star on star; Thy feet" — he knelt for kissing them — "Are whiter than a seraph's are." 70 I DARE NOT TELL I DARE not tell my love for thee aloud, So worship thee in dumbness, O Most Dear! For deep within my thought there wears a fear ;- That I in speaking love should spin its shroud. Yet when my shaken fingers brush thy hand Or when my thrilled lips tremble on thy cheek,- This wounding wonder that I may not speak,- Heart of my Hope, wilt thou not understand? 71 THE TRYST Last night I held a tryst With my Old Self who died Three days ago. I drew her close and kissed Her wistful lips, whereat she, wonder-eyed And shaken; Who art thou? Dost know me not, O sister mine? Nay, thou canst he no kin to me! Lean nearer, look; dost know me now? Aye, hut — how strange! Your hands . . ., they shine! They shine for they have lain in his. What makes that light ahout your hroiv? A kiss. Ah! I have dreamed, — I know! But not that it woidd he like this! n FOR THEE For thee my soul puts on her morning face And festal robes ; then through her dwelling-place Hastens, the quick breath panting to her lips, And, — prodigal! — lights all her tallow dips Until the dim abode is starred with light And all who pass may know ; the King comes here tonight ! 7i NOW YOU ARE SLEEPING Now you are sleeping I'd send my heart to you With laden fingers, phantom-light, to strew Blossoms of balm across your bitter breast; And on your brow bruised petals wet with dew And on your anguished eyelids herbs of rest. 74 AFFIRMATION Deaf, I would no less tremble to your voice; Blind and a dweller in strange lands, There still would surge through me sharp singing joys At touch of your strong hands : Dumb, I would answer to your word of love; Dead and forgotten underneath the sod, If you set foot upon the turf above Your step to me would be the step of God. 75 THE SHULAMITE / am black . . . But comely! . . . O ye daughters of Jerusalem, As the tents of Kedar! . . . As the curtains of Solomon! The Song of Songs From out the misted margent of dead years I saw a masque of regal women move, And some were pale, some passionate with tears, While others smiled; these were the Queens of Love- Out of the mists they moved in stately wise, — Purple and gold upon each garment's hern, — And looked at me aloof with alien eyes Who let them go and spoke no word with them : So passed, till suddenly I was aware Of one who moved among the sandaled throng Barefoot, a wreath of grape bloom in her hair. And lips that seemed to tremble with stilled song ; On her young limbs a golden hue of sun 76 THE SHULAMITE 11 That pallid made appear the beauties white, — Fairer than all the Queens of Solomon! — Who art thou Loveliest ? The Shulamite. The cinctured Queens in silent scorn depart. Tarry Beloved, "we are one at heart! KISS ME Kiss me as if you were afraid That what you craved might be gainsaid, As if, quite recklessly, you tried At venture, fearful lest denied. And thus but gained a moment's bliss At peril of displeasure, — kiss ! Kiss me as if you knew not yet How wholly I am yours; forget For just one moment that you know Both heart and soul are yours ; ah ! so As if you scarce dared dream that this Were possible to happen, — kiss! Kiss me as if you were not sure This love of mine would long endure, As if you deemed that all delay Were dangerous to loving, yea. As if you did not dare to miss One moment while love lasted, — kiss! 78 THE NEW MOON Slavic Love Song Round is your rim, O moon, like the curve of my bosom, Yet are you pointed and sharp like a blade of fine metal ; I will stretch out my hand and take you and slip you beneath my bodice, When my lover embraces me, between my breasts he will feel your coldness; And should he disdain me, with you I will pierce his heart. 79 FANCY'S GARDEN Hollyhock ; Sixteen, a muslin frock, Petticoats, pinafore. Sewing a seam; Sun at the cottage door, — Does she smile, does she dream? Heigh-ho, it's four o'clock. Come skim the cream ! Marigold; Tropic eyes black and bold, Earings of yellow brass; What will my fortune be, Gipsy lass, gipsy lass? Beauty, brave lovers three, A grave by the cypress tree . . . The coin falls to the grass . . . Trumpet vine; Banners fly bright as wine. Crimson the bugles blare, 80 FANCY'S GARDEN 81 Red beat the throbbing drums, All the folk run and stare; Heart, heart, be wise, beware! Why should he care? Mignonette ; Dear, leave me not as yet! Love me in gentle mood. Love me in solitude : Draw close the curtain's fold. Shut out the careless street; Will love grow ever cold? Love is so sweet ! Columbine ; Scarlet lips mocking mine, Scarlet skirts all a-blow; Where's my love Pierrot? Once he loved Pierrette, Now she's grown thin . . . Ah, how these men forget! Harlequin . . . Harlequin! 82 FANCY'S GARDEN Passion Flower; Cloisters, a shadowed hour, A nun in a purple hood; Why must she pray so long When she is so good? Prayers for true lovers dead, Prayers for those soon to be,^ — Saint, when your prayers are said, Say one for me! THE FEAR Make me, Most Dear, to love you less, Lest I should lean on you and twine Myself too close until you be Burdened by love's sweet helplessness Like the ill-starred though sturdy tree Weighted by the slow strangling vine. So spare your kiss, forego your touch. Draw your deep lips away from mine : For I have learned what wisdom saith ; He whom a Avoman loves too much Drinks as it were a drowsy wine And in the lees of it lurks death. 83 THE MIRROR Look! — in the looking-glass we two Mirrored a moment, I and you, Dark head and fair, grey eyes and blue ; We kiss, they clasp. Tonight we go You east, I west, and who can know When you will once more hold me so? Yet since our mirrored selves have kissed Will not these shadow shapes persist, Ghost lovers in a timeless tryst? 84 THE WANDERER In the early dawn of a morning grey He took his staff and departed; He would not bide though I bid him stay And he carolled a song as he started. I watched him go from the courtyard gate, — Leaden the skies hung o'er him ! — Down the path where we'd walked of late, Till the world spread wide before him. He carries my heart in the scrip at his side! My love is the flower in his bonnet, And his leathern coat, — Ah woe betide! — Is warm with my kisses on it. He is bearing the dreams of my soul at his belt And my prayers within his grey wallet And all the joy that I've ever felt, — God knows what may chance to befall it ! 85 86 THE WANDERER He has left me of his but a ragged glove, So old and worn that he tossed it Down by the gate; — did you dream, my Love, What an alms you gave when you lost it ? He has left me naught of mine own but tears And the hope that I fain would cherish; The first, I trow, will last me for years, But alas! if the hope should perish! HIS LETTERS I WOULD be free of love that gyves and grieves So I will burn his letters one by one, For though these sheets be light as wintered leaves Yet burden they the heart they lie upon. His letters, one by one, have fled in flame, In ashes lie the burning words he writ, AH, save for this last little sheet, — ah shame ! Although I would, I cannot part with it ! 87 HEIGH-HO Heigh-ho ! When did love go? Ask me not, I do not know; — Last night, today, a week ago! Who saw him die? And did he smile or did he sigh? A tear, a laugh, an epitaph. . . . Who will his mourner be? Not I! 88 LOVE'S GRAVE Dig me a grave for last year's love, Bury him dark and deep, So with the green o' the grass above, Last year's love may sleep. At his head and his feet I will plant a red rose, With harebells and violets blue, — Everything fragrant and fragile that grows; But over his bosom, — rue. 89 HUMORESQUE Heart^ heart, O wherefor so threadbare? Are there not gems and golden gauds to wear, And many merry dominoes fit for a carnival, And scores of silk and satin gowns all hanging on the wall? Heart, heart, why goest so forlorn? Put by your robes of penitence, your grey cloak dim and worn. Put on some golden vanity with rosy ribbands gay, And then pretend it's festival and play at holiday! 90 THE RAIN The phantom fingers of the rain Are tapping at my window-pane, And in the dripping from the leaves, The running murmur in the eaves, A whisper sounds; Do you remember That windy wild day in November, You two together in the mist And how he drew you close and kissed? O wraith hands at my window sill, O wistful phantom hands, be still! His cheek against mine warm and wet, The mist, the kiss . . . could I forget? 91 RENUNCIATION I AM aweary, droop thy mantle, Sweet; Let fall its folds about me for a space, Bowing thy head, that I who clasp thy feet May once more touch thy face. Strong arms that fain would hold me high Against the world, close me in last caress ; I could not match thy stature, — no, not I ! See, I have striven and won weariness ! O bright brave head! O high and lordly Love! All can I bear except to see thee low; Stay not for pity, — I am well enough — Bend once above me, kiss me and then go. 92 FOR ANYONE TRYPTICH IN ASH AND EBONY LEFT PANEL THREE CENTURIONS What have we here today? A brace of thieves. In Rome they keep such punishments for slaves. Freemen or bondsmen all these Jews are knaves. The third? A crazed fanatic who believes In some new sect, no one knows what or why. New Gods are born as fast as old Gods die, And who can tell the false God from the true ? I saw strange things in the Numidian w^ar. No God is worth a strong man's dying for! He came to save the world, so Sextus said. The world will saVe itself when he is dead. And so it will, my friend, when I and you Like him have died and been forgotten too. 95 RIGHT PANEL A GROUP OF SOLDIERS Give me the coat. It's mine. You thief, you He! Take it then if you dare! I had it first. The greedy vuhure plucks men as they die. You and your vultures, dirty dog, be cursed! Peace to your quarrel, brawlers, give it here; Verrus, your knife, v^e'll cut the cloth in two. You'll spoil a rare fine bit of weaving if you do ! Leave it to luck then; let the dice decide. What was that noise? A woman standing near Reached through the press and touched the coat and cried. Plague take the women ! What do they want here ? Back! Give us space. Ho! Quintus is cross-eyed, Watch how he squints. 96 A GROUP OF SOLDIERS 97 He's muttering a charm. Look out for Caius, he has crooked dice ! Speak for yourself! Mercury, jog his arm! Room for my elbow! Back, you beggar's lice! CENTRAL PANEL THE TWO THIEVES Brother, why dost thou hang so high? The moon was darkened in the sky And he was rich and very old, An old bald miser hard as hate, What use had he for all that gold? Cursed be the Romans and their law! I robbed the coffer, gained the gate, — The sleeping slaves lay close about, — And suddenly the moon came out And the watch saw. And I,— At the end of the night on the Joppa road I slit his throat And so he died; I wouldn't have killed him but he cried, — A sickly beggar full of sores With a few coins in his begging bowl; I hid his body in a hole, 98 THE TWO THIEVES 99 They tracked me by my bloody coat : Curse them, these Roman sons of whores! And what of him who makes the third, Who hangs and does not speak a word? Hast thou not heard? It is the son of Joseph, he Men call the Christ. Ho ! Jesus, be Thou Christ or Prophet, speak and loose These nails that pierce us, set us free! Or has thy God forsaken thee? Curse thee, thou saviour of the Jews! A ROOM THE ROSEWOOD CABINET Crystals for scent, silver for snuff and patches, Carnelian, lacquer, ivory and gilt, A brooch of filagree, a clasp that matches, A crucifix, a fan, a dagger's hilt; — These, treasured once by buried beaux and belles Of antique elegance, what are they more Than driftwood, shining pebbles and strange shells Left by the Past's spent tide along Time's shore? 100 A JAPANESE PRINT A DRAGONFLY Alighting; A thin blade of sedge; Three grey green stalks Cut by the paper's edge . . . Straws, meadow grass, Insects . . . Why should we lack for art With such As texts? 101 SPINET In you frail melodies exist Like fine rain falling from a mist,- Imagined fantasies persist. So your quaint cadences designed In antique patterns haunt the mind Like phantoms fugitive as wind- 102 THE HORSEHAIR SOFA For fleshly penitence devised. New England's conscience symbolised, The Ten Commandments on a platter, — Pantalettes, prayer-books, prunes and prisms, Longer and shorter Catechisms, — Morals triumphant over matter! 103 THE PORTRAIT So you're the stock from which our race derives, — You and your three prim unprotesting wives; Painted by Stuart, A. D. eighteen-two. He knew the breed and so he painted you. Well sir, it's plain to see you liked old sherry And wagged a warm tongue when the hour grew merry, Yet, duly decorous, performed your duty Toward God, and — kept a keen eye out for female beauty. So passed a long life spent in honest labour Getting the better of your crafty neighbour. As to religion, staunchly orthodox. Taking no chances on hell fire, — sly fox! In seventy-five you swore yourself a Tory, In seventy-six, ah, that's another story! Finding the King's cause isn't worth a groat, You trim your sails and turn your Tory coat. 104 THE PORTRAIT 105 By eighteen-twelve you were as firm and fiery As any patriot. You kept a diary In which we find recorded acts and attitudes, Politics, petty plots and pious platitudes. Four score and ten you died in twenty-seven, Mourned by six sons; — such are the saints in Heaven ! THE LITTLE DANCER I LIGHT my feet and light my fancies, And light as fleet my flitting dances; 1 could not sink were worlds to drown : Come, wind, and take me! I am thistledown. II To each I speak in different speech, I give a different gift . . . To some magic and mysteries, To one a white moth's kiss. To others rainbows, dew; What shall I give to you? Ill Dance with me O lover of mine And I'll give you a kiss in a cup of wine, A golden bow and a silver dart And wild wings to nest within your heart. 106 THE LITTLE DANCER 107 IV What would you have me be? A dryad who has left her home In some wind-wakened aspen tree ? A sea-sprite laughing from the foam? A far cloud drifting in the sky? A bird alighting on a bough? A flower, a bee, a dragonfly? What would you have me now? V I wonder if you guessed Where I was dancing, just a breath ago Where? Why on heaven's roof, Across a velvet carpet, warp and woof Woven of shining strands of azure air; Against my breast The wind blew sharp as scimitars And all about my feet Like shining petals Lay lost stars. 108 THE LITTLE DANCER VI Wind of the sky! Leap down your sunlit stairs Bright with wild winey airs, Suddenly, unawares, Lift me and bear me high! Wind of the sea; Fathoms of foam and thunder, Dirge of the dim sea-wonder Hidden the deep tides under. Croon to me, comfort me. Wind of the night; Steal shadow-footed, frail, Wreathed darkly veil on veil. Lift up your taper pale Set all the stars alight! Wind of the dawn! Under the sky's blue eaves Shake light in silver sheaves, Waken the dew-wet leaves, Darkness is gone! THE LITTLE DANCER 109 VII O blind to beauty, — unconfessed, — Even to you I bring unguessed My vision, though you only know Softness has touched your heart, — Like snow. IDYLLE FRANCAISE Where the slow stream winds by the linden boughs Grave as a grey owl sits the dim old house, Here for a whim the two of us must dine, — Scdade, des escargots, with thin red wine, Coffee and cheese, a sweet tarte de Lorraine, — And we could see through the bright window-pane The garden like a door-step paradise, — If God should make His heavens pocket-size! Talk dragged; I asked; Madame she lives alone? You smiled; Monsieur plays Darby to her Joan; Forty years wed, I think you'd find them quaint; Madame like some aged patient kindly saint, Patron of housewives, saint of sauce-pans, yet Feminine, French, incurably coquette! Let's have them in ! We plead ; at last they came, Monsieur decrepit, bleary-eyed and lame, Madame, deep-bosomed, amply broad of lap. All softly wrinkled under her frilled cap : 110 IDYLLE FRANCAISE 111 She pours the coffee, wags a gossip's tongue; Those days of gold, 111071 Dieu, when we were young ! None was si beau, si fort as Monsieur then! And now so frail, but headstrong ! — ah, these men ! He pays no heed to all her cautioning! Whereat he shrills; She wants to tie a string About my leg to keep me like her bird I Madame sighs, dimples, twitters on; Absurd! And yet my prayer is that each of us dies The self-same hour. She smiles into his eyes, Then hfts the coffee-cups and turning hides A bright face beautiful as any bride's. Forty years wed . . . Close to the window-pane The roses blossomed fresh with the night's rain; Forty years wed . We two in forty years . . . And suddenly the roses blurred in tears. HADLEY MEADOWS By Hadley elms the wide fields lie; Here under a New England sky Ringed by the blue New England hills Old Europe ploughs and sows and tills. Yon barefoot daughter of the soil, Broad-bosomed, bending to the toil. Just such a stubborn grace is hers As Millet gave his harvesters ! Patient she spends her old-world strength Plodding along the furrows length, Then, at a cry, turns, bares her breast And sets her suckling babe at rest. 112 THE FERRIES San Francisco Bay They shaped us not for man's delight, Nor moulded us in armoured might, We were not planned for grace nor speed. But builded for a people's need. The white curled wavelets laugh for glee, Toss their heads and shout of the sea; Through gates of gold sifts singing wind;- Are we so deaf, are we so blind f Dull plodding shapes all day we ply Past where the deep-sea vessels lie, To and fro between our goals Carrying so many thousand souls. And think you not that we too feel The prick of the brine beneath the keel? And think you not within us stirs The lust of the far sea voyagers? 113 114 THE FERRIES Close anchored by the ferry slip, We pass by many a gallant ship Back from its wanderings over the world, Storm-beaten canvas folded and furled. What word bring you of alien strands f What cargoes shipped from fabled lands f What gossip of the seven seas? What loot from the Antipodes? Dull plodding shapes all day we ply Past where the deep-sea vessels lie, To and fro between our goals Carrying so many thousand souls. THE LISTENER The music will not leave your face alone, It shapes it as a sculptor carves his stone; With touches unimaginably deft, It frets it into haggard arcs of pain Then curves it back to loveliness again, It stops and there is only marble left. 115 THE MARIONETTES From your shy little curls to your prim little toes Lady, I love you; eyes, ears, chin and nose Beguile me, bewitch me. So you like the pose? Have you a heart? Ah, that is the riddle! I kneel at your feet, I plead. O fiddle! Your courting is crude, it lacks finesse . . . Look at the moon, it is made of honey And shines for true lovers. You digress, The question is; have you any money? A handful of silver, more or less; What does it matter? Kiss me again, My heart is your own for ever and ever; We'll go to the priest if you'll only say when. The next blue moon ! But you love me ! Never ! Hey, hi diddle, diddle! You've got it all wrong! Your bright sword is tin. Your neck is too long. Your legs are too thin, 116 THE MARIONETTES 117 And I don't like the way your hair parts in the middle ! So your love is a lie! And I thought you a saint! But no, you are nothing but pertness and paint. My heart is broken and I shall die. Bell, ring his knell; ding, dong! What a jest! See, he lies dead, his poor heart is broken! It was only a plaster heart at best. Now draw the curtain, the piece is all spoken. CAPRICE Caprice Is gold; An orange-colored toy balloon, The tinkle of a tambourine, Pollen that makes the brown bee bold,- Caprice Is green . . . A hurdy-gurdy's tangled tune, The tassel from a jester's shoe, A faun's dream in mid-afternoon. Caprice Is blue ... Soap-bubbles blown by Pierrot, An errant dragonfly or two, Venetian lanterns hung a-row, — Caprice Is you. 118 THE HOMESTEAD This is my father's father's house; Within this dooryard each tall tree That yearns toward heaven with its boughs Roots deep within the past of me. The rose-bush by the door is red With passion of strong lovers gone, And fragrant of dear women dead Who travailed that I might be born. The low porch hung about with vines, The dim hearth-stone, the wide front door, Are precious to me as old shrines Because they loved them long before. The very earth is dear; — to pass Down from the door-step to the street On flaggings rimmed about with grass And worn by little children's feet! 119 120 THE HOMESTEAD In hall and chamber, everywhere Are gracious presences; it seems Light footsteps linger on the stair, Soft voices haunt the rafter beams. But closest, when at dawn I wake I feel those same shy gentle souls, — Just so, they watched the slow light break. Just so, they heard the orioles! THE LAST DESIRE The fields were golden when I died, For that was in the spring; — It was so hard to go away And leave them blossoming! I craved a little meadow flower To clasp within my hand; They looked at me with wistful eyes And did not understand. They brought me lilies for my brow And roses for my breast; They stripped great gardens bare for me Of all their loveliest : Nor ever guessed, — who loved me so ! — That what I craved might be A common crimson clover-top To take away with me. 121 THE DEAD Do they sleep, the Dead? Both the evil and the good In coffins made of cedar wood, Shrouded, lapped in lead? Do they sleep, the Dead? Mid rusted ruin of old wars, Snapped swords and shattered scimitars? Sealed in precious perfumes, hid In Egypt's ageless pyramid; Far in some strange sun-scourged land, White bones blenched upon the sand; Or where wild waves cover them. Rock and roar a requiem? Do they sleep, the Dead? Whether ashes, whether dust. Whether cased in rot or rust. Wrapped in white and locked with lead, Do they sleep, the Dead? 122 UPSTAIRS Upstairs they say 'tis sunshine, Upstairs they say 'tis spring; And that means honey-locusts And blue flags blossoming. They think the spring is not for us, Upstairs, yet even so A "Warmth has thrilled the frozen breasts Of us who lie below. 123 THE ANGEL Once it was told me by a man of God That close to each of us, unguessed, Serene of brow and radiant of breast The Angel of God's Presence trod. Since then at times it seems I am aware, Passing perhaps along a twilight street, Of a faint sound like sandalled certain feet Which echo my own footsteps everywhere. And once when strong fears shot their shafts at me I heard a still clear silver voice which said : "Oh lonely child of God be comforted For where thou goest, lo I go with thee." 124 AT BETHANY We went in silence, save, a whisper ran Throughout the people : Who is then this man And what thing doeth he ? This none did know, Yet still we followed. Whither do we go? To Lazarus. But he hath lain in shroud Four days and nights. A murmur shook the crowd. Yet still we followed; at the burial place I, watching, saw upon the Master's face A strangeness gather, — as a light, — until Mine eyes went blind a space : the world was still : Then words of strong command smote the strained ear, I saw men shudder : a great tide of fear Swept us at sight of that I dare not name; The women flickered like wind-beaten flame; I turned to flee, made faint with dread and awe, But in that moment at His side I saw, — As sun in storm rending the gloom thereof, — The face of Mary mad with joy and love! 125 LIFE Life bears great alabaster jars Of gold and purple gifts, Flowers, arrows, stars . . . Kneeling I lift My arms to her with pleas And touch Her knees. Life smiles and bends, The gleaming shower descends; Nay, I am overwhelmed by such Vast bounty ! Cease ; It is too much! 126 LASSES LOVE THE WAY OF RIGHTEOUSNESS I PUT my Sunday bonnet on, With roses 'round the brim, My buckled shoes, my musHn frock, — All for the sake of him. I never looked about the church. As some I know of do! But quiet as a Quakeress Sat all the service through. The preacher drew his text from Luke;- Whom went ye out to see? Old Uncle Eben took a nap Two seats in front of me; The doctor's wife was dressed in silk. The sempstress wore her shawl; The way of righteousness is hard, — He wasn't there at all ! 129 THE MESSAGE If you should see my dear Love,- Now mark you how he looks ! — Tell him the spice-bush blossoms Along the upland brooks; The plum trees in the valley Are white, but whiter still Tell him the wilding cherry Shakes snow on Thornton Hill; Tell him the meadow marshes Are brimmed with cowslip gold,— And mind you how he answers When you have told! 130 THE DAISY I ASKED a daisy of my Love And it was very good, It answered me; He loves you true! As I had hoped it would. If I had let the matter rest Nor asked another one, I would have had a bit of joy That night to dream upon; But though like fallen flakes of snow The foolish petals dot The meadow grass, now each declares; He loves me, loves me not! 131 THE CALENDAR The first time that I saw my Love It was at Eastertide ; I dreamt a dream on Whitsunday That I would be a bride; Mayday he said : "My dear, my own ;"- They tell me men deceive ! — I gave him all my heart in June; Now 'tis Midsummer Eve; So fast the summer months come on, So fast they slip away! And will he love me Hallowe'en? And wed me Christmas Day? 132 IF I WERE A LAD If I were a lad I would run away to sea, All to let a thousand leagues Lie 'twixt him and me; And in an alien country Across the world from here I'd dwell, where none would ever speak Of him who was my Dear; For oh! my heart is wrung with pain By that which once was sweet; — To hear his step at twilight Echo down the street! 133 I LOVED IN LAUGHTER I LOVED in laughter for a space, Then for a while I loved in pain ; New fancies former moods efface; Now I am out of love again! The world is wide, a happy place, The clouds blow by, blue skies remain ; The winter goes and leaves no trace; And I — am out of love again! 134 FOR A CHILD TREE I LAY my cheek against your bark, My arms along a bough, I pluck a little spray of you To bind about my brow. I whisper secret words to you, You whisper back to me, I brush your leaves across my lips, Because I love you, tree. 137 GOOSE-GIRL White geese and grey In a willow wood ; The white geese stray, The grey are good. I watch all day, As a goose-girl should, White geese and grey In a willow wood. 138 FROM THE NURSERY WINDOW The Jack-o-lantern moon looks down Upon the treetops of the town, And in the branches there are shapes Of gnomes and dancing bears and apes; The elm-tree dog sits up and begs, The plum-tree man with crooked legs He lifts his cup but never drinks . . . The grinning moon peeps down and winks. The goblin in the old pear tree Sticks out his twisted tongue at me. 139 COLUMBINES Columbines are bells Hung in airy steeples By the faerie peoples, Chiming pixie spells, Tolling elfin knells : Winds that set the grasses quaking, Start each tiny clapper shaking; Winds that blow the leaves a-twinkle Set each scarlet bloom a-tinkle Down the ferny dells : Swaying, swinging. Chiming, ringing, Columbines Are bells! 140 THE FAIRY FROCK It's primrose petals for a gown, For sempstress spiders three, It's gossamer and thistledown To make my frock for me. Then hie thee straight to cobbler toad Beneath the hornbeam tree Beyond the turning of the road To shape my shoes for me. Then put a dewdrop in my hair, Fetch me my cobweb shawl, And call my cricket coach and pair To drive me to the ball! 141 THE ELF-CHILD I SIT within the chimney-nook And eat my cream and curds; I do not mind the dame's sour look, Nor heed her scolding words : I never rue their bitter speech Nor brood upon their taunts, For oh ! my heart is out of reach, Away in faerie haunts. My heart is on the hill-side Where the wild thorn-apples grow, And overhead the skies are wide, And stars are warm and low : And when their tongues in sleep are still,- As soft as mouse on stair, — I'll out and dance upon the hill With fireflies in my hair! 142 THE MOON The moon's no bigger than my ball, — I'm not afraid of her at all! But yesterday she rose so soon, — 'Twas quite too early for the moon! — And looked at me without a sound, So white, so bright, so great, so round, Above the top of Butter Hill, That I was almost scared until She slipped behind the cherry tree; Out through its leaves she peeped at me, Then climbed up to its topmost boughs And crept along the neighbour's house. Till from the chimney by and by She stepped right off into the sky; And all the time, w^hat do • you think ? I saw her shrink and shrink and shrink! Now she's no bigger than my ball, — I'm not afraid of her at all! 143 FOR SOME I LOVE TRUANT Do you not fear, in those long years to come, A day on which our voices, weary-dumb, Shall fail of psalms and we shall turn, replete Of giving praises though to praise be sweet? When, surfeiting of splendors, we shall be Burdened by jasper and chalcedony? Then, harps discarded, haloes laid away, Shall we not steal a heavenly holiday? We two shall creep down the long shining stairs Softly as thieves, — old Peter unawares Drowsily nodding his bald saintly pate, — So tiptoe through a little crack i' the gate And out! Then unreproved, unhindered, free For one day of seraphic truancy! Tell me, O Playmate, whither do we go? Back to dear earthly haunts we used to know? Or, bolder, flash through space, until afar We touch the threshold of some secret star? 147 148 TRUANT What wild pranks shall we play, what mad deeds do, What mischief make amid strange moons,, we two? Ere, meekly tapping on the sapphire door, We creep back to God's great gold house once more? TO ONE AWAY For M. D. M. If I could touch you now I would kiss your hair's dim bands And the fine faint lines of your brow And the faint fine veins of your hands, Your fingers worn and brown; The soft folds of your gown, I would touch them unawares; And oh, it would be sweet To hear upon the stairs The fall of your patient feet. 149 THE WIND The wind creeps down the corridor, The blind wind taps upon my door, Pauses and sighs, then taps once more; He lifts the latch and lets it fall, Then back again his slow feet crawl By each blank door along the hall : And at each door he fumbles past He tries the latch but finds it fast, — He tries the little north door last. But in that room where lately were Laughter and lilt he hears no stir; He sighs ; I can't awaken her ! Then down the passageway once more He creeps across the creaking floor, Pausing to listen at my door. ISO VERSES FOR A GUEST ROOM L. S. H. I HAVE no pomp to offer thee, Just my heart's hospitaHty, — A little beam, but one to light The lodging of an anchorite. A slumber deep, a dreamless rest To thee within this room, Dear Guest! 'Tis sweet to me that thou and I This night beneath one roof shall lie; For this I deem, — most dear, my Guest !- In all the world, or East or West Where e'er thy tarrying may be, Blessed is the roof that shelters thee. 151 TO ANNE Grief cannot ever wither you, Nor ill fate bitterly subdue, Nor, hungry heart, will you be left Ever quite utterly bereft; For while dews fall and waters flow, While rainbows arch and west winds blow You cannot be quite discontent, For beauty is your nourishment. 152 TO They could not shut you out of heaven Although the sins you'd sinned were seven Not all the saints and souls in glory Could exile you to Purgatory : For this is true; — they need your eyes To light the ways of Paradise. 153 TO E. A. L. I God dreamt a dream of stars and dew, Lest He forget He fashioned you. He shaped your spirit out of these : — The dusk o' the dawn and the wind in the trees; Then with a smile He bade you be And made Hfe lyrical for me. n There is no fear may make thy heart afraid, Nor doubt by which thy soul could be betrayed, Nor Death himself shall render thee dismayed; For though his step be sudden thou shalt rise And give him greeting in right queenly wise With gracious lips and sweet unshadowed eyes; And he that is the Arbiter of All, Ere giving thee to drink of wine and gall, Shall place upon thy brow a coronal. 154 APOTHEOSIS All spring I watched her while a change Crept over her, her hands would cling Sharply to mine, her eyes grew strange, Wide W'ith a wordless questioning; While on her wistful face I read A listening look as if she heard From blossomed branches overhead The fluting of a phantom bird. Yet breathed she never word to tell What wonder she was thinking of, Till spring's dream changed to summer's spell, Then spoke at last and said: I love. 155 AN OLD PHOTOGRAPH Into your grave grey-shadowed eyes, So wide and innocently wise, I look and ask if any knew The wild shy gentle heart of you; For these same solemn eyes confess The child's eternal loneliness, The child's pathetic wistful pride, The child whose childhood is denied. Could I but take your hand and touch Your cheek to mine and tell you such Brave tales as boys love to have told, — Of Robin Hood and pirate gold, Of Lancelot and Galahad; And when the dark came, tuck you tight Beneath the covers smoothed and white, And sing to you how angels keep Their slumber watch, till you should sleep, And sleeping, smile, O little lad! But three score years and more have sped, O grave grey eyes ! And you are dead. 156 TO A. D. M. What shall I take to make your requiem? Not the deep tones nor solemn hues of grief, Nor the sad pageant man shapes out of them, Rather God's beauty gathered leaf by leaf; Shadows of far clouds resting on the hills, Green dawning hope in April frond and shoot, Fragrance of spring woods that the rain distils, Orchards at sundown full of scarlet fruit; — Mist over moist fields brown beneath the plough, Great oaks in autumn bronze against the blue, Hips of wild rose aflame on winter's bough, — These will I take for these belong to you. 157 THE GARDENER Some think The souls of those who die Linger a while among those haunts most dear To them in living; — a last link That they are slow To break . . . I know Your spirit has been here Among those roses, Tending them with understanding touch And gentle wise caress; Else why Should they have bloomed this year In such Heart-rending loveliness ? 158 IN MEMORIAM Like flying wings, like soundless waters flowing Fade the dear dead from out the memory; This is the changeless truth, Beloved One, and knowing I would pray fate these frail words prove for thee, — Struck at white heat of passionate regretting, — Tablets of bronze, fadeless, beyond forgetting. 159 •^r^'"^ 3»t^ HISTORICAL NOTES THE REGICIDE — Upon the accession of Charles II in 1660, Col. Goffe and Gen. Whalley, members of Cromwell's High Court of Justice, fled to America where they spent the rest of their lives in hiding. It is known that both passed a number of years at Old Hadley concealed in the house of the minister and tradition has it that Whalley died here and was buried in the cellar. The date and place of the death of Goffe who survived him are unknown. STEPHEN BURROUGHS DEFENDS HIMSELF — Perhaps the most picturesque inci- dent in the career of the notorious Stephen Bur- roughs was his ;acceptance under an assumed name, on the strength of a glib tongue and a dozen of his father's old sermons, of the position of temporary minister or "Supplyer" to the dour Scotch-Presbyterian congregation of Pelham, Massachusetts. Becoming suspicious, the elders of the church demanded that he preach a sermon 160 HISTORICAL NOTES 161 extempore from a text of their own choosing, an ordeal which his quick wit enabled him to turn to his credit and their confusion. DAN KELLOG ENTERTAINS SHAY'S ARMY — The old house with its secret staircase where Kellog hid to escape the attention of zealous patriots still stands between Amherst and Pelham. Here in 1787 after Shay's army of two thousand malcontents from Western Massachusetts had suffered their first discomfiture at the hands of the militia a number of that bold band stopped for refreshment, leaving their names scrawled on the attic walls as testimony.