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The 
 Lure of the Desert Land 
 
 and Other Poems 
 
 '~hvy« . Ih&tU^ /WmJ 
 
 BY 
 
 MADGE MORRIS 
 
 (Mrs. Harr Wagner) 
 
 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO, CAL.: 
 HARR WAGNER PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 

 
 29 1937 
 
 LA 4 53 82.9 
 
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 Dedicated to Harr Wagner 
 
Copyrighted, 191 z 
 MADGE MORRIS WAGNER 
 
 JAN 29 1917 
 
JOAQUIN MILLER'S TRIBUTE TO THE AUTHOR 
 
 "And some Orient dawn had found me 
 Kneeling at the house of fame." 
 
 Fame found Madge Morris Wagner in the blazing 
 Colorado desert, her fingers on the pulse of Nature. 
 Or, at least, thither sent Lippincotts of Philadelphia to 
 find her and persuade her to speak through them to 
 the world. And this is what she said, like all who are 
 truly great teachers, making a text of the place and 
 the time: 
 
 TO THE COLORADO DESERT 
 
 Thou brown, bare-breasted, voiceless mystery, 
 
 Hot sphinx of nature, cactus, crowned, what hast thou 
 
 done? 
 Unclothed and mute as when the groans of chaos 
 
 turned 
 Thy naked burning bosom to the sun. 
 The mountain silences have speech, the rivers sing. 
 Thou answerest never unto anything. 
 Pink-throated lizards pant in thy slim shade; 
 The horned toad runs rustling in the heat; 
 The shadowy gray coyote, born afraid, 
 Steals to some brackish spring and laps, and prowls 
 Away; and howls, and howls and howls and howls, 
 Until the solitude is shaken with an added loneliness. 
 Thy sharp mescal shoots up a giant stalk, 
 Its century of yearning, to the sunburnt skies, 
 And drips rare honey from the lips 
 Of yellow waxen flowers, and dies. 
 
 Some lengthwise sun-dried shapes with feet and hands 
 And thirsty mouths pressed on the sweltering sands, 
 Mark here and there a gruesome graveless spot 
 Where some one drank thy scorching hotness, and is 
 
 not. 
 God must have made thee in his anger, and forgot. 
 
 Not since I can remember have I heard a voice so 
 true as this. It is like the sublime and solemn bass 
 of St. John. It is even John the Baptist crying in the 
 wilderness. 
 
 Indeed, I doubt if you will find anything more ter- 
 ribly truthful and fearfully sublime this side of Job 
 than this one lone, lorn cry from the desert. A photo- 
 
graph, even were such a thing possible, could not be 
 more ghastly and ghastly exact. It is true poetry, and 
 therefore more really true than the ordinary forms of 
 truth. For truth can only be told entirely by figures 
 of speech — poetry. There are not words enough in all 
 the languages of this world to tell even the simplest 
 truth exactly, even if there were time enough in the 
 world. We must depend upon figures of speech, as 
 did the seers of the Orient, for the exact truth. But 
 the figures must be true, stately, majestic, impressive. 
 This is poetry; and true poetry is in this sense not 
 only the highest form of truth, but it is the only real 
 truth that is uttered. When the world comes to com- 
 prehend poetry it will have a great deal more truth, 
 less quibbling about words, legal technicalities, legal 
 lies. 
 
 Turn back and read this poem on the Colorado 
 Desert again, please. You can read it with profit and 
 a certain sort of solemn pleasure a dozen times. There 
 are lines here that are texts, sermons. 
 
 "God must have made thee in his anger and 
 forgot." 
 
 Madge Morris Wagner has been all her life with us 
 out here on the great seabank I believe; I know her 
 father, Morris Hilyard, was a Virginian. Maybe, she, 
 too, was a Virginian. I neither know nor care. We 
 fill our books up with the dates and places of birth, 
 things that amount to nothing, and leave little room 
 for deeds or utterances. 
 
 What will we do when we come to have 24,000 years 
 of history and biography behind us? Why, we will 
 say as the Chinese say, "this poet lived in a certain 
 dynasty and said so and so." That is all. 
 
 So I shall proceed to say what this strange, strong 
 woman of the desert has said from out her heart of 
 hearts. For she is a woman, a very human, tender 
 woman. And you will concede before you have done 
 reading the little bits of her sweet soul which I am 
 permitted to give you that it is great impertinence in 
 me to say much when she is singing. And I want you 
 to know that these next lines of hers are as exactly 
 true in all respects as her lines on the Colorado desert. 
 Her only little baby had gone away from her out from 
 the one narrow room to beyond the darkness; but in 
 
the next narrow room, a stronger woman nursed and 
 rocked and cradled her stronger child, and kept rocking 
 on her heart. And so there and then, out of the agony 
 and desolation, she sang, as she sang only the other 
 day from the desert. 
 
 I hear her rocking the baby — 
 Her room is just next to mine — 
 And I fancy I feel the dimpled arms 
 That round her neck entwine, 
 As she rocks, and rocks the baby, 
 In the room just next to mine. 
 
 I hear her rocking the baby 
 
 Each day when the twilight comes, 
 
 P h! I know there's a world of blessing and love 
 
 In the "baby-bye" she hums. 
 
 I can see the restless fingers 
 
 Playing with "mamma's rings." 
 
 And the sweet little smiling, pouting mouth, 
 
 That to hers in kissing clings, 
 
 As she rocks and sings to the baby, 
 
 And dreams as she rocks and sings. 
 
 I hear her rocking the baby, 
 
 Slower and slower now, 
 
 And I know she is leaving her good-night kiss 
 
 On its eyes, and cheeks and brow. 
 
 From her rocking, rocking, rocking! 
 
 I wonder would she start, 
 
 Could she know, through the wall between us 
 
 She is rocking on my heart. 
 
 While my empty arms are aching 
 
 For a form they may not press 
 
 And my emptier heart is breaking 
 
 In its desolate loneliness, 
 
 I list to the rocking, rocking, 
 
 In the room just next to mine, 
 
 And breathe a prayer in silence 
 
 At a mother's broken shrine, 
 
 For the woman who rocks the baby 
 
 In the room just next to mine. 
 
Now and then the winds blow a leaf of hers from 
 the desert or from San Diego, where she edits her 
 Golden Era Magazine — when she can get a cowboy to 
 carry copy out from the Colorado Desert — away beyond 
 the seas to Europe; but her own country has been 
 careless about her, save to pick up her thoughts and 
 air them in the poet's corner of the classics as time 
 surges by. And she has been and is quite as careless 
 of the world; brave, bonnie, beautiful little Madge 
 Morris. 
 
 Here are the two extremes of song— the solitude, 
 nakedness, desolation, mystery and awful death and 
 dearth of the boundless desert; and the crooning cradle 
 song the baby, whose utmost bound and limit of life 
 is its mother's encircling arms. She has pictured life 
 and death. You can hear the mother rocking, rocking. 
 You can see the dead men lying in the sands in her 
 song of the Colorado Desert as you rarely see shapes 
 in any song. 
 
 "Some lengthwise sun-dried shapes with feet 
 and hands." 
 
 And right here I say that the coyote is photographed 
 in a single line more correctly than he has yet been 
 described in columns. 
 
 I concede that it is not melodious to say, "he howls 
 and howls and howls and howls," but then the coyote 
 is not traveling on his notes, he is not melodious, he 
 simply howls. Then he howls more, then more and 
 more. That is all. God made him. Madge Morris did 
 not make him. She merely took his photograph, and 
 for the first time it ever was really taken. 
 
 In conclusion let me assure you that Mrs. Wagner 
 has not written of the desert from a car window. On 
 the contrary she knows and she loves the desert as 
 a sailor knows and loves the ocean. Her tent is there 
 season after season and the mercury above par. 
 
 I think little more need be said here. Turn back 
 again and read about the rocking of the baby. And if 
 there are not tears in your eyes and tenderness in your 
 heart, if you are not better indeed for the reading of 
 it in all respects, why all that I might say in these 
 pages till the going down of the sun would neither 
 profit you nor please you. 
 
TO MADGE MORRIS 
 
 (Author of "Liberty's Bell") 
 
 . . . O, Patriotic Singer thou, 
 Whose poems are made up of dew and fire! 
 
 Thy song so well of liberty hath told 
 That little ones, who now its measures hear, 
 May one day wrench from hands of tyrants bold 
 The blessings that our fathers held so dear, 
 Their inspiration gained from strains that ring 
 Through Memory's hall, thy song re-echoing. 
 
 — Mrs. Carl Schutze. 
 
 FROM JAMES WOODS DAVIDSON 
 
 (Author of "The Poetry of The Future") 
 
 "I have looked through Madge Morris' poems with 
 great interest, and am much pleased to find a vigor of 
 expression and a rhythmical resonance of word-music 
 that are altogether too rare in recent poetry. There is 
 also a forward step in escaping from the shackles of 
 artificiality of our procrustean prosodists. The poet 
 has caught some of the spirit that breathes in the 
 'glorious climate of California.' " 
 
 [Excerpt from a letter to Ella Sterling Mighels, 
 author of "The Story of the Files" and other noted 
 Californian books.] 
 
TO MADGE MORRIS 
 
 (Author of "A Titled Plebeian") 
 
 These are the songs the singer sings 
 
 (Weird, grotesque, and beautiful things), 
 
 Whispers of sun-skies, amber-rimmed; 
 
 Echoes of Nature, tear be-dimmed, 
 
 And in and out through the minor strain 
 
 Is woven a slender thread of gold, 
 
 Rapture, passion, sarcasm, and pain, 
 
 All that the burning words can hold, 
 
 As she sweeps the strings of her magic lyre, 
 
 And sings and sings with her heart on fire. 
 
 — Rose Hartwick Thorpe. 
 
 TO MADGE MORRIS 
 
 Whose voice of poetic eloquence 
 Appealing to the heart, and thence, 
 With strange sweet fascination, still, 
 Entrancing all my soul at will; 
 Holding before my gaze 
 
 Sweet Nature's face 
 Until my heart would know and feel 
 The secrets she would fain reveal. 
 
 Charles Grissen. 
 
fire-souled, fretless desert, I am come 
 
 Alone, all xveary hearted, unto thee, 
 The world's falsetto and little thrum 
 Still droning in mp ears. 
 
 1 came to claim thee, desert, — 
 
 / am J^in to thee. 
 
INDEX 
 
 Page 
 
 The Lure of the Desert 1 
 
 £ Quien Sabe? 2 
 
 To the Colorado Desert 3 
 
 In the Yucca Land 4 
 
 Tehachapi 6 
 
 My Heart and All Life's Sweet Alluring Charms.... 6 
 
 Rocking the Baby 7 
 
 Men Have Fought for Liberty 8 
 
 Liberty's Bell 8 
 
 The Crowning of Liberty 12 
 
 The Passing of McKinley 14 
 
 Cuba 16 
 
 What Has a Man When It All Is Attained 17 
 
 "He Hitched His Wagon to a Star" 17 
 
 The Woodsman's Philosophy 18 
 
 The Oracle 20 
 
 The Little Brown Bird 22 
 
 A Stained Lily 24 
 
 Somebody's Baby's Dead 26 
 
 Interregnum 27 
 
 The Sea and the Wind 27 
 
 Society 28 
 
 An Empiric 28 
 
 Mother 29 
 
 Dead Love 30 
 
 Fate 31 
 
 Under the Sea 32 
 
 The Undertone of Song 34 
 
 To a Mummy 35 
 
 Sappho to Phaon 36 
 
 Her Christmas Gift 38 
 
 Ah, Me ! 39 
 
 I Have Folded Them Up and Put Them Away 40 
 
 My Ships Have Come From the Sea 42 
 
 Break Down the Door 45 
 
 Easter Lilies 46 
 
 The Christmas Cross 48 
 
 Genesis 49 
 
 A Thought 50 
 
 A Mood 50 
 
 All Hallowe'en 51 
 
 Under the Grass 51 
 
 Bendita 52 
 
 I Wonder If Ever the Angel Who Holds 52 
 
 Toasts 53 
 
 To Truth 53 
 
 To Whom It May Concern 53 
 
 To California 53 
 
 If I and You No More Were Said 54 
 
 To You 55 
 
I N D E X— Continued Page 
 
 Distance Is Cruel 56 
 
 Dead Days 58 
 
 When Will My Soul Go 58 
 
 When the Roses Go 59 
 
 Pearlie Is Gone Away 60 
 
 A Picture 61 
 
 Two Must Be Two 62 
 
 An Inward Glance 65 
 
 In a Vision 66 
 
 Coronals 68 
 
 Inconsistence 69 
 
 But One Little Stocking 70 
 
 My Soul and 1 71 
 
 Across the Great Divide 72 
 
 My Brother 73 
 
 The Fairy of the Heights 74 
 
 Valentine 75 
 
 Not Acclimated 76 
 
 Question 77 
 
 I Have Never, You Think, a Serious Thought 78 
 
 Unanswered 78 
 
 Query 79 
 
 The Red Winds Blow 80 
 
 A Peace Conference 84 
 
 California 86 
 
 The Opening of the California Poppies 87 
 
 The Golden Gate 88 
 
 To Clara Shortridge-Foltz 90 
 
 Mount Whitney 91 
 
 Welcoming the G. A. R. to California 92 
 
 San Francisco 94 
 
 A Legend of Sutro Heights 96 
 
 Helen Hunt Jackson 101 
 
 In the Foothills of the Sierras 102 
 
 The Wheat of San Joaquin 103 
 
 Thanksgiving at Montara 104 
 
 They All Are Kin to You 105 
 
 At San Diego 106 
 
 The Last Priestess of the Sun 109 
 
 The Builders 109 
 
 Native Daughters of the Golden West 110 
 
 Wonderful Mysterious Mexico Ill 
 
 Alaska's Woman 112 
 
 What Know You of My Soul's Inherent Strife 114 
 
 Songs That Have Been Set to Music 115 
 
 Love's Way 116 
 
 God Bless You Wherever You Are 117 
 
 The Dryads 118 
 
 The Sign of the Cross 119 
 
 That Day in Texas 120 
 
 Canst Thou Not Hear Me 121 
 
 Just This One Day 122 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 THE LURE OF THE DESERT LAND 
 
 Have you slept in a tent alone — a tent 
 
 Out under the desert sky — 
 Where a thousand thousand desert miles 
 
 All silent round you lie? — 
 The dust of the aeons of ages dead, 
 
 And the peoples that trampled by? 
 
 Have you looked in the desert's painted cup, 
 Have you smelled at dawn the wild sage musk, 
 
 Have you seen the lightning flashing up 
 From the ground in the desert dusk? 
 
 Have you heard the song in the desert rain 
 (Like the undertone of a wordless rhyme)? 
 
 Have you watched the glory of colors flame 
 In its marvel of blossom time? 
 
 Have you lain with your face in your hands, 
 afraid, 
 Face down — flat down on your face — and 
 prayed, 
 While the terrible sand storm whirled and swirled 
 
 In its soundless fury, and hid the world 
 And quenched the sun in its yellow glare — 
 Just you, and your soul, and nothing, there? 
 
 If you have, then you know, for you've felt its 
 spell, 
 
 The lure of the desert land, 
 And if you have not, then I could not tell — 
 
 For you could not understand. 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 QUIEN SABE?* 
 
 "Where do the waters go that go 
 
 To the sands of the bleached Majave?' 
 I asked of an ancient Indian man 
 
 (Lingering trace of his vanished race) : 
 "Do they sink in the sand 
 To the underland?" 
 
 With never a bend of his stately head, 
 
 Nor look, or the lurk of a smile, he said : 
 
 Quien sabe?" 
 
 "Surely thou knowest, thou primal man! 
 Brood of the desert's birth, and ban, — 
 Wise as the rattlesnake, old as the sun, 
 Where do the rivers run that run 
 To the sands of thy grim Majave? 
 
 Do they sink in the sand 
 
 To the underland? — 
 Down where the red volcano's glow 
 Lieth await for the underflow? 
 Down where the salt-sea left its scum 
 When the earth was void and the deep was 
 
 dumb?" 
 
 "^ Quien sabe?" 
 
 * Who knows? 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 TO THE COLORADO DESERT 
 
 Thou brown, bare-breasted, voiceless mystery, 
 Hot sphinx of nature, cactus-crowned, what hast 
 
 thou done? 
 Unclothed and mute as when the groans of chaos 
 
 turned 
 Thy naked burning bosom to the sun. 
 The mountain silences have speech, the rivers 
 
 sing. 
 Thou answerest never unto anything. 
 Pink-throated lizards pant in thy slim shade ; 
 The horned toad runs rustling in the heat; 
 The shadowy gray coyote, born afraid, 
 Steals to some brackish spring and laps, and 
 
 prowls 
 Away; and howls, and howls and howls and 
 
 howls, 
 Until the solitude is shaken with an added lone- 
 liness. 
 Thy sharp mescal shoots up a giant stalk, 
 Its century of yearning, to the sunburnt skies, 
 And drips rare honey from the lips 
 Of yellow waxen flowers, and dies. 
 Some lengthwise sun-dried shapes with feet and 
 
 hands 
 And thirsty mouths pressed on the sweltering 
 
 sands, 
 Mark here and there a gruesome graveless spot 
 Where some one drank thy scorching hotness, 
 
 and is not. 
 God must have made thee in His anger, and 
 
 forgot. 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 IN THE YUCCA LAND 
 
 The rim of the desert is the Yucca land, 
 Behind it the snow-peaked ranges stand. 
 Beyond it, and out, the desert lies, — 
 And far as the line of the tenting skies. 
 "The ship of the desert" sails there at dawn 
 In the swift mirage; and there, up-drawn 
 From violet seas, in the sunrise glow 
 Are the coral reefs the mermen know; 
 And the perfumed plains where the iris grow. 
 Out there where the web of the gossamer flies 
 The shoals of the purple islands rise, 
 Out there are the pink gray mists unrolled, 
 And the sun goes down on a world of gold, 
 In the Yucca land. 
 
 The grimness of time, is the Yucca land, 
 When twilight reaches her specter hand, 
 When the moon bends down, a living thing, 
 And the midnight stars are whispering! 
 The Yucca glades are peopled, then, 
 With naiads and gnomes and the ghosts of men; 
 From the inner earth, from the Everywhere, 
 They come, and they walk in the moonlight there. 
 The dryads step from the Yucca trees 
 And lean white arms on the wavering breeze. 
 There, a pallid priestness counts her beads, 
 Yon arch to a Druid temple leads. 
 Aye ; and yonder Yucca, whose grim shape warns, 
 Is the cross of Him, and His crown of thorns. 
 There are stealthy shadows, a phantom whir — 
 The night vibrates with a soundless stir; 
 And oh, the silence ! so tense, so terse, 
 You can hear the heart of the Universe. 
 The desert its mystery unbars 
 To you and the moon and the whispering stars, 
 In the Yucca land. 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 The newness of earth, is the Yucca land, 
 The tang of the first-made gleam of sand, 
 Not ever a plow profaned its sod, — 
 The world is so new you could talk with God, 
 In the Yucca land. 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 TEHACHAPI 
 
 Vanguard of the desert thou ! The high divide 
 
 Between the ocean's all life-giving atmosphere 
 
 And that vast arid world 
 
 Where bleak Mojave stretches to the east. 
 
 From thy brave front dwarfed pines look desert- 
 ward 
 
 Against the sun. And up the steep slants at thy 
 base 
 
 Defiant bristling yucca trees climb scantily. 
 
 The brewing place of storms art thou, — of clouds 
 
 That come unheralded, — vague whims of fleeci- 
 ness — 
 
 All piling up in wonderments of shapes. 
 
 White towers, and domes of glistening ivory, 
 
 And golden pinnacles the sunlight plays upon. 
 
 Or blown by warring winds whirl round and 
 round thy head 
 
 Black helpless furies, — vampires of the night. 
 
 Then dawn ; and lo, thou standest robed in sacred 
 white. 
 
 My heart and all life's sweet alluring charms 
 I leave here in the desert wilderness. 
 
 There is no joy outside of your dear arms, 
 No heaven beyond the reach of your caress. 
 
 Soul of the desert silences. 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 ROCKING THE BABY 
 
 I hear her rocking the baby — 
 Her room is just next to mine — 
 And I fancy I feel the dimpled arms 
 That round her neck entwine, 
 As she rocks, and rocks the baby, 
 In the room just next to mine. 
 
 I hear her rocking the baby 
 
 Each day when the twilight comes, 
 
 Oh ! I know there's a world of blessing and love 
 
 In the "baby bye" she hums. 
 
 I can see the restless fingers 
 
 Playing with "mamma's rings," 
 
 And the sweet little smiling, pouting mouth, 
 
 That to hers in kissing clings, 
 
 As she rocks and sings to the baby, 
 
 And dreams as she rocks and sings. 
 
 I hear her rocking the baby, 
 
 Slower and slower now, 
 
 I know she is leaving her good-night kiss 
 
 On its eyes, and cheeks, and brow. 
 
 From her rocking, rocking, rocking, 
 
 I wonder would she start, 
 
 Could she know, through the wall between us, 
 
 She is rocking on my heart. 
 
 While my empty arms are aching 
 
 For a form they may not press 
 
 And my emptier heart is breaking 
 
 In its desolate loneliness, 
 
 I list to the rocking, rocking, 
 
 In the room just next to mine, 
 
 And breathe a prayer in silence 
 
 At a mother's broken shrine, 
 
 For the woman who rocks the baby 
 
 In the room just next to mine. 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 Men have fought for Liberty and told her battles oer t 
 And died still listening to her far-off call, 
 
 Since Miriam struck her timbrel on the Red Sea's shore, 
 And sang deliverance from Egypt's thrall. 
 
 LIBERTY'S BELL 
 
 There's a legend told of a far-off land — 
 The land of a king — where the people planned 
 To build them a bell that never should ring 
 But to tell of the death, or the birth, of a king, 
 Or proclaim an event, by its swinging slow, 
 That could startle a nation to joy or woe. 
 
 It was not to be builded — this bell that they 
 
 planned — 
 Of common ore dug from the breast of the land, 
 But of metal first moulded by skill of all arts — 
 Built of the treasures of fond human hearts. 
 
 And from all o'er the land like pilgrims they 
 
 came, 
 Each to cast in a burden, a mite in the flame 
 Of the furnace — his offering — to mingle and swell 
 In the curious mass of this wonderful bell. 
 
 Knights came in armor and flung in the shields 
 That had warded off blows on the Saracen fields ; 
 Freemen brought chains from prisons afar — 
 Bonds that had fettered the captives of war. 
 And sabers were cast in the molten flood 
 Stained with the crimson of heroes' blood. 
 Pledges of love, a bracelet, a ring, 
 A gem that had gleamed in the crown of a king; 
 The coins that had ransomed a maiden from 
 death, 
 
 8 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 The words, hot with eloquence, caught from the 
 
 breath 
 Of a sage, and the prayer on the lips of a slave 
 Were heard and recorded, and cast in the wave 
 To be melted and moulded together, and tell 
 The tale of their wrongs in the tones of the bell. 
 
 It was finished at last, and, by artisan hand, 
 On its ponderous beams hung high o'er the land. 
 The slow years passed by but no sound ever fell 
 On a listening ear from the tongue of the bell. 
 The brown spider wove her frail home on its 
 
 walls, 
 The dust settled deep in its cavernous halls. 
 Men laughed in derision, and scoffed at the pains 
 Of the builders; and harder and harder the chains 
 Of a tyrannous might on the people were laid ; 
 More insatiate, more servile, the tribute they 
 
 paid ; 
 There was something they found far more cruel 
 
 than death, 
 And something far sweeter than life's fleeting 
 
 breath. 
 
 [William O. McDowell, a liberty-loving patriot, of 
 Lincoln Park, Newark, N. J., saw "Liberty's Bell," the 
 poem by Madge Morris Wagner, tacked up beside the 
 old Liberty Bell in historic Independence Hall, Phila- 
 delphia. It gave him an inspiration to build a Columbian 
 Liberty Bell as outlined in the poem. He began the 
 work. His children were the first contributors; then 
 the Daughters of the Revolution, headed by Mrs. Adlai 
 Stevenson, took it up; the governors of all the States 
 appointed committees; and it grew and grew until 
 250,000 historical relics and gifts were received to be 
 molded into his bell. So it became the great National 
 Bell, at the Columbian World's Fair. Chicago by its 
 legal authorities, set apart the Fourth of July, 1893, as 
 Liberty Bell Day, and gave to Mrs. Madge Morris Wag- 
 ner and Wm. O. McDowell the freedom of the City. 
 It has been customary since the world began to recog- 
 nize high officials, but seldom have cities so honored 
 those whose best endeavor has been in the direction of 
 the sentiment and soul of liberty.] 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 But, hark ! in the midst of the turbulent throng, 
 The moans of the weak and the groans of the 
 
 strong, 
 There's a cry of alarm. Some invisible power 
 Is moving the long silent bell in the tower. 
 Forward and backward, and forward it swung, 
 And Liberty ! Liberty ! Liberty ! rung 
 From its wide, brazen throat, over mountain and 
 
 vale. 
 Till the seas caught its echo and monarchs turned 
 
 pale. 
 
 Our forefathers heard it — that wild, thrilling 
 
 tone, 
 Ringing out to the world, and they claimed it 
 
 their own. 
 And up from the valley, and down from the hill, 
 From the flame of the forge, the field, and the 
 
 mill, 
 They paid with their lives the price of its due, 
 And left it a legacy, freemen, to you. 
 And ever when danger is menacing nigh, 
 The mighty bell swings in the belfry on high, 
 And men wake from their dreams, and grasp in 
 
 affright, 
 Their swords, when its warning sweeps out on 
 
 the night. 
 
 It rang a wild paean o'er war's gory waves 
 When the gyves were unloosed from our millions 
 
 of slaves ; 
 It started with horror and trembled a knell 
 
 10 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 From ocean to ocean, when great Lincoln fell. 
 And once in each year as time onward rolls, 
 Slowly and muffled and mournful it tolls 
 A dirge, while Columbia pauses to spread 
 A tribute of love on the graves of her dead. 
 
 While Washington's name is emblazoned in gold, 
 Or the valor of Lee, or of Sheridan, told, 
 While patriots treasure the words of a Hayne, 
 The fiery drops from the pen of a Paine ; 
 While the memory of Morris it's sacrifice gave, 
 And gratitude lingers to weep at his grave; 
 While dear is the name of child, mother or wife, 
 Or sweet to a soul is the measure of life, 
 America's sons will to battle prepare 
 When its tones of alarm ring aloud on the air. 
 For Liberty's goddess holds in her white hand 
 The cord of the bell that swings over our land. 
 
 11 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 THE CROWNING OF LIBERTY 
 
 She came on that immortal morn, — 
 
 So pale, so wan, and weeping so! 
 Fair Liberty; bowed with the scorn 
 
 That wrought a suffering people's woe. 
 
 She spoke, and in her pleading tones 
 
 A voice came ringing o'er the sea 
 From fallen Roma's crumbling thrones, 
 
 From graves of old Thermopylae. 
 
 The listening breezes heard her plea, 
 
 They told it to the summer morn, 
 'Twas whispered by each forest tree, 
 
 And by each blade of rustling corn. 
 
 'Twas murmured by the brooklet's waves, 
 The echoing mountains caught the cry 
 
 And flung it back to ocean's caves — • 
 The ocean rolled it to the sky. 
 
 Our patriot sires — that grand old band — 
 Had met in troubled council throng, 
 
 If that they might, to quench the brand, 
 Where smouldering burned a Nation's wrong. 
 
 They heard fair Liberty's appeal, 
 
 They gazed upon her matchless form ; 
 
 Each faltering nerve grew firm as steel, 
 Each breast was bared to meet the storm. 
 
 A moment low those stern heads bowed 
 
 In solemn, silent awe of prayer, 
 And then a wild shout, long and loud, 
 
 Burst out upon the quivering air. 
 
 12 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 The spirit, roused, would sleep no more, 
 And each in turn, on bended knee, 
 
 With brow uncovered, reverent swore, 
 Eternal faith to Liberty! 
 
 Her torn and bleeding feet they dressed 
 In sandals wrought of maiden gold, 
 
 Into her trembling hand they pressed 
 The scepter from a Monarch's hold. 
 
 They broke the fetters that had led 
 Her captive in their cruel scars, 
 
 And bound upon her regal head 
 A flashing coronet of stars. 
 
 Their fortunes, lives, their all, alone, 
 They fastened, with her mantle's sheen 
 
 Gave her their proud hearts for a throne, 
 And Liberty was crowned our Queen. 
 
 The deed a world then laughed to mock 
 Has swept in Majesty of State, 
 
 From Massachusetts' Plymouth Rock, 
 To California's Golden Gate. 
 
 Her heritage from sea to sea, 
 
 A land that owns no craven's right, 
 
 Where but to be is to be free, 
 
 Her flag the symbol of her might. 
 
 13 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 THE PASSING OF McKINLEY 
 
 Black, black, all black, our open door is closed 
 with ebon bars ; 
 For woe like this there are no creeds, no bonds, 
 no social bourns : 
 Black, black, all black! half-masted hangs Old 
 Glory's stripes and stars — 
 
 The great republic mourns. 
 
 Low, low he lies, so low ! the nation's chief, the 
 nation's pride; 
 So still the careful hands which steered his 
 country's danger past; 
 So dumb the tongue whose golden speech our 
 faith had justified: 
 God's seal of rest upon his breast, and peace, 
 and home, at last. 
 
 The shot that felled McKinley jarred the round 
 
 earth's rim; 
 
 It aimed at law, all law, it aimed at heaven's 
 
 high throne, — 
 
 For doth the firmament not move by law of Him, 
 
 And seed and harvest time from zone to zone? 
 
 Calamity stared grimly black the whole world in 
 the face 
 When anarchy, foul-brooded spawn of slime 
 and mud, 
 Spat her corroding venom to the highest place 
 And smeared the down-step to her den with 
 blood. 
 
 14 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 Not, not alone McKinley's life — brave life that 
 bore no stain, 
 Great statesman, gentlest husband, man of 
 Christian men — 
 He stood for us, each one, and in him were our 
 brothers slain, 
 And our dead fathers in his death did die again. 
 
 Black, black, all black, our open door is closed 
 with ebon bars; 
 For woe like this there are no creeds, no bonds, 
 no social bourns ; 
 Black, black, all black! half-masted hangs Old 
 Glory's stripes and stars — 
 
 The great republic mourns. 
 
 15 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 CUBA 
 
 On her war beleaguered island 
 Cuba stands and fights alone. 
 
 And her strangling cry for freedom 
 Shakes the glory of a throne. 
 
 Stands beside her ruined altars 
 Flame and sword engirded round, 
 
 Sees her maidens torn from shelter, 
 Sacrilege on holy ground. 
 
 Flame and sword and desecration, 
 Wrongs that Satan's self abhors, 
 
 All the barbarous, shameless, nameless 
 Savagery of civil wars. 
 
 O, ye synod of the nations, 
 
 Shall you, to this struggling land, 
 
 Give no sign of recognition, 
 Raise no voice, uplift no hand? 
 
 Vain your teaching, false your preaching, 
 While yon royal flag of Spain 
 
 With the cross of Christ upon it 
 Floats above such fields of slain. 
 
 16 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poem: 
 
 What has a man when it all is attained, — 
 Ambition, and glory, and glitter of fame — 
 Or wealth with the burden of folly it gained, 
 And burnt out his candle in winning the game. 
 Then darkness, and lo! at the end of the strife, 
 He has fought for a phantom his senses to cheat, 
 And missed all the sweetness and rhythm of life 
 And the flowers that grew at his feet. 
 
 "HE HITCHED HIS WAGON TO A STAR" 
 
 He hitched his wagon to a star 
 
 With brave intent, 
 He hitched his wagon to a star, — 
 
 The highest in the firmament. 
 
 He bent his shoulder to the spokes 
 
 And lifted with his might; 
 His feet were in the sordid mire, 
 
 His face was toward the light. 
 
 He heard the boom of breaking worlds 
 
 That starred the Milky Way; 
 He saw the wardens of the sun 
 
 Roll back the gates of day. 
 
 And though he never turned a wheel, 
 Felt not the hurt the vanquished feel ; — 
 
 Through far high vistas vast and dim, 
 The highest star still beckoned him. 
 
 17 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 THE WOODMAN'S PHILOSOPHY 
 
 The woodman was tall, and brawny, and brown, 
 And broad of the shoulder, and muscled was he, 
 As a king of athletes ; — not a club in the town 
 Could produce such a biceps. I came and sat 
 
 down 
 To listen, and see, — 
 
 For the ring of his axe it was music to me. 
 He swung the broad blade with a curve at the 
 
 start, 
 And a movement of wrist never learned of "Del- 
 
 sarte." 
 His knuckles shone white through the brown of 
 
 his skin, 
 With a "whan !" went his breath as the sharp 
 
 edge sank in 
 To the heart of the tree ; and the sappy chips flew 
 And scattered and rattled like hail on the ground; 
 And the axe gave a "screak" as he twisted it 
 
 round 
 To loosen the blade from the cleft it had made. 
 The back of his hand o'er his forehead he drew, — 
 His hand was so sinewy strong — Ah ! I knew 
 The man was a king; I said to him, "Sire, 
 There's many a tree in your forest to fell, 
 Pray what do you do when you tire?" 
 "What do I?" said he, with a smile on his lip, 
 "When the handle gets slick and commences to 
 
 slip, 
 I spit on my hands and take a fresh grip." 
 
 18 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 Not with saber, and cannon, and banners un- 
 furled, 
 
 The new Alexander will conquer the world; 
 
 He'll have sweat on his brow, and a smile on 
 his lip, 
 
 And when fortune begins through his ringers to 
 
 slip, 
 He'll "spit on his hands and take a fresh grip." 
 
 19 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 THE ORACLE 
 
 "This year, next year, now, never!" 
 Shyly to herself, she said, 
 
 Tapered fingers, swift and clever, 
 Pick to pieces daisy's head — 
 
 That its oracle may tell her 
 
 When the day that she shall wed. 
 
 Fall the petals ever, ever, 
 "This year, next year, now, never.' 
 
 Pretty maiden, who shall scold her, 
 If she sighs, and shakes her head! 
 
 Has the oracle not told her 
 She shall never, never wed? 
 
 Half agrieved, she glances over 
 
 Where the field and meadow meet- 
 Flushes redder than the clover 
 Blossoms blushing at her feet. 
 
 Farmer's son, the nearest neighbor, 
 
 — Stalwart he, and tall, and lithe- 
 Pausing in the swath his labor, 
 Deftly whets his gleaming scythe; 
 
 20 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 Pulls his hat a little lower, 
 Steps aside to let her pass, 
 
 Stammering asks if he may show her 
 Where's a lark's nest in the grass : 
 
 Clasps her hand a little stronger 
 
 Than necessity allows, 
 As their shadows growing longer 
 
 Warn her she must find the cows. 
 
 Pretty maid in sunset glory, 
 Thinks the daisy told a story. 
 
 21 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 THE LITTLE BROWN BIRD 
 
 A little bird sat in her nest on the ground, 
 
 A wee, wee little brown bird; 
 Sat thinking the song in the tall poplar tree 
 
 The sweetest she ever had heard. — 
 And up came a lump in the little bird's throat; — 
 She never could sing a note. 
 
 She looked at the bird in the tall poplar tree, 
 On its head was a wonderful crest; 
 
 Its wings they were spangled with velvet and 
 gold 
 And red was the flame on its breast. — 
 
 Oh, never a feather of color had she, 
 
 She was brown as a bird could be. 
 
 The bright plumaged bird in the tall poplar tree 
 Sang longer and sweeter her strain. 
 
 The little brown bird drooped lower her head 
 And listened in envious pain. 
 
 Click! Bang! broke a murderous sound on the 
 breeze; 
 
 It rustled the leaves on the trees. 
 
 And down through the rustling leaves came the 
 
 bird. 
 There were stains on each leaf which she 
 
 brushed. 
 The red on her breast it was redder with blood 
 
 22 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 And the voice of her singing was hushed. 
 The hunter had heard her wild song on the limb 
 And her breast made a target for him. 
 
 In penitent pity the little brown bird 
 
 Drew closer each sheltering wing; 
 And the wee baby birds hidden under her breast 
 
 Are glad that their mother can't sing. 
 
 23 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 A STAINED LILY 
 
 Some lilies grew by a brook-side, 
 
 Tall and white, and cold, 
 And lifted up to the sunshine 
 
 Their beautiful hearts of gold. 
 
 And near to their bed grew mosses, 
 Rank vines, and flowers small, 
 
 And loathsome weeds, and thistles, 
 And the sunlight warmed them all. 
 
 Anon, the proud white lilies 
 Were gathered, one by one, 
 
 Each to crown a festal, 
 The rarest under the sun. 
 
 One lily stopped to the brooklet, 
 Her face she knew was fair, 
 
 And the face of the flowing water 
 Mirrored her image there. 
 
 A hand, upraised in envy, 
 
 Or carelessness, or jest, 
 Flung, from the turbid water, 
 
 Mud, on the lily's breast. 
 
 And all the proud, white lilies 
 
 Turned their faces away, 
 And nobody plucked that lily, 
 
 And day, and night, and day 
 
 24 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 She wept for her ruined beauty: 
 And the dew-drops, and the rain, 
 
 Touched with her tears, in pity 
 Fell on the muddy stain. 
 
 Still stood she in her grieving, 
 
 Day, and night, and day; 
 Nor tears, nor dew, nor rain-drops 
 
 Could fade the stain away. 
 
 Pining in desolation, 
 
 Shunned by each of her kind, 
 Sought she a bitter solace 
 
 In creatures of coarser mind. 
 
 But the breath of the nettle stung her, 
 And the thistle's rude embrace 
 
 Burned her sensitive nature, 
 And scarred the fair, stained face. 
 
 Lower, drooped the lily, 
 
 And died at the feet of the weeds; 
 And only the tender mosses 
 
 Ministered to her needs. 
 
 And still the tall white lilies 
 
 Stand as cold, and proud, 
 And still the weeds and thistles 
 
 Against the lilies crowd. 
 
 Alike the same warm sunbeams 
 
 On weed and flower fall, 
 Alike by the same soil nourished, 
 
 And the great God made them all. 
 
 25 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 SOMEBODY'S BABY'S DEAD 
 
 A hearse all draped in mourning, 
 With white plumes overhead, 
 
 Bearing a little coffin — ■ 
 Somebody's baby's dead. 
 
 Upon the satin cover 
 
 Some hand has placed a wreath, 
 White as the waxen features 
 
 Of the baby that lies beneath. 
 
 Out in the graveyard making 
 A rest for a shining head, 
 
 Somebody's heart is breaking, 
 Somebody's baby's dead. 
 
 Over a baby's coffin, 
 
 Heaping a mound of clay, 
 
 Somebody's hopes are buried 
 In that little grave today. 
 
 Somebody's home is dreary, 
 Somebody's sunshine fled; 
 
 Somebody's sad and weary, 
 Somebody's baby's dead. 
 
 26 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 INTERREGNUM 
 
 "Out of my way!" cried the brave New Year, 
 
 "Out of my way," sang he; 
 "Make way for my bride, Old Year; aside, 
 
 "Aside, Old Year!" sang he, — 
 "Make way for my bride and me." 
 
 He smiled as he tossed his locks of tawn, 
 Red crowned with the rosy glimpse of dawn. 
 He smiled and sang, and sang again, 
 And the Old Year sighed: "Amen, 
 Ah me, Amen !" — and he stepped aside. 
 But he opened his long black mantle wide 
 And close to his shriveling breast he pressed 
 The bride of the brave New Year. 
 
 THE SEA AND THE WIND 
 
 "Whither away?" sighed the Sea to the Wind, 
 "Where goeth, where bloweth thou?" 
 
 "I go," said the Wind, "to blow," said the Wind, 
 "The secret thou sighest now." 
 
 "Why bidest thou here?" said the Wind to the 
 Sea, 
 
 "Why hidest thou here thy worth?" 
 "I bide," said the Sea, "to hide," said the Sea, 
 
 "The wrecks of thy cruel mirth." 
 
 27 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 SOCIETY 
 
 Go down in the perilous ocean deeps 
 
 For the treasures hidden there. 
 Bring gems that have lain in a dead man's eyes 
 
 To gleam in a woman's hair. 
 Slay a million birds — small mother birds — 
 
 Till your soul of pity dies. 
 In the cup that is rusted with tears of woe 
 
 Drink a toast to your lady's eyes. 
 Have faith in the wiles and the cheating smiles 
 
 You hug to your foolish breast, 
 Thrust to the wall, beyond recall, 
 
 The hearts that have loved you best. 
 Over and over, the rose, and the mold, 
 
 The social tales of the world are told. 
 
 AN EMPIRIC 
 
 What is there ever in living — 
 To live, and to live, and to live? 
 
 Nay; not the gift, but the giving — 
 What hast thou, mortal, to give? 
 
 The songs that come up from the silence 
 Of graves where Self lieth slain; 
 
 Gethsemane's red drops of passion, 
 And the pitiful pleasure of pain — 
 These are thy gifts, and thy gain. 
 
 28 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 MOTHER 
 
 I went away against her will, — 
 
 Home was so small, the world so wide, 
 And I so full of foolish pride. 
 
 Why should she take my going ill? 
 
 Why weight her heart with useless sighs, 
 And hurt me with her streaming eyes? 
 
 I came at last, I crossed the sea 
 
 To lay my head upon her breast 
 And tell her that our dear home nest 
 
 Was larger than the world to me. — 
 It may be in her silken shroud 
 She wondered why I wept aloud. 
 
 29 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 DEAD LOVE 
 
 There is no dead thing in this world so dead 
 As love that has been slain. 
 
 Think not that you 
 Can lightly toy with it, and set your foot 
 Upon its heart for pleasurance, and wound 
 The ground with its red blood, then bid it rise 
 And stand all blushing new again 
 Beside you. 
 
 Nay; though from the mouldy grave 
 Your power could take the skeleton, and all 
 Its mildewed joints habilitate with living flesh, 
 You, yet, could not bring dead love back to life. 
 
 30 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 FATE 
 
 Ruth was a laughing-eyed prattler, 
 
 Thoughtless, and happy, and free; 
 She planted a seed in the garden, 
 
 And said : "It will grow to a tree — 
 A beautiful blossoming tree." 
 
 The birds and the squirrels played round it, 
 
 As careless and merry was she, 
 But no tree ever grew from her planting — 
 
 No beautiful, blossoming tree. 
 
 Ruth was a winsome-faced maiden, 
 
 Happy, and hopeful, and free; 
 She planted a seed in the garden, 
 
 And smilingly waited to see — 
 A beautiful, blossoming tree. 
 
 She covered the ground up with flowers, 
 
 The butterfly came, and the bee, 
 But no tree ever grew from her planting — 
 
 No beautiful, blossoming tree. 
 
 Ruth was a pale, saddened woman, 
 
 Thoughtful, with tremblings and fears ; 
 
 She planted a seed in the garden, 
 And watered the place with her tears — 
 
 And watched it with tremblings and fears. 
 
 The winds and the rains beat upon it, 
 The lightnings flashed o'er it in glee ; 
 
 But she sleeps 'neath the tree of her planting — 
 A beautiful, blossoming tree. 
 
 31 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 UNDER THE SEA 
 
 A fisherman rocked in his boat on the tide 
 
 And dropped his net in the sea, 
 He sang as he worked, and the rising tide 
 Drifted his voice to the water-side — 
 
 Echoed his voice on the lea. 
 
 A maiden mended the fisherman's nets 
 
 At the water-side on the lea, 
 She listened and longed as she patient wrought, 
 And no sound was so sweet, the maiden thought, 
 
 As the fisherman's song on the sea. 
 
 A maiden stood in the misty light 
 
 Gazing out o'er the water wide, 
 Straining her eyes through the paling light, 
 And around her feet in the deepening night, 
 
 Crept slowly the rising tide. 
 
 The mermaids braided the maiden's hair 
 
 Under the depths of the sea — 
 Braided her long, bright golden hair 
 Into a shimmering wonderful snare 
 
 Under the fathomless sea. 
 
 The fisherman smiled as he sang his song, 
 
 For a maid too fond and fair — 
 A mermaid floated the waves along, 
 She caught the soul of the fisherman's song 
 
 In a net of golden hair. 
 
 32 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 And ever and e'er when the twilight falls, 
 
 And the moonlight pales on the sea, 
 A voice on the ear of the fisherman falls, 
 A song that his soul and his sense enthralls 
 Drifts over the lonesome sea. 
 
 And deaf to the warning that death is there, 
 
 He follows the song of the sea; 
 But he comes not back for a shimmering snare, 
 A wonderful weft of golden hair 
 
 Is waiting him under the sea. 
 
 33 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 THE UNDERTONE OF SONG 
 
 A broad flat rock the creek goes rippling round, 
 Where overhanging leaves make pictures in the 
 
 sun. 
 The silence is not broken by a sound 
 Save that of Autumn's making; surely one 
 Might stay and dream, and dreaming might forget 
 That there were aught in all the world to do 
 But dream ! 
 
 A mother quail and her full score 
 Of pretty running fledgelings stop, then whir into 
 The safer undergrowth which skirts the water 
 
 shore. 
 A cone from yon tall pine falls heavily, the spoil 
 Of some marauding squirrel's teeth ; and through 
 Far hights a mountain vulture sails a sea of blue. 
 These do but trend the fancies to a dream ; 
 
 And yet, 
 That strenuous straight line of rusty ants along 
 The streamlet's bank keeps faith with never end- 
 ing human toil, — 
 Its moving rhythm the undertone of song. 
 
 34 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 TO A MUMMY 
 
 Did death come when that form was young and 
 
 fair 
 And lissome, and awake to flattery's praise, 
 Or when, with heavy step and whitened hair, 
 Thou'dst lingered out life's longest span of days? 
 And did that heart with joy or grieving swell? 
 Who now can tell? 
 
 Wast thou a sorceress Cleopatra, with 
 The splendor of all Egypt in thine eyes? 
 Or didst thou walk, Diana-like, the world, 
 A bloodless statue made in woman's guise? 
 Thou senseless thing! What matters it to thee? 
 And what to me? 
 
 O shrunken, shriveled shape. If I could bring 
 Thy roundness back, the blood into thy cheek, 
 And all life's spell once more upon thee fling, 
 What wouldst thou tell me? If thy tongue could 
 
 speak, 
 The secrets of the pyramids wouldst thou 
 Reveal, or laugh at Israelitish mother's tears, 
 Or shuddering with horror tell me how 
 It feels to lie entombed a thousand years ? 
 
 35 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 SAPPHO TO PHAON 
 
 God, God ! How I have loved thee, Phaon, — 
 
 My soul's husband. 
 
 When the brilliancy of Mitylene turned 
 
 Full face to me and crowned me queen, 
 
 One kiss of thine was more 
 
 Than all of Greece's glory. 
 
 And when thou earnest forth 
 
 To win thyself a name, and fame, 
 I was so glad — so glad that thou wast great, 
 So proud to be thy lesser mate. 
 I would be thy left hand, and thou my right. 
 When Athens wrote the name of Phaon on her 
 
 walls 
 The name of Sappho would be wrote beside it. 
 Phaon and Sappho ever spoken in one breath. 
 Phaon and Sappho one in life and death. 
 
 Ten thousand liars had prated since the world 
 began 
 
 Of love, one love, one woman and one man. 
 
 And measuring thy love by mine 
 I dreamed that it could be. 
 Man's love is but a winged fool that flies 
 
 From pretty face to pretty face, 
 Nor finds a strong abiding rest in any place. 
 A sensuous shapely form, and well-tricked eyes 
 Will handicap a soul in any race 
 
 Where love's the prize 
 
 And man is umpire in the case. 
 
 36 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 Phaon's name is on the tongue of every one, 
 Alcaeus and Stesichorus, they pale in Phaon's 
 sun. 
 
 And 'tis not Sappho walks by Phaon's side. 
 
 'Tis her — not me — that Lesbos names with 
 thee. 
 But though, while yet the dew is on thy fame 
 
 Thou hast forgotten me 
 And spurned the wondrous sweetness of our love, 
 I tell thee, Phaon, I am greater still than thou; 
 And I will live when thou art only known 
 
 Because that Sappho loved thee. 
 
 37 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 HER CHRISTMAS GIFT 
 
 "I have nothing to give you, darling, 
 
 For a Christmas gift tonight, 
 Not even the tiniest present 
 
 To keep my memory bright ; 
 Nothing at all to give you 
 
 Only my love," she said. 
 She said it so wistfully, so sad, 
 
 And she blushed, and hung her head. 
 
 We were poor, as the world would count it — 
 
 My little wife and I, — 
 And the Christmas time, with its joyous chime, 
 
 Neglectful passed us by. 
 
 Only her love to give me ! 
 
 Oh ! she could not, could not see 
 That she gave from the source of giving, 
 
 Her Christmas gift to me. 
 Only her love she gave me, 
 
 And rich as a king am I, 
 And there is not gold enough in the world 
 
 Her Christmas gift to buy. 
 
 38 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 AH ME! 
 
 She reached her pretty hands to me, 
 
 Ah Me! 
 She reached her pretty hands to me, — 
 She held them out imploringly. 
 A fox glove grew just where she stood 
 Within the border of the wood. 
 
 Ah Me! 
 
 And then — oh, then, I could not go, 
 
 Ah Me! 
 And then I could not— would not — go, 
 I turned away and left her so. 
 Left her, her pretty hands out held, — 
 Her heart with pent-up grieving swelled, 
 
 Ah Me! 
 
 Within the border of the wood, 
 
 Ah Me! 
 Within the shadow of the wood 
 The fox glove grows yet where she stood. 
 And I could go — and would — if she 
 Would reach her pretty hands to me. 
 
 Ah Me! 
 
 39 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 I HAVE FOLDED THEM UP AND PUT 
 THEM AWAY 
 
 I have folded them up, and put them away, 
 Each dainty garment you used to wear, 
 The little kid shoes with the tasseled tops, 
 And the long bright lock of your golden hair; 
 And hot tears fell unchecked, untold, 
 Over garment, and shoe, and tress of gold. 
 
 The little dishes — the china cups 
 
 And saucers, and plates with gilted bands, 
 
 You washed them last and piled them here 
 
 In the painted box with your dear, small hands. 
 
 The music-book with the lesson marked, 
 Your fingers touched with such fairy ease, 
 Ran over the notes, then tired, and failed, 
 And fell from the task on the ivory keys. 
 
 And I found a letter among the things 
 
 So idly thrown on an idle stand, 
 
 "My precious Mamma," the lines began, 
 
 Wrote in the scrawl of a childish hand. 
 
 O, I little dreamed when I read it over, 
 
 And carelessly laid it here away, 
 
 That through blinding tears for your sweet dead 
 
 face, 
 I would read the letter again today. 
 
 Every place in this desolate house, 
 
 From night to night, and from dawn to dawn, 
 
 Wherever I go, wherever I look, 
 
 There is something to mind me that you are gone. 
 
 40 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 So I folded them up and put them away, 
 And locked them out of my sight forever; 
 And I have not spoken your name since then 
 To keep from thinking. — Vain endeavor! 
 
 When has turning a key forgetfulness brought? 
 And who can limit the flight of a thought? 
 
 Everywhere in this beautiful world, 
 
 From night to night, and from dawn to dawn, 
 
 Wherever I go, whatever I see, 
 
 There is something to mind me that you are gone. 
 
 // when we left a loved, or loving one, 
 
 We knew that surely one of us would die 
 Before another dawn, or set of sun, 
 
 We Would not ever lightly say "Good-bye? 
 And yet we know 
 Some day it must be so. 
 
 41 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 MY SHIPS HAVE COME FROM THE SEA 
 
 You are watching a ship, Oh, maiden fair, 
 With parted lips and wistful air. 
 The ship that out from the sheltered bay 
 With white sails spread moves slow away; 
 And I know, my girl, the thoughts that burn 
 In your heart are of that ship's return. 
 Ah ! I know so well how your pulses beat, 
 With the great sea sobbing at your feet; 
 And the yellow stars in southern skies 
 Are brighter not than your love-bright eyes. 
 
 I, too, have stood on the sea-wet sand, 
 
 And tearful waved a farewell hand, 
 
 And watched with many a longing prayer. 
 
 My face, like yours, was young and fair, 
 
 And my eyes were bright as the diamond's glow, 
 
 They've lost their sparkle long ago. 
 
 I stand alone on the beach today, 
 
 Watching the ships that sail away; 
 
 But never a sail from over the sea 
 
 The flowing tide will bring to me. 
 
 My ships have come from sea. 
 
 The first was builded with childish hand; 
 It floated away a castle grand — 
 A beautiful bubble with rainbow hues, 
 Lined with the crystal of morning dews; 
 To break at my feet by the sunny sea, 
 A beautiful bubble came back to me — 
 Came back from my ship at sea. 
 
 42 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 I fashioned another in gladsome way 
 And sent it forth on a summer day. 
 
 I see it yet, a fairer craft, 
 Never at danger mocking laughed; 
 Its shrouds were the sheen of happy hours, 
 Its helm a wreath of orange flowers. 
 And I freighted it down with love and truth, 
 The golden hopes of my sunny youth. 
 Had it lived the storm — but it could not be, 
 A stranded wreck on the surf-washed lea, 
 
 My ship came home from sea. 
 
 And then a smiling fairy bark, 
 A fragile, precious-freighted ark, 
 Out on life's ocean drear and dark. 
 And I prayed to God as I never before, 
 To shield this bark from the tempest's roar; 
 To spare me this — but it could not be. 
 A little coffin came back to me — 
 
 Came back from my ship at sea. 
 
 With reckless hand I launched again 
 A venture on the treacherous main 
 Bound for ambition's dizzy court, 
 Sailed from a hopeless, loveless port. 
 With gloomy walls whose silence chilled, 
 With ghostly haunting memories filled, 
 With never a breath of the roses dead ; 
 Never a rest for a weary head, 
 Never a dream of a sweet to be, 
 Hopeless, loveless still, to me, 
 
 My ship came home from sea. 
 
 43 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 The last, and least, of all the ships 
 Fashioned with hands, and heart, and lips, 
 I pushed from shore with its decks untrod, 
 And the freight it bore was my faith in God. 
 I recked not whither its way, nor when, 
 Nor how, if ever, 'twould come again. 
 And this, alone, came back to me. 
 Rich-laden from the stormy sea. 
 And so, sweet maiden, while your dreams 
 Paint fairest all that fairest seems, 
 I stand with you and watch today 
 The ship that sails from the shore away; 
 But never a sail from over the sea 
 The flowing tide will bring to me — 
 My ships have come from sea. 
 
 44 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 BREAK DOWN THE DOOR OF THE 
 JUBILEE 
 
 Break down the door of the Jubilee, 
 Let the penitent years file in, 
 And with knees to earth in the sacristy 
 Unshoulder their loads of sin. 
 To your Jubilee ye hundred years, 
 Your stoles are dabbled with blood and tears, 
 Red, red with the wrongs of men — 
 With the lust of men, and the trust of men; — 
 With the gorge of gold, forsooth, 
 And the hearts that broke 'neath its glittering- 
 yoke 
 In the marvelous faith of youth. 
 Pass through, pass in, old years, and then 
 Turn back and seal your door again. 
 
 Break down the door, oh, thou white new year! 
 
 Break down the door, "the Holy door," 
 
 That never was struck by mace before, 
 
 Brave priest, you have naught of sin nor fear. 
 
 But pass you in in reverence prone — 
 
 Lo ! Truth stands naked there, alone. — 
 
 Look once, and die, for so it is writ. — 
 
 But you've opened the door and out of it 
 
 The light of her face will shine 
 
 Till the morning stars shall sing again 
 
 Of "Peace on earth, good will toward men." 
 
 45 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 EASTER LILIES 
 
 With eyes all dim and downcast, 
 She stood at the foot of the cross, 
 
 Bowing, in deep submission, 
 Under the weight of her loss, 
 
 And she held in her hand a lily, 
 Close at the foot of the cross. 
 
 A beautiful, perfect lily, 
 
 To lay at the Savior's feet; 
 Sign in her silent sorrow — 
 
 Of her worship — passion sweet — 
 A snowy, a sinless offering, 
 
 To lay at the Savior's feet. 
 
 "Behold thy mother and brethren !" 
 A voice came up from the crowd 
 
 To the ear of the dying Savior — 
 The Savior murmuring aloud : 
 
 "These are my mother and brethren !" 
 Looked on the muttering crowd. 
 
 And the mother's heart that was in her 
 Swelled with a jealous fear, 
 
 And down in the cup of the lily 
 Dropped she a burning tear — 
 
 Dropped on the snow of the lily 
 The blot of a selfish fear. 
 
 Dropped in the cup of the lily 
 A tear that was hot with pain, 
 
 And the snowy heart of the lily 
 Was snowy never again. 
 
 The wax-white heart had withered 
 In the salt of its burning pain. 
 
 46 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 And ever the beautiful lilies 
 
 Are placed at the feet of the Lord. 
 
 Baptized with the tear of a mother, 
 Keep they, a sinless ward — 
 
 Sign of a silent worship 
 At the cross of the risen Lord. 
 
 And ever and ever the lilies 
 We lay with a smile or a tear, 
 
 A sacred gift on the altar 
 
 Of the idols we worship here, 
 
 But deep in each lily's chalice 
 Is the yellow stain of a tear. 
 
 47 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 THE CHRISTMAS CROSS 
 
 No longer red, its arms, with Christ's red blood. 
 No longer bound with superstitions fears. — 
 Self-slaved humanity has washed it in 
 
 Two thousand years of tears. 
 Strip it of creed, and ritual, and all 
 Its mouth-made garmenture let fall 
 
 As fashions that are old. 
 On Calvary's summit let the mad world see 
 
 God's sign of love, — and Christian liberty. 
 
 48 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 GENESIS 
 
 I came from the Unknowable. 
 
 I was. 
 
 I saw the first far reddening glimmer of the light 
 
 Whose whirling fires begot the sun. 
 
 And when this globe of earth swung darkling 
 
 into space 
 Through all its changing parentage of life, came I, 
 Till man, evolved of me, awoke, walked forth 
 And sunned his forehead in the smile of God. 
 AJ1 things in him expressed, all things were his ; 
 His the adjusting of the belted zones, 
 The unmade centuries, the cradles, and the 
 
 thrones. 
 
 But failing recognition of me in himself, 
 The red instinct of his four-footed time 
 Strives with his higher element of life. 
 His lust's desire his law of Right, he makes, 
 His punier brother to the shambles takes, 
 Himself of his own heritage himself despoils ; 
 And warring with his soul he pawns his breath 
 And passes back into the dust of death. 
 
 And I? — I come again, again, 
 
 Twice twenty times as many times again, I come ; 
 
 And then, one day, a god is born. 
 And many wonder at the marvel of his power, 
 And bow to do him homage, crying "Hail! All 
 
 Hail ! M 
 Believing me a new thing yet beneath the sun. 
 Or by a more ignoble impulse moved, they say: 
 "A brand-new devil straight from hell is he." 
 And in the sleeve of my flesh garmenture, I 
 
 laugh,—- 
 So old am I. 
 
 For I am Love — the Atom of Creation, I. — 
 I give each man his Christ to bless or crucify. 
 
 49 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 A THOUGHT 
 
 There's nothing dies; — the words you speak, 
 
 The kiss you pressed upon a baby's cheek, 
 
 The deeds you do, the thoughts you think, stamp 
 
 all too surely on your face 
 Their separate identities ; and leave in space 
 A heritage for other souls to wear, — 
 For other hearts to bear. 
 
 A MOOD 
 
 And so, dear dupe, you think that you 
 By your own truth have kept him true? 
 That moulded in such loyal mould 
 Yourself, your thoughts can lift and hold 
 Him to your loftier level? Then 
 Christ had not need to die for men. 
 Well, keep your noble thought, be true, 
 And guard your ignorance. And pray — 
 Pray God at night and dawn and day — 
 The pain of wisdom may not come 
 To you ; and strike you dumb ; and numb 
 Your senses till they die; and you 
 Have weariness of being true. 
 Say wrong is right and let it go. 
 And maybe you can make it so. 
 
 50 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 ALL HALLOWE'EN 
 
 A black cat sits on the back yard fence, 
 
 And he yowls in the dead o' night ; 
 There's a bat with wings stretched wide and tense 
 
 Across the pale moonlight, 
 A weird wind haunts the restless town, 
 
 And ghosts walk up and down. 
 
 UNDER THE GRASS 
 
 And I must lie out there under the grass 
 
 The wind ripples over the hill. 
 In dewy green, or in dusty brown. 
 
 Must lie there, and lie there, and lie there 
 still 
 
 When the winter rain beats down, 
 And down, and into my slim white bones 
 
 Dissolving the dust of me. 
 And filtering through to the sun and the dew 
 
 And the light of the stars, will pass 
 
 Again to the roots of grass. 
 And somebody, someday, will plant him a tree 
 And a grape and a rose in the dust of me. 
 
 51 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 BENDITA 
 
 "If God were not so far away," she sighed, 
 "To reach His lowest place, I might have tried. 
 So high, so far from me His heaven lies, 
 I may not toward it even lift my eyes," 
 
 She said, 
 And slowly, lowly, bent her head. 
 
 Resigning all the glory of the skies, 
 She turned to earth her sorrow-smitten eyes 
 And sought its best, and made the best of all 
 That chanced into her toiling hands to fall.— 
 Nor thought of self, nor any chance that she 
 
 might take, — 
 But just to be a witness for His sake. 
 Then waked one day amidst life's sudden stir 
 To find the high and far-off God was leading her. 
 
 / wonder if ever the angel who holds 
 The booJ^ where all secrets are hid, 
 
 Writes for us the things we were trying to do, 
 Or only the things that We did? 
 
 52 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 TOASTS 
 
 TO TRUTH 
 
 The most beautiful naked thing in the world, 
 And the most carefully clothed. 
 
 TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN 
 
 Were all love's joys, its smiles and kisses, 
 Were all its hopes, and dreams, and blisses — 
 All that a million years could think, — 
 Imbrued into one cup of dew 
 And given to me, a toast to drink, 
 I'd drink that toast to you. 
 
 TO CALIFORNIA 
 
 Her breath is the purest, the wine of her mouth 
 
 Is richer than Circe's of old, 
 Her sandals are laced with the silk of the South, 
 
 Her bosom is woven with gold. 
 
 53 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 // / and you no more were said, 
 And thee and me no longer read, 
 The ego of all Being would be dead.- 
 If thee and me no more were read, 
 And I and thou no longer said. 
 
 54 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 "TO YOU" 
 
 When you return to your green hills 
 And all the starry heavens shine, 
 Or dawn your dusky canyon thrills 
 To life again ; or may be when 
 Its little rippling rivulets run 
 To softest music in the sun, 
 Or roars the wind in rougher rhyme, 
 You'll think of me — just me — some time. 
 In that dear moment pause, and then 
 Let some sweet memory of me 
 Have all your heart and constancy. 
 And I will come to you that day 
 Though I be half the world away. 
 
 55 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 "DISTANCE IS CRUEL" 
 
 vs. 
 "DISTANCE IS KIND" 
 
 "Distance is cruel/' cruel, you say, 
 Was it distance that kept you away — 
 Was it all distance? I say. 
 
 The man who is thirsty, or hungry for bread, 
 Does he count the miles to a feast? 
 Or dally with time till his banquet is dead 
 And many the miles have increased? 
 
 Death came and took the light out of my heart, 
 
 And stood by my bedside for me. 
 
 I reached him my hands but he smiled and 
 
 passed on, 
 Death must be cruel some way. 
 
 Grief came and found me 
 
 And swathed her cloak round me 
 
 And bound me a mummy from head unto feet, 
 
 And trouble went double with sorrow 
 
 Today, and tomorrow, and yesterday. 
 
 Poverty laughed when I bolted my door, 
 
 Stood by the door outside 
 
 And laughed at my pitiful pride; 
 
 Peeped through the keyhole and laughed 
 
 Till he rattled the bones in his thin yellow skin. 
 
 Aye ; they all came — a clamorous crew — 
 Though each had been rover 
 Ten times the round of the round earth over, 
 But never, never came you. 
 
 56 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 If "distance is cruel" is true, 
 
 Then you who thus reasoned were cruelty's self, 
 
 And distance was kinder than you. 
 
 Out of the dimmers of distance 
 One came to the desert to me. 
 He kissed and caressed me and blessed me. 
 O, his kisses were warm on my face, — 
 My face was so cold. 
 
 Over my graves in the desert 
 
 He planted white blossoms of peace, 
 
 And peace was surcease. 
 My heart that was shriveled to die 
 Grew large with the largeness of loving 
 And the glory came back to the sky. 
 Distance was lost in the spaces of places that 
 
 make it, — 
 And distance, I take it, is only the sieving of time. 
 
 57 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 DEAD DAYS 
 
 Do dead days ever more return — 
 The ghosts of days, I mean, 
 
 When incense smokes and candles burn 
 With shrouded Love between? 
 
 And if they do, come thou again, 
 Touch palms with me, I pray, 
 
 And turn the whole world back to Then,- 
 Dear ghost of one dead day! 
 
 WHEN WILL MY SOUL GO? 
 
 O, when will my soul go — and where will it go? 
 
 And what is my soul when it goes? 
 Will it rise with the rain-clouds, and fall in the 
 rain, 
 And exhale from the heart of a rose? 
 Who knows? 
 
 58 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 WHEN THE ROSES GO 
 
 You tell me you love me, you bid me believe 
 That never such lover could mean to deceive. 
 You rave o'er my eyes, and my beautiful hair, 
 And swear to be true; — as they always swear. — 
 But the wrinkles will grow and the roses go, 
 And lovers are rovers oft, you know, — 
 When the roses go. 
 
 I have heard of a woman sweet and fair, 
 With lips of love, and shining hair, 
 And you pledged to her on your bended knee 
 The selfsame vows you make to me, 
 But the wrinkles will grow and the roses go. 
 How she learned that trouble comes, you know, — 
 When the roses go. 
 
 You hold my hand in your thrilling clasp, 
 And my heart grows weak in your subtle grasp, 
 Till I blush in the light of your tender eyes 
 And dream of a far-off paradise. 
 But the wrinkles will grow, and the roses go. 
 1 will answer you, love — my love — you know, — 
 When the roses go. 
 
 59 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 PEARLIE IS GONE AWAY 
 
 No papers, cut with the scissors, 
 
 Scattered over the floor; 
 No scampering feet on the stairway, 
 
 No finger-marks on the door. 
 How still and lonesome the house is, 
 
 The sunshine looks paler today, 
 And the wind round the corners is whispering: 
 
 "Pearlie is gone away." 
 
 There in the farthest corner 
 
 Is her "sailor-hat" on the floor, 
 Where she tossed it yesterday evening 
 
 As she bounded in at the door. 
 Somehow I couldn't take it 
 
 And put it away today, 
 And a plate of mud cakes in the cupboard, 
 
 I couldn't throw them away. 
 
 "Is she dead?" did you ask me? No, no! 
 
 Could I sit here so calmly then? — 
 Just gone on a visit. Some day 
 
 She will come to me again. 
 But the house is so still and so lonesome, 
 
 And the sun shines so coldly today, 
 And the wind round the corners keeps whis- 
 pering: 
 
 "Pearlie is gone away." 
 
 60 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 A PICTURE 
 
 A little maid, with sweet brown eyes 
 
 Upraised to mine in sad surprise ; 
 I held two tiny hands in mine, 
 
 I kissed the little maid farewell. 
 Her cheeks to deeper crimson flushed, 
 
 The sweet, shy glances downward fell ; 
 From rosy lips came — ah ! so low — 
 
 "I love you — do not go !" 
 
 I see it through the lapse of years — 
 This picture, oftimes blurred with tears. 
 No tiny hands in mine are held, 
 
 No sweet brown eyes my pulses wake- 
 Only in memory a voice 
 
 E'er bids me stay for love's sweet sake. 
 
 61 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 TWO MUST BE TWO 
 
 "They twain shall be one flesh," the Bible said; 
 The minister with solemn words pronounced us 
 
 one 
 That long-ago, sweet hour when we were wed ; 
 
 And I — I thought it had been done, — 
 
 I thought that we were one. 
 
 That he would hold my hand in his 
 
 All our life's journey through — 
 That we in deed and word and thought must be 
 
 Each to the other true; 
 Each to the other all that life desired 
 Of love or of companionship of sex or soul, 
 A unison of aim and hope and plan — 
 No other woman in the world for him, 
 
 For me no other man. 
 
 One day — a strange and cruel day — he stopped 
 
 And told me I must walk alone ; that two 
 
 Were never one, nor ever could be one. 
 
 And then I saw that near unto the path he trod 
 
 There was another pathway, parallel, but soon 
 
 Diverging. And it was not in the one 
 
 Wherein he stood that he placed me. 
 
 Far back along the way which we had come 
 
 I saw a woman's tracks, made step by step 
 
 In harmony with his; in sharp, swift agony I 
 
 knew 
 That they would go with his until the end, 
 And never weary him ; for they were Friendship's 
 
 tracks ; 
 And Friendship walked in freedom by his side. 
 In that cold, strange, new path, where he placed 
 
 me — 
 A burden lifted from his weary breast — 
 Were many heaps of slender bleaching bones. 
 
 62 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 The daylight fled; black night, without a star, 
 
 Came down and shrouded me. 
 I groped around, I tried to see, I tried to walk, 
 But only stumbled over those cold, slender bones. 
 Then all the souls of womanhood, that once 
 Had habited those slim white bones, came near 
 And tried to help me. But my feet were weak 
 And heavy from long uselessness. My eyes 
 Had learned to see but in Love's light, 
 And from its cradle-time Love had been taught 
 
 That in a woman's breast — 
 
 "They twain shall be one flesh;" 
 It never had been shown to walk alone, 
 
 It could not even think alone. 
 
 I sat down helpless where I was ; then all around 
 I heard a shiver like the quivering of reeds 
 Upon a river when the night-wind blows up 
 
 stream, 
 And from those heaps of bones there rose a cry, 
 So strong, so deep and thousand-voiced and long, 
 
 That all the darkness trembled. 
 In its slow, shivering wail, I heard these words : 
 
 "Why does the Holiest of Holies lie? 
 
 Twain cannot be one flesh; 
 
 Why is the sacredest of human ties 
 
 Bound with such red mockery of Truth? 
 Friendship hath only feet with which to climb — 
 Yet climbs to heaven. Love hath both feet and 
 
 wings, 
 But Falsehood's swaddling bandages have made 
 
 of her 
 So frail a thing that man must carry her, 
 
 Or set her down and let her die. 
 Go back and tell thy sister woman not to love 
 Till Love hath torn the bandage from her eyes 
 
 63 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 And learned the power of her wings, 
 And taught her feet to walk as free and proudly all 
 
 Life's way as Friendship walks. 
 Go, go thou back, and tell to whom thou findest 
 there 
 
 That twain are not one flesh — 
 
 That two shall not be one." 
 
 I heard and bowed my head, and wept in won- 
 derment, 
 And wondering, I died. 
 And there is one more heap of slim white bones 
 For some one else to stumble over when 
 To her, too suddenly, shall come the knowledge 
 that 
 Two must be two. 
 
 Yet my lone soul, unsatisfied, 
 Knows if there had been such another love as 
 
 mine, 
 And these had known and loved each other, 
 
 Two had been one by law of Nature's self. 
 There would no longer then have been the need 
 Of any far-off Heaven, and death had ceased — 
 Heaven would have come to dwell with them, 
 
 And they for very joy could not have died. 
 
 64 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 AN INWARD GLANCE 
 
 Like waves of tides that higher reached than 
 others went 
 To meet the fulling moon's impellant light, 
 And with their depth and force and purpose spent 
 Left only foam to brown upon the hight, — 
 So are my thoughts. 
 
 65 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 IN A VISION 
 
 Each was as fair as the other, 
 And both, as my life, were dear, 
 
 And the voices that lisped me "Mother," 
 Heaven's music to my ear. 
 
 One faded from life and mother, 
 
 And died in a winter dawn, 
 And I turned me away from the other 
 
 And wept for the child that was gone. 
 
 Then I lay in a wierd sleep vision, 
 Before me an earth dark scene, 
 
 And the land of the Sweet Elysian. — 
 And only a grave between. 
 
 One child soft called me "Mother"— 
 Out from the shining door — 
 
 And smiled and beckoned ; the other 
 Played by itself on the floor. 
 
 One's path, to my inward seeing, 
 Was light with a wondrous day; — 
 
 It led to the hights of Being, 
 And an angel showed the way. 
 
 The other lay where Marah's 
 
 Hot sands with snares are strewn, 
 
 Through many a darksome forest 
 And the way was roughly hewn. 
 
 66 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 A faith to my soul was given — 
 The wierd sleep vision o'er — 
 
 And I turned from the child in heaven 
 To the child that played on the floor. 
 
 67 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 CORONALS 
 
 1 twined you a wreath of the ivy vine, 
 You plucked me a red rose wet with dew — 
 
 You hold in your hand, and I hold in mine 
 Red rose ashes and bitter rue. 
 
 Fortune's wheel turned round and round, 
 And you went up and I went down. 
 
 The chaplet of bay that your brow entwined 
 You proudly wore ; — but I knew, I knew 
 
 That you held in your hand, as I held in mine, 
 Red rose ashes and bitter rue. 
 
 You brought me a gift from the Avalon shores, 
 I gave you the heart of a lily-blow; — 
 
 I hold in my hand, and you hold in yours, 
 A cypress wreath and ashes of snow. 
 
 Fortune's wheel turned round and round, 
 And I went up, and you went down. 
 
 Of the sentient draught that flattery pours 
 I have drained my meed — but you know, you 
 know, 
 
 That I hold in my hand, as you hold in yours, 
 A cypress wreath and ashes of snow. 
 
 68 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 INCONSISTENCE 
 
 She gave me once a blood red rose and kissed 
 My cheek. Contemptuously I met her touch 
 
 And dropped the flower as though a serpent 
 hissed 
 Among its leaves. I blamed her much 
 
 For some things which I knew ; nor thought that I 
 Could less that smile if she should die. 
 
 Today a wild flower white as snow I brought, 
 And laid it on her breast ; and then I thought 
 How mean it was to thrust a gift on her 
 Who could not hand, or lip, or eyelid stir, 
 To fling it back ; — and was it dew, — that clear 
 Drop quivering on the blossom, — or a tear? 
 
 69 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 BUT ONE LITTLE STOCKING 
 
 But one little stocking! There used to be two 
 Hung up for the Christmas treasures; 
 
 I dropped in a tear as I filled it anew — 
 Too sad are the Christmas pleasures. 
 
 O sainted, O sweet Mother Mary! 
 
 For motherhood's blessing and dearth, 
 Put a gift in the stocking in Heaven 
 
 And say it's from mother on earth. 
 
 70 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 MY SOUL AND I 
 
 What were you, soul, before that you were I? 
 Were you by death — some other form of death — 
 Unburdened from some other shape, in some — 
 Uncounted time (which I almost remember) 
 A co-existent quantity with atoms of the stars, 
 Or were you but a sigh of Nature's breath 
 And had to have embodiment to make 
 Death possible? 
 
 O, passion bounded, sorrow tossed 
 
 Poor Soul! 
 What have you gained or what have you lost 
 
 By wearing flesh's thrall? 
 Enough to pay the troublous cost 
 Of staying here — of coming here at all? 
 And if you were a soul and knew you were 
 
 Why hither journeyed you? 
 Was there not in vast space a place 
 
 More fitting for a soul? 
 
 Poor Soul, 
 If creeds are true, and you 
 Were fashioned by the Mighty Maker's hand, 
 In His own Image made, 
 A thing unsullied as the Maker's self — 
 White-winged with countless millioned happy 
 
 years 
 To sing His praises in, 
 
 Why came you here to mix identities with me? 
 To worry through the toil and moil of many years, 
 To wash yourself in tears 
 And die at last sore wounded, sullied, too, 
 Your white wings clipped, just for the slender 
 
 chance 
 Of getting back to where and what you were. 
 Poor Soul! 
 
 71 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 ACROSS THE GREAT DIVIDE 
 
 I never hear the night wind blow, 
 
 Or see a red rose pearled with dew, 
 
 Or hear a lark's song in the dawn 
 But that I think of you, — 
 Of you, hear heart, of you. 
 
 72 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 MY BROTHER 
 
 (Leonard Morris Hilyard) 
 
 Gone out into the darkness, and the night — 
 Gone, gone alone, forever into the unknown — 
 My Brother. 
 
 Long nights and nights he waited for the dawn, 
 And watched the sunlight glancing down the 
 
 hills, 
 Well-knowing he must go; but kept it closely in 
 
 his breast, 
 And hid his pain lest it should fright us that he 
 
 loved. 
 And then one day he smiled, and went away — 
 My Brother. 
 
 Say not that he is dead and lives not anywhere 
 
 That potent individuality, 
 
 Nor in some far-off other world awaits 
 
 The Everlasting, — all forgetting this. 
 
 No morning dawns, or sun goes down, or rain 
 
 or wind, 
 Or war of elements, or summer stillness comes, 
 But that I see his face — 
 My Brother. 
 
 O, there are hurts too deep for words. 
 
 And there are silent rooms in memory 
 
 Whose emptiness would break our hearts again 
 
 To venture in. 
 
 Rest unto thee, and peace, and blessedness, and 
 
 love ; Amen ! 
 There was no braver, kinglier-hearted man than 
 
 thou — 
 
 My Brother. 
 
 73 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 THE FAIRY OF THE HEIGHTS 
 
 She's the winsomest fairy, with bonnie brown 
 
 eyes 
 That twinkle so merrily, then look so wise. 
 Each hair of her head in the sunshine was 
 
 traced, 
 It's the vividest gold from her crown to her 
 
 waist — 
 Never troubled with tie strings of bonnet or hat. 
 And the speckled fawn looks from his browse in 
 
 the flat, 
 To wonder what manner of comrade is that 
 With a brown little hand reached to give him a 
 
 pat. 
 She is friends with the squirrels and birds, and 
 
 she knows 
 Where the shy rabbit hides, and the Christinas 
 
 tree grows. 
 
 She sits where the spring ripples over its brink, 
 And watches the bees and/ the butterflies drink. 
 She puts her ear close to the old redwood tree 
 To hear what it says to the wind from the sea ; 
 She could tell you its tale of a shepherd and 
 
 staff— 
 The redwood's four thousand, — she's nine and a 
 
 half. 
 She will point out the spot where the full moon 
 
 first spills 
 Its flood of pure silver to burnish the hills, 
 For she's friends with the squirrels and birds 
 
 and she knows 
 Where the shy rabbit hides and the Christmas 
 
 tree grows. 
 
 74 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 VALENTINE 
 
 All night at your heart's door my heart had stood, 
 But did not knock (you might have let me in, 
 
 And that, before the world's tribunal, would 
 Have been a sin). 
 
 From out the somewhere world of dreams, my 
 soul 
 Saw yours come back into its sleeping clay; 
 Then out into the new-born dawn, I stole 
 And went away. 
 
 It was a soul your waking eyes first saw, and so 
 How could you know ! 
 
 75 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 NOT ACCLIMATED 
 
 I hate you, Southland of the southern west, 
 I say I hate you ! All your hot brown breast 
 Is dried and shrivelled up. Your wide hot mouth 
 Breathes only scorching desolating drouth. 
 Your mountains toss their jagged peaks, and stop 
 Just short of majesty. Your rivers drop 
 Beneath the sands of their own beds, and seep 
 Through mud and roots and rotted things, and 
 
 creep 
 Like cowards to the sea. I say I hate you ! 
 
 76 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 QUESTION 
 
 Shall I, because you stabbed me in the back 
 
 And killed my friendship with a traitor's blow, 
 Shall I behind your armor strike, and show 
 Myself a traitor too, 
 To even things with you? 
 
 77 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 I HAVE NEVER, YOU THINK, A SERIOUS 
 THOUGHT 
 
 I have never, you think, a serious thought, 
 
 My friend — 
 Never a moment by sorrow taught 
 
 Its sympathy to lend. 
 Can you by the light of laughing eyes 
 See all there is in the heart that lies 
 
 Under a smile, my friend ? 
 
 Forever wrapped in their glittering shrouds 
 
 Of snow, 
 Are the mountain peaks that touch the clouds ; 
 
 But ah, my friend, you know 
 There are smoldering fires that never rest, 
 And earthquakes hid in the mountain's breast, 
 
 Under the cold, white snow. 
 
 UNANSWERED 
 
 O dear, dear, eyes, now shut to sight and sense, 
 White folded hands, at rest for evermore, 
 
 Can you not give me back one look from thence? 
 Nor open once, just once, that silent door? 
 
 If I could have one glimpse beyond it given, 
 To know you live, and love, and blame me not; 
 
 My mad, mad soul would give its hopes of heaven, 
 And die, and be forgot. 
 
 78 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 QUERY 
 
 It is so precious sweet to be a fool, 
 A pretty little petted simpleton, 
 And let the great big fellow you have won 
 Believe that he is captor, and his rule 
 Imperative, while round your finger tips 
 You wind him with a smile or pout of lips. 
 Who would be large and wise, and boastful rule, 
 When it's so "cute" to be a "little fool?" 
 
 79 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 THE RED WINDS BLOW 
 
 The red winds blew around the world. 
 
 The gaunt wolf rose, and sniffed, pricked forward 
 
 pointed ears; 
 The vulture sharped her beak; Death held his 
 
 breath ! 
 And dissonantly twanged the music of the 
 spheres. 
 
 The red winds blew. The nations stirred un- 
 easily, 
 
 As when a loitering zephyr ruffles summer leaves, 
 
 Then swift, and sudden as the gathered tempest 
 strikes, 
 
 Ten times a million men rushed at each other's 
 throats 
 
 And drenched the fair earth with each other's 
 blood. 
 
 Ten times a million Christian men, with songs 
 of home 
 
 Upon their tongues; each praying to the self- 
 same God 
 
 For strength to slay, and slay, and kill and kill 
 
 His brother men across the reeking trenches, till 
 
 No man was left to lift a hand opposing him. 
 For what? and how? and why? and why? 
 
 To claim a city by another claimed, mayhap? 
 
 To step across a line marked on a map? 
 
 For greed of place? For power to rule ^God's 
 unmarked seas? 
 Or this? or this? or that? or that? or these? 
 
 The tramp of armies shakes the smiling lands. 
 
 Such armies ! God of Hosts, till now, Thou hast 
 not seen. 
 
 80 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 Death rides before them with red dripping hands ; 
 The roar of breaking- worlds their bodeful coming 
 
 tells ; 
 The bare earth moans where grew sweet fields of 
 
 gold and green. 
 The carrion eater slinks close in their shadow's 
 
 hem, 
 And Famine, stark and hungry-eyed, stalks after 
 
 them. 
 
 The red winds blow. 
 
 Whose sons are these that sail the skies in winged 
 
 ships, 
 And hurl down from the blue of heaven, hot, 
 
 hideous death, 
 To break upon the lullabies of sleepy babes; 
 To burst amidst the fleeing multitudes, 
 Rend limbs from limbs, tear quivering flesh from 
 
 shrieking bones, 
 And in High Places thank God for the gruesome 
 
 crime ? 
 Whose sons are they that plant the seas with 
 
 death? 
 Foul, awful death; that lies in wait for human 
 
 prey, 
 Laughs when the lordly dreadnought glides too 
 
 near 
 (Itself in search of other human prey), 
 And springs annihilation in a breath ! 
 Leaving, of all the splendid armament's defense, 
 But streaks of crimson scum upon the broadening 
 
 waves. 
 
 The red winds blow. 
 
 81 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 Whose sons are they, made in Thy image, Thou, 
 
 O God! 
 Not Thine? Not brothers of Thy Son, Whose 
 
 way 
 Was gentleness; Whose touch was benediction. 
 
 Nay; 
 
 Not Thine, not Thine! 
 Nor thine, thou carnate devil, watching from 
 
 thy hell, 
 The hell that out-hells thine ! In thy unholiest 
 
 dreams 
 Thou could'st not have devised the 'cursed 
 
 schemes 
 For human woes, and horrors, these have done. 
 Thou art outstripped in cunning — out of date — 
 Too old of fashion. Slip back in thy spuny hell, 
 They are not thine. 
 
 Down through the ages they have come; 
 Red souls of war, obsessioning the earth, — 
 They were the miscreated sons of her who sat 
 Upon the seven-headed scarlet colored beast 
 Which sat upon the waters of the Seven Seas. 
 To whom the kings of earth came craftily, 
 And drank abomination from her gilded cup. 
 Her smile preceded Babylon, 
 And on her brow was written "Mystery." 
 The red winds blow. 
 
 82 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 And Thou, O gentlest Peace, in what far guarded 
 
 place 
 Dost hide and hide the pity of thy face? 
 Let loose thy snow-winged dove, to rise 
 And fly across the seething blood-mad world. 
 To flutter over fields where that dread Silence is ! 
 To light on upturned faces blearing at the skies 
 And curiously peck at dead men's eyes. 
 The red winds blow. 
 
 83 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 A PEACE CONFERENCE 
 
 Once the great white bear of Russia, 
 
 Close beside his polar seas, 
 Called the beasts and birds to counsel 
 
 That the beasts and birds would please 
 Cease to war upon each other; 
 
 Appetite for blood should cease, 
 And all sovereignty be given 
 
 To the sweet, white dove of Peace. 
 
 The great bald eagle from his aerie 
 
 On the mighty Rockies' crest, 
 Lauded peace while he was preening 
 
 Blood of battle from his breast. 
 
 Royally the Albion lion 
 
 Licked and licked his velvet paws, 
 Roaring Peace to Afric jungles 
 
 With blood and feathers on his claws. 
 
 Came the great black-breasted eagle 
 Swooping from the Baltic's shore. 
 
 Bait for fish in Orient waters 
 In his peaceful talons bore. 
 
 Then the great white bear of Russia 
 Asked all beaks and claws to sheath; 
 
 Asked, and smiled, and showed in smiling, 
 His own cub's blood upon his teeth. 
 
 Far away upon her desert 
 
 In her solitude enthroned, 
 Peace sat desolate and weeping — 
 
 And her white dove moaned and moaned. 
 Slowly, through the hot sun toiling, 
 
 An aged worm with ways infirm, 
 Stopped its homeward crawl to listen; 
 
 And the white dove ate the worm. 
 
 84 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 INTUITION 
 
 I kissed her eyes and cheeks, and then 
 I told her I would come again. 
 I told her I would come, and then 
 I kissed her eyes and cheeks again. 
 
 Coat falsehood over thick with wit, 
 Wrap reasoning round it — yards of it — 
 And there are eyes will pierce it through 
 And smile your falsehood back at you. 
 
 I fancy she was one of these, 
 For though I swore by shores and seas, — 
 Aye ; though my vows in heaven I booked- 
 She looked at me — just looked and looked. 
 
 Some minds toil hard, up-hill and far 
 To find the truth, but some there 
 Who feel the truth within them grow 
 And know, — not knowing how they know. 
 
 85 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 She was not born a babe, to suckle strength; 
 
 A woman, gazing down her land's broad length, 
 
 Stepped from the pines out on the fall-brown grass;- 
 
 The grizzly bear stood bad? to let her pass. 
 
 And Fremont's cannon thundered wide and far, 
 
 Old Glory s azure had another star. 
 
 86 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poernj3 
 
 THE OPENING OF THE CALIFORNIA 
 POPPIES 
 
 To the West, and below where the snow summit 
 
 looms, 
 Stood an army of pike-pointed lances of green, 
 So slenderly fashioned they scarce could be seen. 
 How could they, such lilliput lances of green? 
 The plains and the foothills were spotted all over 
 With pieds of blue camas, and tall lupin plumes 
 In reaches of purple ; 
 And blushes of bloom of the clover. 
 And smelled sweet as bee-bread. 
 But the meadow lark laughed in his ripple of tune, 
 The meadow lark knew what would happen at 
 
 noon. 
 There were stamens of gold and petals of flame 
 Wrapped up in each green little conical cap, 
 That slowly slipped up, and slipped up, till it came 
 Off at the top with a snap ! 
 
 And the petals unrolled, flame, orange, and gold, 
 And airily, fairily, swung on the stem, 
 Till the land was afire with the color of them. 
 
 87 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 THE GOLDEN GATE 
 
 Down by the side of the Golden Gate 
 
 The city stands; 
 Grimly, and solemn, and silent, wait 
 
 The walls of land 
 Guarding its door, as a treasure fond; 
 And none may pass to the sea beyond, 
 But they who trust to the king of fate, 
 
 And pass through the Golden Gate. 
 The ships go out through its narrow door, 
 White-sailed, and laden with precious store — 
 White-sailed, and laden with precious freight, 
 The ships come back through the Golden Gate. 
 The sun comes up o'er the Eastern crest, 
 The sun goes down in the golden West, 
 And the East is West, and the West is East, 
 And the sun from his toil of day released, 
 
 Shines back through the Golden Gate. 
 
 Down by the side of the Golden Gate — 
 
 The door of life, — 
 Are resting our cities, sea-embowered, 
 White-walled, and templed, and marble-towered — 
 
 The end of strife. 
 The ships have sailed from the silent walls, 
 And over their sailing the darkness falls. 
 O, the sea is so dark, and so deep, and wide ! 
 Will the ships come back from the further side? 
 "Nay; but there is no further side," 
 A voice is whispering across the tide, — 
 "Time, itself, is a circle vast, 
 Building the future out of the past,' 
 For the new is old, and the old is new, 
 And the true is false, and the false is true, 
 And the West is East, and the East is West, 
 And the sun that rose o'er the Eastern crest, 
 Gone down in the West of his circling track 
 Forever, and ever, is shining back 
 
 Through the Golden Gate of life." 
 
 88 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 O soul ! thy city is standing down 
 
 By its Golden Gate; 
 Over it hangs the menacing frown 
 
 Of the king of fate. 
 The sea of knowledge so near its door, 
 Is rolling away to the further shore — 
 
 The Orient side, — 
 And the ocean is dark, and £eep, and wide! 
 But thy harbor, O Soul ! is filled with sails, 
 Freighted with messages, wonder tales, 
 From the lands that swing in the sapphire sky. 
 Where the gardens of God in the ether lie. 
 If only thy blinded eyes could see, 
 If only thy deaf-mute heart could hear, 
 The ocean of knowledge is open to thee, 
 And its Golden Gate is near! 
 For the dead are the living, — the living the dead, 
 And out of the darkness the light is shed; 
 And the East is West, and the West is East, 
 And the sun from his toil of day released, 
 
 Shines back through the Golden Gate. 
 
 89 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 TO CLARA SHORTRIDGE FOLTZ 
 
 From out the ranks of them that toil 
 Thy hand has carved its upward way, 
 
 Nor stooped its God-given trust to soil, 
 Nor dreamed in weariness to stay. 
 
 If faltered e'er that heart of thine, 
 
 It ached, but gave the world no sign. 
 
 Thy voice has argued in debate, — 
 
 In scathing satire sharply fell ; 
 In forum and in hall of state 
 
 Held listening thousands with its spell. 
 Then dropped its tones to softest keep 
 And crooning sang a babe to sleep. 
 
 True as the ship is to its port, 
 
 Thy heart — on seas of sun or foam — 
 
 Wrought out its masonry in Court, 
 But built its tower at home. 
 
 And when the gold upon thy head 
 Shall change to age's colder gray, 
 
 The little hands that thou hast led 
 
 Will lead thee down life's slanting way. 
 
 The path is long since over-grown 
 
 With flowers of love that thou hast sown. 
 
 Then Hail thee! priestess of the law — 
 Our fair-browed Portia of the West. 
 
 Write on thy shield : "I came, I saw, 
 
 I conquered." Thou hast earned the crest. 
 
 Nay; more, it seemed the gods to thee 
 
 Had given the Sakhral's mystery. 
 
 And thou hast proved that woman can — 
 Who has the grace, and strength, and will — 
 
 Work in the wider field of man 
 And be a glorious woman, still. 
 
 90 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 MOUNT WHITNEY 
 
 Stern sentinel of Pacific's broad embrace 
 
 Thou standest drear and lone; 
 The sun's first glance falls on thy snowy face, 
 
 Thou hear'st the ocean's moan. 
 With foreheads bared the hills enclose thee round ; 
 
 Winds woo thee o'er in storm and zephyr sweet, 
 And summer, with her girdle loosely bound 
 
 Like some fair Ruth, lies blushing at they feet. 
 No bird on thy bleak summit seeks its rest; 
 
 No flower e'er blossoms on thy chilling breast. 
 The nations rise, and die, and rise again, 
 
 And still thou standest lone, and drear, and cold, 
 Immovable, unchangeable as when 
 
 The first-born century above thee rolled. 
 Thy vigil keep, O Mount, till on the brink 
 Of Chaos Time shall break his flight. 
 Wrapped in thy solitary grandeur sink 
 
 Like lost Atlantis, in thy might. 
 
 91 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 WELCOMING THE G. A. R. TO 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 Run up the flag to its highest height 
 
 And proudly let it wave 
 Upon the sunset's wall of light 
 
 To greet the true and brave. 
 
 There is never a stripe on its crinkling folds 
 
 Nor a star its field to gem 
 With the vaunted glory victory holds, 
 
 But owes its place to them. 
 
 Bring out again the unlimbered guns, 
 
 And sound the bugle call ; 
 With roll of drums and martial pride 
 
 Salute them comrades all. 
 
 Ah ! They have another welcome heard, 
 
 And another scene have they ; 
 Their flags are battle-dimmed and torn, 
 
 Their guns had fiercer play. 
 
 There are empty sleeves, and stumping limbs, 
 There are wounds that never sleep ; 
 
 And the memories of lonesome graves 
 Where nightshade blossoms weep. 
 
 Oh, many a soldier's cheek will pale 
 Whose heart ne'er beat with fear; 
 
 Oh, many a comrade is "marking time," 
 Who cannot answer "Here!" 
 
 92 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 And day on day of the flying years, 
 In the ranks grow wider gaps 
 
 As down the lines in the camp of life 
 Old Death is sounding "Taps." 
 
 Run up the flag to its highest height, 
 
 And proudly let it wave, 
 Upon the sunset's wall of light 
 
 To greet the true and brave. 
 
 93 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO* 
 
 Upon her thrice seven smiling hills she stood, 
 
 Beloved of her patron guide, the good 
 
 St. Francis; with pomp and power and pleasure 
 
 rife. 
 Richer than Tyre and Sidon was her broad estate, 
 Fair as Mohamet's dream of after-life; — 
 Secure, behind her battlemented Golden Gate. 
 And Dawn slipped down and blessed the sleeping- 
 world. 
 But that unwonted silence, everywhere ! 
 No twitter of a bird in matinal was there, 
 The dog cowered whimpering at his master's 
 
 door; 
 The fishes swimming seaward from the shore. 
 Then suddenly awakened, all uphurled 
 Were tower, and dome, and splendid palace wall ; 
 The sick earth reeled and shrank; shock followed 
 
 shock 
 Till splintered timbers, dust and tumbling rock 
 Piled the great city's crumpling streets, and all 
 Her mighty architecture swayed and groaned 
 With crunch of wrenching beams, and screak and 
 
 screech 
 Of twisted steel. And pallid faces, blank of 
 
 speech, 
 Turned helpless to the awesome reddening sky. 
 From nowhere unto nowhere rumbling moaned 
 The earthquake's passing sigh. 
 
 94 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 "Is this the end? This — this our final lot?" 
 Men looked into each other's eyes and answered 
 
 not. 
 And then above the tumult rose a doom more 
 
 dread; 
 A thousand sheets of flame leaped up as one ; — 
 The demons from the under earth had spread 
 Their holocaust to greet the rising sun. 
 And upward from its terror, and despair, 
 The smoke of Sacrifice pulsed in the smitten air, 
 Devouring, roaring, miles of blazing death ; — 
 A kingdom devastated in a breath. 
 All day the Queen of Evil laughed, and urged 
 Her fire sons to fiercer rage; all day, all night, 
 That billowing wall of fire swirled and surged, 
 And lit far other places with its lurid light. 
 Men fought it back as gods might fight with 
 
 Titan foes, 
 Fought hand to hand, fought face to face, and 
 
 fell 
 Unconquered, lying where they fell. And none 
 
 may tell 
 The heroisms of that time, — and for no man 
 
 knows. 
 
 * In the great earthquake and fire of April, 1906. 
 
 95 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 A LEGEND OF SUTRO HEIGHTS 
 
 Once when the world was new, 
 
 Once in its dawns and springs, 
 When the waters a language knew, 
 
 And the hills were living things, 
 The Mount that is Tamalpais 
 
 And this terrace-bordered Hight, 
 Stood side by side in the wall of land 
 
 Which held the seas aright. 
 
 And the Mount and the Hight were lovers, 
 
 In love with the sea were they, — 
 In love with the syren Ocean 
 
 Whose beauty before them lay; 
 Her emerald gown was broidered 
 
 With lace the mermaids spun, 
 And her tawny bosom glittered 
 
 With the diamonds of the sun. 
 
 They gazed on the matchless vista — 
 On the wide-out-sweeping zone 
 
 Of amber-dappled Ocean, 
 
 And they claimed her each his own. 
 
 A quarrel grew between them, 
 And the contest rose and raged 
 
 Till the universe was shaken 
 
 With the jealous war they waged . 
 
 All vain the angered Ocean 
 
 Invoked each nymph and gnome, 
 
 And beat her breast against them, 
 And flung her arms of foam. 
 
 96 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 The sun and the moon drew backward 
 And hid in their clouded light, 
 
 And the pale stars fled affrighted 
 Back into the aisles of night. 
 
 Then the king of the hills and the waters 
 
 Arose in his wrathful might, 
 And kindled his red death-furnace 
 
 Under the Mount, and the Hight — 
 The sea-waves stop and tremble, 
 
 The hills like waves careen — 
 And the wall was rent asunder, 
 
 And the Ocean rushed between. 
 
 The king of the hills and the waters 
 
 Still stood in his wrathful might, 
 And he hurled his curse prophetic 
 
 On the riven Mount and Hight: 
 "Ye shall stand thus widely parted 
 
 While the sea-waves wash the shore, 
 And hear the ocean moaning 
 
 For ever, ever more; 
 And thou, rebellious Mountain, 
 
 Be a barren waste and dumb 
 Till the world shall bring you ransom, 
 
 Till the East to the West shall come." 
 
 The circling years whirled onward, 
 
 The birds forgot to sing 
 On the barren, nameless summit 
 
 Under the ban of the king. 
 
 97 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 One day from the dust and tumult, 
 
 From the cares, and frets and ills, 
 Where standeth the busy city 
 
 On its ocean-dented hills, 
 Came one and stood on the Mountain — 
 
 On the Mountain cursed of fate. 
 He looked on the broad Pacific, 
 
 On the narrow-bounded strait; 
 He saw old Tamalpais, 
 
 Black-browed as the frown of hate; 
 He saw the ships of the nations 
 
 Come into the Golden Gate. 
 
 And the humbled soul of the Mountain 
 Crept into the soul of the man, 
 
 Swift in his brain evolving 
 The lines of a mighty plan. 
 
 He wove him a wondrous vision ; 
 
 Of the desolate land he made 
 A flower-wreathed dome of beauty, — 
 
 A sylvan perfumed shade. 
 
 He planted the snow pale flowers 
 And the blooms of tropic dye, 
 
 And a giant redwood forest 
 
 Held its arms up toward the sky. 
 
 The rare and the quaint and the curious 
 Of the world he hither brought, 
 
 And the wonder-shapes in sculpture 
 Which the master hands had wrought. 
 
 98 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 And he builded here a temple 
 
 To the muses Time has sung, 
 Full-stored with the hoarded volumes 
 
 Of many a clime and tongue, 
 Where the scholar's hand might gather 
 
 From the past its fading gleams, 
 And the poet's fancy fashion 
 
 The thought in his realm of dreams. 
 
 And his templed palace garden, 
 With a royal generous hand, 
 
 He gave — a gift — to the people 
 Of the Golden Western land. 
 
 From the ocean's lambent splendor, 
 From his vision-bowered strand, 
 
 He turned to the rock-ribbed summit 
 And the glaring dunes of sand. 
 
 He had forced the earth to open 
 
 Her secret treasure door — 
 And back to the earth he yielded 
 
 Her gold thrice doubled o'er. 
 
 The jagged rocks are shapen, 
 
 To curious curving walls, 
 To granite carven stairways 
 
 And terrace-circled halls. 
 
 And curve in curve encloses 
 Long flower embroidered lines, 
 
 Where mythic gods and graces 
 Dream under palms and pines ; 
 
 99 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 Where the ministers of winter 
 
 Sleep in acacian bowers, 
 Drugged with the breath of incense 
 
 From purple-throated flowers. 
 
 The west wind whispers, whispers, 
 
 Its story in the nights, 
 And the Ocean chants her anthem 
 
 At the foot of Sutro Hights. 
 
 The humbled soul of the Mountain 
 Liveth no longer dumb — 
 
 The world has brought its ransome, 
 The East to the West has come. 
 
 100 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 HELEN HUNT JACKSON 
 
 Proud California! Bend thy head, 
 
 And measure, reverently, thy tread; 
 
 And plant thy tallest pine to wave 
 Above the gentle stranger's grave. 
 
 ******* 
 
 A rose dropped down into the sea, 
 
 And drowned ; — 
 But every wave that washed a lea, 
 
 Or swept the ocean round, 
 Came back and brought upon its crest 
 A sweetness from the rose's breast. 
 
 A song bird on the summit crown 
 
 Of self-denied, 
 Fell slowly fluttering, fluttering down, 
 
 And died; — 
 But all the hills and valleys rang 
 With music of the songs it sang. 
 
 A woman's soul has crossed the size 
 
 Of mortal sight — 
 A woman's hands, a woman's eyes 
 
 Are closed in night; — 
 But all along the way she came 
 Are springing blessings on her name. 
 
 O rose ! O bird ! O woman's heart ! 
 
 Dead heart — dead flower — and silent bird,- 
 Ye gave us but the fainter part 
 
 ■Of songs ye heard: 
 The solemn nights have sung to thee, — 
 The trees, and winds and moaning sea; 
 The mighty silences of space 
 Closed round and taught thee face to face ! 
 No land may claim thee to enshrine, 
 Thou art the world's — the world was thine. 
 
 101 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 IN THE FOOTHILLS OF THE SIERRAS 
 
 The pine trees nod to the oaks below, 
 
 The wild oats bend to the cliffs of snow; 
 
 Noonday's shimmering, gauzy glow 
 
 On all the hills is lying — 
 
 And the manzanita berries grow 
 
 Red in its gorgeous dyeing. 
 
 The wood-dove answers the plaintive call 
 
 From the nest that is hid in the chemesal, 
 
 And the wanton humming bird devours 
 
 His feast from the bulky milk-weed flowers. 
 
 Threads of cobwebs, glistening gray, 
 
 Spun on the wheels of the summer's day, 
 
 Glimmering go — and glimmering stay — 
 
 A place to dream one's life away. 
 
 And the saucy stream goes tumbling down 
 
 To water the flowers in a valley town. 
 
 102 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 THE WHEAT OF SAN JOAQUIN 
 
 A thousand rustling yellow miles of wheat, 
 
 Gold-ripened in the sun, in one 
 
 Vast fenceless field. The hot June pours its flood 
 
 Of flaming splendor down, and burns 
 
 The field into such yellowness that it 
 
 Is gold of Nature's alchemy; and all 
 
 The mighty length and breadth of valley glows 
 
 With ripeness. 
 
 Then a rolling of machinery, 
 And tramp of horse and scream of steam 
 And swishing sighs of falling grain, 
 And sweaty brows of men; and then — ■ 
 The Samson of the valleys lieth shorn. 
 
 103 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 THANKSGIVING AT MONTARA 
 
 Thanksgiving dawn God's secrets told 
 In misty lines of pink and gold 
 
 Upon your hills, Montara. 
 The lark, while yet the dawn was dim, 
 Sang joyously her praise to Him. 
 Sweet peas that climbed the windy wall 
 Shook down their fragrance unto all. 
 Wee wild things felt the shadows pass, 
 And heard the growing of the grass. 
 And lo ! Thanksgiving left, that night, 
 The afterglow of God's own light 
 
 Upon your hills, Montara. 
 
 104 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 THEY ALL ARE KIN TO YOU 
 
 (Ina Coolbrith) 
 
 The twilight, and the dawn, 
 
 Sunrise and set of sun — 
 The summer's golden hush, 
 
 All seasons — all in one — 
 Belong to you. 
 
 The rose her secret whispers you 
 
 The poppy's dreams, you know, 
 
 To you, the mystery of the seas 
 
 The West winds blow, and blow, — 
 They all are kin to you. 
 
 And that is why you sit alone 
 Just at the great sea's door, 
 And watch, and watch the tides come in, 
 And watch, and watch the tides go out — 
 And the white ships ever more, — 
 They all are kin to you. 
 
 105 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 AT SAN DIEGO 
 
 Here first on California's soil, 
 
 Cabrillo walked the lonesome sands; 
 
 Here first the Christian standard rose 
 Upon the sea-washed Western lands, 
 
 And Junipero Serra first 
 Laid loving hands. 
 
 What saw they here, that venturous band, 
 To bless or touch with loving hand? 
 Or bid them pause, or dream to stay 
 Around this silent, sleeping bay? 
 
 An acreage of many miles, 
 
 Vast miles of sun-burnt naked space, 
 Red, brown, and bare, and baked as tiles ; 
 
 Whose surface lay unchanged of face 
 As it had lain, the hills among, 
 Since first Creation's psalm was sung; 
 Whose people watched the squirrels play, 
 And cared not any more than they. 
 
 Not these alone, the fathers saw 
 
 Not these made hardships doubly sweet — 
 He never sees his arrow's flight 
 
 Who is always looking at his feet; — 
 Those holy fathers, wiser they, 
 
 They marked the broad expanse of plains, 
 And mountains gushing crystal life 
 
 Enough to fill its thirsting veins ; — 
 They saw, far off, the mingled weft 
 
 Of colors wrought from out the soil, 
 When Nature rounds upon her loom 
 
 The laborer's legacy of toil. 
 
 106 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 They served, and toiled, and built, and 
 But ever saw a promised land; [planned, 
 And heard its slowly rising swells 
 Ring joyous from their mission bells. 
 
 And decades passed, and fifty years, 
 
 A century was born and died; 
 A nation struggled into birth, 
 
 And rose to midday of its pride. 
 And freedom's war-wet staff was set 
 
 Beside that one of love and peace ; 
 And suns of noons, and midnight moons, 
 
 Unwove and wove time's ageless fleece. 
 Time crept by the mission bells, 
 
 And back, and tied their tongues with rust ; 
 And touched the eye-lids of the priest, 
 
 And garmented his bones with dust. 
 
 The glory of the mission passed, 
 Its gloom its glory overcast. 
 Within its corners, shadow-walled, 
 The bats made nest ; the lizard crawled 
 Upon the sunny side to sit, 
 With soulless eyes, and laugh at it. 
 
 But smile not ye with scornful lips, 
 
 Nor croak a prophecy of this ; 
 There's nothing lost that's lost, and naught 
 
 That once has lived, has lived amiss. 
 Nay, smile not ye, nor count that false 
 
 Which failed in promises it gave ; 
 For gold is gold, though it go down 
 
 A thousand fathoms in the wave; 
 And brighter-hued the blossom is 
 
 That blooms upon a grave. 
 
 107 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 In silence sleeps the land no more, 
 Its treasury of wealth is found ; 
 
 And all its curving seagirt shore 
 With queenly cities crowned; 
 
 While through its gateway come and go 
 The sails of suns and sails of snow. 
 
 Progress to this old new West 
 
 Has turned her face and set her seal ; 
 Has bound the waters, broke the hills, 
 
 And shod the desert sands with steel. 
 O land of sun, — hot, splendid sun! — 
 
 Of sea-cool winds, and Southern moons!- 
 Of days of calm, and nights of balm, 
 
 And languorous, dreamy noons. 
 No seer hath need to tell for thee, 
 
 Thy daring and thy destiny. 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 THE LAST PRIESTESS OF THE SUN 
 
 Backward-gazing on her ruined temple 
 
 The Priestess stands, 
 Fierce, and wondering, and sullen, gazes 
 On the desecration of the spoilers' hands. 
 Dead are the fires upon your altar, maiden, 
 Despoiled of all its richess is your shrine; 
 Your sacred sacrificial vessel gives you 
 
 No answering sign. 
 And palms will grow upon your temple 
 
 And still the sun will shine. [border, 
 
 THE BUILDERS 
 
 Ye builders coming late unto the Aztec's Sea — 
 Unto the sun-land Southwest of the West, 
 
 Hail to you, hail ! Your temples solemnized today 
 Disturb no dead world's rest. 
 
 Thrice hail to you ! Ye builders by the Aztec's Sea ; 
 Twin fold the blessings of your work in stone and 
 
 wood, — 
 Who helps to make the world more beautiful 
 Helps God to make it good. 
 
 109 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 THE NATIVE DAUGHTERS OF THE 
 GOLDEN WEST. 
 
 When California wrought her royal crown of 
 
 gold— 
 The perfectness where in her own proud fame 
 
 should rest — 
 She took the foot-prints of the pioneers, 
 She took the sound of battle, and the strength 
 Of manhood measured by the long-drawn length 
 Misfortune stretched for them across the 
 
 years. 
 She took the whispering sighs of pines that 
 
 shake 
 Their needles down on graves lost in the wake 
 Of time. She took the heart-sick patience and 
 
 the tears 
 Of women waiting, waiting, waiting, for their 
 
 loved 
 Who came not back. And then, the sacredness 
 And permanency of her state-hood laid 
 Upon this shrine of sacred things. Of these she 
 
 made 
 Her crown; and wrote around its shining 
 
 crest: 
 "My Native Daughter of the Golden West." 
 
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The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 WONDERFUL, MYSTERIOUS MEXICO 
 
 Builded on the ruins of dead thrones 
 
 Whose temple walls were old when Thebes 
 was new; 
 
 On altars whose weird sacrificial stones 
 
 With ghastly offerings were crimsoned through. 
 
 Oblivion hides and holds thy secrets fast — 
 
 The dust of ages lies upon thy past, 
 All wonderful, mysterious Mexico. 
 
 The conquerors came knocking at thy peaceful 
 door 
 And met thy outstretched hands with sword 
 and flame; 
 With broken gods bestrewed thy altar floor, 
 
 And slew thee in Christ's loving, gentle name. 
 But thy bold eagle clutched a serpent in the 
 
 slipping sand, 
 And bore it writhing o'er his blood-swept land, 
 All wonderful, mysterious Mexico. 
 
 Thou land of shrines and crosses, legends, yester- 
 days ; 
 From tropic splendor to eternal snow, 
 Thy purple mountains rim such unfound ways 
 Of wealth, the greedy world turns hither to thy 
 slow 
 Awakening; to lay swift hands upon the treasured 
 worth 
 Thy solemn hills and hotland jungles hold — 
 Why, thou couldst change the commerce of the 
 earth, 
 And fill the coffers of the world with gold ; 
 Thou wonderful, awakening Mexico. 
 
 Ill 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 ALASKA'S WOMAN 
 
 (Mrs. Mary E. Hart) 
 
 Don't you hear the icy winter calling you? 
 The far voice of your fierce snow-blinding solemn 
 
 North ? 
 Your midnight sun turns one dim edge above 
 
 the snow. 
 
 At Kotzebue it's "54 below." 
 
 The mighty Yukon's roaring protest shakes the 
 
 crouching hills, 
 In vain attempts to burst the icy barrier closing 
 
 down 
 Upon its breast. Aurora Borealis shoots across 
 
 the sky 
 Red searchlights of her miracle, 
 And all the heaven with flaming splendor fills. 
 
 The tundra crackles for your mucklucks'* tread. 
 Your parkaf hangs beseeching on your cabin 
 That far north cabin wall [wall, — 
 
 (A timber wolf housed with her young ones there 
 
 last fall). 
 Your huskies^ snap their teeth impatiently, 
 And lurch against the traces to be gone. 
 The sleety blizzard bellows forth its challenge, — 
 
 daring you to come. 
 
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The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 And still the sunland holds you. I am knocking 
 at your door; 
 
 The perfume of your flowers besets me as I knock. 
 
 You have grown indolent with too much shelter- 
 ing ease, 
 
 You could not hear the wild North call midst all 
 of these. 
 
 Your neighbor leans across the fence to speak 
 to me — ■ 
 
 "Left for Alaska more 'n a month ago?" — What? 
 you don't say! 
 
 Well that's quite like her. Thank you Mrs. 
 
 er-er-'much obliged. Good-day. 
 
 * Fur boots with tops of knee or thigh length. 
 
 t A hooded fur shirt, — an Alaskan outer garment 
 reaching to the knees, worn by men, women and 
 children. 
 
 X A breed of native Alaskan dogs. 
 
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The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 What know you of my Souls inherent strife 
 By that calm faith — untried — which wells in thine- 
 
 How can you from the knowledge of your life, 
 Write out a creed for mine? 
 
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Songs That Have Been Set To Music 
 
The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 LOVE'S WAY 
 
 Love came to my window and tapped one day, 
 Touched hands and touched lips, and went flying 
 
 away ; — 
 For Love is like that alway, and alway — 
 Love is like that alway. 
 
 The world went all wintry, sad years passed, and 
 
 then 
 Love rested his wings at my window again; 
 1 clasped him, and held him so close to my heart 
 I thought he would never, could never, depart. 
 But Love slipped his light wings and went flying 
 
 away, 
 For Love is like that alway and alway — ■ 
 Love is like that alway. 
 
 Once more Love came smiling and whispering 
 
 to me, 
 But I said to him : "Love, pretty Love, don't 
 
 you see 
 The window is barred, dear, between you and 
 
 me?" 
 And Love folded his wings at my window to stay. 
 For Love is like that alway, and alway — 
 Love is like that alway. 
 
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The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 GOD BLESS YOU WHEREVER YOU ARE 
 
 The twilight was lonesome, — was eerie, 
 The heavens showed but one little star; 
 
 We parted in silence, my dearie, — 
 God bless you wherever you are. 
 
 Wherever your footsteps are straying, — 
 Anear me, or wandering afar, — 
 
 Remember I'm saying, I'm praying: 
 "God bless you ! wherever you are." 
 
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The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 THE DRYADS 
 
 O, I was a dryad, and you were a dryad, 
 
 In the long and long ago! 
 And so when the leaves in the wild-wood are 
 whispering, 
 
 And the trees wide shadows throw, 
 
 I can hear you calling me 
 
 In the way it used to be ; 
 
 And I know as we used to know, 
 When I was a dryad and you were a dryad 
 
 In the long and long ago. 
 
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The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 THE SIGN OF THE CROSS 
 
 "What will you give me?" I asked him — 
 
 My lover of long ago. 
 "What shall I keep to remember 
 
 That ever you loved me so?" 
 "Dearest one," softly he answered, 
 
 "We have sifted life's gold and its dross,- 
 That you may not forget how I loved you 
 
 I'll make you the sign of the Cross." 
 
 As light as the touch of the zephyr 
 
 That blows in the nights of the South, 
 With my face in his hands he kissed me 
 
 On forehead and eyes and mouth. 
 O, I might forget that he loved me, 
 
 Forget, too, the pain of my loss, 
 But deep in my heart, and forever, 
 
 Is burning his sign of the Cross. 
 
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The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 THAT DAY IN TEXAS 
 
 The gulf blew its gentlest breeze — 
 The whisperings of some far seas, 
 The sunshine flamed across the land, 
 I felt the warm clasp of your hand 
 And Oh, the light in your dar eyes 
 Was brighter than the sunlit skies, 
 Was brighter than the sunlit skies, 
 That day in Texas. 
 
 The years, the year, that are to be 
 May never more bring you to me, 
 And days will come, and days will go- 
 But ever when the South winds blow 
 And sunshine flames across the plain, 
 I'll hear your voice and live again — 
 I'll hear your voice and live again 
 That day in Texas. 
 
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The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 CANST THOU NOT HEAR ME 
 
 I failed thee in Love's dear respect 
 Too lightly held my plighted vow, 
 
 I broke thy heart with cold neglect, 
 And smiled on loves so less than thou. 
 I see thee again, 
 And my dream it is fair. 
 I see thee as then, 
 With a rose in thy hair, 
 Thou art so near me 
 Canst thou not hear me 
 Calling thee, calling calling thee- 
 Canst thou not hear my heart. 
 
 World-weary, and too late, I find 
 
 The world but gave a wanton's dole 
 
 And thou alone of womankind 
 
 Didst love me, love with thy soul . 
 I see thee again, 
 And my dream it is fair. 
 I see thee as then 
 With a rose in thy hair, 
 Thou art so near me 
 Canst thou not hear me 
 Calling thee, calling calling thee- 
 Canst thou not hear my heart. 
 
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The Lure of the Desert Land and Other Poems 
 
 JUST THIS ONE DAY 
 
 We drifted idly, you and I, 
 
 The world was fair, and blue the sky 
 
 Upon the dimpled, sunlit stream 
 
 We saw the water-lilies gleam. 
 
 No clasp of hands, no lovers' kiss, 
 
 Yet never was a day like this 
 
 One perfect day of earth and sky — 
 
 Just this one day, and you, and I. 
 
 122