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White Silences 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2011 with funding from 
 The Library of Congress 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/whitesilencespoeOObull 
 
White Silences 
 
 Poems 
 A Play 
 & 
 A Tale 
 
 By 
 
 KATHERINE BULL 
 
 THE TOUCHSTONE 
 PUBLISHING CO. 
 NEW YORK 
 

 Seeking, we shall find — despairing there shall arise new hopes. 
 Down in the valley we said "We have searched everywhere" — 
 and zve had never climbed this peak! 
 
 In an unthought place we shall find It. 
 
 From The Grey-Green Forest, 
 
 A Prose-Poem. 
 
 0)CI,A559 549 
 
 M i g 1920 
 

 MEMORIAL 
 
 In the middle of October, 1918, Katherlne Bull, a little girl 
 of fifteen, slipped away into the Great Beyond, leaving 
 this message — ^written many months before and tucked away 
 among her poems — for a world brought face to face with 
 sorrowing and death : 
 
 " You talk to me about dying. 
 What do you know about dying? 
 It is not dying you mean .... you mean LIFE." 
 
 There was no struggle, no anticipation; just a sudden 
 flitting away, like a bird let out of its cage. 
 
 Her last two years were spent at boarding school, and 
 filled so full of joyous interest in all the usual activities, 
 that there was great surprise among her friends to find she had 
 long been writing poems like these. ''She never talked about 
 such things" they said, and "She didn't seem different from 
 the rest of us." 
 
 She was perhaps the most concentrated bit of livingness 
 in the entire school, and so when she went quietly away, with 
 hardly any warning whatsoever, there might have been an 
 emptiness experienced, a sense of loss — a sadness that so 
 much joy of life should be removed from sight. 
 
 But here the "difference," not always noticeable before, 
 was suddenly apparent: she was one for whom you could not 
 mourn! And the wonderful awareness that was hers, deep 
 down under the ordinary current of her life, bloomed out into 
 a sudden radiance and overflowed the hearts of those who 
 were most near to her, leaving no place for ordinary grief. 
 "We never knew that death could be like this" . . . the 
 children said to one another. 
 
There was no thought of any burial, even after the 
 alchemy of fire had wrought its rapid chemge. Up on 
 the Mountain of her poem — beyond the sign that reads 
 ''End of the Road," she planned to build a little house some 
 far-off day^ — a little house that would look out over the 
 
 river And so — a certain morning 
 
 before dawn . . . the one who was most-near-of-all to her 
 went up — alone and the little handful of star- 
 dust, given to the winds, was scattered lightly on the mountain 
 side. 
 
 Always to the point where men write "End of the Road" 
 
 ^and then beyond! She would have none 
 
 of your limitations. 
 
 The poetry began to appear when she was eight years old. 
 Always it was quite spontaneous, and seldom tampered 
 with once it was written down. The early verses here 
 included are chosen from a much larger number which 
 she made into a little manuscript book and dedicated "To 
 my Mother." No one could possibly be more critical of these 
 first attempts than was the child herself, after she had begun 
 to strike her truer gait. She never ceased to enjoy reading 
 them over to us, however, sometimes laughing whole-heartedly 
 at their "childishness," and sometimes commenting very 
 quaintly — but quite impersonally — on their good points and 
 on their bad ones! 
 
 She read a great amount of poetry, and the influence of 
 Edward Carpenter psurticularly is easy to be traced in much 
 that she has done. At times she has quite frankly taken over 
 forms of rhyme or meter that made a strong appeal, and her 
 indebtedness to Lanier is obvious in one instance — to Vachell 
 Lindsay in another. Yet both these poems contain so much 
 that is entirely her own, it seemed a pity to exclude them from 
 her book. 
 
The later poems were the most precious things in her 
 possession, and nearly all of them are given here — ^the less 
 good with the best — ^to make their own appeal, and take 
 whatever place belongs to them amid the universal heralding 
 of a New Day already at our gates. 
 
 High up on the mountain side there blooms to-day a cloud 
 of everlasting flowers — the loveliest gayest little grey- 
 white immortelles. It is as tho the brooding Elarth in her great 
 tenderness and mother-love could not forego the customary 
 marking of the spot! And yet — ^the very mountain seems 
 alive with her, the little strong one who wandered lightly over 
 it so often and so eagerly, and there is no sense of any part 
 peculiarly hers. 
 
 For there is an end of graves at hand — in the earth and 
 in our hearts as well. If this were to be the beginning of the 
 end .... what more fitting memorial to the little poet 
 cf Immortality and Freedom — ^who made this book for you! 
 
 NINA BULL 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 
 Dedication 11 
 
 Silences . . 12 
 
 Song Sparrow . . 13 
 
 The Open Road 14 
 
 To the Winged Clouds . . 15 
 
 To My Heart 16 
 
 If thou hast given thy life 17 
 
 Sea Song 18 
 
 Storm of Spirits 19 
 
 If you have saved a friend's life 20 
 
 Worship . ..21 
 
 Heat 22 
 
 You 23 
 
 Lines 24 
 
 Wandering Lightly 25 
 
 Evening Prayer 26 
 
 Morning Prayer 2 7 
 
 Songs of My Being, I and II 28 
 
 Spring 30 
 
 The Storm 32 
 
 A tiny red spider . . .34 
 
 I said 35 
 
 Wild . . wet . . women on the hill-tops 36 
 
 Quiet things a-lapping up the drear-time . . . . 37 
 
 White Mirrors 38 
 
 There is no silence 39 
 
 You are so foolish 40 
 
 Kisses of the Bending Lilies 41 
 
 I Accept You . . . . 42 
 
 Mountain 43 
 
 Death: A Play . 44 
 
EARLY POEMS Page 
 
 Around the Fire 48 
 
 The Sky 49 
 
 A Wish 50 
 
 Song of the Fisherman's Child 51 
 
 To Lilies 52 
 
 God 53 
 
 The Snow Storm 54 
 
 Charm: To be said before going to sleep . . .55 
 
 ToM. R L 56 
 
 I went to the churchyard . . '. . . . . 5 7 
 
 The Song of the Child . 58 
 
 The Stars 59 
 
 Hie Ocean's Lullaby 60 
 
 Epilogue . . 61 
 
 The Difference: A Tale 82 
 
DEDICATION 
 
 To My Mother 
 
 Mother, you sit in the twilight, and 
 As the twilight deepens, the blackness ripens. 
 The ocean sways and the ocean quivers. 
 And breezes glide through the air like rivers, 
 The sun sinks lower beneath the horizon. 
 The world is mystic, — the shadows gloomy. 
 The earth is veiled in a veil of splendor — 
 A magic veil that conses from the fairies; 
 Woven and spun — woven and spun 
 On an elfin loom with elfin network. 
 
 how short is the magical moment! 
 
 How precious, how lovely the magical moment! 
 When the black leaves come and the green leaves go 
 And color fades from the world of real things — 
 World of real things — of unreal things. 
 
 But, Mother, you love to sit in the twilight. 
 To watch, as it deepens, the blackness ripen, 
 The ocean sway and the ocean Nay, 
 
 1 have said it — I will not say it again; 
 But you must seal my lips with a kiss. 
 With a kiss, Mother, good-night. 
 
 11 
 
SILENCES 
 
 I love 
 
 The white silences that you keep. 
 
 I do not know who you are . . . 
 Only your sOences hide in my soul. 
 
 12 
 
SONG SPARROW 
 
 I heard you, little soul-singer 
 
 In the sweet pause of the rising morning you wounded me 
 to life. 
 
 To-day you are loved and noted of heaven 
 
 And forever you shall be of the Sacred Ones 
 
 For it was you that woke the thrill in the deeps of me. 
 
 13 
 
THE OPEN ROAD 
 
 Away and away it stretches 
 
 Into the distant horizon, 
 
 Inviting, and tempting, and luring me 
 
 On into Life and Adventure. 
 
 Like Time, it has known no beginning 
 
 And endless, like God, it is waiting: 
 
 While I, that stand awed in the silence, 
 
 Am crushed with the love and adoring 
 
 That circles me round in deep circles. 
 
 And passes and passes and passes 
 
 Through all of my innermost being. 
 
 Along and along 1 am running: 
 
 (Glad heart, that is throwing me forward!) 
 
 Night comes and I sit by the roadside 
 And gaze at the stars in the midnight ; 
 But long ere the morning awakens 
 I wake — and am running and running 
 Over the endless, beginningless : 
 Over the open road! 
 
 14 
 
TO THE WINGED CLOUDS 
 
 O clouds, ye hersJds of snows and storms, 
 
 Ye wings of the world with your wild white forms, 
 
 bear me up on your wavy crests 
 
 Your msnriad mother's bosoms and breasts; 
 And dance me out in the universe, 
 
 1 an infant and ye my nurse; 
 
 Feed me the food that the stars consume. 
 And make me strong in your mother-womb; 
 
 Kiss me with lips that have cursed, and sing me 
 Your sweetest of songs, cuddle me, wring me. 
 And deep, O deep 
 Deep down in your downy depths where your songs ye keep. 
 Sing me asleep! 
 
 15 
 
TO MY HEART 
 
 little heart of mine, 
 
 Tell me, why did you prefer to stay in darkness when you saw 
 
 light? 
 You saw Love, and still hated: 
 You saw Knowledge, and sought it not: 
 You saw Faith, and doubted: 
 You saw Hope, and despaired: 
 Joy, and were still miserable. 
 
 Why was this, O Heart of mine? 
 For there came a hole in the veil that was wound about you 
 
 and kept you in dsurkness, 
 A little hole which let through the Light and through which you 
 
 saw Love, and Knowledge, and Faith, and Hope, and 
 
 Joy; 
 
 But you drew the veil tighter around you and hid the hole in 
 its folds 
 
 And then, by and by, the hole grew larger^ — 
 
 You looked once more, and saw how sacred it was, 
 
 And you called to Light and her companions ..... 
 
 And lo! 
 
 The veil of darkness you had worn changed to the Light you 
 sought: 
 
 And the hatred that you had hated became your love of Love: 
 
 The Knowledge that you had longed for was born of your 
 ignorance : 
 
 And out of the doubt and fear you bore came faith in Faith 
 eternal : 
 
 Born of the blackest of your despair came Hope, the Con- 
 queror of Worlds: 
 
 And from the depths of your misery issued your wildest Joy 
 in rejoicing. 
 
 1 know you have blessed the hidden hole in the veil that cov- 
 
 ered your eyes; 
 But tell me, O Heart of mine, and Soul of my heart of hearts. 
 Tell me, why did you hide so long from the Light that blos- 
 somed about you? 
 
 16 
 
IF THOU HAST GIVEN THY LIFE 
 
 If thou hast given thy life and thy strength and thy power to 
 
 attain something — 
 Not for thyself, but for the world ; 
 
 If thy vision proclaims it perfect and thou knowest none better ; 
 And if thou shalt live to see this ideal a reality before thee: 
 
 Thou shalt not pause to glory in it. 
 
 There will be no time for thee to put on thy fine raiment, 
 
 Or to feast in the hall and rejoice; 
 
 Nor will there even be time for thee to doff thy work clothes. 
 
 But thou shalt run on: 
 
 Past the feast 
 
 And past the merry-makers, 
 
 Past everything. 
 
 Past all the past, 
 
 Yea, even thy ideal which has been realized ; 
 
 And thou shalt give thy all to a new ideal. 
 
 For it shalt thou labor and for it shalt thou drain thy new life. 
 
 17 
 
SEA SONG 
 
 I sit high on a rock 
 
 The ocean lies low beneath me 
 
 And the spray reaches up and sometimes spatters me with a 
 
 shower of pure pearls, 
 While the wind blows through my hair and kisses my heart. 
 
 The pearls are big; 
 
 The waves and the rock are bigger; 
 
 And the ocean is bigger still. 
 
 But I ... . 
 
 Am littler than the littlest pearl; 
 
 I ans so little that I long to cast myself from the rock, 
 
 I long to lose my great littleness in its great bigness, 
 
 To mix my spark of power with its omnipotence. 
 
 To feel its vastness, its glory, its limitless life. 
 
 To lie in this mass of surging waters and cease breathing — 
 
 ay, to forsake my breathing body ; 
 I must live its glory and its freedom. 
 I MUST LIVE! 
 
 And perhaps I shall issue forth purified — cleansed, 
 
 Perhaps I shall return with all its power merged into mine — 
 
 one with mine. 
 And perhaps . . . perhaps the ocean and I will never part — 
 
 will never be severed, 
 Perhaps we shall live as One through the ages. 
 — -Perhaps? .... No — Surely. 
 
 18 
 
STORM OF SPIRITS 
 
 Bl&ck trees^ — black shore-line — ^white sea- — black enfolding 
 edges of a bay 
 
 And I, beholding it, inconspicuous sheltered — gazing from far 
 inland. 
 
 Beautiful white sky resting on black uplifted horizon 
 
 Masses of spirit centered — ^casting deep shadows, holy, over 
 the water near edges of things — 
 
 Then with a slow swiftness black merging into white and white 
 spreading out over all in grey mist. 
 
 Grey mist eating deep into everything 
 
 And clean white sea things sliding surely up frons the sand and 
 vanishing out with swift ease into unknown spaciousness 
 of great freedom. 
 
 And when all They have passed out .... grey grey torrents 
 of rain consuming all into sorrow and weeping not to be 
 relieved by fire or sobbing but only a slow unintermit- 
 tant mourning and dismal oblivion of outline. 
 
 Even the trees above me are stiff and silent and the utter dim- 
 ming has stricken me cold and dead. 
 
 O that I could have run with Them clean also auid white 
 
 merging into the Unknown Freedom where light 
 
 and darkness and all hidden things stand revealed in 
 naked nature. 
 
 19 
 
IF YOU HAVE SAVED A FRIEND'S LIFE 
 
 If you have saved a friend's life, 
 
 Or done some valorous deed, forgetful of self, 
 
 If you have been kind and unselfish and generous 
 
 And are tired of doing good, 
 
 Desiring to rest and remain in peace: 
 
 Remember, it is not what you have done that counts, 
 
 But what you are doing. 
 
 If you have done a good thing, 
 
 Think not that if you do it again it will still be good. 
 
 The second time you must do something nsuch harder, much 
 
 better. 
 Right and wi'ong are not determined by the world, 
 But by each individual. 
 Hie best you are able is right. 
 Other than that is wrong. 
 
 And remen»ber, it is not what you have done that counts, 
 But what you are doing. 
 
 If you have sinned, and are weighted down with the memory, 
 
 If you punish yourself, and do penance, 
 
 Or if you have sustained a great grief 
 
 And therefore your life is clouded j 
 
 Forget your grief and your sins, 
 
 Let them not spoil your whole existence; 
 
 The only acceptable penance for wrong, is right. 
 
 Remember, it is not what you have done that counts. 
 
 But what you are doing. 
 
 20 
 
WORSHIP 
 
 There is nothing in all the world that is not fit to be wor- 
 shipped. 
 
 The ocean, mad, free, passionate — - it is niy God to nue. 
 The trees rocks sand (equally gloriocas expressions cf 
 
 Nature) they are my God to me. 
 And the little common things the field mouse 
 
 shining loving stars up thro the grass at me as I pass 
 Or the water rat peeping shy out of the sewer pipe, and 
 
 shooting back again at the approach of a stranger .... 
 There is no fear between us. We are all worship to each other. 
 
 Behold as I lay by the sea 
 The waves washed up unto me many things 
 And the tide slid back underneath the ocean 
 Leaving a dead fish rotting on the sand. 
 
 And as I lay worshipping 
 
 There came a voice: 
 
 And I knew that there was nothing beautiful in heaven or earth 
 that had not its form from the rot and unloveliness of cen- 
 turies. 
 
 21 
 
HEAT 
 
 Heat heat; sunlight white heat all heat 
 
 Shadow black languid heat 
 
 Each grain of sand scorching deep deep into my body 
 
 And sea, cold cold scorching the heat heat scorching cold 
 
 All is heat: 
 
 Black shadow-heat white sun-heat dry sand-heat wet 
 
 cold-heat 
 All heat equal scorching equally great seething heat. 
 
 Grass rock tree sand water — One heat 
 
 Thus the country. 
 
 Fever fever 
 
 Death death 
 
 Men and women stricken in the streets 'neath glare of great 
 walls all heat 
 
 Dying dying, unclean fever and burning out of hearts 
 
 Hot tearless sorrow, the deep city gone mad with a terrible 
 mania 
 
 Walls walls snatching the heat white delirious heat 
 
 And thick atmosphere — unfit breath for even the swarm- 
 ing diseased flies. 
 
 O fever fever 
 
 Thus the city. 
 
 O wonderful world-heat 
 
 Heat of the universe and all that is 
 
 Drawn out from the center of things by Unknown Power: 
 
 Whom do I worship but thee? 
 
 Where a God, an All, supreme, save thee? 
 
 Mad essence of all and source in the eyes of the world, 
 
 destroying and beyond eyes, creating 
 
 Scorch thou my body; or if need be, consume it in flame 
 For I will dissolve my identity in pain . . . world-pain 
 
 . . . heat-pain 
 And glory in a new creation. 
 
 22 
 
YOU 
 
 You 
 
 I love you. 
 
 I do not love you as I love my unknown gods 
 
 I love you close — 
 
 Small and human .... 
 
 And the great awe of your tenderness. 
 
 You are so beautiful 
 
 And I love your eyes. 
 
 There is a terrible sadness .... 
 
 Burden of worlds 
 
 Singing its tear-heart. 
 
 You are so big 
 
 And you are so tired 
 
 So lonely. 
 
 I am so small, 
 
 But I am not tired, and so little lonely. 
 
 I am of the little aches and hurts 
 
 And you are of the ache of worlds : 
 
 My little ones so short, so passing. 
 
 I am April 
 
 But with such joy as April never knew. 
 
 But you .... 
 
 You are time 
 
 Wheeling 
 Great and lonely 
 
 Through the worlds 
 
 On the way of the lone gods. 
 
LINES 
 
 Lmgerisig seas of sunset 
 Flaming and red, 
 
 Bits of my golden sorrow 
 Burnished and bled. 
 
 Woven of misty vagueness 
 Cloud eagles swoop 
 
 Bearing away my sorrow 
 Into their troop. 
 
 24 
 
WANDERING LIGHTLY 
 
 Wandering lightly over the mountains 
 
 Running and leaping and passing and flitting 
 
 Over and on a dance and joy. 
 
 Hither I come and thither I go 
 
 Night of the Silence who can know? 
 
 High , low go , go 
 
 Leaping chasms 
 
 Climbing precipices 
 
 Slipping into abysses 
 
 Flying up out over 
 
 High , low go , go 
 
 25 
 
EVENING PRAYER 
 
 "0 mighty Mother — in silence receive thy child." 
 
 EDWARD CARPENTER. 
 
 O mighty Mother — in silence receive thy child — in high 
 silences of night, peaceful and unresisting let me be taken ; 
 
 And through all the quiet time let my healing be accomplished, 
 
 While stars bud and even until the moon yields into the sun. 
 
 O mighty Mother, 
 
 Make me to-night even as the moon^ — -yield me also into the 
 Sun, that we may arise and go forth together, goldenly 
 glorious. 
 
 26 
 
MORNING PRAYER 
 
 I will arise and run out into the day, singing — 
 
 Thou Mother shalt look forth out of my eyes and lay blessings 
 on all life. 
 
 Wheresoever I go, there shall be always the quiet time, and 
 upon whomsoever I lay my eyes, he shall be blessed for- 
 ever. 
 
 My very breath shall be healing, and always for the strength I 
 give out, there shall return an hundredfold for my own 
 healing. 
 
 27 
 
SONGS OF MY BEING 
 
 I 
 
 I was not begotten of wosnan, 
 
 Nature was my mother. 
 
 I slept in the womb of the ocean, 
 
 Yea, Sae* brought me forth. 
 
 The rocks cradled me: 
 
 The trees fondled me in their arsus: 
 
 The flowers lent me their smiles for my lips, 
 
 Their quietude for my heart. 
 
 When I was a child 
 
 i gathered pearls from the ocean, 
 
 Pieces of gold and silver from the earth, 
 
 Pink coral from the coral islands, 
 
 And I loved them, because they were pretty. 
 
 I ate the berries of the deadly nightshade : 
 
 I drank poison out of the serpent's fangs: 
 
 A hundred times in the storm the lightning struck across my 
 
 face: 
 And who could count the days I have played in the beautiful 
 
 garden in the bosonn of Sae where I was nourished until 
 
 I came forth perfect? 
 I have walked through fire, 
 Yea, stood still in the midst of it and breathed of the life that 
 
 was in it. 
 There was an earthquake and nnountains fell on mie. 
 But I took wings, and soared up out of the rock. 
 Yea, I have drunk poison and laughed; 
 I have stood in fire, nor been burnt; 
 I have played in the beautiful sea-garden, and have not been 
 
 drowned ; 
 Rocks have fallen upon me, and I was not crushed. 
 
 I sing of the strength of me 
 
 It may well seem a miracle to thee — ^just now — 
 
 Yet believe and some day thou shalt understand. 
 
 *Sae is Old English for Sea. 
 
 28 
 
SONGS OF MY BEING 
 
 il 
 
 I asm the ruler of my body and soul through my Spirit: 
 
 I am lord of all about me : 
 
 I make pure that which is filled with impurities: 
 
 I wash that which is filthy: 
 
 I heal that which is afflicted: 
 
 Anger and fear fly before the flame of my breath 
 
 Like chaff before the wind: 
 
 That which has been evil becomes nothing as I approach: 
 
 The stars are my messengers; 
 
 The sun and moon are a footstool for my feet; 
 
 I sit on the mountains and watch the world go its way 
 
 below me; 
 At my right hand is Eternity, 
 And at my left is Space: 
 The lightning is the glance of my eye ; 
 
 The thunder is my voice when I raise it in praise to the skies; 
 The oceans are my tears, purifying the earth : 
 Fire is my soul, burning the earth: 
 Wind is my breath, scattering the earth: 
 And earthquakes are my words, upheaving it. 
 I am my master. 
 
 I am in God and in all these worlds about me, 
 And in me are all these. 
 
 29 
 
SPRING 
 
 Spring, 
 
 I love thee! 
 
 It is the beginning, the world re-born 
 
 That I love. 
 
 And I love it 
 
 Because I, too, am re-born. 
 
 My body sings, and is beautiful; 
 
 Its ugly covering drops off 
 
 Even as thy snow departs. 
 
 And underneath it is strong and growing. 
 
 Spring, 
 
 I love thee ! 
 
 I see thee in the vanishing dirt-laden snow, 
 
 I hear thee in the sap whispering inside black tree-trunks, 
 
 And I behold thee in green buds through the branches 
 
 Ready to burst out and grow when their time comes. 
 
 In the waking pools thou art. 
 
 And in the ice-bound rivers breaking their thick coverings 
 
 into a thousand pieces with glad flowing. 
 In the sky 
 The white clouds 
 I see thee. 
 In the air 
 The warm clouds 
 Thou art. 
 
 In the green things growing up through the earth, 
 In the birds' songs 
 And in me, also, 
 Thou art come. 
 My soul set free 
 In calm and silent joy 
 Worshipping thee, as a God. 
 Thou art a beginning 
 Re-bearing the earth 
 Out of great deadness. 
 
 30 
 
I am the regenerating Life; 
 
 I, O World, am thy re-birth, 
 
 I am thy great beginning. 
 
 And I am also that which begins, 
 
 That which is re-born 
 
 To whom the re-birth comes. 
 
 31 
 
THE STORM 
 
 A tearing rush 
 
 Tears 
 
 A flash 
 
 And a crash 
 
 A piercing shriek 
 
 A gasping cry — 
 
 Still tears 
 
 Strange lights 
 
 Crashes 
 
 'Midst flashes 
 
 And trees 
 
 Bending in the breeze 
 
 And standing in tall loneliness against the sky. 
 
 Clouds passing by 
 
 And stretching forth gray fingers in the air 
 
 Weird fantasies and f ornns 
 
 Strange shapes and fair. 
 
 The tears still lingering on each trembling leaf 
 
 Then pouring down once more 
 
 In fiercest torrents. 
 
 Again the wind 
 
 Maddest 
 
 And gladdest 
 
 Wildest 
 
 And weirdest. 
 
 Once more the flash 
 
 . . . . And lo! strange miracle 
 
 A door is opened; 
 
 And then 
 
 Nor pause between, there connes that rent, that cry. 
 
 Was that door opened then, I wonder, 
 To greet the Thunder ? 
 
 32 
 
A winged, solitary singer sails by — 
 
 Sails through the clouds 
 
 Even as water passes down the wind 
 
 And in his song 
 
 He seeks to outsing the living leaves 
 
 And wins the victory. 
 
 And then there bursts 
 
 From out ten thousand throats a song 
 
 Of fiercest glory. 
 
 The tears cease falling. 
 
 And yet the web the water weaves 
 
 Still covers leaves. 
 
 And I 
 
 Rush forth to laugh aloud for Lif e,-— 
 
 For that I live! 
 
 33 
 
A TINY RED SPIDER 
 
 A tiny red spider sliding over a piece 
 
 of white paper .... 
 Something laid down over the little 
 
 life . . . . 
 And nothing left but a red smudge on 
 
 the paper, no bigger than a pin-head. 
 
 34 
 
I SAID 
 
 I said to her, 
 
 See, here is a tune I made up. Is it not nice? 
 
 And she said, 
 
 I made a poem once 
 
 I thought it was very nice. 
 
 35 
 
Wild . . wet . . women on the hill-tops 
 Great . . glad . . women of the sea 
 Sweet songs singing in the song-herds 
 Whispers a-whispering to me 
 
 Gaunt . . grey . . wcmien of the God-haunts 
 Tear women ploughing in the plam 
 Green gold gatherings of harvest 
 Quiverings a-breaking me in pain 
 
 36 
 
Quiet things a-Iapping up the drear-time 
 Heart-breaks a-crowding in the pain 
 Silences hiding in the darkness — 
 Soft swift shadows in the rain 
 
 White ones winging to the westward 
 Grey ones a-gathering of graves 
 Still-shod shadows out of twilight 
 Foam-drops heaving over waves 
 
 37 
 
WHITE MIRRORS 
 
 Somewhere lie great white mirrors: 
 
 These, my white ones, are just and you cannot escape them. 
 
 Nowhere is one with a soul not reBected there. 
 
 And perhaps if you could gaze deep into the white Ones 
 
 Knowing not to whom the myriad souls belonged, 
 
 It might be you would call to that of the leper you had helped 
 
 to stone from the city 
 And leave your own lonely in the dark, and crying. 
 
 38 
 
There is no silence like to my silence 
 
 And there is no death like to mine. 
 
 Whither you go, I was there before you; 
 
 Whom you love I have already loved and forgiven. 
 
 When you speak, I have spoken it many times; 
 
 And your laugh I have laughed in unborn ages. 
 
 When I went, none knew of my going. 
 
 They thought it was only a leaf in the wind. 
 
 When I loved, none knew of my loving. 
 
 They thought it was only pain and a terrible sorrow. 
 
 When I spoke, none knew of my speaking. 
 
 They thought it was smly night and a silence of quiet. 
 
 When I laughed, none knew of my laughing. 
 
 They thought it was only tears, and the burden of ages. 
 
 39 
 
YOU ARE SO FOOLISH 
 
 You are so foolish — ^you— with all your little pains and aches 
 That you stare at thb great Immensity looking out at you 
 
 .... quiet. 
 And think to defend yourself from it. 
 You cry out, and hide from it 
 (The wild look of a hunted thing is in your eyes) 
 You tear yourself fighting it. 
 
 And all the while it is looking, looking 
 
 Deep, into your heart 
 
 (The loving of it — why do you not die?) 
 
 Out beyond the furthest 
 
 And past the boundaries of the limitless. 
 
 And seeing you so well through its loving 
 It leaves you free 
 
 You look away from it and are hurt 
 
 And it gazes . . . impassive . . . watching through all the 
 
 struggles and the deaths 
 And knowing that in the end, when you look .... 
 You will see clearer for the wounds 
 That the pain in your heart will make greater 
 The light in your eyes. 
 
 40 
 
KISSES OF THE BENDING LIUES 
 
 The kisses of the bending lilies 
 The soul-song of the brook singing 
 
 The slow wearing away of rocks in the stream-bed by the ever- 
 lasting waters 
 And the greeting of the rocks joyous to the wearing. 
 
 Hot damp air 
 Delicious 
 
 In my nostrils smell of clean wet earth 
 In my brain . . . Silence 
 
 My Spirit ... to God. 
 
 Pale green-white leaves of things in rock-crevices 
 
 Crowded with rain-pearls. 
 
 Silent singing of green things 
 
 So silent .... 
 
 So singing .... 
 
 Nor only green things, but rocks and water also 
 
 And the swift call of birds joyous. 
 
 (The growing of things is terrible . . . immense . . . ) 
 
 No sorrow or heart-break but woidd die of joy for this ■ 
 
 save it were blind 
 
 Tiny presence of Immensity perfectly complete 
 
 but no boundaries unseparated . . . 
 
 . . no end no beginning (why should there be? I never 
 asked you for an end or a beginning ... it is so 
 unnecessary) and yet complete . . . 
 
 It is the all that I ask 
 
 And Thou Lord hast lifted it to me! 
 
 41 
 
I ACCEPT YOU 
 
 I accept you, (whoever, whatever you are — it makes 
 
 no difference) 
 I go with you on endless journeys 
 I pass witih you thro endless dyings 
 I accept you, simply and naturally 
 And I believe you utterly. 
 
 I cannot lose you (whoever, whatever you are — it 
 
 makes no difference) 
 Perhaps you go (we must all go) but inevitably 
 
 you must return 
 And you cannot but stay with me forever. 
 
 I do not desire you. 
 
 I am not anxious lest you should not come to me 
 
 (And behold! thro the ages thou art running — 
 
 wings spread as eagles. 
 And casting away all arms I have caught thee in 
 
 eternal embrace!) 
 
 I do not fear you, 
 
 I am not anxious lest you should come to me 
 
 (And behold! Thou, my deliverer, running with 
 
 heart outspread 
 I know thee and THOU art my God!) 
 
 42 
 
MOUNTAIN 
 
 You are dark and silent to-night, O my Mountain. 
 High moon watches and a hundred little loves of snows 
 
 twinkle out from your shadows, 
 From your hollow places. 
 
 You are very great to-night, my Mountain: 
 You are very high. 
 
 43 
 
DEATH 
 —A Play— 
 
 Scene: A forest. Altar at the back. Moonlight 
 from behind. 
 
 Clearing in front of altar. 
 
 Prelude is played (Debussy's L'Apres-midi d'un 
 Faune). 
 
 Music is continued and Death, who is young and 
 very beautiful, dances until it stops. She goes over 
 to a tree and arrays herself in a white sheet, which 
 is lying at the foot. 
 
 DEATH 
 
 O Earth ! Why wilt thou send me always these blind; who, 
 in their fear, create for me this cruel covering? 
 
 Her face becomes hard and set as the Old Man 
 enters, frembling with fear. 
 
 OLD MAN 
 Art thou Death? 
 
 DEATH 
 I am. 
 
 OLD MAN 
 O terrible as Night and Solitude! Leave me! 
 
 He starts to run out, but returns as Death fixes 
 her gaze upon him. She points to a tree and the 
 Old Man hobbles to it and sinks down at its base. 
 Death throws off her sheet and covers him with it, 
 saying: 
 
 DEATH 
 
 Sleep on. I give thee back thy thought. 
 
 She kneels at the altar. Music plays. Enter 
 Galien, a child. She dances a while, then suddenly 
 sees Death. She stops and, studying Death closely, 
 advances slowly step by step, speaking at long 
 intervals. Music plays in distance until the end. 
 
 44 
 
GALIEN 
 
 Who art thou? .... Thou art very like soine<Hie I 
 loved once, long ages past . . . and yet like another for 
 whom I have been searching even longer. 
 
 {Death waits in silent suspense. Galien is 
 touched by her distress.) 
 
 Tell me .... 
 
 DEATH 
 
 Thou dost not know me? 
 
 Galien falls into her arms, crying for joy. 
 
 GAUEN 
 
 My Mother! God. 
 
 DEATH 
 
 I am Birth .... and Life .... in Death. And 
 in all these God. 
 
 They go out together. The Old Man wakes up 
 and tries to shake off the sheet. He struggles with 
 it, but is finally compelled to wrap it round him, as 
 he cannot shake it off. 
 
 OLD MAN 
 
 It feels like lead 
 
 {He looks around for Death, and then calls): 
 
 Death, Death! 
 {He waits. No answer.) 
 Perhaps it was a dream, after alL I shall go back and see. 
 
 But he does not go. He still waits instinctively 
 for an answer. 
 
 DEATH (from within) 
 
 Go back Love! And when thou hast loved 
 
 enough, and canst love me, — ^Truth return. 
 
 I wiU not fail thee ever! Only look within 
 
 thyself. 
 
 Curtain 
 
 45 
 
Early Poems 
 
AROUND THE FIRE 
 
 When the dusk and twilight gather around, 
 
 And the sun has left the sky, 
 When the evening dew is upon the ground, 
 
 And I hear the whip-poor-wills cry; 
 We listen together without a sound 
 
 (My dearest Mother and I) 
 To some of the secrets the fire has found 
 
 In the pine-logs old and dry — 
 And sometimes in the dreams of a song I lie bound 
 
 And hear footsteps passing by. 
 
 48 
 
THE SKY 
 
 O the evening sky is beautiful, 
 
 The evening sky is bright; 
 The evening sky doth break the day 
 And bring with it the night. 
 
 And when the darkness gathers o'er, 
 At my window I shall stay 
 
 To watch the stars come one by one 
 Out in the sky to play. 
 
 49 
 
A WISH 
 
 I would love to live in the heart of a wood 
 With flowers and birds for friends; 
 
 To sleep at night on a bed of the moss 
 That Nature so carefully tends. 
 
 But Lord, since I cannot, I pray make my life 
 
 As happy as if I could; 
 Make the rush and the roar of the city 
 
 Like the song of birds in a wood. 
 
 50 
 
SONG OF THE FISHERMAN'S CHILD 
 
 The roaring tide, the rushing wave — 
 Father, art thou in the sea-cave? 
 Or art thou in the fisher's boat ? 
 Or is thy body on the waves to float? 
 
 Jesus in the heavens high, 
 Save my father ere he die! 
 
 Before you left the homelike shore, 
 To see your children never more; 
 Did you not see the grey storm-cloud ? 
 Do you not hear me calling loud ? 
 
 Jesus in the heavens high. 
 Save my father ere he die! 
 
 51 
 
TO LILIES 
 
 Lilies of the Valley, 
 
 Lilies all so bright, 
 The name that best befits you 
 
 Is ''Lilies of Delight." 
 
 Lilies tall and stately, 
 
 Lilies white and fair, 
 Lilies, there is nothing 
 
 That can with you compare. 
 
 52 
 
GOD 
 
 Far from the busy roar of the toMm, 
 
 Far from the forest, dreary and brown, 
 
 Far from the mountain, grim and steep, 
 
 Alone on a rock rising out of the deep. 
 
 With none to care for my thoughts or me 
 
 Save only God and the sea- 
 
 The wild waves break on the rocky shore, 
 
 The dark clouds lower unheeded. 
 And all that troubled me before 
 Hath past away like a dream of yore 
 
 At the word of the Ever-Needed. 
 
 God, art Thou not the earth and the sea. 
 
 And the wind that I love so well ? 
 Is it not Thy Spirit that kills my care? 
 Art Thou not in the rocks, the clouds, the air 
 
 That with these I so love to dwell? 
 
 53 
 
THE SNOW STORM 
 
 Fast the feathery flakes are fedling, 
 Loud the icy wind is calling, 
 Blowing hidier, blowing thither, 
 Hastening it knows not whither; 
 Hurling snow in wild delight, 
 Heaping drifts of spotless white 
 Softer than the softest down, 
 Glittering as a silver crown. 
 
 Fast the feathery flakes are falling 
 Loud the icy wind is calling; 
 Heaping snowdrifts without number. 
 Working while the world doth slumber. 
 
 54 
 
CHARM: TO BE SAID BEFORE GOING TO SLEEP 
 
 I am drifting away from the realms of Thought, 
 
 Borne o'er the river by wind and tide 
 
 To the magic land on the other side — 
 
 Where the soft winds blow and the song of the sea 
 
 From a mental chaos sets me free — 
 
 For I was wearied with Thought. 
 
 55 
 
TO M. H. L. 
 
 Loving sister of God's music makers 
 The birds — ^the thrushes and the meadowlarks; 
 Sbter of the singing winds and zephyrs, 
 Sister of the clouds — the wings of heaven, 
 Sister of the strange shaped stars of winter — 
 Glistening living wonderflakes of winter, 
 Sbter of the strange shaped leaves of autumn— 
 Softly colored, whispering leaves of autunm, 
 Sister of the trees with Life resounding, 
 Sister of the flowers of all the seasons. 
 Sister of the gold and silver sunsets- 
 Daughter of God art thou — and child of Nature, 
 O sister of the World of Beauty! 
 
 56 
 
I WENT TO THE CHURCHYARD 
 
 I went to the churchyard on Sunday night, 
 
 Away back there where the grey moons glow- 
 
 And I saw the church in the misty light, 
 And I heard the people singing low. 
 
 I saw the moon in the cloudy skies, 
 And I heard the night wind singing — 
 
 And I knew the meaning of wonderful eyes, 
 And clouds winging. 
 
 I knew the song of the whispering leaves, 
 And I thought of a form once buried there; 
 
 I was caught in the net the silence weaves. 
 And I drank with joy the sweet fresh air. 
 
 Then my loved one rose and came to me. 
 And her soul communed with mine — 
 
 And out of h^ eyes I seemed to see 
 God's glory shine. 
 
 I left the churchyard that starry night, 
 
 Away back there where the grey moons glow; 
 
 And God was alone in the misty light — 
 And I knew that it always had be«a so. 
 
 57 
 
THE SONG OF THE CHILD 
 
 (From The Grey-Green Forest) 
 
 O River that leapest over the river-bed, 
 River that weepest over the river-bed, 
 That hast called me, and led me, and hidden, and fed me. 
 That hast taught me at last that thy hiding place is everywhere, 
 In the hidden and high places upon the earth ; 
 (For there is a hidden place in every inch of ground, 
 And high places are in great abundance;) 
 Thou that hast lured me on with Love 
 In an unending sesurch, 
 
 For though I have found thee, I must still search thee, 
 Thou that art gushing, and rushing, and hushing, and running, 
 and rippling, and singing, — 
 O take thou me at last! 
 
 58 
 
THE STARS 
 
 Have you ever heard the stars sing? 
 They sing wonderful songs: 
 
 Songs about conunon things, 
 
 Everyday things, 
 
 That you and I see and think nothing of! 
 
 Sometimes they sing about these common things 
 
 That we (presume to) know about: 
 
 And sometimes 
 
 About far away, misty things. 
 
 Have you ever heard the stars sing? 
 
 No? 
 
 Well, sometime, if you are listening, 
 
 If you are out in a garden with God, 
 
 At night Perhaps you will hear. 
 
 Perhaps the stars sing. 
 
 59 
 
THE OCEAN'S LULLABY 
 
 O beautiful child of the human race, 
 
 With the haggard eyes that once were blue, 
 
 With the look of anguish on thy face 
 
 — ^Think not I am angry — know 1 am kind, 
 
 For the ocean loves thee e'en as the wind, 
 
 O woman with the beautiful eyes! 
 
 Then shut those beautiful eyes of thine, 
 
 Those haggard grey eyes that once were blue; 
 
 And thy face shall be washed by the waves and the dew- 
 
 And thou shalt wake in the arms of the dawn — 
 
 And the ocean that loved thee will be gone; 
 
 And the sun shall rise on another day 
 
 Better than that which has passed away. 
 
 And again thou shalt wake in the arms of the dawn 
 
 But the ocean that loved thee forever is gone. 
 
 60 
 
EPILOGUE 
 
 Gathered together in this little book 
 
 Are all my poems; not worthy of a look; 
 
 But still I trust that you will treasure them, 
 
 Tho' not the flower, possibly the stem. 
 
 For who can write a perfect poem at once? 
 
 We all, at first, must play the part of dimce, — 
 
 The root and stem, from which the flower grows. 
 
 And more; — the stem adds somewhat to the rose. 
 
 For just imagine. Mother, in your mind 
 
 A rose without a stem, — an ugly kind ! 
 
 Once more— I think you'll love them more for me 
 Than for themselves. 
 
 However that may be 
 The book is finished — all there is to see. 
 
 61 
 
THE DIFFERENCE 
 —A Tale— 
 
 Once, in a far-o£F country, there lived a child who was 
 di£Ferent. He did not like the things that other children liked, 
 and he did not know how to play. The village children tried 
 to take him into their games; but he was so plainly unhappy, 
 that diey only wondered and let him go. By and by they 
 forgot about him; but all the time he wondered why he was so 
 different from the rest. Yet his wondering was all to no pur- 
 pose, for neither he nor the children that were happy and 
 played could ever understand the difference. Only he knew 
 that in the depths of his soul, at night, something cried. 
 
 And as he grew older and was more with others, he began 
 to love the companionship and try to understand. But he 
 never knew them, save on the surface of life; for his language 
 of deep things was di£Ferent from theirs. 
 
 And now, when he was become a man, great flashes of 
 insight came to him, yet when he tried to teach them to the 
 people, none would listen to his words. And always he knew 
 that it was because he was di£Ferent; but neither he nor the 
 others could ever understand the difference. 
 
 Night after night he spent in prayer that he might under- 
 stand himself and throw off this curse of difference, so that 
 the people would listen to his words, for sometimes it seemed 
 to him that his heart would break when they turned from him 
 and the visions he had to tell. And sometimes, when for a 
 moment he stopped praying, that which had cried in the 
 depths of his soul as a child was still heaurd crying; but then he 
 would pray again until it became inaudible through the tumult 
 of his praying. 
 
 62 
 
One night after many years, it happened that his untold 
 visions haunted him so that he could not pray, and in that 
 time, when the voices of silence vr&ce singing, the crying in the 
 depths of his soul was heard by God. And immediately 
 there came to him One who understood all things, and to 
 Whom there was no great and small. And His presence laid 
 before the man's soul many things, so that he knew that to 
 Him was nothing different, and that His dwelling-place was 
 the heart of the people. And he saw that for this vision had 
 the world been made, and that all things had had their begin- 
 ning in this; and he understood that all he had su£Fered had 
 been suffered from the beginning of ages by those he had 
 most envied. 
 
 Then, with terrific force, he sent forth his vision, silent, to 
 be burned into the souls of the midtitude; and having accom- 
 plbhed that for which he had come into the world, he laid 
 down his body with a song, passing out over the grave. 
 
 63 
 

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