,* v % r G o G* ■ *o *o.?* <% <> *?^T* G* ''o ° /\ l H# **% ~'*S$S ./% « 1 1 „ ^. ^ <* **Tr«« ^ -0' ^ •.„•' *"* » w ^ :^ ^ * &/ \W/ \#/ W/ °^ * ° " ° A ♦ ^••il&-% /,^:.\ /tifeS / ^ I"-- w .*^^- %^ A'- \/ -*^^ ** ST. GERVAIS and other poems C3$Z /3 AMERICA: A SONG FOR OUR GENERATION YYTHEN through me coursed the first young V V Passion blood, Which swelled the heart and sent its flood Of wild emotion through the pulse, and its wild fire Within me kindled all my being to desire — Gave me Heavenly vistas in the night, And filled me with sensations of delight, Thy stern call came To take me from my dreams of love and fame, I answered, and for thy name I gave my youth. Though in those youthful days I did not heed The morrow, but followed with that speed With which the blood of youth coursed through me, From flight to flight, and with small thought of thee — Though thou didst take from me those days When skies were always bright, when rays Of sunshine filled the perfumed air, And love made life forever fair — Page Fifteen St. Gervais and Other Poems When came thy call, youth faltered not, But chose itself the sterner lot — And love itself thine altar sought, Its consecrated sacrifice unto thee brought. And now that I have given my youth to thee, Which gods alone may give and still retain, And now that I stand firm and free To choose and love again — I hear thy call. 'Tis not the call that asks for life, Not the martial call of drum and fife Calling me to follow on. The glories of those days are gone, When foes whose banners we could read, Upon thine unstained land would tread. 'Tis not the call to martial toil, Nor fighting on an alien soil, 'Tis not the chance that vict'ry gained, Returning with thy flag unstained, Fair love will take the laurel wreath, And smilingly on victor breathe — Page Sixteen Car gill Sprietsma oo For whilst we fight, fair love is changed, And lovers' hearts become estranged; Fair youth is gone down to its grave, Though I may for its love-joys crave, And now I know when next I give, My love again may never live — Yet give I all, to thee my land, Here is my life, thine to command. I hear thy call, Whilst traitors rob thee of thine all Which lives of heroes bought For thee, who traitors fought On alien soil. Red-handed would they spoil Thee of thy virgin head, Whilst they lie dead Who would not see thee stained! Who has the victory gained If those besmirching hands may fondle thee, And call thee mine? Rather would I die than see Their gifts with gaudy glare Upon thy naked bosom blare — Page Seventeen oo St. Gervais and Other Poems To see thee trucked to trade, And beauty from thy figure fade, Now yielding thy pure self to those Who shirked thy call and idly chose To court thee whilst thy lover died — O be not like the maid who cried One morning when her lover fell, But rival wed ere chapel bell Had tolled the funeral hour. Thou call'st to free thee from the grasp Of that foul arm which now doth clasp Thee in its deadly brace; Awaken, view in truth the face Of that strange monster who as friend But seeks destruction as thine end: Thou hast been weak, no more, And still art strong, thy store Of faith in those who died Must be thy strength, for they relied On thee to chastise all Who answered not their country's call. Page Eighteen Cargill Sprietsma How shalt thou know the strangling fist, How canst thou his strength resist Whose garb is that of friend, How canst thou know he seeks thine end, Who makes thee gifts of beaten gold, And stands and sees thy virtue sold? O hast thou seen the water snake, What wondrous grace its movements take When moonbeams shimmer on its slime, And change to jewels its filthy grime? Thy call I hear is not the call That bids me in the battle fall, A sob I hear, a plaintive cry, And not the captain's call, "Stand by", — 'Tis not the call to shoulder arms, 'Tis not attended with the charms Of sad farewells and ostentatious tears Displayed by those whose selfish fears Creep out when called to sacrifice. Yet is thy call as clear, Not this year, Nor the next will be the end; Page Nineteen oo St. Gervais and Other Poems For those who will thy flag defend, Must answer not today alone, Nor will a single deed their debt to thee atone — Tomorrow, and tomorrow, that thou mayst live, To thee my love and life I give. Page Twenty Cargill Sprietsma oo VENEZIA ORIDE with me again into that still lagoon, Beneath a star-filled Heaven, Beneath a lowering moon, By zephyrs driven. O rest with me beneath the canopy Which shields us from the light, Aimless as a butterfly In fantastic flight. O drink with me the silent air In sweet repose, Whilst, banishing despair, Our eyelids close. Then, when a voice so clear Comes from the deep, Love song of gondolier Waft us to sleep. Page Twenty-one St. Gervais and Other Poems GONDOLIERS SONG LOVE at my feet lies a-dreaming, Guarded by spirits of old, Moon, moon ever beaming, Turning the ocean to gold, Lighten these waters for fairies, Who come from the jewel-laden sea, And quicken the tide which carries My own love back to me. Page Twenty-two Car gill Sprietsma ECHOES O BROTHER, hold it 'gainst your ear, See what pretty song you hear — brother, I wish that you would tell What makes the singing in the shell." 1 answered, '"Tis the sea", But quickly, she, "It sings so softly now to me, surely brother, could it be The angry sea?" 1 answered, "'Tis the sea-nymph's melody". I placed the shell against my ear, And heard a pleasant, soothing strain, I drew my darling near to hear The echoes of each soft refrain. There were echoed songs unsung To ordinary ears, Page Twenty-three oo St. Gervais and Other Poems A harp upon a cedar hung A thousand years. And then we cast away the shell Upon the crest of breaking wave, Into the foam the songster fell, And to the sea its music gave. That was years ago, and oft I've longed to hear again The voice so low, so sweet, so soft, That throbbed through every short refrain: That waked in me my sluggish blood, That gave me voice that I might sing, That sent me on a surging flood To Her my songs to bring. Full many years I waited, dumb, I searched each shell along the sea, And now at last my song has come, O may I sing for thee? Page Twenty-four Car gill Sprietsma NERO OF MY own volition what am I, But a cursing thief, a beast in a sty, But a dream betrayed, And a death delayed By a burning lust that will not die? What am I when my will is freed, And bound by none but its own false creed? My lust reveals What my word conceals To the world whose approval I heed : What am I when my friends are gone, And I am a law to myself alone, With nothing to heed But passions which lead Me to pleasures of lust ripely grown? Page Twenty-five St. Gervais and Other Poems Most ancient of rites, O lascivious sights, indulgence of secret delights, Now heated by wine, Unhampered by time, 1 revel in clandestine nights. This is my life which you cannot see, This is the life that my mind which is free, Builds at its ease, My lust to appease, And ever is mistress for me. Page Twenty-six Car gill Sprietsma ROSEMARY FOR REMEMBRANCE I. THREE months — almost four — Oh, more than four since that last hour When thou didst speak to me — Oh, how I miss thee — the quay From where I now observe the sea In vain — in vain, there is no joy for me. Page Twenty-seven St. Gervais and Other Poems ROSEMARY FOR REMEMBRANCE II. An Aspiration Before departure for France, Spring, 1918 TTT 1 E WHO never prayed before V V Have learned to pray, We who never thought of more Than pleasure for a day, Who never looked so far away Into the future as to hope, But chose to grope Along in darkness Year by year, Are hoping now! We have learned to seek, With eagerness, unrest, For things of which to speak Before, was but to jest. Page Twenty-eight Car gill Sprietsma Oh, how the hearts of those must ache, Whose loud and unheard cries Have risen — "For Christ's sake End the war"; a nation dies, And still the cry goes on — If twelve months from this day We too are gone, God spare the souls, we pray, Who this day cry to Thee, Along with all who blindly Now have died. We go, impelled by hope That from the darkness where we grope The world will find A purer kind Of love. The wish for fleeting pleasure now is gone, The hope for happiness has come, The days and months of hardening life, The coming of the day of strife Page Twenty-nine St. Gervais and Other Poems That makes the whole world wet With blood, has taught us not regret For what is past, but hope! Oh, if we ne'er return To those dear hearts at home, If those warm hearts which yearn Must travel on alone To this life's end — Remember this kind friend — The prayers and hopes of hearts At war, are not for blood, But that the years of peace will bring Those things to which our hearts now cling, That those who follow us may know That we must reap from seeds we sow, And hope that those in after years Will reap fair flowers from the tears That fall upon our graves. Page Thirty Car gill Sprietsma oo ROSEMARY FOR REMEMBRANCE III The Glory of the Sea For L. P. H.— April, 1918. After gun practice by convoy on the Atlantic MAN A HEART by sudden death and loss il Of loved one in the strife Is tortured, though it bear the cross, The beauty of the life Which grew from love once nurturing there Is scarred by pangs of sharp despair, Though faith lives on that days will be When wordly vales are passed, The fond belief that both shall see A perfect love at last — Upon that life remains a scar Which was not there before the war. O nothing from the fate of change is free, But the living glory of the sea — The beauty of the sea, sea, sea. Page Thirty-one St. Gervais and Other Poems THE EARTH A QUIET vale by cannon's blast /l Is rent in hideous shapes, Nor the bordering mountain pinnacles vast The scarring hand escapes, E'en all that grows and lives on land Must suffer from the Vandal's hand, And though a beauty soon shall grow Upon the bloody field, And once again the vale shall know A peaceful, fruitful yield, Yet on the scene will be a scar Which was not there before the war. O nothing from the fate of change is free, But the living glory of the sea, The beauty of the sea, sea, sea. Page Thirty-two Cargill Sprietsma THE SEA jnO/? I have seen the shattering shell X Burst ope the waters deep, In flame as from the gates of Hell The ocean's contents steep, But the sparkling sea rolled as before And never waned in its glorious roar; Not suffering from destruction's hands, Its beauties never wane — It changeability withstands, Yet never is the same: Each old sea had its beauty old, In each new sea, the old behold! O nothing from the fate of change is free, But the living glory of the sea, The beauty of the sea, sea, sea. oo Page Thirty-three St. Gervais and Other Poems ROSEMARY FOR REMEMBRANCE IV Flowers of the Fields of France rMELDS of France, I thought that I should look X in vain To find your beauty, when I came To view the ground where bloody death had been, And men in pain and agony had lain. In vain, for hard and frozen clods had made A weary ground, which to the spade Would hardly yield a resting place, a grave Where shattered, tortured heroes might be laid. But now I know that those who lie within your fold Are resting there, the mould Of Beauty is not lost, for I behold Their forms come from your clods so cold. Page Thirty-four Car gill Sprietsma The ashen gray which I beheld upon their lips Is gone : the dew of morning drips From off their cheeks, flits Now and darts the bee, and honey sips. All the Winter — there are many dead — Those braves who all the charges led, Though wounded ceased not ; with wounds which bled Still hotly fought until the fierce foe fled. This glorious Spring their beauty now reveals, Not now a barren sod conceals Their glory, but aloud, aloud it peals The beauty of their lives in rapturous fields. Page Thirty-five St. Gervais and Other Poems ROSEMARY FOR REMEMBRANCE V A Memory of Compline, aboard a train from Blois to Somewhere, France, hour of Compline, May, 1918. /WONDER if the stars above the chapel shine, I wonder if the clock is tolling nine, And earnest men from studies turning now to prayer Before the crucifix upon the altar there At compline in the Lady Chapel of Racine — I wonder if they heard the echo of the call That came to us so clearly from the pall Which shrouds a million silent sorrows over sea, I wonder, would they hear a call from me At compline in the Lady Chapel of Racine — Or do they night by night in solemn chorus chant, In dignity their daily sins repent, And pray once more that God Gomorrah spare, And we their joys of righteous may share, At compline in the Lady Chapel of Racine? Page Thirty-six Car gill Sprietsma <—> ROSEMARY FOR REMEMBRANCE VI Along Le Quai des Chartrons — An Old Tar OVER the wall its tall masts rise Up as if to meet the skies — I recall one night, it seemed to me A glorious sight along the quay To see them, and hear a tale from the wizened tar Who had manned the ship through all the war, Regardless of the lurking fate Which many a free lance days of late Had reckoned with a drunken smile, Had ventured as in days of yore With a cargo bound for a southern shore, Telling his last wild tale of the sea While leaning here on the wall of the quay. There was a mark of life to the days, A fascination to the old tar's ways, I loved the strange bohemian dress, I loved the sound of the wave's caress Against his schooner's bulk — Page Thirty-seven St. Gervais and Other Poems I loved the hag who used to skulk As a cur along the great long pier, I loved the woman with cart so queer Who used to pass each twilight hour, I loved the lighthouse on the breakers' edge, For it cast a shadow on the ledge Which through the day was a barren rock And the wildest sea would only mock. I loved the seaman's tavern too, Where the thirsty captain and all the crew Spent the latest hours of leave ashore, There I gathered the tales of seaman's lore, And' took a pleasure and strange delight In the dance of the tar's drunken dame at night, I heard the strains from the pimp's guitar, I mixed with the crowd that shirked the war, I drank a strong and bitter brew, I cursed and sang as one of the crew, And then I left them to their brawl, Through the rain, or the fog, at last to crawl Between my blankets in the early dawn, Humming the refrain of their latest song. Page Thirty-eight Cargill Sprietsma oo But now I lean on the wall of the quay, The old Chartron has no life for me, Below me there along the walk, Different tars and different talk, The dance and the brawl, The masts towering tall — The waves, and the darkness covering all — Only the lighthouse there far away, And the cruel pointed rocks so barren by day — Only there now is mystery, hidden and black, Which all life about me now seems to lack, These haunts now are hateful — the old tar is gone, And I labor here, living alone — It was not for the sake of the brawl and the crew, It was not for anything then which I knew, But something which drew me — it happened to be here, Where I saw all these sights amusing and queer — They are horrible now, they are hateful to me, As I lean on the wall which borders the quay. Page Thirty-nine St. Gervais and Other Poems ROSEMARY FOR REMEMBRANCE VII St. Gervais Lines written on Good Friday, 1919 in Paris. St. Gervais is the church in Paris, hit by a shell from the German long range gun on Good Friday, 1918, when almost a hundred of those worshiping there were killed or wounded. C. S. 1. A YEAR ago JTjL In silence knelt a feeble mother here Upon the stones of St. Gervais; In silence Through the forty days of Passion, Prayer had followed prayer To Him Who would not hear. Now there upon that bare, cold stone She knelt, to ask once more The end of all the brutal infamy Which like a plague had swept This earth of youth. Page Forty Car gill Sprietsma oo And there she prayed that truth Might soon be victor, And that her lost blood, The sacrifice upon a recent field, Should not have been in vain. She prayed in silence for the son Now, and for the righteous cause. Again she crossed herself — Her daily prayer had gone to Him Who never seemed to hear. Then the service of the afternoon began, And when she there recalled The passion of her Lord, She wept, And a warm tear Dried on her withered cheek, Once again she knelt And prayed, not for her son, But for the end of all the wrong Which threatened all the world. Pagt Forty -one St. Gervais and Other Poems "O take, dear Lord, The sacrifice of blood ; To us who live, be harsh, be cruel, But spare the generations from the chains Of serfdom's iron yoke. O take, take all our blood — We offer all — Here we, too old to die, Before Thy cross in supplication lie." And she, whose blood was thin, Too thin to heat the hands So cold that when they touched the stones Which long had pressed the faithful knees, Felt not the contact But the firm resistance only — The prayer still coming from her soul — To that firm refuge She had come each day, And when the siren or a bursting shell Had warned her of the dreadful hour Of death, She did not cower, But safely rested near the cross. Page Forty-two Car gill Sprietsma It was a frightful silence Which had awed the hour Of prayer in St. Gervais, And each lone soul In silence made its prayer, With only God to hear. The sombre light through ancient glass Gave benediction, And to the lonesome soul An angel seemed to hover Round them all, As if to search each soul To give it strength for one last trial. To all it seemed that He would hear this day Their prayer for victory of the right, And in the prayer of passion They all knelt. Page Forty-three oo St. Gervais and Other Poems From the mother Came the soul out-pouring prayer, And as she bent to touch the very stones With her gray head, That angel came from out the mystic light, Its voice so pure And filled with Heavenly harmony- It dazed her, She felt the strange sensation of a shock — A numbness, Such as soldiers from a wound And loss of blood feel in exhaustion, When the power of will gives way To loss of sense, — as he who eats And lives on opium has a dream, So this old soul So strangely heard, and felt The angel, And the form from out the silence And the mystic light Bore her away From St. Gervais. Page Forty-four Car gill Sprietsma <» And now thou art at rest, O in thy sleep be blest, And look upon this service in relief, And see the scars, and count the grief Of hearts that come into this shrine, The shrine made doubly sacred by the glory which is thine, To die as nobly as thy son for whom thou prayed To give thy life, though from the battle stayed By age and by the mission of thy sex. Thou wert taken, trusting in the God Who took thee Kneeling at His door, thou didst not see Nor hear the insane crash of steel That shook the stern foundations — made them reel, And shattered all the ancient art to naught Which pious souls laboriously brought And dedicated year by year, 'Twas well thou didst not hear, But swooned thus in thy prayer. Page Forty-five St. Gervais and Other Poems To us who kneel where thou wouldst kneel today, If thou wert here, to us who say- In unison a prayer — a solemn Evensong — Who chant, and bid Him to redress the wrong — To us are left the scars on ancient wood and stone, Left by the ragged steel, the pieces flown In countless wild directions in mad haste To find thy vitals, there to taste The blood of innocence, and halt thy prayer. But that hot steel had come too late To halt thy prayer for right, which Fate Had carried to the ears of Him Who heard, Insults, death, destruction, His Own Word Defiled, and sacred ground with rape And bloodshed stained, — to us 'tis left to shape The Charter of Prevention, and the scars Which on the stones and wooden bars Of St. Gervais shall e'er remain, cry out, "Beware". Page Forty-six Car gill Sprietsma oo ROSEMARY FOR REMEMBRANCE VIII Thou Wilt Come No More A memory of Pontanezon Barracks, Brest, France T\EAD! M-J And nothing left me but thy name Carved on this rude old door. Dead! Thou didst carve it here the night we came To sleep on this caserne floor. O the thirteen days on a deck of slime, O the horde of men and the stench of grime, O the thirteen nights 'neath the water line — Thou dead — and the memory mine. Dead! And I am resting here again Upon this caserne floor. Dead! But I am going home again Where thou wilt come no more. Page Forty-teven o*> St. Gervais and Other Poems For thou art dust, and I a living thing With memory, which to the past must cling, And see the painful moment e'er Which made thee dust, and me to bear This moment here alone. Dark the night, and high the April sea, Cold the rain, but warm there near to thee; Far warmer, for my heart was warm There 'neath our blanket arm in arm With thee, than here alone. The crash of the submarine rings in my ears, The blow of steel will resound through the years, My memory wakening with dread, — For thou, then with me, now art dead — Oh, it is fearsome here alone. Risked how often thy life for me, Death thou didst not fear; I see The day of June when thou didst lead Us through the wire, nor wound didst heed. Page Forty-eight Car gill Sprietsma oe> Not for thy death ought I to feel This awful anguish, thou didst seal With death a friendship, with disdain, Death was no stranger when he came. That first night in this strange land, 'Twas good to rest and hold thy hand, Under the same rough roof to lie And talk — of death to wonder why. The rats and vermin, — these were naught, 'Twas for our loves and homes we fought, As I shared the warmth of thy earthly home, Why am I here to return alone! Dead! And nothing left me but thy name Carved on this rude old door. Dead! Thou didst carve it here the night we came To sleep on this caserne floor. Page Forty-nine St. Gervais and Other Poems O the days in a trench full of men who could move With the pain which only death could soothe, O the nights under ground 'neath the firing line — Thou dead — and the memory mine. Dead! And I am resting here again Upon this caserne floor. Dead! And they are sending me home again — Oh, wilt thou come no more? Page Fifty Cargill Sprietsma oe> ROSEMARY FOR REMEMBRANCE IX The Cross A small cross was all that remained to the young man by which he could remember his dearest friend who, after having lost both legs and an arm, in the Argonne, died in the young man's arms. C. S. MUST I part with it now? It was warm as thy breast Where it hung, and my vow This to wear did attest Our loves; O thy dying wish, Feebly uttered through thy pain, Overcoming that anguish, Knowing that thou hadst been slain — Clinging with thy single arm, Whilst I laid thee low, Whilst thy blood, warm, Deathly blood, did hotly flow From thy wounded side, Side which only death could heal, Wound which steel had opened wide; Piercing, maiming, shredding steel! Page Fifty -one St. Gervais and Other Poems How can I speak of that red sight, How can I to thy mother give The pain of that benumbing fright Which made me dread to see thee live? Must I part with this small cross Which hung upon thy breast? Breast grown cold with fevered loss Of spirting blood from wounds undressed ! Oh, such wounds as men received In the fearless days we saw, Oh, such loss as now bereaved, Holds me still with silent awe — Horror of the crazing sight, When I laid thee thus possessed Of fitful strength, unhuman might, Half dead, to tear this from thy breast! Thy mother's right is right of birth, Is right that comes from bearing pain, My right is right that comes when earth Turns back a man to dust again, And takes from him in greater pain The life his mother made him live, Page Fifty-two Car gill Sprietsma If by suffering men do gain Their claim on life, death this did give, The right to give thy love to me, And giving love, this token blest, With which lives my thought of thee — It shall rest here as on thy breast, The token is to her less gain, Who suffered but a distant loss, Who saw not how in all thy pain, Thou gavest to me this sacred cross. oo Page Fifty-three st. Gervais and Other Poems ROSEMARY FOR REMEMBRANCE X To a Flower from La Tranchee Rouget ' rW\ WAS for my Love I gathered thee, A. Near the bend in La Trenchee Rouget; The only life on the field to greet me, Where the dead in their own blood lay. I thought of the hour when I would give thee, To my Love who was far away; I thought of the day when my Love would greet me — How I longed for my Love that day! 'Twere better, dear flower, that thou hadst grown, On my grave in that fertile field; Far rather I'd died there than here to have known, My loss that must e'er be concealed. Page Fifty-four Car gill Sprietsma oo AT BAUSART For H. W. "TTT HAT yawns so pitifully with open mouth, V V What apparition from afar Comes toward me with its mien uncouth, From out the graveyard of Bausart? It bears no uniform to tell 'Tis one who in the battle died, No Greenback from the abodes of Hell, Or blue of Poilu sanctified. It moves, comes onward, now retreats, Comes forward once again, What is the instrument which beats And moans this ephemeral strain? O none but warriors here have died, And they in death their colors wear, Nor do they to the quick confide Such pain as that which walketh there. Page Fifty-five St. Gervais and Other Poems For they who thus their debt have paid, But welcome death as sweet relief, And as they in the earth are laid, Rest there and leave behind their grief. Nor do they walk this painful ground As this unrestful, ghastly form, The earth receives them in her womb As mother holds her child from harm. O cease thy moving, stop that strain, O leave these warriors to their rest, And mock not with thy show of pain, Which women moves but men detest. "Oh, I am doomed to walk in pain, And hover o'er my opened grave, Until my bones be placed again, Within this hole by warrior brave. For until then the soul so foul, Which tore me from my rightful grave, Now lies therein whilst my purged soul, Must burn and be his guardian slave." Page Fifty-six Car gill Sprietsma <—> "'Tis not for me to find thy bones, Collect the atoms scattered wide, 'Tis for a million lazy drones To scour the town and country-side." And then the thing gave such a wail, I thought that all the dead had moaned, what could thus this thing assail — 1 thought the thousand dead had groaned. And through the dark on hands and knees, I neared the desecrated grave, To search uprooted rocks and trees, This spectre's blasted bones to save. And thus to search this cavern vast, To find a million specks of bone, Amid the ruin where the blast Mixed these decayed remains with stone. And all the time above my head, There was a sound as of a bat, Against the walls which house the dead, Or grating noise of gnawing rat. Page Fifty-seven oo st. Gervais and Other Poems So I labored through the night, Where once I'd fought and tempted shell, I pondered on this horrid rite Of saving unearthed folks from Hell. And when from out the fields around, I'd gathered skull and rotten bones To place them in the open ground, The spectre stopped me with his groans. "These bones alone will not suffice, For I must with them buried be, The earth my being doth entice, Now throw me in and bury me." I know the fear that holds the heart When one walks hand in hand with death, When death is playing the reaper's part, And one can feel its icy breath. When one must fix his bayonet, And charge a man at body's length, When loss to act leaves not regret, But death from steel and murdering strength. Page Fifty-eight Cargill Sprietsma OO I know the night the shells fell here, And opened all the graves which threw Their contents to the hills, whilst fear Of unearthed ghosts within me grew. To charge a man, that I can do, To fix a bayonet and strike, But hold a ghost — would't break in two? I know not what this thing be like. Approach it or await its form — How should I bury a living soul? Yet was this living phantom torn From out this open, gaping hole. Bones I see, and bones can bury, Flesh can rot, and souls depart, "Phantom fleet, O phantom, hurry, Tell me of what stuff thou art ! For thy bones lie there before thee, And thy flesh has fattened worms, Art thou spirit, soul, or body, Takes the soul such hideous forms?" Page Fifty-nine St. Gervais and Other Poems Then I rose up from my knees, Shrinking from the dread reply, Looking for such things one sees In a dead man's glassy eye. But the air was clear and pure, Still the night and calm as clear, Not an owl my wits to lure, Nor open grave which had been here. Page Sixty Cargill Sprietsma oo ERIKA— AFTER A PAINTING SWEET daughter of an artist's soul, Free from sin that makes me foul, Born of brush and genius' skill, Of feverish heart and fixed will, Born of pain as I was born — Thou from the painter's heart wast torn, Wherein he felt the fire of love Which God had sent him from Above, And thus from mankind's sin wast freed, In purest love to be conceived. But still, thou art not his alone, Who gave thee outward life, — not bone And flesh art thou, that with the day Of birth begins its slow decay ; A soul art thou that never dies, 'Tis that which liveth in thine eyes, And speaks the master's passion there, His love, his life, his soul laid bare, — Breathed into thee through him, thou too From God's great living spirit grew. Page Sixty-one oe> St. Gervais and Other Poems THE FALLEN GOD— Nov. 1-11, 1918 SE VEN cold November days have ta'en their deathly toll, Seven nights with seven days a bloody story tell, South from Stenay o'er wooded hill and plain, there hourly roll Our light and heavy cannon between the Meuse and the Moselle. Forty-four times thirty thousand men are falling back, Forty-four times thirty thousand wills have broken down, A million seasoned criminals have sickened from attack ; Who came with royal purple robes retreats with shadowy crown. A half a million of our hearts are set Toward firm and purposed end, The odds which thus beset them only whet Their iron mettle, obstacles but lend An extra strength to the blow Now fated heavily to fall, The justice these four years so slow To enter in the fray, will all The losing millions coldly judge. Page Sixty-two Car gill Sprietsma OO Two days the half a million speed From gain to gain, and Inor heights Are occupied, the roads which lead Beyond now witness ghastly sights, Those tales but few will tell ; who see Die in the seeing, or hiding in the day, Take cover and use the night to flee From cannonade and youths who lay In wait for them with bayonet. Nine days the horde has vainly fought to stem the fateful tide, Which as a raging sea o'erwhelms the broken ship, in blood Of their own sin now drags them down, held back in meadow wide, The white and dusty limestone stained is now a crimson mud. Far off into the land which lies north west of favored Gaul, A fallen god who leads the losing hordes now prays to be, His royal robes envelope him like a crimson shadowy pall, He turns to be the vanguard of the cursed hordes which flee. Page Sixty-three St. Gervais and Other Poems Now dawns the fateful day, In vain the broken wills of men Too deeply steeped in sin, at Stenay Seek to check our youths, but pain Of death or maiming steel but swells The blood within their veins, and hearts But beat the quicker, and the foe compels To turn, or writhe in pain until all life departs And leaves a mangled corpse. Night comes, a crossing of the Meuse, Our youths near Pouilly and Mouzon, With bayonets well fixed, now use The weapon of their choice; upon The heights of Inor remain Our few battalions hurling alien shell Upon the foe, they gain, they gain, With pain deliver pain, to Hell They send the broken hordes. How slowly moves a silhouette retreating from the west, How heavy hangs upon it now the black November cloud, How slowly creeps it o'er the earth, and from its drooping crest, How loosely hang the garments, how like a spectre's shroud. Page Sixty-four Cargill Sprietsma oo There is no martial music here such as some ghosts attend, When in the night they hover o'er a field where men lie slain, The dark which falls upon this man alone can him defend From dead men's hands which 'gainst him rise from out the fields of pain. There is a muffled cannonade beats for his steps, "retreat", The guns their beating will not cease until a weary- horde Has crawled as now this silhouette crawls, sinks down on weary feet, Drops down from weight of crimson sin, begs mercy from the Lord. But in the west, On youthful brow now gather salty beads, Rags hang in tatters, from the wear And tear of ragged work, youth speeds The sending of the shells that tear In just pursuit of him who flees; Not here the sneaking step of coward foot, Nor in its eyes the look of him who sees Within himself the soul- condemning root Page Sixty- five St. Gervais and Other Poems Of evil deeds. Youth strains, it lifts the shell Into its place — a signal and a flash, And sound which follows quickly after light to tell That death again has sped into yon calculated space; Now rocks the very air which shocks the chords And looses all the muscles of the spine — it marks the pace Of that now shadowy form which is the vanguard of the hordes In their retreat. Into the night the spectre makes its way, O kindly night, Since to be black to blackened souls is reckoned kind, kind Art thou to hide him from the sight of Heaven, to shield him from its light, To bring upon him blackness of a cloud and stormy wind. For thus from all the light of nature held away, the fire Which burns within his blackened soul may now burn doubly bright, And light the smallest corner of his heart, to see the mire Within himself — how kind it is to take from him all natural light. Page Sixty-six Car gill Sprietsma oo But guns roar, And shells pour Their storm of bursting steel, While behind this wretched man come others of his clan, And night grows weary of its blackness ; breaking day Wears a sickly gray upon its fevered lip, with wan And nauseous cheek lets the hordes in darkness go their way, While guns roar, And shells pour Their storm of bursting steel. He flees — not from the hangman — such fate alone becomes the man Who does foul murder, and no more; he flees, he knows not where, Into the darkness, to find a pit where no more light can Ever enter in — what joy and blessing would be there. Perhaps he flees from that dread hour which now draws swiftly nigh, From that dread day when his defeat brings on his fated doom, The loss to him of power with which he sent men forth to die, Perhaps this settles on his heart a melancholy gloom. Page Sixty-seven St. Gervais and Other Poems Perhaps it is the fear of that strange hour when guns shall cease, And he no longer master of the earth before his horde, Now fears to suffer quartering, their cultured taste to appease, He flees — 'tis all he knows, this shadowy fallen lord. Oh, leave him to oblivion's care, and let him seek a pit, But keep him from the hangman's rope, for only there he'll find That blackness which he seeks ; to seek the dark, but bound to sit Within its reach, O, let him live, for death would be but kind. Yes, let him live, this fleeing, shadowy form, his end will come, And God may judge with sterner hand, and justice better mete Than we, who in our passion would dispatch this being from His misery and in our frenzy God's own way defeat! Page Sixty-eight Car gill Sprietsma THE MAID'S LAMENT LO VE can die — fair Love is dead ! Who wrote the tale which I have read, That Love from Dionysus born From Aphrodite took his form? O what a tale for aching heart, What bitter iron to make it smart, When Gods in love together lie, Their offspring as we mortals die. Why sing of fickle mortal love? More constant is the cooing dove, E'er faithful is his single mate, Though death the pair doth separate. Put up within these charnel walls, A doom upon my spirit falls, And in this prison must abide, Nor to the world its pain confide. Who loves not is too quick to speak, Assuming gentle airs and meek, While love in hearts must dormant lie, Or wakening, go its way to die. Yet heart of lover is aware That blooming flower is more fair Than seedling or a slip of rose, Though death doth soon upon it close. Page Sixty-nine St. Gervais and Other Poems IN PERE LACHAISE There is a tomb the history of whose dead is forgotten. THY children wept when thou wast borne Into this vaulted sepulchre, their grave In turn to be; but now none even mourn For loss of them or thee ; no hands now lay A flower upon the altar in the vault Wherein thy children used to come whilst years Sped quickly on. 'Tis not the fault Of man thy name no longer lives ; our tears Are shed a petty hour, perhaps a day, A month, or we may think on thee Perchance a year — but laying thee away, We lay aside our thoughts, we see Thee now and then with that cold dread Wherewith thou once didst think upon the dead. The iron door which once was black and neat Is rusting on its hinge, and swings no more, The wreath and cross and iron seat Are bent, and rusted to the core. Page Seventy Car gill Sprietsma In vain the letters o'er the door Against the inclement rain held sway, Thy name I now can read no more; And now the darkness or the day On earth, as in thy tomb, holds thee In utter blackness, and from men are gone All traces of thy work ; they neither see A record of thy suffering nor thy wrong. How vainly do we leave an open door Between the grave and earth, when life is o'er. Page Seventy-one oo St. Gervais and Other Poems ALONE— ONLY A STUDENT'S LIGHT A LONE — only a student's light, XJl, And the awful midnight hour, Stillness of a deep cold night, And the bells in a weary tower Tolling, tolling— "This day's strife Is but the measure of a life". Why this weariness, — why this learning,- Why these books? If only sadness Is the fruit of all discerning; If no word to bring me gladness Can be found within these pages, Then how foolish are the sages! Books of learning, 'tis not they Turn this midnight into day — Called I to my heart,"Be still!", 'Twould not answer to my will, Yet I will not— let it yearn, Through the midnight let it burn. Page Seventy-two Cargill Sprietsma FRIENDSHIP For H. N. TIT 1 HEREIN is true friendship felt to touch the V V heart With that warm comfort, which the smart Of adverse fortune makes us feel so doubly kind — When to the vistas of the future we are blind, And all our hopes are wrapped in blackness of the night, There comes an aid, a balm of Gilead, gives us sight Of God, and strength to watch the sun arise, To see again that dawn when it will beam from clear blue skies. Seventy -three St. Gervais and Other Poems UPON THE RETURN OF CERTAIN GIFTS A YEAR ago my heart was leaping, A~\ Beating with unbounded joy, Pain of ages by me sweeping, Seeking distance to destroy. O that waters had been stronger, O that time in passing longer, Leaving me at least to grope For that for which 'tis vain to hope. For in that hope was all my youth, Was all my fond belief in love, Was faith that those who hold to truth, May by their faith the world move. Sometimes I grasp at what about me Seems to be the thing I crave, As a man who from the high sea, By a straw his life would save. Page Seventy-four Car gill Sprietsma oe> But the years when life and hope Were the blessings free to me, When the whole world was my scope, Were the years I gave to thee. And these years once given away, Now my life must ever lack, Love and faith and spirits gay, Not as silver gifts come back. Page Seventy-five oe> St. Gervais and Other Poems To TIS good in semi-wakefulness to lie, And see thee pass before my conscious eye, And reveling in raptures of what seems, I build the castle of my dreams. So thus may I for hours see thee smile, And thus a single night of years beguile; Or may I see thine eyes so bright, And feast upon their lustre through the night. Or may my heart with longing burn To hear thy voice and to thy side return; Then with my heart so filled with pain, My being seeks infinitude again. And with my soul thus gone upon its quest, My body lies a-quiet seeking rest; And o'er me, through the hours, creep The blessed fairy-gifts of quiet sleep. Page Seventy-six Cargill Sprietsma oo SILENCE MONTHS pass which in the passing seem like years, Each day an effort new or cause for tears Which burn the eye and erstwhile end the sight, Burn slowly and consume the soul contrite: For burdens of the world and not its own In that degree, but from sorrows sown By other hands, reaps on in stupor dumb, Seeing all, knowing the while the day will come When slumber, not an overwhelming grief, Will bring to it the freedom of relief From silence, greater pain than which is none — To feel the sorrow, know the pain, alone — To suffer it alone, accept the pain In silence and in agonized disdain. Page Seventy-seven oo St. Gervais and Other Poems THE REPLY " T^E A friend to thee anew", U Love, If I could know thee true — How can I know this too, Love, Not from thy fancy grew? Or even know thy heart, Love, Is firmer than before — Then might I risk the smart, Love, Of a breaking heart once more. Page Seventy -eight Cargill Sprietsma TO ANY FRIEND COME for a moment into fairyland, Forget your age, and take my hand Whilst we on the acropolis stand Which overlooks the island in the sea Aegean, And let there come unto our ears that paean Sweetly sung, enchantingly Orphean. But briefly, for the hours are few, Which in their flight still hold you, Impatient for a world and vista new. Trace through the shadows of the placid trees, Unmoved by voices which melt the magic breeze That comes to us from o'er the ancient seas Which lie beyond, trace the silhouettes Of forms which glide like Grecian frets About a column. Here no regrets, Page Seventy-nine St. Gervais and Other Poems Nor idle, melancholic gloom makes us despair Of yesterdays, nor does a silly care Of what the morrow brings fill the scented air ; But from the motion of those fairy sprites Who in their dance sing songs for Orphic rites, Comes ecstacy in which the soul delights. So dance and sing for me those hours always, When through the very haze of life, our ways God granted one, though short and few the days. Page Eighty Car gill Sprietsma SONNET— OSCAR WILDE TT THAT constellation destines the soul born VV Beneath its light, to sadness and to pain, No matter from what mother's womb 'tis torn, No matter in what cradle it has lain? For from that cradle it must walk with shame At last into a grave of sad repose, Without solace, knowing that it came Into the world to be the butt of blows And buffets of this earth, to act the shows The which to see then fills its mind with hate, Until into its own life this hate grows For things which to undo 'tis now too late: Destined by his birth his art to give, Destined by these stars in pain to live. Page Eighty-one St. Gervais and Other Poems NATURE'S WAY LET me lie 'neath the underbrush, Beside a laughing stream, And hear the note of warbling thrush, And close my eyes and dream. For men are sad and Nature's gay, And I will follow Nature's way. Let me lie and kiss the stream, And drink its nectar in, Let the sun upon me beam, And wash me clean of sin. Though men are weary, Nature's gay, And I will follow Nature's way. Let me lie and feel the wind That whispers through the trees, And let my aching spirit find Fair music in the breeze. For men do sigh while Nature's gay, But I will follow Nature's way. Page Eighty-two Car gill Sprietsma Then let the rain upon me pour And wet my parched skin. And let my soul ecstatic soar To Heaven and enter in. For men will weep while Nature's gay, O let me follow Nature's way. oe> Page Eighty-three Hi? 89 ,* V c '^V 0°\C^- °o o V &-\. ^-^--^ ^..sJSfc^ /■■•s'*-'> &*• v -'Ste' v^ #ir v** *• HECKMAN BINDERY INC. |«| I* DEC 88 mJw n - MANCHESTER, ^S=^ INDIANA 46962