%/ :' V ^l*^" cy Cr^.^i'^ .* ^^. '-^v.^^' .* sS.'>. ^"'^*. ^^^ ^ 0* .»JL.'..*o. .j.*^ ..".•♦ >5^ » *^ r^ ,. • .0" e r t. K' ^^^4^. \ o Ao. o** aO RED POPPIES IN THE WHEAT Red Poppies in the Wheat BY JOHN RICHARD MORELAND NEW YORK JAMES T. WHITE & CO. 1921 ^*i'^<2k Copyright, 1921. JAMES T. WHITE & CO. OCT 24 m\ §)C(.A627376 TO MY MOTHER NOTE Following is a list of poems included in this collection which have been published in Magazines: "Red Poppies in the Wheat," "Tears," "Gifts," "The Kiss," "What Would You Give?" and "Bereavement" in The Minaret; "Recompense," in The Reviewer; "The Living Lie," in The Madrigal; "Love at Eventide," in McCall's; "The Sea," in Shadowland; "The Intruder," in The Cavalier; "Lowlands," in The American Poetry Magazine; "The Hope Eternal," "Bon Voyage," in The Quiver (London, England) ; "Love's Sacrament," in Columbia Record; "To a Japanese Print," in Motion Picture Classic; "Eventide," in Man: the Wonderful; "I Love You So," in Choice Bits; "A Grave," "Admira- tion," "Growth," "Genre," "Life's Day," "Love's Telling," "The Faithful Messenger," "Autumn," "Loss" and "How Vast is Heaven?" in The Lyric; "Faith," in The Chris- tian Herald. CONTENTS RED POPPIES IN THE WHEAT 15 THE COWARD DAWN 16 love's sacrament IT GENRE 18 "l DID NOT HEED THAT SPRING WAS HERE" 19 THE KISS 20 THE LITTLE SIN 21 TREASURE 22 TO A JAPANESE PRINT 23 I LOVE YOU SO 24 THE MIRACLE 25 TEARS 26 THE LITTLE ROOM 27 THE SEA 28 GIFTS 29 THE LITTLE HOUSE 30 THE UNRETURNING 31 WHITE HORSES OF THE SEA 32 A VILLANEL 33 THE WIND 34 DAY 35 KINSHIP 36 WEALTH 37 LOST 38 HOW VAST IS HEAVEN ? 39 A WATER COLOR 40 THE SCALES OF LOVE 41 THE NOMAD STRAIN 42 EVENTIDE 43 RECOMPENSE 44 CONTENTS ADailRATION 45 to oxe away 46 lilactime 47 "if you would be my friend" 48 lovehght 49 AUTUMN 50 life's day 51 the intruder 52 the red woman 53 "as one grown tired of living" 54 knowledge 55 THE POET 56 WHAT WOULD YOU GIVE ? . 57 KINGS 58 THE LENGTH OF A NIGHT 59 ZION STILL IS AVELL BELOVED 60 LOWLANDS 61 NIGHTFALL 62 EASTER 63 LOSS 64 THE RECORD OF THE AGES 65 love's TELLING , 66 THE FAITHFUL MESSENGER 67 TO A CAGED LINNET 68 THE GUEST DENIED 70 COLUMBINE 72 BROADWAY IN A FOG 74 THE TEST 75 PRISONERS 76 THE PIPES O' PAN 77 TIME 78 THE LIVING LIE 79 INTENTIONS 80 CONTENTS "the priest is come and the tapers burn" 81 the veiled angel 82 never rest street 83 inconsistency 84 FAITH 85 HER DWELLING PLACE 86 BEREAVEMENT 88 A GRAVE 89 SAFE IS MY TREASURE 90 THE DEAD 91 BON VOYAGE 92 PREVISION 93 THE INN OF CONTENT 94 THE HOPE ETERNAL 96 BEYOND THE LAND OF SLEEP AND DEATH 96 FINIS 97 RED POPPIES IN THE WHEAT RED POPPIES IN THE WHEAT Life is red poppies in the wheat, Love be not late! Keen is time's sickle; years are fleet; Life is red poppies in the wheat, Filled with brave dreams and crimson sweet But bound by fate ! Life is red poppies in the wheat, Love be not late ! 15 THE COWARD DAWN I hate the dawn; I hate the cold gray dawn; It creeps so hungrily from the vast unknown. Visible silence like a ghastly moan, Waking the trembling wood and pallid lawn, Prowling, it seeks fair food to feed upon, Till the royal sun above the orient zone Leaps to arouse and kiss and claim his own: Then on a sudden, coward-like is gone! For one I love, with hair of dull red gold. With sad, sweet eyes, and pale and lorely face, Like a Madonna, gentle, with a trace Of suffering . . . though her heart was high and bold. Dawn wrapped within his chill gray mantle's fold And kissed and killed her in his cold embrace. 16 LOVE'S SACRAMENT I knew a priest in other lands Who daily culled an opening bud, And crushed the stem within his hands Until his palms were stained with blood. I questioned once this mystery. And why his palms were daily red? "Love wore a crown of thorns for me ; Thus I remember, son!" he said. Today my heart can understand That loving act of long ago; The rosC; the thorn, the bleeding hand Have all been mine, that I might know ! 17 GENRE An old fashioned shop With dingy entrance And tinkling bell; A sad; sweet-faced woman Dressed in blacky behind the counter Waiting on a little lad With a large copper cent Wanting a ginger cake. The shop is lost among skyscrapers The woman a drift of dust And forgotten; The lad an old man, Yet memory clings With joy to the picture And the taste of the cake Seems as if just eaten. 18 DID NOT HEED THAT SPRING WAS HERE. I did not heed that spring was here; The city streets were chill and gray, When lo, I passed a window where White dogwood blooms were on display. I paused ... I could not quickly pass The vision in the window small . . . I felt warm winds that stirred the grass, I heard the singing sand-dunes call! 19 THE KISS For love or lust, for good or ill, Behold the kiss is potent still! O mother-lips that fashion it . . . Earth's purest kiss and exquisite. While dearest dreams the heart may know Love's kiss doth hold when moons hang low. Yet oft upon the mouth of trust The traitor's fetid lips are thrust. And hardened harlots hating truth Smile and befoul the lips of youth. How Hell rejoiced 'mid flame and drouth^ When Rome kissed Egypt's wine-dark mouth. But ah, that kiss divinely sweet That Mary pressed on Jesus' feet. Time grants no surer noon than this: Death's poppy-scented mouth to kiss. And treasured more than gems or gold That last, long kiss on lips clay-cold. For love or lust, for good or ill. Behold the kiss is potent still! 20 THE LITTLE SIN It was such a little, little sin, And such a great big day, That I thought the hours would swallow it, Or the wind blow it away. But the moments passed so swiftly, And the wind died out somehow. And the sin that was once a weakling Is a hungry giant now. 21 TREASURE These are the treasures that his heart holds dear: A christening cup marked, "To my little son," A bit of purple quartz from Blomedon, A china rabbit with a broken ear, A small, dull knife, that cost him many a tear! All da}^ he holds them in his close embrace. By night his pillow is their resting place And with the morn he laughs to find them near. childishness to cherish trifles so? . . . And yet, O lad of mine, could you but know 1 too have treasures that I daily touch. Frail tokens but to me they mean so much: A few sea shells, a boat, a pail once red . . . These were his brother's toys . . . and he is dead ! 22 TO A JAPANESE PRINT Above a calm and argent sea That shivers with the chill of dawn, Two gulls with love for company Speed on and on. Small silhouettes against the light — Two tiny boats with full-set sails — That fear no anguish of the night, No salt sea gales. Two little huts, a humble sight, Rude vine-clad homes of honest moil. Where love abides by day and night. Through play and toil. Low scraggy trees of scented pine, And towering high a mountain rears Its snow-crowned head; the pilgrim's shrine Of love and tears! O swift sea gulls! O fragile boats! O humble homes! O fragrant trees! Why do you hold my heart like notes That grieve and please? 23 I LOVE YOU SO I love you so . . . That of your many gifts but few I crave;, What none may vahie, that give me to save^ When others are your guests, I'll be your slave; I love you so That as the changing days shall swell to years, I ask not for your dreams but for your fears; Not for your kiss, your love . . . but for your tears! When joy burns low And grief shall kiss your lips so drawn and white, And age comes on and twilight turns to night. My plea is this: that I may have the right To turn love's darkness into love's delight . . . I love you so! 24 THE MIRACLE Of human love God took a bit And fashioned it A little life and exquisite. You are dawn, You are joy, You are hope Little boy. (Your eyes — Dark pools of sweet surprise; Your mouth — Red berries from the south!) You are spring, You are fears, You are song. You are tears. (Your nose — A tiny, pale pink rose; Your hair — Soft silk and darkly fair.) You are pain. You are joy. You are love . . . Little boy. O fragrant flame that God hath lit Within my heart to quicken it. You make life sweet and exquisite! 25 TEARS At twilight when I put his toys away My little lad's lip quivers and a tear Gems each blue eye; his heart is rent with fear Lest when the amber glory of the day Illume his snow-white bed and call, "Come play," He may not find those things his heart holds dear: An old tin top; a train with broken gear, A headless horse that once was dashing gay. You smile at childish tears? Lo! age hath toys To which it fondly clings till death's chill hand Puts them aside, and all remembered joys Are wells of grief too deep to understand; Yet as with morn my lad finds fears were vain. So death shall give to age its toys again. 26 THE LITTLE ROOM O little room, in your simplicity, The dearest spot in all the world to me, A shrine of joy and keenest ecstasy. A whitewashed wall, Two windows small, A little bed . . . and that is all ! And yet within your quiet dark My heart has thrilled like some glad lark At morn dew-kissed. For I have tryst With love in golden lands of Arcady. 2T THE SEA By day the sea Is a blue flower With curling white petals^, And the great ships, Speeding before the wind, White moths. By night the sea Is a lover's garden Fragrant with silver memories And the twinkling lights From passing ships, Gold fireflies. 28 GIFTS time when your swift hours of toil are spun, My homing heart turns to its dwelling-place, And as the gate clicks, in the window's space Is framed my glad and golden hearted one Who peers into the night so chill and dun. 1 turn the key and swift with childish grace, He runs to me lifting a joy-lit face And cries, "What have you brought your little son?" O sweet expectancy, O dear surprise! Within the House of Years I watch and wait: Night's golden gondola skims western skies, And soon a hand will fumble at Life's gate. And I, impatient, call with eager breath, "Come in," and then . . . "What have you brought me. Death?" 29 THE LITTLE HOUSE House of one room that doth no joy possess, Musty and dark and damp and windowless, And yet the anteroom to loveliness . . . Truth is a guest within its sombre gloom, And in the confines of this silent room Is the great secret of decay and bloom; How sod and sun and rain and dew and snows Commingle in the alchemy that goes Into the rapturous raiment of the rose. House of one room that doth no joy possess, Musty and damp and dark and windowless, And yet the anteroom of loveliness . . . Where the soul's glory shall outshine the rose. 30 THE UNRETURNING Her j^ellow bird still wakes me with its singing; Her bookS;, dust covered, miss her daily touch; Morn after morn the sun, his gold fire flinging, Makes bright each treasured thing she loved so much. But where is she? Upon a dawn-kissed hill Within the sombre silence of the loam, She who loved birds and books and flowers and home. Does she remember still .f* Her room reveals the deftness of her finger In curtained casement and in pictured wall. While in a nook where she so loved to linger, Are half made garments . . . delicate and small. I wear mirth's mask to hide my heart's keen sadness. Lest I should weary men with grief too deep For one who was the fount of all my gladness, For one so sweet and young, who fell asleep. O dark-eyed sleeper on the windblown hill, Waiting within the silence of the loam. You who loved life and laughter, song and home . . . How can vou lie so still? 31 WHITE HORSES OF THE SEA A mauve-green sky Dotted with white gulls Flying before a wind arrow-keen; An emerald race course With hurdles three feet high Over which racing towards the beach In magnificent splendor Come the white horses of the sea! 32 A VILLANEL O Columbine, the lilacs blow, The nomad spring is come again . . . Where is Pierrot? Where is Pierrot? The wild plum blossoms fall like snow, And trembling in April rain, O Columbine, the lilacs blow. A voice is still she used to know. Her heart is wrung with doubt and pain Wliere is Pierrot? Wliere is Pierrot? The moon lights up with amber glow A rustic bench where all in vain, O Columbine, the lilacs blow. And she who loved and trusted so Echoes each night the sad refrain. Where is Pierrot? Where is Pierrot? Dust are her dreams of long ago. Of love and spring and Castled Spain; O Columbine, the lilacs blow . . . Where is Pierrot? Where is Pierrot? 3a THE WIND I heard the wind rise in the night And call my name in mocking tone, It shook the house with savage might, And chilled me to the bone. It screamed above the roofs of tin, And laughed down lane and alley-way It cried old sadness long locked in My heart from the white eye of day. It tapped my window pane and said In hissing voice, "I know ... I know . . The secrets that you thought long dead. Those poignant things of fire and snow! Thank God! the gossips slumbered on Nor heard that taunting voice so shrill That told my sorrow to the dawn . . . The sorrow I had kept so still! 34 DAY Morning is a blue-eyed child Restless and full of play; Seeking lovely things To delight the eye^, To thrill the fingers^ To please the taste, And dancing, dancing In the warm sunlight. Noon is a golden maiden Wide-eyed, expectant, And dazzling in beauty; Searching for fairy dreams . . . Longing for love, happiness, And amber kisses. Evening is a gray-clad woman Bent and sad . . . The ashes of a fire That burned too fiercely . . . The exquisite silence After song . . . The drooping petals of a flower Blown awav at moontime. 35 KINSHIP I never see a new or broken toy In sunlit window or in corner dim, But in the home of love's forgotten joy I picture him. I never pass a smiling lad and small In dingy doorway or in market-place, But in the dusk of memory's silent hall, I see his face. I never smell a rose or clover bloom, Or violet . . . these made his heart rejoice . . . But down love's corridor of scented gloom I hear his voice. O lad of mine ... a blossom in the sun. Too frail to stand life's winds so fierce and free Through you my love seeks out each little one And every father is akin to me! 36 WEALTH O heart be thankful! For no mighty king Has half the wealth that yon possess, His gold grows burdensome And dark with years; His silver tarnishes, While yours is ever new; His gems grow dull with dust, And often thieves Despoil his treasure house. O heart look up! The turquoise of the sky And all its clouds of pearl Are yours and free. Lift up your face And feel the cooling drops Of opal rain, Open your hands and take the sun's pure gold. Or hoard the shining silver of the moon . . . They have no price. See yonder violet — The sapphire's light is not so sweet, While diamonds of the dawn gem every flower, And ruby roses flame on stems of jade Set round with leaves of darkest emerald. O heart be thankful And possess your own! 37 LOST Like some lad wandering in the market-place, Who seeks in vain a friendly face, I saw the moon At noon, So wan and white, Lost in the brightness of the sky's blue light. Seeking some friendly face she knew by night. But in the rush of toil forgotten quite. HOW VAST IS HEAVEN? How vast is Heaven? — Lo^ it will fit In any space you give to it . . . So broad — it takes in all things true; So narrow — it can hold but you. A WATER COLOR The wind is scattering the pearls of rain, Pearls great and small, pallid and twilight-toned; The greedy fingers of the sleepy town Are hoarding them in pools and rivulets That gleam and glisten with a silvery light. The arc-light, like a moon half hid by mists Rising above dark willows on the Seine, Edges with living light the dripping trees And shadows them upon the cool wet street In gray-green colors and so exquisite That they would charm the heart of dear Corot. 40 THE SCALES OF LOVE You weighed my love anrl thongbt if-, light, Wlule yours was like a strong oak tree^ But who can judge the ocean's might From sailing on an inland sea? Gray years have left my love the same, — Its rugged strength I would not boast — While yours, — but should I chide or blame,- A castaway on some dark coast. 41 THE NOMAD STRAIN Spring lured me to the woods today And O what beauty met my eyeS ; A shallow vale before me lay Like some enchanted Paradise; In lacy fern my feet sank deep, And all around pale violets grew, While dragonflies were still asleep On tender leaves of emerald hue. Small marigolds gleamed in the grass. The daisies nodded in the breeze; A little lake that shone like glass Was hiding under myrtle trees; While in a dogwood, white and sweet, A mocking bird, in motley dress, Sang to his mate in her retreat. His song of love and tenderness. I watched pale lily buds unfold, I gathered many a flower and leaf; I saw a squirrel stir the mould To hide his dinner . . . cunning thief, O'erhead the warm, gold sunlight shone. Noon touched the woods with soft caress, And I alone, seemed not alone With so much life and loveliness! 42 EVENTIDE Deep in the woods one day in spring I passed a hut that seemed so poor, With just a little garden round, And lilacs blooming by the door. Upon the step a woman sat, A little babe upon her knee, Around her feet there played a child Whose age, I think, was nearly three. And as I looked, adown the path, In homespun clad there came a man, And as he neared the open door The little child to meet him ran. The man bent down and took the child (Whose prattle sounded, O so sweet), And bore it to the hut and put It down beside the woman's feet. And bending low he kissed her brow, Lifted the babe from her embrace, — He kissed its tiny dimpled cheek, And joy shone in the woman's face. And as I looked there came to me A peace that made the hut seem fair; Because I knew 'twas Arcady; Because I knew that love lived there! 43 RECOMPENSE All that we say returns, The bitter word or sweet; Days, weeks or years may intervene. But soon or late The spoken word and speaker meet. All that we do returns. The deed that's true or base We may forget, but all unseen And parallel The doer and the deed keep pace. 44 ADMIRATION A crystal pool beneath a sky As blue as Italian waters^ A young, green oak Bending so low That its leaves Kiss the cool mirror In which are reflected The strength and beauty Of the strong tree . . . A forest Narcissus In love with his own image. 45 TO ONE AWAY Her feet that daily trod rough paths and steep Are treading now green ways and kind as sleep; Her hands that never shirked an humble task, Are filled with all the joyous toil they ask. Her eyes that saw the fair in everything Now see the glorious miracle of spring. Her gentle voice that charmed the heart of me Is now a lyric fount of melody. Her glad;, glad heart . . . once bound by time and tide Has burst its bounds, is free and satisfied. And her pure soul ... a chalice white with truth O'erflows with wonderment and joy and youth . . . For this I know! God is a Kingly Host Giving His guest those things she loved the most! 46 LILACTIME 'Tis time the lilacs were in bloom But spring is late! O house of life^ and chill with gloom, 'Tis time the lilacs were in bloom To lure love with their old perfume Close to my gate. 'Tis time the lilacs were in bloom But spring is late! 47 IF YOU WOULD BE MY FRIEND" If you would be my friend as I am yours, I beg you give no costly gifts to me Of gold or gems or jade or ivory . . . For love that needs such gifts never endures. What would I have? In yellow sun or rain To hear your voice in all its tenderness; And in my hours of gloom or deep distress Your strong hand-clasp to help me bear the pain. And when you talk I want no smooth veneer To hide the honest things you have to say; Tell me the truth and should it cost a tear, I can be sad awhile. Some other day You'll free my heart of all its ache and sting And in my snowbound soul will come the spring! 48 LOVE LIGHT Some flowers there are that love the sun And open only to his kiss; While others sleep till day is done, They think the moon more lovely is, Your smile is sunshine warm and bright, Your frown is moonlight chill and white, But could I bask in either one, My heart's red petals folded tight Would burst with such a dear delight 'Twould shame the flowers of moon or sun. 49 AUTUMN Autumn^, autumn^ yon thought not I was spying When you laid your hand caressingly on summer's sleeping head, But I saw her start and shiver, And I saw her wake and quiver, For your touch was chill as snowtime Though your mouth was flaming red. Autumn, autumn, you did not think I saw you When you crept among the grasses and swaj^ed them with your breath, When the wildflowers bent to greet you, And the trees reached out to meet you. For they thought your touch was beauty, But they found your kiss was death! Autumn, autumn, I hate you and love you. For with all your flame and passion you are nothing but a thief. Though you thrill like spring's soft magic. You're a lover old and tragic. And your gorgeous gold and crimson But a cover for love's grief. 50 LIFE'S DAY Darkness, Then dawn And dew. Morning, Glad skies Of blue Noonday, A flower Joy-bright. Sunset . . . Dead leaves And night. 51 THE INTRUDER You may clothe your form in a monk's soft gown, You may hide yourself in a lonely cell; You may let sweet service your memory drown And try to forget where love's people dwell. You may penance your body with thorn and knout, You may bar your doors with bolts strong and new. But there's one intruder you can't keep out! Love comes when he wills and smiles with you. 52 THE RED WOMAN O woman with the coral lips, O woman with the eyes of jade, Come not between my soul and God! You are like lightning beautiful and round my heart your flame has played, O woman with the coral lips, O woman with the eyes of jade, You are the candle, I the moth and of your power I am afraid When moonlight silvers sea and sod. O woman with the coral lips, O woman with the eyes of jade. Come not between my soul and God ! 53 "AS ONE GROWN TIRED OF LIVING' As one grown tired of living, (A coward in the strife^) Waits not Imperial Summons, But dares to take his life; So in the sky's dark distance Sometime through fiery pride, A star comes falling . . . falling . . . A Heavenly suicide! 54 KNOWLEDGE Lies Are black vultures, Carrion fed. That foul The air. Truths, Milk-white doves Serene and sweet And oh, So fair. 55 THE POET I am a poet. By day I sing of trees in flower^ Emerald gardens red and amber tinted And dreamy runnels Beneath blue skies^ or skies Snow clouded. My home is a tenement^ My garden the asphalt street, My skies factory smoked, My runnels dark water In the city's gutters. I am a poet. By night I sing of the yellow stars, The cold white wonder of the moon, The bliss of love And of lovers. Tall buildings shut me from the skies. In my window the stars never twinkle, Nor the moon shows her silver face, And love is a stranger Who has never thought me worthy Of notice. poet! 56 WHAT WOULD YOU GIVE? If you should meet upon the street Love like a beggar, asking alms, And he should stand with pleading hand What would you put within his palms? The widow's mite? The samite white? The yellow rose from other lands? Or hurry by with downcast eye? Or stoop and kiss love's open hands? 57 KINGS ''They perish all hut He remains." Omar Khayyam. Who hath not marvelled at the might of Kings When voyaging down the river of dead years? What deeds of death to still an hour of fears, What waste of wealth to gild a moth's frail wings ? A Caesar to the wind his banner flings, An Alexander with his bloody spears, A Herod heedless of his people's tears ! And Rome is flames while Nero laughs and sings: Ye gilded actors of a drama old Your names are by-words in Love's temple now, Your pomp and glory but a winding sheet; Then Christ came scorning regal robes and gold, To wear warm blood-drops on a willing brow. And lo! in love, we stoop and kiss His feet. 58 THE LENGTH OF A NIGHT With anguished heart one crouched beside A form, sheet-covered, cold and numb; Night seemed a never ebbing tide, The white, white day so slow to come. In love's embrace one found but this: That night was done before he slept. He cursed . . . and cursing lost a kiss . . The dawn that through the window crept. 59 ZION STILL IS WELL BELOVED I dreamed an angel came with shining face, Waked me^, and whispered, "This great truth record; Once more will I show mercy, saith the Lord, Unto My people, My beloved race: Say to the people of all tongues and caste. The day prophetic dawns ! The gentile's reign is past. "Long have my people felt My anger burn. Long have their backs been bowed 'neath lash and load: Long have they trod a weary, painful road. But now to them I will My love return And bring them with rejoicing home at last!" The fig-tree buds ! The gentile's reign is past ! "Their bones have called Me from the ice and sleet; Their tears have flowed to Me a mighty flood ; Their pains have pierced Me when their backs ran blood. Their prayers have reached Me from the iron's white heat; No more will they be alien and outcast. The day prophetic dawns ! The gentile's reign is past ! "Once more will I the gentile's conquest stem And Israel be led by My strong hand Back to that long forsaken, promised land. Where they will build a New Jerusalem ! The crescent in the east has waned at last! The fig-tree buds! The gentile's reign is past!" 60 LOWLANDS I never loved high hills whose rough peaks reach Up through the clouds and strive to touch the sky; Give me low sand dunes where the seabirds cry — The lyric sound of surf upon the beach. And when soft twilight spills its shadows gray, Hills cannot bring such soothing peace to me As ships returning home from over sea, — And little boats safe anchored in the bay. 61 NIGHTFALL The western sky is like a disk of beaten copper clouded with dark smoke of steamers going northward. The surface of the Chesapeake is broken by ripples like silver fish pursued by an enemy. Chill is the breeze from the east, sharp with the tang of salt and keen with the odor of pine trees. In the tall buildings lights appear like glad faces screened behind dark veils and latticework. And as the brass tone of the sky dies into lead, the yellow eyes of the harbour gleam in the darkness. Beneath the bright lights of the curving and narrow streets there is a confusion of cars, wagons and people. But in the suburbs . . . gold lamps are placed in small windows where love with smiling face is waiting the evening tryst. 62 EASTER Morning And a city street Yellow with laughing sunshine; A crepe-clad woman Old and feeble Tottering beneath the weight Of dazzling white lilies. Life and death . . . Dust and Immortality! LOSS Well I remember with what keen delight We watched spring's magic wake the sleeping earth, And clothe bare boughs with blossoms pink and white, Till mating birds grew mad with lyric mirth. 'Tis April once again and potent still The charra of spring and all it brings to me, Yet joy is pain, for on a pine-dark hill She bides with death in his chill hostelry. 64 THE RECORD OF THE AGES The fingers of the Recording Angel Are weary with writing; The golden pages of the account book Are heavy with names; The song of the angels is so faint That above it can be heard The wail of the dying. Suddenly the music stops and God's voice Breaks the heavy silence. "Read me, O angel of the ceaseless writing, The number of souls slain by hate, And the number of souls saved by love." But the angel does not answer; He is behind with his posting. 65 LOVE'S TELLING Love is a tale so sweet, so brief, But Oh! the telling! Sappho found it a tardy thief . . . Love is a tale so sweet, so brief, Dante dreamed it of all things chief, A quest impelling. Love is a tale so sweet, so brief, But Oh! the telling! 66 THE FAITHFUL MESSENGER How do I know the spring is come? Still snowbound is my heart and numb. I heard one crying in the street, "Lilacs, white lilacs, who will buy ?" And lo! my city room grew sweet With fragrant memories. Life's dark sky Grew blue . . . and O, I saw again . . . Youth . . . love and lilacs bowed with rain! 67 TO A CAGED LINNET He's a saucy little fellow In a coat of black and yellow, And his eyes are like the seeds Of the rape on which he feeds. He has slender clay-hued feet. And the seven notes are sweet Which he puts into the song That he warbles all day long. Bound by bars of shining brass, Does he miss the dewy grass? Does he miss the rain-pools chill And the trees that crowd the hill.^ And the flowers sweet and wise, Does he miss their soft round eyes? And the sandy paths that go In and out where trees bend low. Does he miss their winding way Where the little insects play? And the winds that shake the trees, Does he long to fly with these? Little singing captive tame, Spring and winter are the same To you in your house of brass, Where your days so quickly pass. Summer brings no awful heat, Winter flings no frozen sleet In your even tempered zone Where you live your life alone, Whistling, warbling all day long With your seven notes of song. Singing all your life away Just to make your jailer gay. 69 THE GUEST DENIED At starlight to my dwelling-place, A stranger came to sup with me ; His voice was sweet but passion-free, And sad his face. And when the evening's meal was done, We sought the fire's genial blaze, But all his words were chill as days That know no sun. He lingered till the crescent moon Had climbed the sombre stairs of night. And then with quivering lips and white, He begged this boon: That through life's sunsets touched with fire, Or silvery mist, or twilight dim, I would yield up my heart to him For his desire. But I had dreamed of love as this; — A radiant prince, all jewel-clad. Whose sensuous mouth would make me glad To crave a kiss ! My will to swoon beneath his sway. My heart to leap at his command And wait the kneading of his hand Like plastic clay. 70 But this plain stranger, chill and white, Who seemed my dearest dreams to flout, I hated; so I bade him out Into the night. O anguish of the bitter years, O little ghosts of things too sweet. Today I yearn to kiss love's feet And dry his tears. For lo, my heart with grief is numb. Each pale regret is keen with pain; And where is Love? I call in vain^ He will not come! 71 COLUMBINE A toothless woman, bent and grim, Whose face is seamed with line on line^ Dreams in her chimney corner dim Of days when she was Colmnbine. Her once dark hair is thin and gray, And pale her lips that were as wine, Her sunken cheeks are as the clay — Old age, thy name is Columbine. Her limbs have lost their symmetry, Her eyes are dull like sleepy kine. Her palsied hands rest on her knee — Who now remembers Columbine? How fleet the years when life is young And man and maid find life divine! How slow, when life's glad songs are sung; Dream on . . . dream on^ O Columbine! Where is Pierrot — whose kiss was sweet, Whose mouth was as the cypress-vine; Who nightly danced with willing feet. And arms entwining Columbine? 72 O youth, who look with pitying eye On age, the lees of life's bright wine, You, too, must feel the years drift by; You, too, grow old like Columbine. A toothless woman, bent and grim. Whose face is seamed with line on line. Dreams in her chimney corner dim Of days when she was Columbine. 73 BROADWAY IN A FOG Grotesque shadows of vehicles and people Gliding over smooth asphalt, Gra}^ mists blotting out the towering buildings, While the yellow lights In the high windows Are like fireflies Caught in a net of silver. 74 THE TEST How easy 'tis to love at night Beneath a big moon round and white, Or walking on some flowery lea, Or sending dreamships out to sea, Or in some garden quaint and old, To know the joy red lips may hold, Or near her window, like Pierrot, Waiting the rose her hands may throw, But in the petty toil of day How chill is love and far away. 75 PRISONERS My heart is like a captive bird, A prisoner with untried wing, Too sad to sing. My heart is a forgotten rose, Choked by the weeds and lost in gloom, Too sick to bloom. Come, love, and set the captive free And bid hira mate and soar and sing; And kiss the drooping rose and bring Joy's blossoming. 76 THE PIPES O' PAN I strayed into the woods today^ My heart throbbed with the joy of springy, My voice was singing all the way Like happy bird on joyous wing: Warm yellow sunshine filled the air^ Upon my face I felt the tan, And I forgot all toil and care . . . For lo! I heard the Pipes o' Pan! I listened with my heart athrill To some faint sound from place remote, That came to me across the hill, From laughing lips and swelling throat; Its melody was like the dawn . . . Star-gemmed and new . . . towards it I ran Lured by its sweetness on and on . . . The silvery sounding Pipes o' Pan! They say Pan*s dead — (wise men who know) — And I have never seen his face Though I have sought where lilies blow And fern and sedges interlace; But in the woods, 'neath elm and yew. There dwell strange things unknown to man — Let others doubt — this thing is true! That I have heard the Pipes o' Pan. 77 TIME Time is a golden drink within a cup Hallowed by God and called Eternity; The years are thirsty mouths that crave and sup Despair and faith and mirth and misery. Is the drink endless? Or on some dread day Shall fair lips parch and wither wanting wine? God filled the cup and only He can say, "Drink deep, O years, nor guess at my design!" 78 THE LIVING LIE I dreamed last night an angel touched my face, Bent low and questioned. "Is your life like this: Daily to hold love in your strong embrace And feel upon your mouth the burning kiss, The keenest and the sweetest joy there is?" I answered. "Nay, I have not known such bliss!' I woke: close by my side and peacefully Slumbered that one whose kiss is dear delight, Wliose love has crowned my life with ecstasy And led my feet in narrow paths and white. How could I answer if at morning bright Death came and said, "You lied to me last night!' 79 INTENTIONS So many things I meant to say To please^ to praise^ to make you glad ; Such splendid chances have I had And yet I let them slip away; And now in shame I bow my head For moments lost and words unsaid. So many deeds I planned to do To ease the road of your behest, But while I loitered taking rest Another hand has aided you; And now my heart is pricked with pain For castles reared and wrecked in vain. So many songs I meant to sing To spur you on to greater heights, To cheer you on those lonely nights When faith is weak and hope takes wing; But while I tarried with my song Your struggling soul grew true and strong. Without my words you reached your goal, Without my help you won your fight ; Without my song you chose the right And love and beauty clothe your soul. Today my path is rough and long . . . I need your words, your deeds, your song! 80 THE PRIEST IS COME AND THE TAPERS BURN" The white moth is wooing his chosen mate, The birds have a nest in the weed and fern, But, love, you knock at my heart too late. The priest is come and the tapers burn. (Where were you, love, when the morning was heavy with mating? And in the noontime before life's dear dreams had departed? Why did you tarry when twilight was poignant with waiting? Lo ! now it is midnight . . . pale sleeptime . . . and I am chill hearted!) The moonflower bends with the moth's frail weight. The birds are asleep in the grass and fern. But, love, you knock at my heart too late, The priest is come and the tapers burn ! 81 THE VEILED ANGEL Death is no monster seeking prey Of old and young and rich and poor; He but removes life's mask of clay And from time's prison tears the door. His touch is neither harsh nor cold^ His soothing voice is strong with truth; He speaks — and j^outh stops growing old. And age regains its vanished youth. NEVER REST STREET In a little white house in Never-Rest Street, A woman was busy from morning till night With washing and scrubbing. And cleaning and rubbing, To sweep out the dust; to keep out the dust; For her all life's reaping Was dusting and keeping The little white house in Never-Rest Street. In a little gray house in Ever-Rest Street A woman is quiet from darkness till day; No washing nor scrubbing. Nor brushing nor rubbing — Now done with the dust? No, one with the dust, For chill lips have found her. And strong arms have bound her. In the little gray house in Ever-Rest Street! 83 INCONSISTENCY Not dead;, you say? Your friend who walking fast Earth's farthest boundary forever past While you yet stay This side the portal dim^ Though needing him. Then why your tears, and why your sad pale face? And sombre dress of crepe and lace? If he be living in some lovely place Within whose zone Parting is all unknown, Where age is changed to youth, And doubt is lost in truth, And love and joy walk hand in hand with spring. Beneath a nightless sky forever blue, — Why not wear garments of a happy hue? Why not let pealing bell The good news tell? Why not be glad and clap your hands and sing? 84 FAITH In every leaf that crowns the plain^ In every violet 'neath the hill;, In every yellow daffodil . . . I see the risen Lord again ! In each arbutus flower I see A faith that lived through frost and snow, And in the birds that northward go A guiding hand's revealed to me. Lo ! winter from some dark abyss Came forth to kill all growing things; 'Twas vain^ spring rose on emerald wings. Moth-like, from her dead chrysalis. Each germ within the tiny seed Throws off the husk that to it clings, And towards the sun it upward brings New life to blossom to its need. Ye hearts that mourn rise up and sing ! Death hath no power to hold its prey, The grave is only where we lay The soul, for its Eternal Spring ! In every leaf that crowns the plain. In every violet 'neath the hill. In every yellow daffodil . . . I see the risen Lord again ! 85 HER DWELLING PLACE Above her grave the morning sun Piles high his bars of yellow gold; Around her grave the squirrels run To bury acorns in the mould; But she who sleeps there knows she this. Whose lips were red and sweet to kiss? (Ere death found out our try sting place And took her in his chill embrace!) I know not . . . but this thing I know: That she who loved me long ago And now sleeps on a wind-kissed hill, She died loving me . . . and so . . . She loves me still. Above her grave the faint perfume Is wafted by the evening breeze; Night's golden lamps the dusk illume And glimmer through the willow trees; But she who sleeps there knows she this, Whose dear, sweet face I daily miss? (Whom death sought out in life's yoimg day And bore her from my love away!) I know not . . , but this thing I know: That she who loved in sun or snow And now sleeps on a lonely hill, She died loving me . . . and so . . . She loves me still. O little turf-bound house of rest On which the summer sun shines bright, Or winter's snow, at God's behest, Wraps you in raiment pure and white; O little sleeper know you this That grief my sole companion is? (For though I guard your dwelling-place Death folds you in his chill embrace!) Dear laughing lass . . . this thing I know: God gave you to me long ago And though death sought our love to kill, You died loving me . . . and so . . . You love me still. 87 BEREAVEMENT O mocking bird, put by your song, For she who thought it sweet is fled; And though your notes be pure and strong, Can lyric beauty charm the dead? O rose, put by your colors bright. For lo! her eyes are sealed with clay; Go robe yourself in raiment white. Or let your petals drop away. O sky, forget your azure hue. Let each white cloud be black as night. So dark no star may glimmer through. Nor sun give warmth nor moon give light ! O time, be swift to burn away Life's oil of tears that tells of pain. And bring that glad eternal day When I shall know her lips again! 88 A GRAVE A grave seems only six feet deep And three feet wide^ Viewed with the calculating eye Of one outside. But when fast bound in the chill loam For that strange sleep. Who knows how wide its realm may be.^ Its depths, how deep? SAFE IS MY TREASURE Only one treasure have I ; others hold Great chests or caskets full of priceless things, Rare uncut gems, and many antique rings Of strange design ; and precious heirlooms old, Or quaint hand-carven silver, coins of gold, Or pearls or amber beads on slender strings, But ah, my heart to no such treasure clings. Mine being more that these a thousandfold. The treasure passing dear to me is this : Her dying lips gave unto mine a kiss, A kiss that I shall treasure and shall keep Until I lay me down for my last sleep. Until in lands beyond the morning skies I give it back to her in Paradise. 90 THE DEAD Today he knows a secret And will not tell it to me. Since childhood have we been friends, We have swapped marbles and tops, Sailed the same kite, Eaten from the same apple, Shared our early joys and told our little sorrows. Between us never has there been a dark day Nor a mysterious pleasure untold; Through youth and manhood Have we been as David and Jonathan. We have dreamed together, Toiled, laughed and loved . . . Yet today he knows a secret And will not tell it to me. 91 BON VOYAGE I heard the noisy cable slip, I felt the pressure of warm hands ; Glad voices cried, "A happy trip," As I set out for other lands. Nor tears, nor sadness marred the day That bore me from my friends away. Some day I'll make another trip The longest voyage ever made; Death's hand will let the cable slip And guide me through the sea of shade. Weep not ye friends that round me stand, Bid me "God speed!" and press my hand. 92 PREVISION Some day they'll shut me underneath a stone — I who am lover of the sun's gold light, I who at blackness tremble with affright, Arrayed in raiment of a sombre tone Must tryst with darkness in the grave alone And know the silence of that long, long night Without a yellow star or moon moth-white To bring me comfort when the weird winds moan: When as a child they tucked me safe in bed. Kissed me "Good-night" and snuffed the candle out, Fear stabbed my heart, till sleep so tenderly Calmed every fear and I was comforted. O sleep, that could my wildest terror rout, Will death be kind as thou hast been to me? 93 THE INN OF CONTENT There is an Inn most curious, And daily through its ancient door Great crowds pass in of young and old, And good and bad and rich and poor. Though none may number all its guests, There is abundant space for all; — Doorless and windowless the rooms Each three feet wide and six feet tall. Upon the hearth no fire burns, The floors are damp and smell of must; No servants there of man or maid, — Just silence . . . long, long sleep . . . and dust ! But of the guests who tarry there Through summer, autumn, winter, spring. Not one has ever made complaint To the dark Host of anything. 04 THE HOPE ETERNAL What does it matter if spring be late returning, Or grief and tears bide with us overlong? We know full soon the patient heart and yearning Shall find those things that wake the lips to song! What does it matter . . . the little night of slumber Within God's green and silent hostelry? With morn, each guest shall wake ! and who may number The million morns that make Eternity! 95 BEYOND THE LAND OF SLEEP AND DEATH Like play-worn, sleepy tots at candle-light, Who flinch from every shadow of the night Until they reach the peaceful Land of Nod; So we of twilight years when night grows deep. Shrink from kind death, who puts old age to sleep, To wake within the Poppy Fields of God! 96 hi f o FINIS Fold thou his clay-cold hands on his chest, Light all the candles and spread the white sheet; New-born, a soul seeks the Country of Truth, Infinite, tearless and deathless and sweet: Soul, death but leads thee to springtime and youth ! 97 •- ^^ J^ o* « N =5^^ -^ 4 u v!, *-^ « « ■5 if-^ **- ■^ %.^^ ^ 6^"^. ^'•, *o ^^V' \>^^V''' -o.;'^^\.o^'^ "^^/^^ s < « II A ^^ ., yj ♦ ^ ^r ^^^°^ **>•/*-'•'.«*■ "«,'♦. V ■*. • A <.^ *^T7i*\G^ ; '^o^ .\ ^. .^ ^.*^fe', X/ ,^Mk^ %^^^^ :\ ¥/\ ^^40^ .. vOv^., HECKMAN BINDERY INC. |§ ^^ DEC 88 # ^^. ^. "*>•** .v'V