PS 3525 .P159 fl3 1918 Copy 1 vto^^J du^ i^fZt£J-^ Iv. It ^(d ( COI^UICIII- hKI-OSIT. AIRS AND BALLADS EDITED BY JOHN McCLURE THE STAGS' HORNBOOK AIRS AND BALLADS By JOHN McCLURE New York ALFRED A. KNOPF Mcmxviii COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY ALFRED A. KNOPF / / PRINTED IN THE T7NITBD STATES D» AMERICA MAR 2 1318 ^ ©CI.A4i)4(iaO To. I am indebted to the editors of Smart Set for permission to include in this volume the follow- ing verses: "Elf's Song," "Chanson Naive," " Home," " Songs of His Lady," " The Neck- lace," "Carol," "Song," "Homage," "To a Lady," " I Could Forgive," " Song: Old Style," " Man to Man," " The Celts," " The Needy Poet Invoketh the Gods," " After Reading in a Book of Love Songs," "The Merry Men," "Ego," " The Everlasting Yea," " All They That Pass By," " The Lass of Galilee," and " Finis " : to the editor of Poetry for permission to include " To His Lady, Philosophy " ; and to the editor of Others for permission to include " Visitants," " Wanderer," and " Somnambulist." A few of these verses have appeared in the University of Oklahoma Magazine, I owe a particular debt of gratitude to Mr. H. L. Mencken of the Smart Set, which I take pleasure in acknowledging. He has been a very good friend to me indeed, as has his colleague, Mr. George Jean Nathan. John McClure CONTENTS Apology 13 Elf's Song 14 Home 15 Songs of His Lady 16 The Necklace 18 Carol 19 Song 20 Homage 21 To A Lady 22 I Could Forgive 23 Gifts 24 Song: Old Style 25 Song 26 His Lady in Absence 27 Deirdre 28 When You Are Old 29 Chanson Naive 30 I Am Aweary 31 The Lover Turns in His Grave 32 As I Lay Dreaming Abed 33 Man to Man 34 Weary 35 The Dream 36 May-Day 37 To A Lady 38 If I Were the Almighty God 39 Even Unto the Fairies 40 April's Fool 41 The Celts 42 Summer Day 43 Heinrich Heine 44 Columbine 45 Spendthrift 46 The Mad Lady 47 The Needy Poet Invoketh the Gods 48 Poetry 49 Wanderer 50 Visitants 51 Somnambulist 52 The Young Men Speak 53 After Reading in a Book of Love-Songs 54 The Merry Men 55 The Dreamer 56 In the Harvest 57 Carol o' Bethlehem 59 Carol Naive 60 The Calvary at Boulogne 61 Ego 62 The Grey Leaf 63 The Boon Companion 64 The Wake 65 The Madmen 66 In THE End 67 The Everlasting Yea 68 All They that Pass By 69 To His Lady, Philosophy 70 Lady of April 72 The Lass of Galilee 78 Envoy 83 Finis . 84 AIRS AND BALLADS APOLOGY I am a poetaster And my knee I bend To Marlowe, my master, Villon, my friend. I am a swashbuckler, And I break my sword Before Blake, my tutor, Shakespeare, my lord. I should burn my song-books This very day If singing didn't matter So little anyway. [13] ELF'S SONG She came in the garden walking When shadows begin to steal; She trod upon a wing o' mine And broke it with her heel. She was a very queen, I think, A queen from the West, I should have only smiled Had she stepped on my breast. But I have told nobody, I have told nobody yet ! I have told nobody Only the violet. [14] HOME Your love is all so quiet And solemn as the sea : Like an old song at evening It comforts me. For all the merry mad loves That wither and devour Are paltry by the firelight In the quiet hour. Yea, all the merry mad loves That I might have had When they rise up like cymbals Making me sad, Your love is all so quiet It comforts me then, Like an old song at evening Or books of dead men. [15] SONGS OF HIS LADY I Oh, I shall pluck the little stars And set them in her golden hair, And I shall pluck for her delight All things golden anywhere, The little flowers of the earth, The little corals of the sea, The little dreams within my heart, — My love shall have them all o' me ! II And I shall weave into a net The dreaming Pleiad sisters seven With all the jewels of all the crowns Of all the saints of heaven, — A net of stars for her to wear To make her dainty and fair to see. So all the princes of all the world Shall whisper and envy me. Ill But she shall dress more strangely still In all men's eyes she shall be seen To wear my little silver dreams Like tinkling trinkets of a queen. [i6] Ay, queenlike, she shall move them all To adoration and desire; For she shall wear my golden dreams As though they were a robe of fire. [17] THE NECKLACE The songs I made in a hundred towns, The songs I made on a hundred ways, I shall give them all to my love-lady To brighten her nights and days. I shall hang them all on her neck, I swear. Like crimson rubies and diamonds white, A string of jewels for her to wear To make her beauty bright! [i8] CAROL The month can never forget the year; The moth can never forget the fire; And I can never forget my dear Lady of High Desire. The earth can never forget the sun; The day can never forget the night; And I can never forget the one Lady of My Delight. [19] SONG I watched the sun sink into the sea : Red as a rose-petal was he. I watched him come in the morning up, And he was then like a buttercup. And twixt the setting and rise of sun I dreamed all night of my lovely one. [20] HOMAGE They follow their steadfast beacons, All wanderers save me, And turn their prayers to Our Lady, Mary, Star of the Sea. I follow in all my journeys The will-o'-the-wisp that gleams Deep in your dark eyes, lady — Mother of all my dreams! They bring red gold to the altar, They build great temples of stone, They render to Caesar Caesar's And unto God His own. I, too, give to God and to Caesar What thing to them each belongs. But yours is my singing heart, lady — Mother of all my songs! [21] TO A LADY I will give to you diamonds and rubies And pearls in a golden crown : For a smile of your grey eyes, lady, I will tumble a mountain down. I will give to you garlands and roses. And fruit of the blossoming year, Ay, song-books and poems and posies, — All these will I give you, dear. I will give you my whole life's treasure, My flowers of dream and of art — All things will I give to vou, lady. Saving my heart. [22] I COULD FORGIVE Love is so very hard to bear, Mad Love on his own pleasure bent, And yet I think I could forgive If he were different. I could forgive Love's wantonness, Forgive that he is blind, I could forgive Love everything If only Love were kind. [23] GIFTS I will fetch ye, lady, Out of all the earth Anything to please ye Or to make ye mirth. I will fetch ye silver Out of heaven gate, Fashioned into goblets. Beaten into plate. I will fetch ye red gold Tried and tempered well In white fires of limbo And blue fires of hell. [24] SONG: OLD STYLE I sang one song upon a time To make my lady smile: O, I hae sung a hundred songs, But only one worth-while 1 Her smile is like the flush o' dawn, Or bursting of a flower: Her smile is like the moon-rise At the midnight hour. I sang a song upon a time That drew a smile frae her : O, I wouldna barter her smile away For white silver. [25] SONG Oh, you hear sweet music If my love pass, Whisper o' the crow's-foot, Murmur o' the grass! The wee ones are ready To give her due to her Who is more dainty dainty Than the fairies were, Who is so dainty dainty That she doth surpass Blossom o' the primrose, Flower o' the grass I [26] HIS LADY IN ABSENCE In cold nights of winter When all is cool and still The white star is my true-love And the moonlight on the hill. But in warm nights of summer When evening airs are free And twilight is like magic The new moon is she. [27] DEIRDRE I see the sadness In her eyes grey That makes a man pensive At dying o' the day, And I see the paleness In her cheeks wan That makes a man wistful At grey dawn. [28] WHEN YOU ARE OLD Mayhap when you are old and grey You will remember me, And nod your white head and say: " A quaint lean fellow, he. " I remember the tricks of his speech. The snatches he used to sing. I think he said that he loved me Better than anything." [29] CHANSON NAIVE I shall steal upon her Where she sits so white, Creep-mouse, creep-mouse, In the twilight. She sits In the shadows, Dreamy, dreamy — I shall go stealthily So she cannot see me. I shall steal behind her And kiss her on the cheek And cover up her wee mouth So she cannot speak. I would fain surprise her If so be I might, Creep-mouse, creep-mouse. In the twilight ! [30] I AM AWEARY I am aweary of high loves, Aweary of high desire, — Now I would nod in the evening Beside a quiet fire. When once a man has taken in High love into his breast His heart becomes a crazy wind That halteth not for rest. His soul becomes a thunderstorm. His heart a hurricane. And he is but a windblown leaf That will not rest again. Ay, there is thunder on the land And lightning on the sea. And thunderwrack within their hearts For them that lovers be. . . . So I am aweary of high loves. Aweary of high desire; Now I would nod in the evening Beside a quiet fire. [31] THE LOVER TURNS IN HIS GRAVE You must not remember The dear things I said. Please forget me, lady, Since I am dead. Like a dream at twilight, Like a mist of dawn, I am dead and gone, lady, I am dead and gone. You must not remember. Please, please forget. You can find a lover Kindlier yet. I cannot hear your mourning. Nor know the tears you shed. Please forget me, lady, Since I am dead. [32] AS I LAY DREAMING ABED As I lay dreaming abed Between the night and the day It suddenly entered my head How all folk are fey. It suddenly entered my head How he and I and she Would suddenly pass away And vanish utterly. [33] MAN TO MAN Better it were, my brother, You twain had never met, Then were no hearts broken And no dream to forget. Now you must not remember, After you are gone. The mystic magic of her eyes At twiUght nor at dawn. Now you must not remember The songs her red lips sing Of love and lovers' ecstasy At dawn or evening. [34] WEARY Days were aforetime When I sang as ye Quaint words of loving And mald-wltchery, Quaint words of loving And two brown eyes, Mock-tears and laughter And sometimes sighs. But that was In the old days Ere I came to see The shadow In the eyes Of a weird lady. I have tried to sing again Since I saw her Quaint words of loving And heart-murmur. I have tried to sing again, But it cannot be. I am sharply torn and broken And sore weary. [35] THE DREAM In a strange grove of poplars In a strange far place She came to me between the trees With white death on her face. She came between the poplar trees And wandered at my side : It was beyond the mind of man To think that she had died. It was beyond the mind of man Even to dream her dead. I knew the music of her voice In every word she said. [36] MAY-DAY A ripple of wild wind-laughter Shakes the leaves of the tree, And I hear the children under It Carolling merrily. " And win ye no' kiss her, Robbie? And will ye no' kiss FIfine ? Then are ye a jack-ass, Robbie, For she's May Queen! " " And will ye no' kiss her, Robbie? And will ye no' kiss her, say? Then are ye a jack-ass, Robbie, For she's the Queen o' the May! " Dear God ! My little children. Gin ye but only knew Ye wouldna carol so merrily To all ye do. Gin ye but only knew, Little lass, little lad — The little little children Make my heart sad. [37] TO A LADY Your face is like a child's, lady, Whenever you smile just so. It minds me of the little cherubs Of Rafaell' Sanzio. It minds me of the little angels That frolic and chirp and sing In the golden gardens of heaven At God's bidding. [38] IF I WERE THE ALMIGHTY GOD If I were the Almighty God Sitting in heaven high, I would barter my starry hood For a twinkle of her eye. I would barter my silver staff, My girdle of golden thread, All for the mischief of her laugh Mocking my hoary head. I would give her eternal space, Dappled with stars for flowers. Where she might wander before my face And squander her laughing hours. [39] EVEN UNTO THE FAIRIES Snuck sings: Violet, loving the shade, Primrose, loving the sun, Each is a beautiful maid — Which is the lovely one ? Snack sings: I am the love of the violet. Though by the side of her You set a diamond, a sapphire — yet She were the lovelier. Snick sings: I am the love of the primrose. Whatever the blind dogs sing There is a beauty in my primrose Beyond all reckoning. Whereupon a little old withered fairy, who has lived during the life of many violets, during the duration of many primroses, sings: You that love so the violet, You that are fond with the rose, Know you that all love goes ? Even the love of the violet. Even the love of the rose? [40] APRIL'S FOOL I loved a lady once — Tweedle-dum, tweedle-di ! Ah, what a merry dunce In the mad world was I. Love was a fairyland. Life was to me All playing of fiddles And minstrelsy. All the mad world was fair, All the trees green, I was a jester there To a gay queen. I was a knight-at-arms, I was a king, I would brave death for her, Caper or sing. Tweedle-dum, tweedle-di ! What a mad fool was I ! [41] THE CELTS We are the grey dreamers With nets of moonlight That always go a-hunting About the fall o' night, That softly go a-hunting In quest of strange birds With a thin net of moonlight, A grey net of words, That steal through dim forests By dark Lethe-streams With pale snare of moonshine And grey bait of dreams, Until we catch the prize-catch, The queer bird we get, The dreamy, fluttering Soul o' the World Caught in a silver net. [42] SUMMER DAY I walked upon a little hill Where the wind came running by With quick march-music in my feet And a dream before my eye. I walked among the slender flowers That nodded from the grass, I heard them laugh like city-folk To see a poet pass. And I laughed to the laughing flowers And the white clouds in the sky, And I dreamed a dream and forgot it While the wind went running by. [43] HEINRICH HEINE Helnrlch Heine, Heinrlch Heine, All the trinkets I have wrought I will bring ye, Heinrich Heine, Ye beloved good-f or-naught ! I will bring ye rhymes like apples. Rhymes like tarts and cherry-pies. Dainty rhymes like cherry-blossoms, Gaudy rhymes like peacocks' eyes, Rhymes that echo like a prayer, Rhymes that tinkle like a bell, Heinrich Heine, Heinrich Heine, Ye beloved ne'er-do-well! [44] COLUMBINE A year agone the rose was gay, The thorn-tree garmented in green, The sunshine on the garden lay And Columbine was queen. A year agone the birds were here. Small sparrows piping high and low. And Pierrot's heart was full of cheer As it is heavy now. For now the trees stand barren all. The petals of the rose are shed, The moonlight floods the garden wall And Columbine is dead. [45] SPENDTHRIFT I cannot carry my money, 'Tis gone before I know: I lose coins out of my pocket Or squander them as I go. I cannot carry my dreams Nor barter them for bread: I squander them like pennies Or lose them out of my head. [46] THE MAD LADY Flowers are springing. Wherever we look Spring comes like a lady Out of a book. With sudden laughter Mad Spring is loose — Just like the lady In Mother Goose, Gaudy and gay Through the world she goes With rings on her fingers And bells on her toes. [47] THE NEEDY POET INVOKETH THE GODS May all the hidden deities Of fair luck befriend My toe that peepeth coyly From my shoe's end! My toe that peepeth coyly Like a wee maid Void of worldly wickedness And somewhat afraid, My toe that peepeth coyly Fearing sore to get Scratched upon a cobblestone Or damnably wet. May all the hidden deities Of fair luck befriend My toe that peepeth coyly From my shoe's end ! [48] POETRY Poetry? . . . The voice that leaps up With the spring-water And thunders Out of the mountain. [49] WANDERER Why do ye find me in these waters? Well, the old wander-dog in me whined. So we came, baying at the moon, Wistfully over the world. [50] VISITANTS In the pale hours Often they come to me stealthily, Tremulous, Ghostly with twilight, Vain as air, — The wraiths of the gone folk, Whispering, Bidding me be of good cheer. Good hope. [SI] SOMNAMBULIST Last night I went a-walking with my dreams, Folk such as ye have never seen the like of, With faces like moonlight on water, Wistful folk. One of them had eyes The colour of will-o'-the-wisp, And another had hair The colour of wind. We walked in silence In a grey wood Until dawn. [52] THE YOUNG MEN SPEAK Shall they be too stern with us That we were dazzled by the grey eyes of women? All the world hath been so — Centuries ere we came. It Is not our fault. All the world hath been so Since time was. Shall they be too stern with us That we were tangled beyond all hope In the long hair of women? [53] AFTER READING IN A BOOK OF LOVE- SONGS I wish that some black god of aforetime would arise out of the earth and damn them For their singing of women's beauty and quick passion and love's delight. I wish that some black god of aforetime would arise and make wind of these things And scatter them like quick breaths off the page. I wish that this would happen with the sudden- ness of death and disaster Because of the wild beauty of their songs. [54] THE MERRY MEN I love the farce men — Bien heureux est qui rien n^y a! They that go skipping With light laughter Bound to no woman, They that are as goats In the world Knowing not sadness. I love the farce men — Bien heureux est qui rien n^y a! [55] THE DREAMER My ears are battered night and day By a merry horde that sings In ballad and in roundelay Of kindly earthly things. And sure, I shall love forever A gentle or thundering song, But I — I can never sing rarely Because I have dreamed too long. Good sooth, I have lost it wholly, The frolicsome human touch ! Nay, I — I can never sing good songs Because I have dreamed too much. [56] IN THE HARVEST The sun shines hot from a clear sky. I laugh and lay my pitchfork by. Why work for food and drink and bed When one has dreams within one's head? In this world it is best to sit In silence and consider it. Ay, while the slipshod minutes flee, This is the sweetest work for me. To lie a-dreaming dreamily And watch great God Almighty's fleet Drive slowly over the fields of wheat — With a salt sea-song in my throat Lie belly-upward, taking note How solemnly go by Those galleys of the sky. The little ants among the grass Upon their daily routine pass. The farmer lads make the wheat fly. Say, do I envy them? Not I. The horses that the reaper pull Know not the world is beautiful. I watch the great white clouds go by Like ships across the open sky Until a magic memory Of sounding surge comes back to me, [57] And here, forgetful of it all — The busy men, the farmer's call I lie a-dreaming dreamily About the sea-gulls and the sea. [58] CAROL O' BETHLEHEM Mary stood at the manger-side With her elbows on the rim; He smiled the whimsical sweet smile That shamed the cherubim, Then straightway tossed His little legs, — The hay-pricks tickled Him. Mary laughed and bent down low — Mary, blessed of God's grace ! — He curled His little pink toes up And gurgled in her face: Then pulled her hair right sturdily In that calm holy place. Ay, Jesus was a baby too. And plucked His Mother's hair. — She loved Him much more thus, I ween, Than as King anywhere. [59] CAROL NAIVE Was never none other Like our God's Mother. I sing the Lady of all most fair, Of all most dainty and debonair, She to whose feet the angels come, — Lady Mary of God's Kingdom ! I sing the Lady of all most good. Immaculate Lady of Motherhood, She that holdeth our hearts in fee, — Lady Mary of God's City! I sing the Lady of all most dear. She that cherished us yesteryear, She that will cherish when this world dies,- Lady Mary of Paradise ! Yet was never none so fair. Yet was never none so good. On the green earth anywhere As Our Lady of Motherhood. — Yet never none other Like our God's Mother. [60] THE CALVARY AT BOULOGNE At Boulogne-by-the-Sea Christ Jesus startled me. I saw upon a hill His cross against the sky- Peering toward the sea Where the swift ships went by. He peered toward the sea With his sad face Waiting for his folk to come From a far place, Waiting for his folk to come Which they never will — Peering toward the grey sea From a high hill. [6i] EGO My members wither like weeds. — Yea, as all matter must, My blood and my hair and my tender eyes, And my heart, are coming to dust. And the trees and the hills and the flowers, And the planets that sail the skies, The worlds, with the years and the hours. Wither to wind likewise. These make my visible garment. And go fast fleeting away. But I am not startled or daunted. Who know I am greater than they. [62] THE GREY LEAF Lo, the sea-tides eternally seek What they shall not find : And the worlds — though they struggle to speak, They are tongueless and blind — But I — I am not of their kind I Night — wind and the night — What though the stars are at play And rustles the wind in delight As it waits for the coming of day ! — Lo, I am more happy than they. For the stars they must twinkle on And always the wind must blow: Ever when I am gone They shall twinkle and bluster so. — But I — I have come and I go. [63] THE BOON COMPANION Were the earth but lighter upon him My sorrow were lighter too ; Then might I strew on him willow And flowers of purple and blue, Ay, twine on his grave green willow And flowers, and let him be, — The noblest, brave good-fellow Ever walked on the road with me. [64] THE WAKE In the little house across the street A man is lying dead, Two watchers sitting at his feet, A watcher at his head. He lies quite quietly, I ween, In his grave-clothes cut so trim. For he to the world is nothing at all, And the world is nothing to him. But though his breath have taken flight, His merry soul be gone. Of all the dead in the world tonight. He is hardly the only one. I lie here also in my bed. Who would as well have died. With two dreams watching at my head And one dream at my side. [65] THE MADMEN And still the madmen scream That the world is but a dream. They know far more than we Who take it seriously. An we would hark to such, I swear we could learn much. Ay, one day zee shall scream That it is but a dream. [66] IN THE END Now God has forgot The dream that He had : The world Is not, It is gone like mad. And He lies asleep While the grey winds leap, The grey winds race Through space. [67] THE EVERLASTING YEA Always the world is beautiful. Spring comes and with it the rose. '' But what of the roses that bloomed and fell? Singer of songs, what of those?" Always the dream is beautiful. Spring ! and the lovers are come ! " But what of the lovers that loved and died? Ahf singer of songs, thou art dumb! '' Dumb am I ? Dumb am I ? Fool that thou art ! Spring comes with the whirl of the year, And the old old roses, the old old dream, And the old old lovers are here. [68] ALL THEY THAT PASS BY I heard the Salvation Army Beating their praying-drum On the crowded street of the city Where the mad folk go and come, Blowing their praying-trumpet, Calling our ears to their crier Telling about the judgment of God To set the world on fire. Blowing their praying-trumpet, Beating their praying-drum, Kneeling to God in terror, Calling to sinners '* Come ! " And oh, they were terribly earnest. Bowed In a solemn row At the side of the city side-walk Where the world-mad come and go. But they gazed with wistful faces On many a laughing eye. It seemed there was no use praying Where the painted ladies went by. [69] TO HIS LADY, PHILOSOPHY I The beautiful ladies of old time That walked like angels and were as fair Are dead and vanished and no man's rhyme Can paint them truly as once they were. Like pale shadows in moonlight Vanished they are upon strange ways Sudden as snow — Villon was right — The beautiful ladies of old days. But you stay always, you most dear, Though the harlots come and the harlots go, V^alking in pomp and in great show. Still you are with me, still are here, More faithful far in a thousand ways Than the beautiful ladies of old days. II One thing I know most certainly. You will not pester me nor chide: You will not quarrel much nor be Unkind or hasty to deride When I am stupid with my dreams. You will not cackle much nor joke When I am dazzled by the gleams Of fen-fires In a world of smoke Or somewhat silly and Insane About the making of a song, [70] Nor mock me that my face is plain, Nor chide me that I am not strong. Nay, kinder than a woman is. You will not mock my vagaries. Ill When all my heart is laden down With worldly worries, worldly fears. You will not pucker lip nor frown Nor make me gloomier with tears. You will not make my sorrow sad With weeping and with wretchedness When all the goods I ever had Have vanished in the market's press. You will not sob nor make a scene When I come sadly home at night To tell you that my hopes have been Blown and blasted out of sight. We two will light our pipe o' clay And laugh and blow the world away. [71] LADY OF APRIL I Songs were delight of life five years agone. My dreams, a-flutter on the wings of rhyme, Circled to heaven, battling with the dawn, Giddy as sky-larks in the olden time. Now songs come slowly, and no more sublime O'er-topping dreams blot out the moon and sun As in old days when creeping prose was crime And verse a duty. Now my dreams are done. And yet I think I might go singing yet, — Ay, might make merry with a random rhyme And weave quaint phrases to a minuet. Coining sweet music out of fleeting time, If you would listen to me and be glad And take with laughter what few songs I had. II I had rebuked myself most reverendly And said: "Tut! Let love vanish!" I had said: " Love is a madness, an insanity. Forget it wholly." Now, discomfited, I wonder how it came about at all That I forgot all learning and all sense And fell a-laughing and grew musical, Loving you gaily, with no recompense. [72] "Tut! Let love vanish?" Faith, I will, my dear. Let this love vanish, and with little care. In that august apocalyptic year When earth and ocean vanish into air. " Tut! Let love vanish! " said I? Faith, I will When stars are ashes and the suns stand still. Ill I have no riches. I have never had Great store of gems — bright, gay and glittering glass. I cannot give you jewels, dear, nor spread Silver and gold before you as you pass. I have no domain neither on the earth. I own no meadows, and can never pick Rich buttercups and daisies for your mirth, Bluebells and pinks, and violets clustered thick. Nay, I can only give, as I have done. In lieu of gold and silver and rare gem. Stray wisps of dream and fancy quaintly spun To weave and broider in your garment's hem. In lieu of roses, on your brow I set Flowers of dream in a vague coronet. IV Longtime before the world grew old and grey. Wearied with wars and wistful for its end, [73] There was a man in lordly Nineveh Sang sonnets of a lady. Swift as wind His like have followed him in Babylon, Tall Troy and Rome, Memphis and Ispahan, A pack of poets piping one by one Sonnets of ladies, since the world began. A million buried who sang songs onetime Crowd round me eager and importune me To set your beauty in enamell'd rhyme. Patterned with care and carven cunningly. — The world is old, but merry. They are dead. Yet Love lives ever, and I sing instead. And thus I build a house of beauty, sweet, A house of loveliness for you alone. Setting my words like marble, trim and neat, My mortar, music, binding stone to stone. I build it firmly that it may endure Somewhile beyond us, if the gods be good. That you may stand most queenly and secure Therein forever, as you surely should. When lean Oblivion in aftertimes Shall come to call you to his kingdom, dear. Then shall you stand in these embattled rhymes Safe from his onslaughts for a thousand year. — The gods are laughing. Well they know that I And my mad sonnets and yourself shall die. [74] VI Nay, these trim rhymes shall not live overlong Nor make men wonder after I am dead. I cannot thunder such a sturdy song As I have whimsied in my giddy head. I say, " This shall not perish! " and I pen Some prattle neat and prim of thee and me. Better mayhap than some by better men. Yet empty still and wrought too curiously. Sure, the queer tinkling of these little words Shall sound no longer ere Time tyrant kills Than the faint sheep-bells of the mountain herds Tinkling one moment in the eternal hills. Yet frail, uncomely children that they are I pray you take them : be their comforter. VII Saint Francis of Assisi — may he rest Quiet eternal in his holy grave — Said: " In the wonders of the east and west, The mellow moonlight, and the restless wave Of the salt ocean, and the midnight sky. The winds of morning and the fallow sod, I see as in a dream eternally The changing shadow of Almighty God." The world to me is but a mighty dream Wherein the picture of your beauty gleams and dies: I find yourself reflected even with Him [75] In earth, air, water, and the winds and skies. Godwot, Saint Francis was a holy friar, And la blasphemer, — but yet no liar. VIII That pearl that Cleopatra wantonly Dissolved in wine and drank for her delight : Those gems the mad Doge threw into the sea Twinkling against the sunset on a summer's night: Those gems, were lost by a lone traveller Crossing the desert to the prophet's tomb : All lost bright trinkets, dear, that ever were Or ever shall be till the shock of doom : These will I gather from the world of dreams — Who find no gems nor jewels otherwhere — And lock them with their weird unearthly gleams Cunningly in a casket made of air Clasped with a wisp of music strange and sweet. And lay them (all my riches) at your feet. IX When men come by me with complaining hearts, " Life is so little worth, so little worth. Thinner than moonshine — " suddenly there starts A storm within me of great joy and mirth. Life is so little worth then, dear? Nay, nay ! I cry them silence. Have the fools forsworn The winds and flowers and the sunlit day, Moonlight and starlight, and the flush of morn? [76] I shall not join their melancholy throng Now nor forever, sweet, I who have had Gifts rare and wonderful to make me glad, Sunrise and sunset, reverie and song The plains, the seas, the rainfall and the dew, The midnight sky, the mountain heights — and you. [77] THE LASS OF GALILEE He often said my lips were sweet. He said There was no peace to be had in the world Like that to be had of a woman. He said Wonderful beautiful things about my eyes. And I laughed like a child, believing him, Because he was always so tender. I forgot my mother and father and all the world, Believing him, because he was always so wist- ful. . . . He was no money-maker. He was no good car- pienter. But I loved him. He was always so wistful and silent. He talked but little. When he spoke His words were soft like w^hispering. There was music in them like that of leaves, Tender and sad. He said that he loved me. My heart had become a dream about little chil- dren. He was no good carpenter. Yet he might have earned money one day. My heart had become a dream Tremulous with the patter of little feet [78] And whisper of children. . . . He was always so wistful and silent. There was always a sadness in his eyes When he kissed me, a very great sadness. I think he was never altogether happy with me : Yet he said that he loved me. . . . He was so wistful. He read in great books And talked of things I could not understand. There was always a sadness in his eyes That I could find no reason for. Sometimes it seemed that he could not kiss me enough. He said there was no peace in the world Like that to be had of a woman. Yet still he was sad. When I smiled, he smiled too — But it was so wistful. When I laughed with the happiness of loving him. He smiled. But it made him seem so much older than I. He said I was like a little bird That laughed without knowing the reason. . . . He seemed so old, So much older than I. But he said my lips were warm. He loved wet kisses. . . . [79l I think he had known few women. But when he told me that he had known none I knew that he Hed. All men are one. . . . He read in great books. I was afraid even in those days He would forget me. He was too sad to remember a woman. I wept at nights then With thinking of it. . . . Yet he said that he loved me. Once he smiled. He said the little flowers with white petals Smiled all day, And was he less than a flower? But he was sad again in no time. Mostly w^hen he smiled, I felt like weeping. . . . He needed taking care of. He was so wistful and helpless. He was no good carpenter. One evening he came and sat with me a long time And said nothing. That night he was more tender than my mother. Next morning they came to me and said: [80] '' He Is gone. In the direction of Samaria. Preaching his dreams." I never saw him again. . . . They say he would let no one mention my name. . . . Now always I sit with my mother and spin. The young men of Nazareth come often Trying to talk with me. They are good carpenters. They come always trying to talk. But they are nothing to me. . . . Folk say he would let no one mention my name. ... He wanted to save the world, Preaching his dreams. He did not save it. Men here where he lived are evil still. The men on the other side of the mountains are evil as ever. There is no good in the world. He did not save it. . . . He said that he loved me. My heart had become a dream about little chil- dren. My heart had become a dream [8i] Tremulous with the patter of little feet And whisper of children. ... Now always I sit with my mother and spin. They told me five years ago He was crucified in Jerusalem. [82] ,v/ - ENVOY Prince, all the scholarly men that write In the daytime, and drink by night. Come to the same end, sometime die : Even you, even I. Along that shadowy way have gone Robert Browning and Frank Villon, Robert Browning that was so strong, Frangois, night-bird, maker of song — For Death he taketh them all along. [83] FINIS I have fought no mighty fight ; I have not affronted Fate; I have kept no fire alight Pale within no temple-gate. I have not done anything That is noble, brave or true; Nay, I cannot even sing Rondels beautiful or new. I have not been worth my bread. Yet thus much I beg in fee, When I lie among the dead Folk may murmur this o' me: " Here lies one within the tomb — Pencil stilled and parchment furled Who was somewhat overcome By the beauty of the world." THE END [84] UBRARY OF CONGRESS nil iiiii inn iini iiii 015 909 229 A