mwrnmBuss reed M Class T^S^SSkT CDKlRIGHT DEPOSm SEA MOODS BY THE SAME AUTHOR English Lyrical Poetry, (Second printing) Lyra Yalensis, ( Out of print) IN PREPARATION Songs from the English Drama The English Poetical Miscellany SEA MOODS AND OTHER POEMS By EDWARD BLISS REED NEW HAVEN: YALE UNIVERSITY PRESS LONDON: HUMPHREY MILFORD * OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS MDCCCCXVII ^V"^ Copyright, 1917 By Yale University Press First published, October, 1917 Some of these verses which have appeared in the Forge, the Forum, the Independent and the Yale Review, are reprinted with the permission of the editors of these periodicals. SEP 24 1917 ©r,U473708 "It ^ i To M. B. R. CONTENTS PAGE Three Friends . . . . i Stars 3 The Wife . 4 Homesick 8 Frenchman's Bay lO Fragrance . 12 Wishes 14 Fog . i6 The Heritage i8 Sea Dreams 20 The Storm . 21 Romance 24 Recompense 26 Despair 28 Adventure . 29 Flowers 32 The Dawn . Z^ Prayer 38 Poplars 40 A Portrait . 42 The Silence • 43 vu Contents PAGE To Memory . . . . 44 War 46 To an Oxford Friend 48 Paul . 50 The Bird . 53 Cavalier Song 55 A Memory . 56 Fame 57 A Picture . 58 The Lecture 59 The Wood Road . 61 Rain . 63 September . 65 vni SEA MOODS THREE FRIENDS Fate and hard foes are prevailing? Friends leave you stricken? The three, When was their strength ever failing, The cliff, and the wind, and the sea ! Steep climbs the path — never shun it — Up where the hidden larks sing; There is rest on the cliff when you've won it, In the grass that is fragrant with ling. No cry from the gulls, dipping, calling; No voice from the boats far below; No sound from the waves, leaping, falling, To edge the sand crescent with snow. Here stilled is the scourging emotion, And hushed is the Memory's sigh In the limitless peace of the ocean. In the moors rolling up to the sky. Comes the wind ; with a shout he is chasing The crested waves — faster he flies. The fishing fleet homeward is racing. Cloud galleons speed down the skies. Three Friends Sheer the cliff ; but your dauntless desiring Through the high gates of Heaven shall climb. Your spirit, keen, quenchless, untiring, Shall pass the gray mere-stones of Time. Strong the wind; now the far sails are filling. Outstripping each bark shall you go Through fathomless seas where the thrilling Swift winds of the spirit shall blow. The baffled waves, ceaselessly ranging. Must find at the cliff their far goal; More resistless, onrushing, unchanging. Sweep the measureless tides of the soul. Man, are strong foes pressing near you? Seek out your friends — they are three. Are they not waiting to cheer you. The cliff, and the wind, and the sea ! STARS Across the harbor, up the mountain's base And down the curving shore, the far lights burn. By every gleam the hidden road I trace Through bend and turn. Due westward where the ridges dip and rise Are scattered farms, each one a glimmer- ing spark. The village lights seem clustering fireflies Lost In the dark. O'erhead In fields vast as eternity, Through the calm night celestial beacons glow. Speak, brooding Ocean; their bright mystery Do you not know ? Are they the lights of many a heavenly town Shining upon us through the streets of glass; Or do they mark the roads where up and down The spirits pass? THE WIFE The day was fair, the wind blew steadily. We raised the sails and headed straight to sea, Gay fugitives from that mad prison pen, The City; the new Moloch to whom men Offer themselves a living sacrifice. We had escaped. Sudden before our eyes Unrolled the wind-tossed carpet of the seas, The radiant fields of heaven shone. At ease, Sprawling upon the deck, we watched on high The lazy clouds, outstripped as we sped by; Laughed as the spray flew over us, and now Heard the waves singing round our eager prow. Like drowsy children, careless and content, We looked but questioned not what all this meant. Rousing us from this happy lethargy. Our artist called us to awake and see The ocean shadows drifting clouds had made. With half the waves in light, and half in shade. The Wife His pipe in hand, he praised the skill of one Whose brush could catch the waters, hold the sun. And fix the heavens in a gilded frame. Our poet spoke of one, assured of fame. Whose verse swayed with the rhythm of the tide And foam-peaked waves, and dipping gulls. He tried To sing a ballad he had lately made. From that we talked of music; how one played Until it seemed Nature herself had sent All earthly tones to his small instrument. At length we felt our day was incomplete. Old Adam rose within us — we must eat. Hot from the cabin, eagerly we took The feast prepared by our much-lauded cook; Well fed, untroubled, what more could life give? "Brothers," said one, "this is the way to live, Feasting on chowder, nature, verse, and art." "Here," said the skipper, "hand me up that chart. The Wife That sky looks angry. Luckily we planned To sail no further; now we'll make for land." We found upon the chart our little bay And all the reefs that barred our vessel's way. The wind blew sharply as we went about. "There's nasty weather coming, it's no doubt." As we drew near the harbor a small boat Came bounding towards us. In tarpaulin coat A fisher, all alone, stood at the wheel. *'Look," cried our skipper, "how would you folks feel To be there sailing five miles out to sea? And that's a woman; she's the kind for me. It's do or die, her children must be fed, And she must find the food, her man half- dead. In a rough sea like this, it takes a lot Of strength to pull in just one lobster pot; And then to hold your boat, in wind and rain. That's the best woman on the coast of Maine." And now her boat shot past us, and we all Raised a loud cheer, but if she heard our call, 6 The Wife She never turned, nor waved to us her hand. Against the darkening sky we saw her stand, Holding her course, drenched by the driving spray. We watched her till she faded far away. Abashed we stood, we who had played with life, Awed by the sudden glimpse of that lone wife; Like guilty men who silently confess. Stunned by the thought of our own littleness. HOMESICK Shipwrecked in 'this grimy town, the worst luck I have had; Soot and smoke to make you choke, and mills to drive you mad. Noise and din, and filth and sin — but I'm a sailor lad, And tomorrow I'll go sailing out to sea. "How are you, mate?" says I to one, and stretches out my hand. "Don't talk to me, I'm late," says he. It's hard to understand How people find the time to breathe in this forsaken land — But tomorrow I'll go sailing out to sea. Here the children always cry, the women always scold; A week in town has made me feel a hundred years grown old, Another week would have me buried under- neath the mould, So tomorrow I'll go sailing out to sea. Homesick Here in town you see no stars, so close the housetops meet; There isn't any wind — just dust comes blow- ing down the street; The smells, there's hundreds of them, they are anything but sweet. Oh ! tomorrow I'll be saiHng out to sea. "Live here," says one, "in all our mills big wages they will give." "Avast," says I, "I'd rather bail the ocean with a sieve; Don't talk to me of living when you don't know how to live." So tomorrow I'll be sailing out to sea. I'm glad I never married for there's no wife like my ship; Tomorrow on her deck again I'll feel her rise and dip, The clean, cold wind against my cheek, the salt spray on my lip. Oh ! tomorrow I'll be sailing out to sea. FRENCHMAN'S BAY Sudden and swift the mountains rise, Smiting the heavens free; Close at their heads are the sun-swept skies, And close at their feet — the sea. For the fleet waves race past the mountains' base ' To the calm of the pine-fringed bay; They come from the deeps where the tempest sweeps Round dim isles far away. Now the waves are black with the storm- wind's track, They are green as a mermaid's eyes. When faint stars shine they are crimson wine, They are wan when the daylight dies. On the rocks they moan in a sullen tone, Like wolves on the beach they leap. They ripple and sigh in a lullaby Charming a child to sleep. lO Frenchman's Bay In the loveless day when the skies are gray, The sea Is a widow old; Beneath the moon, she's a bride of June, Glowing in cloth of gold. But the peaks are unmoved by the plundering storm, Unthrllled by the moonlight's lure. What change can they know, what passion's glow. Those mountains strong and sure? Safe on the hill you may rest who will, But the waves weave a spell for me ; Where the tide runs high, where the shrill gulls cry, I follow the restless sea. II FRAGRANCE The woodsman loves the smell of pines, The mower In the sun Takes pleasure in the fragrant grass When the long swath is done. The ploughman strikes a precious jar Of ointment for his toil When all his furrowed field gives forth The clean smell of the^ soil. In May the apple orchards stand Pale priestesses In white; Each tree a laden censer bears, Fit for a queen's delight. Over the doorway of the house The honeysuckle clings. Its fragrance makes the little room Fit for the court of kings. But sweeter far than earth or grass. Than flower or blossomed tree. Are the odors that the South wind brings From the gardens of the sea. 12 Fragrance They tell of islands, starry skies, Of waves with crests of snow. Of leagues of shining waters where The great ships come and go. Pleasant the smell of new-mown hay, And sweet the flowering vine. But the odor that can stir the heart Is the keen scent of the brine. Cassia and aloes, nard and myrrh, Perfumes of Araby, I'd give them all for the winds that blow From the gardens of the sea. 13 WISHES Could I, with Joshua of old, Command the restless stars at will, Shout to the sun and bid it hold. We should be cruising still. On we should sail from reach to reach Nor care to skirt the wooded shore; Past island cliffs and sunny beach, Then out to sea once more. Through warmer oceans, faring south Where the green, shining islands stand, We'd sail up some strange river's mouth And anchor near the land. There birds of every sunset-hue Chatter and dart from tree to tree. Content, we'd watch the long day through Nature's gay pageantry. The call of trade, the factories drown All Nature's voices; here the din Of this drab, cheerless, selfish town Deadens the song within. 14 Wishes Give to me, then, for one brief day, The power to hold the sun at will On seas a thousand leagues away We shall be cruising still. 15 FOG All morn a driving rain swept down And blurred with mist the fishing town Skirting the wooded bay, Till the meadow grass bent with its silver load, New brooks dashed over the sodden road. And the tamarack tops turned gray. At noon the rain ceased. Then there came The fog — smoke of a sea aflame, The dead earth's shroud of white. It hid the wharf and the church on the hill, It covered the woods — and the birds were still. It blotted the harbor light. And all night long with a mournful clang The lighthouse bell in warning rang Lest the reef might seize a prey. And faintly, far through the mist inborne. Some laboring vessel's distant horn Sounded, then died away. i6 Fog By the harbor's edge, in that gray house there, An old man sits all night in his chair, For the mists on his mind have lain. He stirs at the sound of the tolling bell, His lips move — something he strives to tell. Then his head drops down again. Morn, and a warm earth born anew; All that the mists had wrapped from view Glows in revealing light. There are jewels hung from the pine tree's spill. All glittering white is the church on the hill. But the old man sits in night. ''Death, churl death," men have vainly prayed, "Let thy coming be long delayed." Mine is a better strain: ''Call me to rest when the heaven shines blue. Let me not live when my life is through And the mists have shrouded the brain." 17 THE HERITAGE From the drear North, a cold and cheerless land, Our fathers sprang. They drove no flocks to crop the tender grass, They gazed on lonely moor, on deep morass, And wintry skies whence, to their viking band. The raven sang. O'er flowerless lands the storm-tossed forests threw A gloomy pall. On treacherous seas they raised their plunder- ing sail. Fought with the waves, outrode the Northern gale. High overhead the startled sea gulls flew With clamoring call. They heard the breakers smite the quivering shore With thunder roll. No songs they sang to greet the Harvest wain In happy fields rich with the ripened grain'; i8 The Heritage Stern was their world, a sorrow stern they bore Deep in the soul. Through countless years, faint memories of their times Will oft awake. From waves and shifting sands, their resting place. The Norsemen send us, offspring of their race. Dimly remembered dreams, like minster chimes Heard o'er a lake. So come dark moments, when in this green land Norsemen are we; And crave the sorrow of the leafless wood. Or seek some barren dune's gray solitude To hear bleak winds go moaning down the sand. By the wild sea. 19 SEA DREAMS Sailor, sailor, why must you go Out past the rim of the sky? Charts have not told the quaint lands I behold From this gray rock where I lie. Hunter, hunter, what do you seek Climbing the mountain side? No game is there like, the wild thoughts I snare Watching the turn of the tide. Fisherman, fisherman, drag in your nets; Come from the perilous seas. My dream nets hold strange fish, blue and gold. Here where I lie at ease. Sailor and fisherman drift down the sky. Woods hide the hunter from me; So fisherman, hunter, and sailor am I, Playing with dreams by the sea. 20 THE STORM The sun sank In a sheer abyss of cloud, While long and loud, A prelude to the fight, the ocean roared. Beneath a pall of black The stealthy storm lay plotting Its at- tack. Then on the earth Its sudden wrath out- poured. After the driving rain Fierce rushed the hurricane. From roof-tree to the sill The cottage trembled when with desperate shout And brutal challenge, putting hope to rout, The pitiless wind charged wildly up the hill. The trees that dared resist uprooted lay A helpless prey; And one, the last of all his kingly race, A tall, broad-bodied oak. Fell shattered to the heart. The light- ning's stroke 21 The Storm Through a cleft side drove deep its deadly trace. With the next peal there came A sudden burst of flame: The barn, in blazing light, Crashed to the earth, then sputtered in the dark, A smouldering ruin, an abandoned mark, Shattered by the artillery of night. Within the home the children called in fear. They could not hear The words of comfort that the mother spoke. Waked from a faery dream They shook in terror at each startling gleam. Stunned by the bolt that felled their dear- loved oak. At this dark, evil hour Her voice lost its calm power To drive night-fears away, And hush the sobs, for still she must repeat "Sleep, rest and sleep, then soon your little feet Will dance with joy in the warm, peaceful day." 22 The Storm The winds swept past; the rain ceased; with the morn The earth, new-born, Glittered and sparkled. In a dazzling green Shone every hill and tree. And this day's miracle, far out at sea Lay wooded islands we had never seen. White cliffs, blue waves requite The terrors of the night. Forgotten, with the day, The crashing thunder and the lightning's glare. The birds are singing; happy children there Upon the fallen tree, shout as they play. 23 ROMANCE A wild rose grew by the ocean's edge, At the fringe of a grove of pine. She saw with joy from her sheltered ledge The vast sea glimmer and shine. She longed to float from her rocky bed To an isle in a southern sea For there she would glow a deeper red, More sweet would h'er fragrance be. She watched the white gulls swoop and poise, The gray sails fade from sight. ^'AlasI" she said, "must I lose their joys. The wanderer's delight?" But when eager winds sang loudly "Come," She trembled and paled with fear. Gladly she clung to her rocky home With the sheltering balsam near. One day, as she bent to the rocks below, A sea weed glistening there Said "Rose, poor rose, you can never know Love's power — yet you are fair. 24 Romance "Myself I gave to the swiftest wave Thrilled with life's ecstasy. He woo'd me and snatched me from ocean cave To carry me over the sea "Where the waves are warm and the sun Is bright ; Far south, In some coral bay, He will rock me and sing me to sleep at night, And dance with me all through the day. "He has left me here till he finds the track That leads where the south winds dwell. When the tide rolls In, he'll come leaping back And then, little rose, farewell." At night, when the wild rose bowed her head, She longed for a lover, too. She would give herself gladly to him, she said, Whenever he came to woo. She bent at morning to praise her friend Who greatly had dared love's deed; But beyond the rocks where the flood tides end Lay only a withered weed. 25 RECOMPENSE Where the green fir-tips meet the sapphire sky, A gull, cloud-white, Careless of earth, floats Insolently by In the warm light. Still, Imperturbable, It holds a course To lands unknown. And scornful of the south wind's gathering force It sails alone. Seeing unmoved the noon's exultant glow, The evening's grief. The wind-swept waves that crumble Into snow Upon the reef. The ships becalmed or scudding for the shore In wind and rain. Alluring Isles — all these It passes o'er In calm disdain. 26 Recompense Deep In the woods, the sea left far behind, I listen long, Searching In ambush, yet In vain, to find Who sings that song. I know those notes pure as the brooks that gush Down Alpine vale; Enchantress of the woods, the hermit-thrush, Our nightingale. Its world a forest bough; here In the shade It sings unseen The magic songs a yearning lover made To charm a queen. The ocean-wandering gull from all his quest Can nothing bring. You have the world within your throbbing breast. For you can sing. 27 DESPAIR As I came down the hillside To put to sea, I heard a girl a-singing — But not for me. As we sailed past the village, By that last pine A girl stood waving farewells — And none were mine. She stood there long a-watching Our vessel's track. But little is she hoping That I come back. My mates are singing, whistling. Half-dead I feel. I'm like a boat a-drifting With broken wheel. They hope for lucky fishing And some big haul. I once had luck past wishing — I've lost it all. 28 ADVENTURE I I loved my garden; in Its cloistered plot Blossomed the earliest daffodils of Spring. Hiding gray walls the roses climbed; each spot Breathed blessing; tender violets languish- ing Scattered faint incense. Honeysuckle sweet And fragrant grass — soft rest for tired feet — Enticed the care-worn soul. All that birds sing I knew, and with each note my heart would reach A tranquil joy beyond our mortal speech. One morn, across the distant, sheltering hill, Swift from the sea the eastern wind blew strong. The blackbird's note was hushed; as all grew still I heard far off that ancient, charmed song — 29 Adventure The ocean's call. The flowers I loved so well Trembled and died. Half freed from drowsy spell Of garden glamourie, I lingered long, Then opened wide the gate and out did pass — The red rose strewed its petals down the grass. Through the rich meadows, past the moors I went. (The song of birds came faintly down the hill) Sweeter than roses was the waves' keen scent, I heard the wheeling sea gulls calling shrill. With bruised hands I clambered down a ledge And reached — no resting place — the ocean's edge. Dim dreams came to my heart, brave thoughts that thrill. There lay a boat, for this day was I made. Push out ! and o'er the hill the roses fade. 30 Adventure II I cannot tell where lies my land, I have no guiding star, no chart; Clutching the tiller, firm I stand And fight the waves with unmoved heart. Tossed by the stealthy waves, alone On trackless tides where strange stars shine, I seek far regions, vast, unknown, (Hark! how the gale sweeps o^er the brine!) Rest — 'twas the empty gift of Death. The Gods themselves that man deride Who waits their word with trembling breath, His path untrod and life untried. 'Tis cold. Far off in cloistered plot The roses bloom, the violets wait. Breakers ! — I would not change my lot, Nor turn dismayed from unknown Fate. 31 FLOWERS Her garden was her pleasure and her care; Morning and evening one could find her there Working and wondering. Every scent and hue Filled her with joy, with beauty pierced her through, For as her flowers opened to the sun Each seemed a radiant world her soul had won. This paradise of perfume her own hand Had made, this glowing tapestry she planned. From walls that kept marauding winds shut out A fountain splashed. A brook wound slow about Fields of spiced candytuft, hedged with trim box. Dark blue verbenas, larkspurs, snow-white phlox, And beds of heliotrope that in the night Offered rare incense for the stars' delight. Robin and catbird sought her iris pool, Fluttered and bathed them in its shallows cool, 32 Flowers Then poised one happy moment on Its banks To offer to the stream their lyric thanks. Here peace grew as a flower, yet deep at heart She felt a longing; she was not a part Of all this flower world. She dwelt exiled From hope, from love, from life. She craved — a child. One day she left her garden. In the heat And dizzy turmoil of a city street, Startled she heard a child's heart-broken cry, And stood transfixed; the surging crowd swept by. "Within the gutter stood — a sight of shame — Two wretched creatures. One could scarcely name Them man and woman; sin and black dis- grace Told a grim story in each brutal face. The woman pushed a box that served as cart. With broken wheels that sprawled and fell apart. In it, a child. No dirt, no rags could hide Its radiant beauty; Nature glorified 33 Flowers Upon that head her diadem had set — The man clutched at a half-smoked cigarette, Whereat the child leaped, laughing, in its place. The woman cursed and smote it in the face. Then, as it sobbed, jeered at its pain and fright. The crowd swept on and bore them from her sight. At evening slow she walked her garden round Seeking for peace — no peace, no rest she found. The child had passed forever from her life And yet its cry still pierced her as a knife. That was the plant, if God had heard her prayer. She would have watched unfolding in soft air; Or else her tree; she would have loved it when It offered boughs for birds and fruit for men. Or else a pine, set on a ledge to be A welcome guide for fishing fleets at sea ; An oak, the traveler's shade — God only knew With that life given her, what she might do. 34 Flowers A finch flashed by her, one she loved of old; She heard no song, she saw no breast of gold. She tried to bind the roses to the wall; Her hands dropped down — the mockery of it all! Within the shadow of a tree she crept, And by her flowers, in agony she wept. 3S THE DAWN He shook his head as he turned away — "Is It life or death?" "We shall know by day." Out from the wards where the sick folk He, Out neath the black and bitter sky, Past one o'clock and the wind is chill. The snow-clad streets are ghostly still; No friendly noise, no cheering light. So calm the city sleeps tonight, I think its soul has taken flight. Back to the empty home — a thrill, A shudder at its darkened sill. For the clock chimes as on that morn. That happy day when she was born. And now. Inexorably slow. To life or death the hours go. Time's wings are clipped; he scarce can creep. Tonight no drug could bring you sleep; Watch at the window for the day; 'Tis all that's left — to watch and pray. 36 The Dawn But I think the prayer of an anguished heart Must pierce that bleak sky hke a dart, And tear that pall of clouds apart. The poplars, edging the frozen lawn, Shudder and whisper: ''Wait till dawn." Two spirits stand beside her bed Softly stroking her curly head. Death whispers, "Come" — Life whispers, "Stay." Child, little child, go not away. Life pleads, "Remember" — and Death, "Forget." Little child, little child, go not yet. By all your mother's love and pain, Child of our heart, child of our brain. Stay with us ; go not till you see The Fairyland that life can be. * * * * * :}: The poplars, edging the frozen lawn, Are dancing and singing. "Thank God — the Dawn!" 37 PRAYER She cannot tell my name Nor whence I came. But when at night she hears my voice below My little girl runs quickly down the hall, Peers through the stair bars, laughing at my call. Yet who or what I am she does not know. Nor can she understand All that for her I've planne^d; That the day's \^ork without her would be vain, Or how her laughter clears the troubled brain; That her small hands, soft as the white rose leaf. Can ward off grief. Then as she runs to me, each faltering word Seems the divinest music I have heard. She does not know the father's love I feel, That were she gone, her death would pierce the heart like steel. O God, thy ways are dark. Man cannot mark 38 Prayer Thy path upon the mountain or the sea. We cannot read thy will or know thy mind, Baffled by one small world thou hast de- signed, Awed by the grandeur of infinity. He who can trace The marching stars through space. Measure the oceans, lift the mountains up, Scatter the perfume in the lily's cup. Planning for aeons, measuring each year. Will this God hear? Yes; if we call to Him in joy, dismay, (For that is prayer) He cannot turn away, A Father dwelling with us, not apart. When my child's call I hear, I catch her to my heart. 39 POPLARS The poplar Is a lonely tree. It has no branches spreading wide Where birds may sing or squirrels hide. It throws no shadows on the grass Tempting the wayfarers who pass To stop and sit there quietly. The poplar sees each neighbour tree Loved by the birds. The oriole Swings from the elm its home ; the bole Of that rough oak, above, around, Hears the woodpecker's rapid sound As on he works industriously. The poplar is a slender tree. It has no boughs where children try To climb far off into the sky. To hold a swing it's far too weak. Too small it Is for hide-and-seek. Friendless, forsaken it must be. The poplar is a restless tree. At every breeze Its branches bend And signal to the child, "Come, friend." 40 Poplars Its leaves forever whispering To thrush and robin, "Stay and sing." They pass. It quivers plaintively. Poplars are lonely. They must grow Close to each other in a row. 41 A PORTRAIT Her love is like the peaceful summer sky Where winds are shepherding their straggling sheep; Or like the star-sown heavens, serene and high, Radiant and so unfathomably deep. Her life has all the joy of dawn; the light, The glowing ardour of the burning noon; The comforting tranquillity of night. The silent promise of the crescent moon. Her love is like the untrammelled heaven, that free Yet bends with richest blessing o'er the land. God alone knows what such a love can be ; He made the heavens, and He can under- stand. 42 THE SILENCE Down the gray crags in the vale below Wound the river, a gossamer thread. Our thoughts were as deep as the rocky steep, But never a word we said. On crimson clouds we could faintly trace The path of the homing bird; Our hopes soared high as the sun-flushed sky. Yet we whispered never a word. Then soul met soul ; no speech we sought For the noblest words seemed vain. The earth and the sky must speak the thought When heart calls to heart again. No speech could declare the soul laid bare In a vision of all life meant. But the words that the silence whispered there We shall hear till our life be spent. 43 TO MEMORY Pale wistful dreamer, brooding o'er the past, Listening to dying music far away, Rest In your twilight home where burn the last Faint, smouldering fires of day. I never ask to hear your footstep light Upon the door-sill of my peaceful hall. Nor listen at my window in the night For your soft murmuring call. I know your message; I have found earth sweet As new-mown meadows or the balsam's breath; Life, rich with brave friends; gay, with children's feet — To dream on this Is death. For as this earth whirls ceaselessly through space So man, earth's child, must never rest; and when 44 To Memory The past allures, must know his fairest place Shines just beyond his ken. At night when all the guests have supped and gone, The fire they circled on the hearth has died, I shall not stoop o'er embers. With the dawn Scatter the ashes wide ! 45 WAR (On the German Invasion of Belgium) They who take the sword, To slay for lust of gain, With fleets In air, with ships at sea. Vast armies. Death's artillery. Can they break the might of the Lord's de- cree? With the sword they shall be slain. They who take the sword, In swords have put their trust. Their foes shall be the unnumbered dead, (No sentry hears that army's tread) Who shall dash the crown from the victor's head. And trample it In the dust. They who take the sword, A child shall their end foretell; One dying mother's faintest sigh, One girl's imploring, piercing cry. Shall ring like a blast in their souls till they die. Shall ring through their souls in hell. 46 War They who take the sword, What gain Is victory? Though blood-drenched flags in triumph float, Their new-won lands are a burial moat; Better, with millstone 'round the throat, Were they flung to the pitiless sea. They who take the sword. For lust, and hate, and gain. The strength of the hills 'gainst them is set, The sword of the spirit is sharper yet, — For God hath said — shall God forget? — With the sword they shall be slain. August 3, 1914 47 TO AN OXFORD FRIEND KILLED IN ACTION (After reading a poem by W. M. Letts) I saw you last beside the stream That flows near Oxford town. We moored the punt and on the bank At ease we flung us down, And talked until the twilight shades Turned the green meadows brown. Pleasant the bells, that afternoon. Sounding from distant spires; Pleasant the notes of larks unseen. As songs of heavenly choirs; Pleasant to talk of all life brings And what the heart desires. You left the meadows for that field Where men by Death are tried. Dauntless your hopes, your life you threw Down in the battle's tide ; And now you live with all brave souls Who fought the fight and died. 48 To AN Oxford Friend The pleasant fields near Oxford town Lie In a deeper shade, I think of all her splendid youths Who met Death, unafraid. (God help a land that idly dreams. Or counts her gain in trade.) October, 19 15 49 PAUL Hotel St. Sulpice — you'll not know The place; It's small. Ten years ago Paul, my stout gargon, broad of chest, Is on his knees in feverish zest To polish well my bed-room floor, When sudden, through the tight-closed door, There comes a rasping, strident call. It louder grows: "Que fals-tu, Paul?" "Courage," I say, "n'aie pas de peur! La Patronne — you're afraid of her?" "Mais oul, mals oui." She calls again. He runs. What cowards are we men! To-day, a letter from a trench; The writing's bad — and worse, the French. "Monsieur, I write to let you know How Paul was shot three days ago. How brave he was! It came this way: In Noman's land four Frenchmen lay Wounded and groaning in their pain; We thought to bring them in again. We sent out four brancardiers 50 Paul And the Boches shot them. There they lay, Eight groaning now (what could we do?) : 'Mais vous, nos freres, Ah! tuez nous.' And Paul, 'twas more than he could bear, Crawled in the dark to get them there. He knew 'twas death, but he would try. He kissed me when he said good-bye. He raised one man, for he was strong, And crawling carried him along When pouf ! a sudden blaze of light, A rocket makes a day of night, But Paul was almost home; he reeled. Covering his blesse like a shield. 'Another step, he's safe,' I said — He fell within our trenches — dead. You're too far off to understand Ces Boches; we have them close at hand. And so he's gone, it had to be, But then, he died pour la Patrie." Hotel St. Sulpice, there once more I see him polishing my floor; I hear an angry voice repeat: "Que fais-tu, Paul? Viens, done, vite!" He shakes his head, he looks dismayed; I jeer at him, "What, Paul, afraid? 51 Paul Don't think you're going to be shot." "Mais pourquoi pas? quelle f emme ! quelle boite!" 52 THE BIRD Once when a child, he found within the neighbouring wood A wounded dove and bore It home with streaming eyes. That birds he loved could die, he had not understood. And half his words told grief, and half a strange surprise. He nursed the bird in vain; he woke to find It dead. We could not still his grief; but when his tears were spent He dug its little grave within the roses' bed. And with some treasured stones, built a quaint monument. A man, he loathed the war, but heard his country's call. Scorning to hide behind the lives of braver friends, 53 The Bird Straight to the front he went; forsook the college hall And sought the perilous post, knowing where such task ends. An eagle, high he soared and watching far below The hostile armies come, signalled what he descried. Telling his men to ward the sudden, des- perate blow. Then in the clouds, alone, with no friend near, he died. For him no childish hands will dig a peaceful grave. What does the freed soul care where the torn body lies? And who can mourn his flight? Clean, loyal, tender, brave. Swift flew his soul to God, far in the happy skies. 54 CAVALIER SONG 1642 If this be my last hour with thee, For none may Fate control, Take as thine own a heart that's free, And the worship of my soul. For where the trumpet-blasts ring out. And men rush In to die. Amid the thickest of the rout. My sword must flash on high. I'll serve thee as my king and lord. Thine till my latest breath, A soldier's word, a soldier's sword, Are thine, my dear, till death. Fate has no power to decide Whether I live or fall. For with thee Death I shall deride, Without thee, I lose all. 5S A MEMORY Over the balsams a golden fleece Floats in the evening sky. Gently the night wind whispers peace, Softly the branches sigh. Joys that once thrilled, Sorrows that stilled, Come not again from the past. Hopes that once led Are forgotten and dead. Then why should this memory last? Over the balsams a golden fleece Fades in the darkening sky. A wood-thrush is singing of rest and of peace, Gently the night winds sigh. 56 FAME At length he laid his weary pen aside, Read the last notes of his great symphony, And loving it supremely, said with pride "Surely by this shall men remember me." A careless song that sprang from out his heart, That told the joys of earth, nor thought for fame, Alone survives his laboured works of art And saves for us an else forgotten name. 57 A PICTURE On harpsichord, Clarissa plays The melodies of by-gone days. Forgotten fugue, a solemn tune, The bars of stately rigadoon. With head bent down to scan each note, A crimson ribbon round her throat. The very birds to sing forget As some old-fashioned minuet Clarissa plays. King George long since has passed away, And minuets have lived their day. Within some hidden attic nook Lies in the dust her music book. Gone are those keys her fingers pressed, Gone with the roses at her breast. Yet still unmindful of Time's flight With face demure, with fingers light, Clarissa plays. THE LECTURE College de France, a dingy room; Bent o'er the desk, he turns his pages Droning a lecture in the gloom On '^Beauty in the Middle Ages," Outside, the world in May attire Would make the dullest, calmest sages Throw all their books into the fire — Here's "Beauty in the Middle Ages." First, he will take "a rapid view"; He ambles on in lengthy stages. I might be walking at St. Cloud, But — "Beauty in the Middle Ages." Tonight the woods of Fontainebleau — Another theme his mind engages, Another point we all must know Of "Beauty in the Middle Ages." Out in the street I hear a song; We sit mute, captive birds in cages. Our life is short, the lecture's long. O "Beauty in the Middle Ages." 59 The Lecture Without, the sky with stars is sown. Wisdom, is this your gift, your wages ! Poor man — his world a stick, a stone, That's "Beauty in the Middle Ages.'' Long years of study — this is all. Anger, revolt within me rages. "Le cinquieme point" — I leave the hall. He died, lost in the Middle Ages. 60 THE WOOD ROAD All day they are hurrying off to the Fair; We'll let them pass by us, no whit do we care Though they beckon and shout from each gay wagon-load; We'll turn from the highway and take the wood road. Each hawker is calling the folks to his ware, And there's pushing and crowding all over the Fair As if some great river its banks had over- flowed; So we'll turn from the highway and take the wood road. They tell me there's wonderful sights at the Fair, But there's nothing so fine as your lips and your hair; Your eyes they shine brighter than stars ever glowed. So we'll turn from the highway and take the wood road. 6i The Wood Road They're spending their money like mad at the Fair, But I'm saving mine for a house you will share. 'Twill be with you in it a splendid abode, So we'll turn from the highway and take the wood road. 'Tis the day of the year, they all say, at the Fair, But the day of our wedding^ you'll see the folks stare For you're sweet as a rose, as a meadow new- mowed; Then we'll turn from the highway and take the wood road. 62 RAIN The April rain falls quietly, With soft caress for bush and tree, And where the seeds lie buried deep It sinks, to rouse them from their sleep. It whispers to the earth ''Prepare The fragrant garlands for your hair; Weave your bright dress of green, and now Waken the leaves on every bough. Call back the birds and bid them sing In their ecstatic carolling Of meadow blossoms, waving grain" — The April rain, the April rain. Within a city tenement There lies a child; her strength is spent. The sky, the very walls, the street Shrivel this flower with cruel heat. The fever burns; she moans and cries, 'Twere life if sleep could close her eyes. Sudden the blazing sky turns gray. The wind comes leaping on its way. Within the room steals quietly The cool breath of the woods and sea. 63 Rain The child Is still; she sleeps again — The August rain, the August rain. The trees, mute figures of despair, Stand shivering in the biting air. Upon the oak the dead leaves cling, The faded tokens of the Spring. On these gray pensioners bestow The tender mantle of the snow. From leaden skies the rains descend Sharp as the treachery of a frfend. The jewelled ice that bends each tree Is Death's last, bitter mockery, A sword to rend the boughs in twain- December rain, December rain. 64 SEPTEMBER Crickets are making The merriest din, All the fields waking With shrill violin. Now all the swallows Debate when to go; In valleys and hollows The mists are like snow. Dahlias are glowing In purple and red Where once were growing Pale roses instead. Piled up leaves smoulder, All hazy the noon, Nights have grown colder, The frost will come soon. Early lamps burning, So soon the night falls. Leaves, crimson turning. Make bright the stone walls. 65 September Summer recalling At turn of the year, Fruit will be falling, September is here. 66 LIBRARY OF CONGRESS ^18 349 71 fi Qf