Vx>\-a\ f '1^^ ?^^'V ',V\.|r» ^y-/ 1^' > K^ ;(' '^ ■ x. V // ^.fl"-' : '4x\ . /^^ Class, -23 Boole .TA/t. ^^ COPYRIGHT DEPOSm FROM DREAM TO DREAM From Dream to Dream POEMS By EDITH WILLIS LINN NEW YORK JAMES T. WHITE & CO.. 1918 COPYRIGHT BY JAMES T. WHITE & CO. 1917 M 26 fSJ8 ©GI.A501I00 •^V't* To My Father and Mother CONTENTS FROM DREAM TO DREAM Persephone 13 Silenced 15 The Shadow Lands of Long Ago 16 Faith 19 Dissatisfied 20 Satisfied . 22 Habitation 22 Restless Heart, Don't Worry So 23 Whence and Whither? 24 Shall We ? 25 A Letter 25 The Caravan 26 Faith 27 Silence 28 Clotho 28 Not Long 29 The Song of the Sea 30 Waiting 31 Angel of Death 32 The Stars Are in the Quiet Skies 33 Regret 34 7 From the Same Port We Sailed 34 The Ruin 35 To A Whistle Blown by a Boy 35 Resignation 37 Buried Beauty 37 The Temple 39 Tak My Hand 39 The Wage 41 Song of the Pine 41 M. MiKAIL MORDKIN 43 The Garment of the King 43 Waiting Orders 46 Spring 48 A Song 48 The Dreamer 49 Knighted 50 The Shining Pathway 51 The Years 52 Wait a While 53 Earth-Music 54 A Prayer 55 Lonely Paths 56 Arcturus 56 Orion 57 Cherry Blossoms 58 From God 58 Unseen Presence 60 Aspiration 60 Of God 6i From Thine Eyes 62 Weariness 63 The Shell 64 Some Day 65 To A ZuLOAGA Portrait 66 The Challenge 68 White Soul 68 The Truest Friend 70 Knowledge 71 Imperial Tea 72 When Violets Come 72 Unnoted Joy 73 Ebb-Tide 74 Completed 74 A Thanksgiving 75 Yellow Flowers in Winter 76 To A Tree 77 The Cathedral at Rheims 78 The Road 79 Flowers 81 The Lifted Stone 82 Peace 84 Dawn 86 The Desert Land 87 Three Songs 88 Loneliness 89 Just Be Glad 89 9 Freedom 6i Temptation 90 Self Sacrifice 91 PATRIOTIC The Mother 95 Pershing's Men 96 My Flag 97 Soldiers All 98 A Marching Song for America 100 The Spirit of America loi BIRDS Robin Redbreast 105 Birds in the Snow 106 The Oriole 106 Song Sparrow 107 The Hermit Thrush 108 The Blue Bird 109 The Meadow Lark 109 Brown Bird 110 The English Sparrow 11 1 The Catbird 112 On Hearing the Woodthrush Sing at Dawn . . 115 The Purple Finch 117 A Nest Full of Snow 118 IN MEMORIAM In Memoriam 123 10 FROM DREAM TO DREAM il PERSEPHONE THE hour draweth near When thou, Persephone, shalt reappear From the mysterious realms of the dear dead By vanished joy, lost beauty, tenanted. The robins sing to call thee from the ground, The maples' ruddy tresses are unbound, The ice-locked rivers melt and gladly run Like happy children laughing in the sun. bright, illusive maid. In the dim regions where thou wast betrayed, Tell me if thou hast met a lady dear, Grown weary of the lengthening shadows here? She wore a little bonnet, silk and lace. With roses round the circle of her face, And hearts awoke to joy where'er she trod Because her life expressed the love of God. 1 do forget! To thee She went arrayed in regal panoply. No little bonnet set with roses sweet. But dressed as for her king, from head to feet All stately grace, bedecked with lilies, fair And white as was her hair. Oh, she was very, very dear to me ! Pray hast thou seen her there, Persephone? This is the happy season of her birth. 13 With thy return to earth, Canst thou not lead her gently by the hand Back to the sunshine of her native land? — Thou who dost in thy verdant mantle bring The myriad flowers of immortal spring. Dearer than any flowers beneath the skies, The tenderness within her loving eyes. Persephone, why tread Through the vast, ageless regions of the dead. Bringing the bloom of flower, the song of bird, But from the vanished lips no loving word? Their vaunted power the gods have lost; I know Where they have journeyed, they we sorrow so ; — Beyond the reach of thee or thy caress. Beyond thy jocund smile of tenderness. Beyond thy power to woo or to, retrieve. Deep in a heart of love they would not leave. Blithe goddess of the spring, Persephone, we hear thy robins sing In the long twilights that she loved to see, When her exuberant spirit watched for thee. Thou wilt not find her in thy somber land. Whose outward-leading paths none understand. Bring back thy daffodil and violet; Upon the heavenly heights her feet are set. Thy shadow-silences the soul must dare. To gain the sunlight of that world more fair. X4 Persephone, return, Bearing to man thine overbrimming urn; And walk our earth as for uncounted years, Leading coy April, clad in smiles and tears; Woo from the underworld the laggard spring. Our dead thou canst not bring. My lady sees the asphodel ; the rose Of souls grown sanctified and blest she knows. Beyond the shadow-realm the dear home-land Waits in the loving hollow of God's hand. She has gone far beyond thy call and cry, Where stretch the mystic pastures of the sky, And thou, Persephone, hast grown more fair Because she passed thy gate in journeying there. SILENCED BESIDE the stream of memory My silenced harp I hang; I sit me down in quiet Where once the music rang; I fold my hands and listen, So silent! I can see Where one by one the petals fall From out the wild rose tree. 15 I wreathe a tiny garland Of roses that were mine, And hang it o'er the silenced harp Whose music seemed divine. I fold my hands and listen, So silent! I can hear Upon the withered petals The dropping of a tear. stream of memory flowing Out to the unknown sea ! The ripple of your music Life's only song to me. 1 fold my hands and listen. So silent! yet I know The unseen ocean out of sight Beats on the rocks below. THE SHADOW LANDS OF LONG AGO SHADOW lands of long ago, How softly breathing, to and fro, The scent of roses used to steal Across the starlit evening air! I cannot smell the roses now Without a pang that I should feel None of those dreams I used to dare. Those hopes that moved the spirit so In shadow lands of long ago. 16 O shadow lands of long ago, How softly did thy rivers flow, Dream-rivers bearing me afar To the great world that called to me! How gaily blew thy breezes then! Hope's winged winds now silent are; They speak no more of foaming sea And mighty deeps I longed to know In shadow lands of long ago. O shadow lands of long ago, Must time all beauty overthrow? Knee deep the grasses used to stand ; I plaited daisies for my hair, And fondly dreamed they were a crown. Life bore a banner in his hand And called on me his pride to share; And oh, I used to love him so. In shadow lands of long ago! shadow lands of long ago, 1 watched thy ocean overflow The sandy shoals, and stood to gaze Across the deep for gleaming sails That cam.e to bear me fast and far, To the great world beyond the haze Of childhood! Oh, those boisterous gales! It was a joy to hear them blow In shadow lands of long ago. 17 O shadow lands of long ago, Where are the feet that used to go Across the dewy lawn, to find The garden beauties in their sleep? Where are the lips that laughed because The heart was young and earth was kind? And eyes that had not learned to weep These silent tears that flow and flow For shadow lands of long ago. O shadow lands of long ago, Come back, come back to me and show My heart thou wast not all a dream. Let me once more thy faith enjoy, That faith that made all women dear, That made all men like heroes seem; Let joy and love and hope employ The songs and rhymes I used to know In shadow lands of long ago. shadow lands of long ago, 1 loved thy dreams and fancies so! I sometimes think that earth is not The dreary round it seems to be; That I now sleep to wake again; When all this weariness forgot, True beauty shall upspring for me, As fair as that I used to know In shadow lands of long ago. 18 FAITH DEAR, it will all come right If only you will it so, The passionate pain and fret Of all that you failed to know. God is the God of all, Of blossom as well as blight. Lean on him, love him more, — Dear, it will all come right. Dear, it will all come right. All that we said or did ; — He gathers it up to keep Safe in his bosom hid. Out of the tangled path He leadeth into the light; Cling to him, love him more, — Dear, it will all come right. Dear, it will all come right, Sunset and evening bell. And the purple, brooding gloom Are part of the tale we tell. But the dawn comes bye and bye, All pure unclouded light, Over the eastern hills ; Dear, it will all come right. 19 Dear, it will all come right, If only you wait and pray; For the tears must cease to flow And the ache must pass away. Wait, and the thorny path Shall blossom in gold and white ; God is not far away; — Dear, it will all come right. DISSATISFIED I HEAR you calling; — through the misty blue Of April skies my spirit answers you. To wood and shore The birds return to build and sing once more; Once more I feel you are dissatisfied With Heaven because I am not at your side. Love finds that songs the nesting robins sing Are ever sweeter in remembering. The lawns grow green ; The dandelions thrust their leaves between The cobbles, choosing stone and flint to grow in, With all the world of hill and vale to blow in. Within the city lots the weeds uprear Their vivid leaves in many a pointed spear; The maple looms are weaving crimson thread, 20 The snowdrop rises, and the leaf is red Upon the stunted oak. In distant glen The fern frond twists its verdant tip again, And mosses green beneath the flying spray That washes every trace of ice away. Along the ledge The dainty mouse ear curls its downy edge Of leaf. The squirrelcorn appears, And all the flowers we loved in other years, But you come not; you walk no more with me By street or byway, riveulet or sea. When fades the day To opalescent shimmerings of gray, Or when mysterious dawn is freshly pearled Along the upper edges of the world. And morning drowns in light the morning star. As one whose footsteps wander inland far Must evermore be conscious of the sea, I hear you calling, calling, calling me. I hear you calling: — through the misty blue Of April skies my spirit answers you. 21 SATISFIED HOWEVER much the soul by pain is shriven, However much the heart by doubt is tried, When I at last shall burst life's earthly prison, One thing I know — I shall be satisfied. All that love has not granted, yet expected. All that the soul has found, or flesh denied, All that has been through lust or greed rejected Shall meet me there — I shall be satisfied. Dreams I have had in waking and in sleeping, Radiant with love that is on earth denied; All that was mine beyond the power of keeping, Awaits me there — I shall be satisfied. HABITATION SOON I shall leave this little room That opens to the day, To unfamiliar tavern take My solitary way. I wonder, will the white roots grow Across the heart that loves you so? Oh, I have loved this little room Where you and I have been! This yearning heart that loves so well. 22 Down there beneath the green, Shall teach these roots that creep and run The burning language of the sun. RESTLESS HEART, DON'T WORRY SO DEAR restless heart, be still ; don't fret and worry so ; God hath a thousand ways His love and help to show ; Just trust, and trust, and trust, until His will you know. Dear restless heart, be brave; don't moan and sorrow so; smile, His love can every wrong and sorrow reconcile ; Just love, and love, and love, and calmly wait a while. Dear restless heart, be brave; don't moan and sorrow so; He hath a meaning kind in chilly winds that blow; Just hope, and hope, and hope, until you braver grow. Dear restless heart, repose upon His heart an hour; His heart is strength and life. His heart is bloom and flower ; Just rest, and rest, and rest, within His tender power. Dear restless heart, be still; don't toil and hurry so; God is the silent One, forever calm and slow ; Just wait, and wait, and wait, and work with Him below Dear restless heart, be still ; don't struggle to be free ; God's life is in your life, to Him you may not flee; Just pray, and pray, and pray, till you have faith to see. WHENCE AND WHITHER? THERE'S a spring behind the river, Far above us on the mountain Where the mornings come the soonest And the evenings longest glow; There's a bow behind the arrow, Flying swiftly from the bow-string; There's a bow behind the arrow. And a hand behind the bow; There's a root beneath the flower In the darkness far below. There's a sea before the river. Mighty sea that rolls in splendor; There's a mark before the arrow Speeding, singing, on its way; There is seed before the blossom. Pregnant seed, that holds the meaning Of the fragrance of the flower And the colors warm and gay; There is yesterday behind us. And to-morrow for to-day. 24 SHALL WE? SHALL we wander there again Arm in arm and hand in hand? All the weary days of winter Banished from the land? Hear the winds through green boughs singing, See our lake its white waves flinging On the gray beach where we stand Arm in arm and hand in hand ! Will you meet me there again Face to face and hand in hand? In the sunlit, moonlit, starlit, Flower-scented land? Where the absence and the sadness Shall be all forgot in gladness, And we know and understand Love united, hand in hand. A LETTER '' I THROUGH falling snow, from southern land, -*- A singing bird comes winging; White is its pinion, sweet its song. My heart leaps up to hear its singing. As none but I may understand, 26 As none but those who love may hear, It pauses now and nestles near; I hold it in my eager hand — Your letter, just your letter dear. THE CARAVAN "TV /TY sovereign lord," I fondly plead, 1.YX (The sultan is my truest friend) "Let me be chosen first to ride Before thy caravan, to lead Thy pageant to the desert's end. Am I not faithful, true and tried?" My sovereign answered yea nor nay. But slowly turned on me to smile. "My kingdom hath full many gates: I know not which be chosen — stay And watch beside me for a while ; He often serveth best who waits." I waited ; all about me went The toilers of the field and town; The dusky seamen from abroad ; And dwellers of the shifting tent. When, wearying, I laid me down; It was to sleep upon my sword. Then in the silence, as I lay, The caravan in splendor came Sweeping across the starlit sands, Camel and chariot and they Who serve beneath the sultan's name In alien tribes and distant lands. In silence came, in silence sped. I, sleeper on the naked sword, Waking, behold the sable sky, The trampled sand, tinsel and shred Of ribbon — I who for my lord Would lead the caravan or die. "O sovereign Master, answer pray! Did'st know I waited but thy word Great deeds to do, thy praise to win?" The sultan answers yea nor nay, But smiles to see me break my sword And with the beggars enter in. FAITH WHEN shadows fill the silent room. My little son, in restless sleep, Calls, "Mother," and I answer, "here." He need not touch me in the gloom. Content that love doth vigil keep, At rest to know that I am near. 27 So is my faith. I little care For questioning creeds that praise or blame, In face of some impending doom; It is enough to call in prayer "Father" — and rest within that name, When shadows fill the silent room. SILENCE I AM the warden of the seals of sleep, Grim shepherd of the restless hours that stray Like lambs across a tranquil country way. Mine are the vigils that the lonely keep; Dead cities where the desert sands drift deep; Songs man once sang, prayers that he used to pray. Mine is tomorrow, mine is yesterday. The stars that beckon and the mists that creep. I claim alike the singer and the song. The ancient sphinx that guards life's riddle, I. All hopes that triumph upward from the clod, All deep creative powers to me belong. Alpha, Omega in my bosom lie. Safe in my keeping have I hidden God. CLOTHO WONDERING I saw her stand With life's distaff in her hand; Patient, beautiful and calm As along her pliant palm 28 Ran in flying threads my days, Whirling in a golden maze. Worthy deeds that I had planned Fail at motion of her hand. Writhing evil, carking doubt. Shining beauty lengthening out, Winding, whirling, thread on thread. Following the hand that led. As before my visioned gaze Spun these countless, rushing days. Strange that every one was bright. Scintillating cords of light! To full many a weary hour, Hath that vision given power, Clotho, pure and calm and cold, Spinning only threads of gold. NOT LONG IT won't be long, dear heart, it won't be long. And the glad summer will have passed away; Inhale the fragrance of the rose today, Echo the fleeting beauty in a song; Too soon the skies will pale to leaden gray, It won't be long, dear heart, it won't be long. 29 It won't be long, dear heart, it won't be long: Embrace the good that waits at thy behest; Clasp every precious moment to thy breast, And drain thy cup and chant thy pilgrim song, For life so sad, so glad, is brief at best: It won't be long, dear heart, it won't be long. THE SONG OF THE SEA I HEAR the song of the sea forever in my dreams, Like a voice it calleth me from the mountains and the streams. From the uplands, flower-strown, it whispers, "Away, away, Hasten to seek your own where the tossing billows play. I hear the song of the sea in every wish and prayer. Like a voice it calleth me, "Put by your useless care." The waters of God, serene, vast, eternal and deep, Flow from the great unseen and slumber not nor sleep. I hear the voice of the sea through all my work and play; Like a voice it calleth me, "Beloved, come away, You are my child, were born in sound of my dashing foam." It calleth at night and morn, "Daughter, come home — come home." 30 I hear the song of the sea in all I do or bear, Like a voice inviting me from restlessness to prayer; I know I shall hear it when I pass to the final sleep — Like a solemn, vast amen, sounding from deep to deep. WAITING IT is mine to tend the roses While you are away; Mine to keep the flowers blowing Where you used to stray. Mine to hear the wild bird singing By the purling stream; Mine to note the sunset crimson On the hills of dream. I have set your place at table, As if you were there, With a flower to smile upon you When you take the chair. I have made your chamber ready, Orderly and neat, For your tired head the pillow, Slippers for your feet. Waits the tiny old piano And the violin ; Through the open southern window Floods the moonlight in. 31 Mine it is to tend the fire, Lest the hearth grow cold ; Set your chair, and light the candle Where it gleamed of old. Tenderly we talk about you, We who love you so, Wonder why your footsteps linger In the long-ago. When the north winds creep upon us, Read some dear old book. Waiting, waiting for your coming To the inglenook. Yes, I'm keeping all things for you. Lest you come today; It were lonely should you, coming, Find the host away. ANGEL OF DEATH HE hath a stealthy, noiseless tread, This minister of light, Who oftenest visits us by night And leaves us with our dead. 32 Though tears and loss and pain he brings, And fearful is his guise, Behold the splendor of his eyes, The whiteness of his wings! From paths of pain but feebly trod He bears the soul away, Yet doubting human love would stay This messenger of God. THE STARS ARE IN THE QUIET SKIES THE stars are in the quiet skies, And peace is an abiding guest; Her hand is laid upon my breast, I feel the blessing of her eyes. The earth is folded into sleep Beneath the shadow's cool caress; All questioning, all restlessness, Sinks into silence, calm and deep. Now faith and larger love arise. The riddle of my life grows plain, I seek, I find my own again, When stars are in the quiet skies. 33 A REGRET I WOULD that I had loved you like the stars, Calmly and coldly, constantly at rest; That you might link me in your thought with God, With peace, not passion ; all that you hold best. But I have loved you as the sun that glows, Warming to life this sad old world of ours; Beneath its beams birds sing and hearts rejoice, And earth lifts up its offering of flowers. Forgive me, dearest, that I could not hide This sun of life, whose beams too ardent are ; Remember, if you deem I loved too much, The glowing sun is but a nearer star. FROM THE SAME PORT WE SAILED FROM the same port we sailed, beloved friend. From Long-ago land, on the shore of dream. And taking different channels of life's stream Pass to the mighty deep where all attend. Once I have hailed thee through the foam and dark, Crying, "Remember evermore the Gleam ;" Now silence falls, and fast the ebbing stream Sweeps toward the infinite my fragile bark. By placid pool, where fragrant lilies lie. 34 No ship may stay, no sail may tarry long. Burdens we bear; — the weight of others' need, The freight of tears, prayer, sacrifice and song; — Bear them for him in whose high name I cry, "Hail!" through the silent dark, "Hail! and God speed!' THE RUIN A BLOW to love is like a scathing shell Hurled at any ivy-covered citadel — A sudden crash, a low, unheeded moan And falls the ancient fortress, stone on stone. Still round the ruined walls the ivies twine, Still through the gaps the quiet planets shine ; And in the crannies, at the touch of Spring, The cranesbill flowers and the mavis sing. TO A WHISTLE BLOWN BY A BOY TODAY, above the traffic's flow. Thy voice with clear insistence rang, As when dear Theocristus sang Thy praise, two thousand years ago. Its gleeful madrigal to me Is like long-lost illusive lays Repeated from archaic days When earth was one with youth and thee. 35 Blow blithely, merry whistle, blow! Again the fauns and nymphs rebound To thy ebulliency of sound. Where bright Sicilian rivers flow, And fleecy lambs on nimble feet Keep time to flying fingertips, As blown from laughing, boyish lips Thy notes invest the clamorous street. Old earth in misty films of dream Lies 'neath its tattered robe of gray. While under blooming boughs of May The satyrs dance by mead and stream. Pipe! pipe! the heart may dance with Pan Along the city thoroughfare, Though all demurely must we wear The solemn mien of modern man. At thy alarm again I tread The hills of the immortal gods. And follow over classic sods The footsteps of the ancient dead. Blow, lusty whistle, wild and free; My eyes are filled with sudden tears For all the unremembered years Between my soul and Arcadie. 36 RESIGNATION LO ! where the mighty desert comes in view — The scorching sand, the unresponsive sky, The desolated, winding path where lie The bones of pilgrims who death-journeys knew. No rain is here, only the sodden dew Whence spring no lovely flowers to bloom and die ; Here, stunted thorns and cactus and the cry Of wild strange creatures that my steps pursue. Others have trod it, shall I halt and quail? Only one prayer I offer as I set My face toward the rim of sky and land: Dear father, let thy little child forget Home fields, the azure sea, and the white sail That brought her thither. Welcome, drifting sand. BURIED BEAUTY WHERE the tiny, gauzy wings Summer brought the world? Underneath the frost and snow Lying sadly furled. Who would dream to look abroad On the stark earth's pain. Flash of color, rush of wing. Could be her's again? 37 Where are dainty petals tipped With the morning dew? Roses pink and white and red That the summer knew? Ashes to the heavens blown, Dust beneath the feet; Buried like some lovely form In a winding sheet. Where the restless, merry birds That when days were long, Wove among the flowered trees Silver threads of song? Looking on the pathless snow, In the frozen rain, Have we faith to rest assured They will sing again? You whose lives are one with storm, One with dreary days. Think how earth will turn again To the sunny ways. That which keeps in close embrace Bees and birds and flowers. Only waits the turning time Of these hearts of ours. 38 THE TEMPLE WHO from the marbles of the world that time Has hewn — law, social usage, cu tom, creed — Upbuilds a temple for his spirit's need Wherein to praise with song or rune or rhyme Old gods, does well! But who of common clay, The base, primeval instincts of his kind, Burnt by the fire of passion, by the wind Of anguish breathed upon — who day by day With battered tools and blunt, some fane uprears Wherein to chant his orison of praise To living God, builds higher. Better raise Such offering, stained with sweat of sin and tears, Than walk serene through custom's aisles where trod For countless ages those who knew not God. TAKE MY HAND FATHER, take my hand. Thy little child is lost; Dark is the way, the night Is wild and tempest-tost. I have no guiding star, Black is the sky and land ; Father, I call to thee — Take Thou my hand. Father, take my hand, So hot the blinding tears. So bitter outgrown love. Lost in the storm of years. So sad is the wreck of hope. Buried by shifting sand. Father, I call to thee — Take Thou my hand. Father, take my hand ; Thy child has gone astray, Out of the peaceful path, Out of the narrow way; Restless and all dismayed, Fearing to understand Where Thou wouldst have her go- Take Thou my hand. Father take my hand. Lift me up close to thee. To hear as Thou must hear To see as Thou must see: Not as the world would judge. My soul would understand Darkness to glory changed ; Father, take my hand. 40 THE WAGE WHEN I consider earth's impassioned pain, A cry inaudible across the night From fog-girt ships that sight no beacon light — From caravan across a thirsty plain; Dumb weed-choked flowers; seed that springs in vain; Storm-beaten bird that sinks upon the height; Music unheeded ; joy that dies for right — I wonder that we love of life retain Ye ancient dead who know the way I go, Ye who were bard or warrior, clown or sage, Are ye requited with pain's complete wage? That all-absorbing heartache lovers know, Forgotten in some presence that is peace — Hero, Leander, Dante, Beatrice? SONG OF THE PINE OH, the pine, the green pine. Let its praises be mine! I sing of its beauty when south winds are sweeping, When partridge-vine under its shadow comes creeping. When wood-roses blow in the sunflecks below And the ferns present arms in a rioting row. Oh, the pine, the green pine, Let its praises be mine ! 41 Hail the evergreen pine, Let its praises be mine! I sing of its courage when north winds are blowing, Of its power of greenness in freezing and snowing. In the bloom of the rose or the weight of the snows, When the pine-siskin builds or the last songster goes, Hail the evergreen pine, Still its praises are mine! \ Sighs the evergreen pine, "Countless uses are mine! Lo! the masts of great ships where vast oceans are spreading; The floor and the stairway that dear feet are treading; The table and stool, and the windlass and spool; Lo! the last snug, strong box of the king and the fool: These gifts are all mine," Sings the evevrgreen pine. Hail the pine, the green pine. For its God is still mine! With its delicate beauty in summer winds sighing, With the strength of its verdure in winter undying. Let us stand, let us rise, let us reach to the skies. Be glad in our growing if life sings or sighs; And for purpose divine Trust the God of the pine. 42 M. MIKAIL MORDKIN OF THE IMPERIAL RUSSIAN BALLET EVOKER of high dreams, of joy and pain, Thy magic conjures Ilium's classic field, Where Ajax met the foe who would not yield; Leander swimming through the moonlit main; Olympian runners scurrying o'er the plain. The Belvedere so long in stone congealed ; Gay nymphs and fauns in caves and glens concealed, Reanimate, inhabit earth again. Imprisoned loveliness of Elgin's stone; That sexless beauty Greece alone displayed. In art untrammeled, fetterless and free; All symmetry, all grace the earth has known Is thine — is through thy witchery portrayed: Life becomes beauty when beholding thee. THE GARMENT OF THE KING A BEGGAR crouched beside the way The passing court to see; From gorgeous chariot the king Surveys the pomp and pageantry, While right and left his courtiers fling The golden coinage of the day. The beggar caught the flying gold And flung it back again ; "Keep thou the largess of thy pelf, 43 It wins not love nor eases pain ; Grant me a little of thyself Within my daily life to hold." The knights and courtiers crowded fast The beggar to remove ; But the king smiled and bending down Gave to the man, as gift of love, The silken lining of his gown, With gold and silver overcast. Then to his hovel in the gloom The beggar bore his prize; There day by day toiled all alone, Hidden from prying, curious eyes, Until upon his floor of stone Upreared a tiny, clumsy loom. Then all that fabric of the king By threads he pulled away. Winding together, roll on roll, Till silken masses 'round him lay. For food he had his beggar's bowl With water from a hidden spring. There came a day when on his loom He wrought the raveled thread, In rare design and curious tone. 44 By dream and inner vision led ; Wrought singing, as he toiled alone Within his narrow, darksome room. Till such a fabric he had wrought, Such wondrous, rare design, His comrades came and paid to see. With gold and jewels of the mine. While pearls from life's tempestuous sea, And corals from the south, they brought. Full many paused to hear him sing. Full many turned away, But day by day, and night by night, In sunny gleam or shadow-play. He wrought upon his garment bright. His garment for the king. The pearls and corals dearly bought O'erlaid the silken threads, The gold and silver lit the whole. And singing ever as he treads The clumsy loom, the beggar's soul Grew still with worship as he wrought. And lo! when sunset flushed the west. Behold! the great king came. All radiance through the brooding gloom, 45 Calling the beggar by his name; He lifted from that lowly room And held him on his kingly breast. "My son, who asked myself to give; By threads my robe unwound ; At last my garment is thine own, Given by me but by thee found ; For thine the loom, the pearl, the stone, And thine the song that made them live. Sing on in rapture and in rest, Wear now my garment and my ring; To make of joy a sacrifice. To triumph over pain and sing, Have made thee mine for Paradise — On earth, in heaven, forever blest." WAITING ORDERS FOR every high emprise, O God, Thy loyal legions stand and wait; Thy trumpet never called in vain ; Ten thousand guard each bridge and gate. And gladly welcome any fate. Pouring their life-blood out like rain. Counting thy services brightest gain. To die for thee their best estate. 46 O Lord of hosts, thy armies rise ! Thou ask'st of life a pioneer To hew the way from wrong to right, And hundreds answer, "I am here." By pathless roads, by far and near. Thy servants hasten day and night; Thou callest one to bear a light And, lo! a million hands uprear. This heart is only one that wills Great deeds to do, thy call to know ; But unto me no field belongs. No high emprise, no flag to show. Mine but the daily bending low In petty service; no great wrongs To right, no fearsome path to go, Not even scourges, bars and throngs. Yet have I need of patience, Lord, Within the treadmill firm to stand ; To feel that drudgery is thine. In daily task to find thy hand ; In what I bear and what withstand. What I have missed of shade and shine. To feel thy blessed love hath planned A purpose holy and divine. 47 Some great design I cannot know May wait the simple, daily deed ; Perhaps the tiniest ministry May answer to some mighty need. I like to think that thou dost heed My wish to glad and patient be; This only would I pray and plead, Where thou hast lack, O God, send me. SPRING EACH time the spring renews her wonder story Looks the grass greener, sweeter sings the bird? Then doth thy soul press on to greater glory, Expanding to the beauty of God's word That whispers ''Spring," and all the roots awaken, That whisper "Faith," and courage comes anew; That whispers "Light," and shadows overtaken By radiance melt as sunbeams drink the dew. A SONG MY love is like a wilding bird Within some forest's shy retreat, That sings a song so low and sweet His listening mate alone hath heard. 48 He sings to greet the dawn above, In sunset's crimson glow he sings; With drooping head and folded wings At night he sleeps to dream of love. So in the heart's untrodden ways, Unguessed of men, sounds love's refrain; A hidden joy as keen as pain Moves like a song across the days. O wilding bird that sings alone, O love that guerdons out of sight! Beyond the stars, within the light, The singer and the song are one. THE DREAMER THE dreamer from his window sees The wonder-pageant of the sky, White ships that dare a fitful breeze, The storm-scarred mountains lifted high. Beneath the flower-robe of Spring He sees the Summer's dancing feet, The rapture in the swallow's wing, The pain in grim November's sleet. 49 He sees the children pass to school, Strong men who hasten up and down, The busy bustle of the fool, The merry motley of the town. Love smiles for him — and passes by; Light, shadow, all things his to see ; The depths men sound, the heights they try, Oh, who would not a dreamer be? KNIGHTED LORD, I have bathed me in a bath of tears; In sorrow's bed outwatched the sleepless night; Look on me now, behold my vestures white, And scarlet with the heart-blood of sad years. Shodden in earth-brown shoon my soul uprears To greet thee, girt with baldrick, glittering bright, And spurred for service, as becometh knight Who in the doughty lists of thine appears. Yet must I bow me for the stinging blow — Thine accolade — that makes me wholly thine. No outward vesture that the soul may know. No hallowed vow, no proffered gift of mine. But this thy glave laying the spirit low ; My Lord, I rise to conquer in this sign! 50 THE SHINING PATHWAY YESTERDAY was very happy, heart of mine. Is its gladness gone forever? Why repine? All around thee hearts are gay, Mid earth's beauty thou mayst stray In the sunlit pathway of to-day. Does to-morrow's pain affright thee, heart of mine? Azure skies still bend above thee, Stars still shine. Not a burden life shall lay On thee but thy strength may say, "I can bear this bravely for to-day." Cringe not at the noisy highway, heart of mine; Fear thou not the lonely pathway That is thine. Straight before thee lies thy way. Narrow strips where sunbeams stray, Little shining pathway of to-day. Surely thou canst gladly tread it, heart of mine, Love and friendship, toil and service. All are thine. Such a tiny, easy way! Just an hour to work, to play! Little sunny pathway of to-day. 51 Life is full of wrongs and failures, heart of mine; Cling not to them, weep not for them; The Divine Led thee hither. Up! away! This thy duty — strive and pray In the narrow pathway of to-day. THE YEARS DAUGHTERS of Time, the unrequited years, Bringing their gifts to the outreaching hand; Laurel and rose and hyssop; scourge and band; Laughter and madness; preciousness of tears; The sad, the glad, the unremembered years — In stately, armoured file appear to stand; And from the indistinct, retreating band, One visioned shape like nimbused appears, Aureoled in light, a garland on her brow, With flower-hung harp across whose vibrant strings Move melodies from memories consecrate. O peerless year, stand forth from all I know! Escape not to oblivion — let the wings Of love thou gav'st bear thee inviolate. 52 WAIT A WHILE DEAR, wait a little while Under the lowering cloud. While the sleet is falling fast And the winds cry out aloud ; Wait for the storm to pass, Wait for the sun to smile ; — Wait and be brave and strong; — Dear, wait a little while. Dear, wait a little while; The rose but sleeps in the snow; The birds are singing afar The songs that we welcome so; Wait, they will bloom and sing And all our care beguile; Wait and be sweet and true; Dear, wait a little while. Dear, wait a little while. What matters a day, a year? The anguish will sometime pass And the shadows disappear. Sometime something will come To heal and reconcile All that is hurt and wrong; Dear, wait a little while. 53 Dear, wait a little while ; For nothing is wholly lost; Sometimes we tread joy's pathway At the spirit's heavy cost. Always we reach our heights Through rocky, steep defile. Where torrents surge and sweep ; — Dear, wait a little while. Dear, wait a little while; From under the blinding sleet Thy God will lead thee anew In ways that are strangely sweet; In flower-strewn paths of peace His sun shall ever smile. Turning all tears to pearls ; — Dear, wait a little while. EARTH-MUSIC LIKE the song of the bird that's nesting, Like the surge of the summer sea, From the far-off deeps of fancy Sweet music comes to me. It bears to the troubled hour The grace that the past has worn, O'er moonlit wakes of memory Into the present borne. 54 The echo of all things tender That ever were sung or said, The loving words of the living, The sacred words of the dead. No sweet word ever spoken But echoes in that song. No noble thought but vibrates Its thrilling chords along. Listen, O soul, believe it; This is the human heart! Not rush and roar of the rabble, Not strife for life's meaner part. And ever and ever onward The strain shall stronger grow. Out of the realms of fancy Into the real below. A PRAYER I HEAR the caged bird singing "I shall be free, be free!" And the violet in the darkness Of winter calls to me: — "Patience a little longer; Wait for the fuller light!" Thou God of bird and violet Lead thou my feet aright. 55 LONELY PATHS OFOMALHAUT, great lonely star! Sad autumn's southern skies are bright With thy untroubled gaze that marks Earth's flower-pageant fade from sight. So hast thou seen old empires fall; The prides and pomps of kings outgrown; War, love, power, mirth and melody, To silence and oblivion blown. Beholding these, thou shinest on. Serene, and passionless and pure, Fair symbol of the faith that marks Thy pathway, lonely and obscure. Teach me thy secret, peaceful star. Shine in my soul, and day by day Reveal the strength in lonely paths, The purpose of the silent way. ARCTURUS CRIMSON star, how can you shine so bright Above the blackness of yon eastern hill! War, pestilence and famine, grewsom.e ill Of soul and sense, have stalked beneath your light Three thousand years since, to Job's failing sight, 56 You brought forth faith and armed anew his will. Mankind, grown weary of the flesh, would still Curse God and die, but for that sense of right. Holding ail life in an unswerving way. You through the ages destined to endure, Some mighty sun burning with healing ray — Man, in his fitful, passionate, insecure. Moment in endless space — still praise that name Whose precepts are from age to age the same. ORION AGAIN I greet thee swinging into sight, Compellent warrior, through the eastern sky, Belted and booted, brandishing on high Thine ancient splendor through the lists of night. The jester year, in motley dark and bright, Inverts his cap and bells, as we descry Across night's dusky field thy piercing eye Hurl challenge at our weakness, lord of light! Fain would I have my craven heart uprear Like thee, bright flaming constellation. So, In thee, my broken purposes appear Star-belted and light-girded ! I would know The victory of soul that, year by year, Rises triumphant over every foe. 57 CHERRY BLOSSOMS WHITE evanescent blooms, rain-winds are sighing, Like fragile ships that dare the ocean wide With perfumed sails, thy petals drifting, flying, Scatter thy sweets on the aerial tide. Anchored an hour beside us, they are going, Laden with promise of the fruited spray. Purposes deep those clinging, drooping, blowing. Winged argosies of blossom brought the May. Rebellious heart, life is forever calling Thy joys to leave thee. Drifting down the years. Friendships and loves, as these white petals falling, Pass beyond sight bedimmed by rain of tears. Blanched flower-sails before the breezes driving! Beauty and joy that to the past belong! Oh, mourn them not, but with diviner striving Welcome to-morrow's blossom, love and song! FROM GOD BLIND from the storm and lighthouse glare, Seeking on eager wing its home, Cleaving the chill, autumnal air, Wet with the hurtling spray and foam, The sea bird beats against the cliff 58 That juts above the heaving sea, And dies beneath the beetling crag, The crag where its nest should be, ah me! Where joy and rest should be. A rosebud wooed the morning air; Before its pearls of dew were dried It seemed the fairest of the fair, But even as it bloomed it died. Its promise perished ere it lived. Its fragrant wonder, good to see. Blighted and withered; browned away; Dried leaves where a rose should be, ah me! Thorns where a rose should be. Who wills the storm, the starving brood. The blight upon the perfect flower? Father, is thine life's cruel mood? Earth's mighty, unrelenting power? The beaten hearts that bleed and break, The blighted lives, are these of thee? Heart-hunger, loneliness of soul. Where love and joy should be — ah me! Where love and joy should be? 59 UNSEEN PRESENCE SHE Cometh not by hall or stair, She entereth not by any door, Yet mingling with my morning prayer I feel the sense of her I love, I turn to know that she is there. I cannot see her, yet my eyes Behold her, and I feel her arms — Her arms that clasp my paradise. Her cheek against my cheek is pressed ; Upon my breast the dear head lies. O glimpse of something more than sense! Should not the heart find joy enough In mystery of love intense? Body and soul be satisfied With this, a sorrow's recompense? ASPIRATION I AM the blush of the summer rose, The flush of the morn. The smile on the face of the dead, The song newly born From heart of the poet, from shell of the sea, From rush of the river that oceanward flows. 60 I am immortal. Who knows me is glad. Men give me the name Of passions that kindle the soul — Love, faith, beauty, fame. I dwell with all these, yet am higher than al Without me the angels of heaven were sad. FREEDOM WE seek thee on the eagle's wing, Or ships that ply the main. We find thee in the narrow room. And on the bed of pain. For thou art where the aspiring soul Its bondage overthrows, Waiting inside the cruel bars Where beal:en heart-blood flows. OF GOD OF the boulder, moss covered and hoary, I asked, "Where is God?" Of the violet, fragrant and fragile, amid the green sod; The rock said, "Behold in my strength He is near; And the bloom of a day whispered, "Lo! He is here." 61 Of the hero, acclaimed and exalted, I asked, "Where is God?" Of one stricken, defeated and broken, and bowed 'neath the rod ; One said, "In my triumph He liveth, is near;" And the other replied, "In defeat He is here." Oh, immanent, light-hidden, cloud revealed, soul of creation ; — The cause and effect, the revealed and the vast reve- lation! I question no more — only listen to hear Out of the silence the thunders proclaim, "He is near." TURN THINE EYES OH, turn thine eyes to beauty and behold. Above the noise and squalor of the street, The tender sky arch clean and clear and sweet. Whose mist and cloud the sunset turns to gold. Behold by inward eye, through country ways, Young, blue-eyed April with her wind-blown hair Crossing the silent pastures, brown and bare, To melt upon the woodland in a haze. Where her white feet have trod, the grasses creep, And oozy lie the meadows to the sun ; Each brooklet laughs, the rivers leap and run, And all our sister flowers wake from sleep. Oh, look beyond thy prison, past thy bars; Watch out across the grayness for a sail. Remember thou the stars that never fail, And those far silent heights beyond the stars. Oh, turn thine eyes to beauty, now the gray Crimsons upon the maples' swaying bough; Birds sing again, and on glad childhood's brow Faith prints the promise of a better day. WEARINESS KISS her good-night, the childish games are ended, She wants to go to sleep ; Her eyes, once dazzled with the vision splendid, Have grown too sad to weep. Her doll is broken and her heart is dreary Amid life's make-believe; She wants to lie along your arm, too weary, Too passionless, to grieve. So many pretty fancies led to sorrow Through the brief summer day; Now night has come, she dreads a sad tomorrow In which to weep and pray. 63 Let Love's dear hand reach out from hidden places And smooth her tangled hair; She knows that God abideth in dim spaces Nor fears to seek him there. As from some vanished sun his splendor streameth Around the weak and worn, A human hand must hold her lest she dreameth, And miss the hills of morn. Kiss her ^ood night, no dear delusions bind her. The sun is in the west; Just kiss her once and pray Death's angel find her And give her endless rest. THE SHELL BEHOLD this shell by southern seas upcast; An infusorial home whose tenant knew Strong, embryonic appetite; withdrew From spiral unto spiral, making fast His outgrown, unused chambers of the past; Held to the ear, how sweet the air sighs through Its convolutions, and the ocean blue Seems singing from its caverns dim and vast! O thou great love that moves the human heart, We rise through upward-winding ways to thee! The lesson of this tiny life impart; May outgrown sensuousness forgotten be. As through dim spirals of our lives thou art Breathing the music of the far-off sea. 64 SOME DAY SOME time I'll have time to say Loving things I've missed today: Some time I'll have time to do All the noble things and true That have risen in my breast, Longing to be set at rest. Some day I'll have time to wait On the beggar at the gate ; Some day ease a load of care By a loving word or prayer; Some day soothe the brow of pain Till the sufferer sleeps again. Some day I'll have time to tell Of the dreams I dream so well; Some day the great world will stay Listening to the words I say. Some day I will sing a song Weary hearts have waited long. Some day I'll have time to be Loving, patient, strong and free ; Some day I will braver grow. Greater love and mercy show ; Some day, some day, I'll be strong; Some day triumph over wrong. 65 Loving father of us all, Take our failures as they fall, Gather up our "someday" dreams, Plant them by thy heavenly streams; Judge us only by the good Of our inner angelhood. TO A ZULOAGA PORTRAIT OF MADAME LA COMTESSE MATHIEU DE NOAILLES FROM vivid canvas, from this pictured face, This^ woman of an alien land and race, Whose dark-rimmed eyes, whose mouth's illusive line, Proclaim her lineage of spirit mine, I see myself look forth, as from a glass; Our mirrored image flashes as we pass. When on the shore we stand and hear the sea. In reiterative insistency. Chanting its song, each foaming, nimbused crest, Rising and falling in a vague unrest. Repeats the ocean. In this face I see The life that pulses in the soul of me. The rose hath petals, every petal rose Exhaling fragrance that the flower knows; Like flower fragrances my visions rise To meet me in the starlight of her eyes; Her pain and failure, rapture and unrest, Awaken echoes in my startled breast. Who art thou that in beauteous flesh reveals The soul of me that mine own flesh conceals? What subtle union bound our lives elsewhere? At some white shrine of sacrifice and prayer Lit we the sacred lamps? Beside the sea With Sappho and her maidens wandered we? Come memory, cobwebbed in the seething mesh Of western life, speak from this painted flesh That seems mine own. Neath what Druidic yew Knelt we beside the altar? Where the dew Of early morn disturbed, as blithe and gay We watched our sheep upon some upland way? Long I have known and loved thee, dwelt with thee In ancient, mystic consanguinity. Pregnant with meaning is this solemn sense Of vast, unknown, intense omnipotence, Holding each petalled life, each moving crest, In a potential unity at rest. Sweet lady, look on me as I depart. Look from the canvas deep within this heart Aflame with cosmic, passionate desire, Athirst with thine own soul's unquenched fire ; Farewell ! I leave thee, till we meet once more, For life and love that we have known before. 67 THE CHALLENGE HAIL to you dull-eyed, dark despair, I've- seen your face before; I've met you when my hours were fair, In happy days of yore ; On with your legions! Do your worst! Who fears alone shall be accurst. Like pines along some storm-tossed coast, The shadowy ranks arise. Dark minions lurk at every post, With horror in their eyes. But I my battle flag unfurl And back your wild defiance hurl. Love is my watchword, strong and calm. And prayer my tested shield ; Faith's arsenal is where I arm My force that shall not yield. On come the legions — form the line — To arms! I conquer in this sign. WHITE SOUL SOUL of my soul, forgive me that I lose The memory of thy immortal grace. And seek in unfamiliar paths and poor To find a transient joy in mortal face. Forgive me that I lose the lustre cast From thy calm eyes and clasp earth's glittering dross, Forgetting that we were in heaven born To share each joy, to bear each aching cross. I have gone far along a lonely way Who might have felt the pressure of a hand ; I have dug deep in mire who might have climbed Close to thy side into some Beulah land. I chose the city glare, the throngs of men, Who might know solitude and peace with thee ; I toiled with draggled skirts to harvest pain Who might have flown, a spirit winged and free. I coddled greed and lust and selfishness, Weeds of a sad, rank growth, that bear no flowers, Who might have plucked the ripened fruits of love From branches drooping out of heavenly bowers. My own white soul, my better, higher self, Lift me and lead me closer to thy smile; Compel me not to loneliness who seem Thy unpolluted being to defile. White soul of mine, look at me as I pray, Clasp me about and tell me, o'er and o'er, That thou and I are one, inseparable, Of God. for God, to God, forevermore. THE TRUEST FRIEND WHEN Cygnus climbs the eastern sky, And all the air is sweet with flowers, Upon the earth's warm breast I lie And dream of dear, departed hours, — Of love that promised to endure Beyond the test of time and tears, Of friendship that should last secure Through change and silence of the years. O kindly earth, I lean on thee; Unchanged alone thy faithful breast; Thy beauty reaches out to me And bids me closer cling and rest; Thy flowers breathe the same sweet tale And call to peace the restless heart; Thy low night-voices never fail To ease life's weariness and smart. O earth, man's kind, unfailing friend, I shall be one with thee some day! One with the flowers that bow and bend, One with the grasses' sweep and sway. O earth, I love thee! hold me close And let me weep my passion dry. While in the garden dreams the rose And Cygnus climbs the evening sky. 70 KNOWLEDGE OH, now past any questioning she knows How through that grim, mysterious gate of old The eager pilgrim on his journey goes. She knows if promised courts and streets of gold Are fairer than familiar daisy banks, For which her loving soul gave fervid thanks In June's effulgence. Surely now she knows If asphodels are sweeter than the rose She loved, or fairer than the blooming grass Through which, hand locked in hand, we used to pass. Ah, now she knows past any hope or faith; Past any peradventure, change or chance. No more the mighty question, "What is death?" The answer hers. Past any circumstance, Past failure, reach of bitter tears or strife. The perfect loving that is perfect life ; The larger wisdom that can see the use Of earthly pain and sorrow and abuse ; The vision that beholds God's leading hands In every step of life, she understands. Yes, now she knows ; the whole great circle knows ; And we who from the shadowed pathway see Where the small arc of earth-life faintly shows. But half believing that the arc shall be 71 Full-rounded somewhere — perfected — complete — Why should we ever sorrow that her feet Tread all the glory of the complete whole? For us the fitful longings of the soul; For her the perfect vision, the full light, Wherein is lost earth's sorrow, wrong and blight, IMPERIAL TEA UNCURL your twisted leaves, effusive flower Of old Japan that blossomed long ago, When filmy plum-trees shed a fragrant snow, And cherry petals fell, a fragrant shower. You hold mysterious, narcotic power; Your tiny stems, your tremulous veinings, show A royal lineage ; only emperors know This budding leaf of Spring's enchanted hour. Your necromancy weaves in manifold Ethereal patterns; figures interwove With broidered silks — teak, ivory and gold; Jade carvings wherein beauty vies with death For recollection ; shapes of woe and love Rise from your fumes, ephemeral as breath. WHEN VIOLETS COME W'E did not ask to know Pn just what day of Spring The violets would blow ; Or soon or late, It mattered not, our faith could wait. 72 Enough If we could dare Believe the winter's frost The quickening root would spare From death or blight; Forever life must seek for light. All times are in God's hands; Ours but to hold the faith, That he who understands Star, dust and flowers. Will lead these human hearts of ours. UNNOTED JOY ^"^HIS, too, will be the past. This brief, bright day, Full of its eager hopes, its restless fears; We shall look back on it from the far years And fondly say It was too sweet to last. Its sorrow will away. And we shall know Only delight of friendship and of love. Only the blessed presences that move Half noted to and fro Across the hurrying day. 73 O memory that so reveals Life's highest, best, Today push back thy mask, thy face make plain ! Why turn we to the closed gate again? Why count we only what is lost as blest? Miss what each day conceals? EBB-TIDE FAR from life's restlessness I long to steal. As the sea leaves the murmurous, fretful shore. The tangled weeds, the jagged rocks that tore To foam and spindrift what the deeps conceal. My soul from stagnant pool and rotting keel. Flotsam and jetsam that were loved of yore. Ebbing towards mighty deeps unsensed before, Is drawn responsive to the stars' appeal. Yet evermore from alien shores the tide Returns unquestioning; is lashed and rent On rock and shoal, refreshing weed and shell And creeping life ; of hidden worlds to tell. Of stars to murmur: thus, O soul, abide God's high behest — spend ever and be spent! COMPLETED THE murmurous brook at my feet, Oh, what does it know of the sea? Has the seed, as it hangs in the pod, A dream of the flower to be? 74 The bird that was fledged yester morn, Does it know where the south lands are? Have the nebulous mists a hint Of the ultimate birth of the star? But the beauty of sea and land, And promise of heaven above, All vision and consummation I find in the face that I love. A THANKSGIVING FATHER, I thank thee for the morn Whose opening flowers speak thy love For life of bird in music born ; For constant skies that arch above ; For all that creeps or flies or sings. For all earth's myriad, sentient things. Father, I thank thee for the flush Of sunset crimsoning shore and sea ; For night's cool dew and fragrant hush; For harvest borne from hill and lea ; For autumn's vivid, transient glow ; And for the winter's robes of snow. Father, I thank thee for the life That quickeneth all things here below ; For pain I thank thee and for strife ; For love, for prayer, for shame, for woe ; But most of all for hope whose face Makes sunshine in life's darkest place 75 YELLOW FLOWERS IN WINTER I I DIP my hands in sunshine and behold, Across the blinding whiteness of the snow, Remembered fields with buttercups ablow, Bedight with cowslips, where in phalanx bold The mullein waves its plumed spears of gold. And orioles flit like sunbeams to and fro With the wee yellow summerwarbler. Lo! Earth's golden banner at a touch unrolled. Your power to transmute, your alchemy, O flowers, changes snow and bitter wind To warmth and light and beauty that shall be; You are like human smiles that bring to mind Love's fond sweet things and help us to forget Our passionate pain and failure and regret. II When on these aureal, hot-house flowers I look. Kaleidoscopic pictures flash in view — New Hampshire ponds where waterlilies grew; Gay loosestrife gathered from beside the brook In by-gone springs ; the yellow rose I took To school with me; the merry finch that flew Like a winged tulip out across the blue; One peerless sunset cloud ; the garden nook 76 Where my dear mother's lemon lilies blow. Scenes half-forgotten, the dear out-of-sight ; Swift, momentary memories we know ; High vision beckoning star-like in the night — These are the real ; and these, O flowers of gold ! You bring to mind in pictures manifold. TO A TREE BOUND in thy bark is God's life, O tree! Out of thy boughs flows that life to me. Bird-bearer, wooed by the south wind's breath, Man in his pride goes down to death. While thou standest fair as some queen to be Crowned on the morrow, O sovereign tree! Thou art a chemist of might, O tree! The sunlight under thy alchemy Turneth to gold and comes flashing down Over earth's carpet of green and brown. Like the coins of some Spanish argosy Lost in the tremulous green of the sea. Thou art a poet of power, O tree! Thy branches whisper rare rhymes to me; Old legends that have no power of speech. Old songs that from soul to soul outreach. That surge and beat like some passionate sea Confined amid cavernous rocks, O tree! 77 Thou art an artist of skill, O tree! To paint fair forms on the flowery lea ; The moonlight sifting adown thy leaves A fairy pattern of silver weaves, And etches strange figures that seem to be Of some far-off, mystical land, O tree! But most of all thou art friend, O tree! Lifelong companion and friend to me ; The best thou tellest to heart and brain Thy branches chant in a clear refrain ; 'The great Father bindeth all things to thee, With his love and spirit." I thank thee, tree! THE CATHEDRAL AT RHEIMS OF thee the poet sings, the artist dreams. Thou frozen prayer! Thou glimpse of God in stone ; Pride of pontificate and kingly throne, Through misty medieval twilight beams Thy starry beauty. Where the sunlight streams Through shattered glass on altars overthrown, Ruin and ravage claim thee as their own And thou art memory, immortal Rheims. A memory — with the illusive fire That burns unquenched from stars for ages cold; A memory — with rose and passion flower Of yesterday. Spirit of Rheims, be bold ! Who puts his trust in armament and sword. How shall he stand? Proclaim anew the Lord! 78 THE ROAD T^VER the road runs on without an end; ■*-' Always the tavern just beyond the bend ; Always the flash of light, the fitful shade; Always whisperings that the soft winds made; Ever the white road running mile on mile, Where the children play by the wooden stile; Where calm pools hold the river hushed and still; By singing brook and bog and breezy hill. Were it not well with the heart Could it find the end of the road? Were it not well with the soul Could it drop the load. Ever the road ran on where kings have trod And battling legions fought for truth and God ; Old wars were waged, old dynasties held sway. While the road ran on and on through the bloody way; Runs on where tyrant empires arm and rise To meet a world with vision in its eyes, Runs on to find the holy, lasting good, That waits around the bend, beyond the wood! Were it not well with the world Could it find the end of the road? End of the battle and brawl. The war and the goad? 79 Ever the road runs on, — its white lines move, Crossing the broken trails of death and love. In the hush of the tall, sweet grass where stands The tombstone, white as folded, praying hands. Is surely the end of the road! But no. Past the grave and the buried hope we go ! Ever the road runs on, the white road gleams, Down through the mystery of death and dreams. Were it not well with the heart Could it come to some low, white stile Under the crimson sunset And rest for awhile? Ever the road runs on past the sea's white sand Where the naiads dance together hand in hand; Where shallops rock with silken sails unfurled. And mermen that sport in the nether world Toss up bleached shells whose lowly murmurs tell Of sailors stark beneath the ocean's sv*^el! ; On to the great sea's confines — surely here The end of the road may happily appear! Were it not well for the heart Could it drop in the sea its load? Live as the mad mermen live At the end of the road? 80 Ever the road runs on past the blue sea wave, O'er the mountain pass and beyond the grave. Not a stop for happiness, love, or tears. Just the onward rush of the breathless years. Ever the soul pursues its shining way, Ever the restless spirit wills to stray, Follows the road that hints some sweet surprise Over the hills of dream to Paradise. Were it not well with the soul Could it find the end of the road? Be merged in the life of God And forget the load? FLOWERS NOT for man's uses do they shed their beauty. By every highway, field, and pasture bars; But from an inner sense of life and duty That lifts the dumb cell circling toward the stars. Not for man's pleasure are the flowers growing; Though eyes were blind the roses still had blown. The cosmos clothes itself with beauty, glowing, Through form and color we have long outgrown. Purpose of life have flowers; glad goals invite them. Not aimlessly the timid violets blow. Ages from now the human shall unite them To pulsing passion that we mortals know. 81 I was of them long since, in by-gone ages. They are outreaching through all forms to God. Scent of the roses, mind of wisest sages. Alike have striven upward from the clod. Who shall declare the soul or count its hours? Weigh it, or measure it, or tell its form? Vibrating through the beauty of the flowers, Sweeping upon the dark wings of the storm. All life is spirit pregnant with God's being; The very clods are quickened by His breath To rise and seek Him; blindness turns to seeing, Soul strives from form to form and knows no death. THE LIFTED STONE I BENEATH the stone that close to earth hath lain. The whitened grass, long hidden from the skies. Anaemic, ghastly, as a cripple lies With weak, stark limbs, upon a bed of pain, Dwarfed of life's purpose, all upreachings vain, Prone in the slimy mire and dankness dies. The spiral snail whose undeveloped eyes Turn to the darkness of itself again, The hurtling ant, the loathsome lizard, crawl And scurry to the safety of the gloom. 82 Unnamed, wierd, protoplasmic creatures sprawl Such suddenly discovered murky tomb, While overhead the soaring songsters call In joyous consciousness of light and bloom. II The human heart hath unsuspected ways Beneath the shining surface where we tread ; A gleam, a word, and consciousness is led To noisome darkness, sin-infested maze Of ancient heritage where passion plays The strumpet's part, and red-eyed murder, dead To memory, strikes its age-old blow. Once bled The body; now the soul, its brother, slays By hate, inconstancy, and thoughtless greed. Thou, unobtrusive God, whom humans know In fine, high moments, doth thy vastness heed, Beneath the surface, how thy creatures grow Dwarfed, dumb and blind? Hearken unto our need! Light, bloom and song in graciousness bestow! Ill The scurrying ant from its discovered nest Its glittering, pearl-like larva bears away; The lizard, in the unaccustomed ray. Blinks dull eyes upward. In the grubby breast Of pupa beats the wings that soon will rest 83 In iridescent beauty on some spray, Or in gold-hearted lilies poise and sway, As the first star breaks through the crimson west. Through slime and mire the vast eternal moves In rising spirals. Worm-infested clod And mud, grown animate, our doubt reproves. Long, voiceless strivings of the trampled sod, Blind upward reachings, strong maternal loves, Span step by step the dark abyss to God. PEACE I SAD, exiled Dante, in an alien land, Whose vine-clad hills blushed in the after-glow. Came to a monastery. To and fro The barefoot friars paced, each listless hand Slipping a bead. When they beheld him stand Outside their cloister, sad-eyed, bent with woe, "Brother," they asked, "what seek ye, wandering so, Food, shelter, raiment?" Like the flashing band Of polar fire in winter skies at night. To those dark cavernous eyes a strange light came. The flashing of a soul, the spirit's flame Burning away all wish for rest and ease, While from those lips, whose words still live in light. Breathed wearily the waited answer — "Peace." 84 II An exile from my heritage, I wait; Time's winged feet pass painfully and slow; The days like beads told off in silence go With prayer but not with praise. Bereft by fate, I seem to stand and glimpse, alas! too late. The joy it might have been my lot to know, While life's noon, lengthening into sunset's glow, Hints of the shadows by the western gate. I, who behold Hope's finger beckon me Unto the heights beyond the reach of tears, In answer to interrogating years That pass and pass, yet bring me no surcease. Asking what best of life I will to be. Reply from contrite spirit, "Give me peace." Ill Bowing beneath uncompensated loss, I long to find retreat, remote and still — Some monastery on a vine-clad hill Where, at an altar overgrown with moss, I may sink down and let life's battles toss Round alien flags and standards: those who will Dare the emprise demanding strength and skill — Their's be the laurel, mine the conquered cross. This was my prayer, and God returned me love, As the dark brooded and the way grew steep; 85 And I who was so sad forgot to weep ; An all-pervading power woos to ease; Praise-laden hours from Time's gnomon move Across this heart that leans on God at peace. DAWN AT dawn I saw the morning star Fade swiftly in the sunrise flame, And thought how like my restless heart Before the sun of loving came— Thy love that flooded fast and far, As morning quenched the morning star. Pale dreams, that fade before the glow That fills my life because of thine. Vanish, as in the crimson dawn Faint and more faint the planets shine; Lovely the star's illusive ray — But thou, thou art the perfect day. Dear, journey with me — noon be ours— The open flowers, the droning bees; Dear, tarry with me till the sun Sinks flaming o'er the western seas, And we may wander, hand in hand, Down the long slope of sunset land. 86 And when the twilight comes apace, The crimson glories sink and die, May we together watch the stars Shine out upon the tranquil sky. And feel life's days were vanished dreams, Because the night so holy seems. THE DESERT LAND WHEN at night I close my eyes, Drifting, drifting to the land Where my buried city lies, 'Neath oblivion's yellow sand, Through unmeasured space I sweep — Mighty desert-land of sleep. All is silence; here arise Palm-girt islands fringed by sea; Snowy castles kiss the skies, Bathed in rosy mystery; Radiant figures stretch their hands Out across the shining sands. Ancient love is mine again; Lines on lines of work undone; Leaping hopes, a shining train ; Heavy failures, one by one ; Calm, impassioned ghosts that rise With reproaches in their eyes. 87 Scintillating over all Comes the desert's yellow gleam; Silence and forgetting fall On the bright mirage of dream; All I am, all I am not, Love and life and self forgot. Thus I tread the desert land Everyone must tread alone, Night by night upon its sand Finding all that I have known; Lives unnumbered hidden deep In the drifting sands of sleep. THREE SONGS ONCE an angel stooped to bring Music that a bard might sing. "Sing of joy," the angel cried: When the poet sang, men wept. Laughter into silence crept, Evermore dissatisfied. "Sing of pain," the angel cried: As the poet sang men smiled Out of mortal pain beguiled, And the sufferer's tears were dried. "Sing of love," the angel cried: While the poet sang love's strain Our old world turned young again, But the bard in singing died. Joy is shadowed, pain grows sweet, And love's dear song is incomplete. LONELINESS FRIENDSHIP and love of highest worth are mine My will has won in many a righteous quest; The earth from dreamy east to vivid west Hath brougth me pearls and roses, gold and wine. Beauty of orange grove, of northern pine My eyes have seen ; my arms have held to rest Bright golden heads against a mother-breast — The crown of womanhood, the joy divine! Yet often, as strange shadows on a glass, Appears the image of tempestuous days. A presence seems to whisper, "these shall pass, Ephemeral flowers of forgotten Mays." Seeking its source the ardent soul, alas! Fares forth alone through dim, untrodden ways. JUST TO BE GLAD OH, it is such a beautiful thing Just to be glad ! To be in tune with the life of the Spring; Nevermore sad. Think, dear heart, what a wonderful sight Is ours at morn; Crimson of sunrise and shimmer of light As day is born. Verdure and bird-song and bursting flower And sunset sky; The hush of the mystical gloaming hour; The stars on high. The blessings of toil ; hope's eager smile ; Dear faith in God ; Friendship and love that can reconcile — Lift from the clod. Sing, O my soul, arise and sing, And grasp thy heaven ! Just to be glad is the blessedest thing That God has given. TEMPTATION I COME to try man's weakness or his strength, Yet honor need not droop nor virtue fall; I wait on God; and so may rise at length. The whitest, strongest angel of them all. 90 SELF-SACRIFICE WHEN love is present self is lost in love Which knows no self, its object being by. This one is self-sacrifice: to prove Kindness can act and speak, though hate is nigh. !)l PATRIOTIC 93 THE MOTHERS AMERICA, I love thee— gladly I'd fight for thee To keep thy crimson glory afloat on land and sea. Alas! my woman fingers are weak for sword or gun; I give thee only my heart's blood — I give my son. America, I love thee — thy prairies and thy hills, Thy foaming ocean beaches, thy laughing brooks and rills. To guard thee and defend thee as men have ever done, I give thee only my heart's blood — I give my son. America, I love thee. While anxiously I wait, The trumpet calls on men to ride, to guard each bridge and gate. Oh, what is best of me will be where tides of battle run! I will be there, though I am here — I give my son. America, I love thee — and should the horror come, The bravest and the strongest give life for right and home, And should I weep in loneliness as many a one has done, My consolation will be this — I gave my son. 95 PERSHING'S MEN February 4TH, 1917 THEY are marching north today, Pershing's men ; From the crimson dawn to dark, Through the cactus, dust, and stark Reaches of the arid plain; Honest men, men without stain, Pershing's men. They are coming up today, Pershing's men. Knowing only duty called. Naught but waiting has appalled ; Waiting in the sun and rain, Waiting, waiting there in vain, Pershing's men. They are bringing honor home, Pershing's men. With the flag in heart and brain, They have suffered on the plain. Lest the gray wolves leave their pack. Now they're marching, marching back, Pershing's men. Fame and glory be to you, Pershing's men! Were you half a million strong, Sheathing sword and singing song, Peace would fold her wings and rest. Praise the men who did their best — Pershing's men. 96 MY FLAG MY flag, my crimson, cloud-kissed flag, Thy peaceful conquest over-sea Has shrined thee higher in men's hearts Than bloody wars of history. All battle flags have brought to man More righteous law or holier creed ; In peace. Old Glory, thou dost bring Relief to millions in their need. My flag, my azure, star-lit flag, Ten thousand children, sore distrest, Of alien blood and alien tongue, Are clasping thee against their breast. They know not where our land may be, Uncouth our name, unguessed our race. But charted in their hearts they hold This nation as thy dwelling place. My flag, my blood-drenched, war-worn flag. How fair thy record, big thy fate! Above the blinding battle smoke, Thy honor still inviolate ! Thy bravery invincible! Earth's millions go where thou hast led: Protector of a nation's power, Dispenser of a nation's bread. 97 My flag, my peaceful, honored flag, Across the seas the starving pray God's blessing on the stars and stripes, God's mercy on thy righteous sway. Beside their yellow, black and red In Belgian hearts thy colors soar; Such bloodless conquests of the earth Be thine, my flag, forevermore. SOLDIERS ALL THE MEMORIAL DAY PARADE FAR up the Street comes the martial tread. The grave policemen riding ahead; Under the blossom drift of the trees. Where the lilac flowers scent the breeze, Around the corner and past the square, And on through the face-lined thoroughfare. Soldiers of yesterday, dressed in blue, With army hat that the sixties knew; An empty sleeve here meets the eye; There feeble men in a coach go by; White hair and tottering steps — alas! Shrunken the lines as the swift years pass! Their torn flags, blood-stained and battle worn. Flap to the winds of the breezy morn. Flags that the coldest look upon Through tears for the glory they have won; Just this once in the whole long year These precious flags in our streets appear. Hurrah for the school boys trim and neat! Their tread makes merry the dusty street; Cheer for their banners blue and gold And the clean new flags the winds unfold; Ready to try the world's great fight, Tomorrow's soldiers with eyes alight! Cheer for the men who left the Rhine, Or Erin's isle, or Norway's pine. The Scottish heather, the Neva's mouth. And fair bright countries of the south; Adopted soldiers, brave and leal, To shoulder musket or draw our steel. Hail to their banners lifted high, While over them all our colors fly, The stars and stripes all nations claim. Whatever color, creed or name; And bright as banners the flowers shine Where the flower wagons wheel in line. Cheer for the tread of their marching feet. While over their heads the green boughs meet; They carry the flowers and flags once more To the army of soldiers gone before. And our hearts are stronger for peace .'•nd pain, Who turn to the daily task ag .in. 09 A MARCHING SONG FOR AMERICA* FROM the mountains, wreathed and hoary, From the river and the plain, From the seaboard and the valley. We are marching forth again. We are marching, marching, marching. In answer to the call Of justice for the nations And liberty for all. We are coming, we are coming, As the pilgrims came of yore. We will rally 'round Old Glory As our fathers did before. We are marching, marching, marching, Millions marching — to the call Of justice for the nations And liberty for all. With no malice in our bosom, With no hate, no dreams of greed, Where the stricken millions beckon, Where the maimed and starving bleed. We are marching, marching, marching, In answer to the call Of justice for the nations And liberty for all. ^Copyright by Life Publishing Company 100 THE SPIRIT OF AMERICA I AM no nursling of a westering sun ; — My voice resounded on Homeric lyre ; Children of Hellas, hot with my desire, Obeyed the call; the pales of Russia run Red with my blood ; the Latin, Celt and Hun, Indian and Asian, lit my quenchless fire; Westward I bore Europa from her sire. Westward to visioned grandeurs yet unwon. Now, like spent birds hurtling the crested foam. Earth's wandering millions follow, in their eyes The art of Phidias and the might of Rome, To be transmuted, fused and wrought, they come, My children, led by freedom's high emprise ; From such as these my greatness shall arise. 101 BIRDS 103 ROBIN REDBREAST ON our beleagured city, White-walled by the winter's might, From the south on March winds riding. Charges a merry knight. His clarion call is challenge To frost and ice and snow; Herald of showers and sunny hours That lay grim winter low. He sings as the snow is melting. He shouts as the winds retreat, "Cheerily, cheerily, cheer-0," In face of the rain and sleet. The snowdrop has heard and answered, It nods to the roots below ; "The snow still falleth, but robin calleth, Push up! The south winds blow." No cold has power to daunt him, This prophet we waited long, Most welcome of all earth's voices, Rollicking, lovesome song; 105 "Cheerily, cheerily, cheer-0," His notes from the bare bough fall, And the south wind sighs and the green things rise To answer robin's call. BIRDS IN THE SNOW SMALL winged creatures on these cruel days When high-piled snow covers the frozen ground, Feed on the offal of the earth and raise Their twittering voices in a song of praise To Him who sends the snow and the long night. To Him who rounds the planet into light; He who in shadow and in sun is found. O soul, thou art a winged thing, endowed With power of song, with ecstasy of prayer! From earth's poor pittance raise thy head, low-bowed, Rise on thy wings, proclaim thy joy aloud: — Thy kinship with the beautiful and bright; All base desire, all earth-born appetite, Changing to music in the upper air. THE ORIOLE ABIT of sunset color given wing. A banner o'er the fruit trees' sea of flowers, Flies the glad oriole ; listen to him sing. Like Moslem priest in stately minaret towers! T06 He calls my soul to prayer, as he repeats The paean of a myriad vanished springs; The beckoning of illusive hopes, the sweets Of ancient days, is in the song he sings. He brings my eyes to tears because of these The dreams, the haunting visions life hath seen ; Voice of the springtime, calling from the trees, Bidding the heart remember what hath been. Yea, what hath been ! But more than this he tells. As forward flitting on insistent wings, A jubilate from his gay throat swells. The promised joy of all earth's future springs. Hopes of a newer beauty for the earth, Felicities of May days yet to be. Burst from that heart that cannot hide its mirth. But pours it forth in wanton ecstasy. O priest who calls to prayer from blooming trees, O singing prophet of delights to be! Glad oriole, chant thy laud until men cease Their restlessness and strive to be like thee. SONG SPARROW GRAY-breasted bird whose throat is full of song Sweeter than all the other songs of Spring, Could'st thou but know I love to hear thee sing And would protect thee from all pain and wrong, 107 And shield and shelter thee, wouldst thou belong To me, and dwell close by me, build and bring Thy featured mate to share my fostering, Nor fear to dwell my sheltering shrubs among? No, for behold the heart of woman who. Knowing God's love, has shrunk with foolish fear And turned in pain away. My soul, uprear On faith's strong pinions, doubt no more the true, The mighty love that dwells forever near. With glad expectancy and tender care. THE HERMIT THRUSH ON rosy seas of sunset sky Drifts the majestic evening star. As from a wooded copse nearby A voice melodious floats afar. Soaring on wings of rapturous flight, Thrilling with undertone of pain, It languishes to reach the light, Then mounts serene again. Chanting the spirit's mystery, Her ancient wars, her praise and bane. Breathing what human love shall be, Hinting the soul's immortal gain, To silence falling. Fades the light And deeper grows the livid shade, While on the altar of the night The listener's heart is laid. 108 THE BLUEBIRD I HEARD a bluebird singing the old immortal lay Along green country roadsides one early April day, And through my spirit flooded the tender music, heard In days that are forgotten ; the early morning bird. The songs in autumn twilight of the dear long-ago — Carols that from love and faith unhindered used to flow. Again I haunt the meadows where flashing cowslips bloom. On eager feet go seeking the arbutus' perfume ; The bluebird's joyous singing hath given back my own; Again I hear the leaping of brooks along the stone, Breezes among the pinetrees, the gentle April rain; The bitter years turn backward, I am a child again. I heard a bluebird smging the dear immortal lay, No bird that I remember from the long-vanished day. But he that sings forever, undying bird of song. Arise, my soul and listen! Vibrant, intense and strong, Immortal and triumphant, unsullied in the Spring, Youth floods across the spirit that hears the bluebird sing. THE MEADOWLARK WHEN elder whitens fence and pasture bars And the wildgrape is lavish of perfume, When field and meadow gleam with daisy-stars — A veritable milky-way of bloom — 109 Through the still air I hear a dulcet note, Calling from early morn till dewy dark, A tender song from a soft, feathered throat — "I am a happy little meadowlark." Simple confession of a gentle bird. No rapturous song, no loud, ambitious strain; But rustic, restful, homelike as a word Telling of farmer folk and manners plain, Of lazy cattle stooping low to drink From limpid brooks, that like blue ribbons mark The flowery intervale, above whose brink Hovers on awkward wing the meadowlark. Friend in brown mottled dress, thy life is set To earth's best song — the song of sweet content. I love thee, and I pray no gun nor net. Nor any harm be thine till time be spent. The same great love I lean on cares for thee And to thy call as to my prayer doth hark ; Hear the clear note borne back to answer me — "I am a happly little meadowlark." BROWN BIRD LITTLE brown bird, the autumn winds Blow chill across thy speckled breast, As underneath the crimson vines 110 I see thee pause for food and rest; Thy cheery voice rings sweetly clear Across the frosty atmosphere. Little brown bird, October haze Lies lingeringly on shore and bay; Thy voice is of estival days, Thy feathered comrades, where are they? Thou seem'st the voice of memory Speaking of vanished joy to me. Little brown bird, pursue thy way, A long, adventurous flight is thine; Yet thou wilt feed and sing each day Beneath some wayside bush or vine; Thy home, as mine, where God doth lead ; Thy song, thy table, for thy need. THE ENGLISH SPARROW DRAB-breasted bunch of feathers on my blind, If you were here alone the world were kind; But in the sleet and snow, Intrepid warriors, earth's vicissitudes Scorning with cheer, your merry, chirruping broods Find scanty welcome or a bitter foe. The ever-watching Father loves no less Because you're clothed in such a modest dress. 111 Are all untuned to sing; Your twittering note in winter is to me As sweet as song of bird whose minstrelsy Fills budding wood and field with sense of Spring. I who can see to heights I cannot reach, Who know a language past my power of speech, Am glad to have you near; So build all unmolested your huge nest Upon my cornice, feed and chirp and rest. And teach me how to brave a storm with cheer. THE CATBIRD I CATBIRD, catbird, calling, calling, While the purple shadows falling On the fields of blooming clover Tell us day is long since over; Song the vesper sparrow sings us, That the crimson sunset brings us, Is to silence long departed When thy voice, O merry hearted, From the lilac sprays above us Mocks the gentle birds that love us. Then thy mimic throat's repeating All the mating and the sweeting That we hear about our dwelling. 112 In the twilight thou art telling Joy of orioles and thrushes, Cry of plover in the rushes; Hark! I hear a robin singing. Now thy note, a sadness bringing, Hints the whitethroat's April greeting. Thou, all love and glee repeating, Teachest human hearts to borrow Hope and courage for their sorrow. Could we, when joy's sun departed. Sing as thou, O, happy hearted ; Could we gather songs that winging Come about us, blessed singing Would we know ! Unconscious beauty Of unselfishness and duty Dauntless, noble lives are showing; Songs from humble patience flowing; Songs of praising, songs of praying; Songs of toiling, songs of playing; Joy the meanest life is knowing. Blessedness of love's bestowing. To such happiness replying. Could we sing in songs undying, We might change earth's dreary hours To a festival of flowers. Sing away the twilight sadness, 113 Change our gloaming into gladness, Even as thou, dear catbird, calling, While the purple shadows falling On the fields of blooming clover Tell us day is long since over. II BIRDS sing in interludes, the robin calls At early morning from the elm tree towers; The oriole and sparrow, finch and thrush. Gladden with frequent song the summer hours. And smaller birds that nest amid the green Bid man in June's effulgency rejoice. But all day long amid the grape-vine bower I hear one rapturously exultant voice. At dawn, before the eager sun has risen. At noon, when heat has hushed all other note, In dewy twilight, sounds the same refrain, Bursting ecstatic from that plain gray throat. 'Tis like the laughter of a childish heart. Gay just because the summer days are here, Full of the gladness of a soul that finds Itself completed in a soul more dear. 114 A something more than bird's that song appears', Some strong, impassioned heart it seems to be, Whose voice speaks strangely to this heart of mine, Bidding it rise and sing, winged and free. Sing on, sing on! Around thee falls the sun In golden glory — flowers are everywhere. The song has vaster scope than nest or young That lifts a life from restlessness to prayer. ON HEARING THE WOODTHRUSH SING AT DAWN AT early dawn. When night's dark curtains slowly are withdrawn, A wilding's voice disturbs the waiting air With rapturous notes of gratitude or prayer; A voice unknown within the breathlessness Of crowded cities, where the masses press Each other, deaf to laughter and to sighs, Where glooming walls of masonry arise As old-time prisons, narrower, narrower prest, Crushing the beating heart within the breast. Across the gloom That fills like purple seas the quiet room, The voice floods in as if some tide arisen From depths unseen burst through its rocky prison, Or some forgotten poet freed from flesh, 115 Caught in mysterious play of cosmic mesh, Rehearsed the melodies that earth's dull ear Roused from its slothful sleep an hour to hear, Then turned again, forgetfully, to keep But scattered threads borne through the realms of sleep. Like pearly spray The song escapes the forest's quiet way, As sings Egeria by pain set free. Seeking in vain an undiscovered sea. Thou who hast tuned the wilding's mottled throat To love's supreme, impassioned, wonder-note. Me thou hast blest With tears and laughter, longing and unrest. With fear and aspiration, mad and sweet Of life, as he who on besandaled feet Across the heavenly dawns of long-ago Brought to sad earth his rapture and his woe. Thou who art burning love, dead poets knew; The sunrise oriflamme, the chrism of dew; The voiceless incantation of the rose When to the paling stars her buds unclose ; The rainbow arch, the winter, snow-empearled ; All wordless, voiceless beauty of the world ; Thou who art life, breathe through my soul and be Released in music, set thy being free Within my breast, as yonder rapturous bird Pours through the somnolent woods his pulsing word. 116 Earth hath no sweeter song Than doth to this wild creature's throat belong. Thou who within my nature dwell'st as part Of thinking brain, swift hand and loving heart, Let me not shrink at miseries that bring Unto my life the heavenly gift — to sing. Let me not question Thee when thou dost take Unto grim nether worlds my all nor make Impassioned moan, as Glaucus, when the sea, Washing away his loved humanity, Revealed his godhood in the depths below. Grim mystery of doubt each soul must know In regions where the Stygian rivers roll Through black abyss till the aspiring soul, Weary of loss and bitterness and blight. Seeking for thee, stumbles upon the light; Rises florescent, winged, fit to sing As yonder throstle in the woods of Spring. THE PURPLE-FINCH AFAR the city fades to gray Dream city — spire, roof and tower. Here at our feet the Spring repeats Her miracle of grass and flower. All silence, save the bees and birds; No motion save the swallows winging Across the blue, O hark! how sweet! The merry purple finch is singing. 117 Bright bird, whose song seems summer's self, Prophetic powers to thee belong; My listening senses thrill to hear Thy joy outpour itself in song. A hint of roses floods thy notes, Long summer days old raptures bringing; Calm, star-lit twilight, strength of dawn And pulse of noon are in thy singing. Fresh as the brook that piney woods And fragrant, cowslip-meads has trod. Above the far-off city flows Thy rapturous hymn of praise to God ; Like sweet-voiced prophet who foretells The blessed days the years are bringing, When hate shall yield its power to love ; Hark! hark! the purple finch is singing. A NEST FULL OF SNOW AN empty nest whereto has clung The wreathing beauty of the snow, Brings back to me the summer joys, The song and bloom of months ago. And glad my heart when I recall How, far away 'neath southern skies, The feathered throng we mourn as lost Still loves and builds, still sings and flies. 18 O you who have beheld in tears The burial blossoms wreath your door, Closed to the merry feet that pass Across its threshold nevermore, See with delight this snow-piled nest; Remember that the glad bird flies Singing, beneath the kinder sun, Of cloudless and familiar skies! 119 IN MEMORIAM J<21 IN MEMORIAM I ALL things of beauty come at last to thee, Abide unchanged in thy tenebrous land ; Come, blithesome maiden, take me by the hand. Weary I am of life, Persephone. Lost continents and spoils of time are thine; Ah, surely from such affluence thou canst spare The gleaming silver of my mother's hair. The touch of my dear father's hand in mine. So little do I ask thee, child of light — A vanished smile, a gentle w^ord or two. Needed to set a jarring world aright. I kneel as I in childhood used to do, Waiting for thee, Persephone, to bring Out of the gloom the rapture of lost Spring. II My father, dear, my father! ever mine Though on strange seas to unfamiliar shore I saw thee pass — my father evermore, 123 As I am evermore a child of thine. In babyhood, on tottering feet, I trod With hand about thy finger tightly twined. Always my comrade, lover, friend — my kind, Dear teacher and my argument for God. Once long ago I lost thee — worlds away — And found thee here. So shall I find again, After the dawn and twilight, sun and rain. In some old country loved in some old day. My father, guard for me the heavenly home And keep my place at table till I come. Ill My mother, sweet, my mother! thou wert fair- Fair as this crystal vase that holds a rose; Thy hair a gleaming crown of winter snows, Thy heart the summer sun and genial air — Its language love, its atmosphere a prayer — The love of beauty that the artist knows — The love of virtue that the saints disclose — The love of all mankind — found dwelling there. Thy dainty body like a crystal vase, So fragile and so beautiful, lies low Amid the creeping roots of grass and tree. Yet do I dream of seeing thy dear face Where by still streams our vanished roses blow And all that love may win is waiting me. 124 IV Dear vanished eyes like blue-gray doves that coo Beneath the eaves when April days are bright; Like starry, twilight spaces of the night, We scarce discern if they be gray or blue. When walking through the morning's chrism of dew In wooded ways, there flashed upon my sight A violet that was neither blue nor white; Such modest tint her lashes hid from view. The lake's pale shimmering under skies of gray; Translucent ice that clings along its shore; The gull's curved wing that sweeps a far blue sea — Colored as these — recurring night and day, As fair and haunting pictures seem no more — My mother's eyes, whose light is memory. V Where art thou, my beloved? It is Spring: I never knew a Spring apart from thee. Against the tender sky faint tracery Of nascent leaves appear, and robins bring To the old haunts their bits of straw and string. We watched them build, we leaned and laughed to see Their scrawny nestlings in the blooming tree ; Hand clasped in hand we walked and heard them sing. Where hast thou gone? I weep in twilight hours. Remembering thy grave so brown and bare ; But in the dawn, when morning's glorious star Shines through the fruit-tree's wreaths of ghostly flowers, I creep from empty room to room — I dare To call thy name. Who knows where angels are? 125 VI Gray, foam-capped billows, buoyant, bounding, free, Sob on the rocks and sing along the sand ; Waking or sleeping, dreamily I stand On distant coasts and hear their minstrelsy. Amid the inland ways throb ceaselessly The passionless pulses of a mighty hand; Remembered tides that flood a thirsty land Of dun salt marsh bring back my youth to me. Though silence creeps where Eros used to sing, His song floods memory, and again I hear Across long miles my own call tenderly: I see dear eyes, gray as the seagull's wing; I touch dear hands; a presence floodeth near, On tides of being, linking sea to sea. VII The moonbeams poured into the quiet room Until it seemed an over-brimming bowl Beaded with flashing drops; the shadows stole Like ghosts before a censer's rich perfume, Leaving a swaying tracery of gloom On floor and ceiling — wreath and flowery scroll; So bales of gold-wrought eastern stuffs unroll ; So bursts a perfect lily into bloom. Along the moonlit intervale a tread Moved as the wind that stalks the pine ; my name Breathed softly, on my brow dear kisses shed Old rapture; pain and loneliness in shame Shrink back before the spirit's oriflamme ; Dawn beckons from the heights and night has fled. 126