™ 4 ^ LIBRARY OF CONGRESS DODDBEbaHTH w • I 1 °o ^ o. V%.>* %'™>* V'*-**> t * » H ° A* - <*- * *•"• A> v \o*^. ^ A -* 9 .ik'i:..^*. .^itifc:-*^ max ehrmann's Poems VIOUESNEY PUBLISHING COMPANY TERRE HAUTE, IND. OtfSs A XX^ ** COPYRIGHT, 1906 <3y VIQUESNEY PUBLISHING CO. CONTENTS THE CROWDED WORLD The Poet's Defense .... I Smiled ...... Broken Veteran of Commercial Wars Babes .....,,. Evening Song .... Desiderata ..... The WoVld's Newborn Today I Ponder O'er Love .... The Greater Heroism The Philosopher's Deliverance You Who Wrangle With Me at the Mart Passer-By! ...... The Dishonored Poet To a Poet . . Walk Sweetly . . • . 1 Know ..... Home Again Kindness ..... O Lonely Workers ! ... In Youth's Wild Pride Where God Is You With the Still Soul Forget ..... In the Hospital .... Ships Returning Home Two Women .... We Sit and Judge The Light of a Cheerful Heart Tomorrow .... Oft in Crowded Mart 9 11 12 13 14 15 16 18 20 21 22 23 24 25 27 28 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 40 41 42 43 44 47 Do You Remember Once Upon a Night Who Loves Mankind . I Knew a Daughter . . To Them That Carry the Light Give Me Today ..... At the Opera .... I Look Over This Wilderness The Hate and the Love of the World I Sit Afraid ..... The Old Magnolia Tree As I Returned to the Dim of My Study ON THE SHORES OF THE Who Entereth Here .... The Mountain Top .... Goodness ..... Progressive Confessional The Wall ..... Letter to a Solitary .... I Sit and Wait .... Thou Mother Afield ..... Dream of Love ! .... My Native City .... Scorn Not the Inner Song An Artist's Prayer . . . . At Nightfall ..... By the Wabash's Lisping Flow The Half-Dream .... 1 Give Myself for Love Revelation ..... An Easter Prayer .... My Kin . Who Sleepeth Here .... SKY 48 49 50 51 53 54 55 56 57 58 67 71 72 75 76 77 78 81 83 84 85 87 90 92 94 95 97 99 101 102 104 105 Croesus's Dream . . . 107 The Voice ... . .108 A Toast to Sombre Students ..... 109 Will You Come Back? ..... Ill Tell Me ........ 113 In The Night's Mysterious Stillness . . . 114 If The Noise of the City ..... 115 Private Interpretations ..... 116 Hope ........ 117 The Poet and The Pirate . . • . . 118 Dream-Work ....... 121 Sweet Content !...... 122 The Dreamer and the Dead ..... 123 1 Sit and Smile at Myself ..... 124 My Youth and I ...... 126 As I Look Into Your Face, O Night! .... 129 Sleep Sweetly ....... 131 Something Will Rise In You ..... 132 Good Night . . . . . . .133 IN THE GARDENS OF AMOUR Yes or No . . . . . . . 136 To You Who Come at Evening ..... 139 'Tis Raining Now ...... 140 After Day ....... 141 A Woman's Question ...... 142 Let Pass ....... 143 The Loves of Other Years . . . . . 144 The Dream ....... 147 Where Love Abides ...... 148 The Bride . . . . t . .150 A Bachelor's Winter Evening Revery . . . 151 Tomorrow I'm Away ...... 153 The Dead Wife ...... 154 Love's Tragic Convention . I At the Dance II Verses to a Wedded Sweetheart III And Each Passed On IV For Neither Dared V While a Season Changed VI Her Solitude VII I Put You Aside VIII He Will Come IX Upon Neponset's Shore When I Come Home Beauty ..... A Man and a Woman I Fling Thee to the Winds . . Parting To Be With You .... Love's Paradox .... Spring ..... Just As Of Old . If You Would Say ... The Loveless Marveled Heart's Command .... I Shall Come to Her The One Woman .... One of Long Ago IN REBELLION America ..... To the Masters of Men Thou That Art Idle Born Ego Ipse Sunday Night .... If You Have Made Gentler the Churlish World The Life That Never Dreams The Task ..... 155 . 167 . 169 . 170 . 171 . 172 . 174 . 175 . 176 . 177 . 179 . 181 . 182 . 183 . 184 • 187 . 191 . 192 . 194 . 196 . 197 . 193 . 199 200 The Crowded World THE POET'S DEFENSE I see you often smile, As every little while I pass your door, A-saying through your hat, "What a foolish man is that, A-seeking lore!" My ear is pricked for sound, My head upon the ground For many a day; And then my wandering eyes Are pacing all the skies Of starry ray. I see you laugh, I know, And nudge your partner, so, As I go 'long, With hands deep in my pants A-whistling some old dance Or lover's song. Let go your pride who smile, For every little while I'm laughing, too, Because, ah me ! you're blind And not one star can find Nor pearly dew. So in our hats we smile, And thus life's ills beguile— You both at me, And I at you, gone mad, And all the world's made glad For each of three. 10 I SMILED. Alone I sat and smiled At some odd thoughts I had; A friend came in and cried, "You're mad ; No man who's sane is thus beguiled !" Said I, "I knew you never could have known. I smiled because I was alone." 11 BROKEN VETERAN OF COMMERCIAL WARS. After the smoke and roaring and desolation of the battle of middle life, After long marches and countennarches, privation, dreary, godless skies, and speechless weariness, After changes and the death of the beloved and all who knew you in your youth, Will you, broken veteran of commercial wars, turn again to the green fields of your youth ? And though the spoils of war be yours, once more, with the simplicity of childhood, will you plant love in your heart, Grow gentle and walk again with God over the olden hills and by the still flowing waters, And be pleased once more to be innocent in your desires and to grow sweetly tender in your heart — you, you, broken veteran of commercial wars? 12 BABES. The dimpled cheeks of babes do more Than vaunted enterprises fraught with lore To soften this hard world of hate and harsh alarms; And many a man ne'er served as well as in his mother's arms. 13 EVENING SONG. Give me to gladly go My way, And say No word of mine own woe; But let me smile each day. Give me the strength to do My task I ask; And that I shall not rue The toiler's grimy mask. Give one loved hand to me, And leave The eve All undisturbed as we Our strength of souls retrieve. And lastly give sweet sleep, Closed sight, No fright, « Nor fears that wakeful keep ; And now a sweet good night. 14 DESIDERATA. Though work bring naught of power nor wealth, Spare me from want of common needs, And give a share of manly health, A few good friends of honest deeds; And till death's peaceful slumber nears, A life of undishonored years. 15 THE WORLD'S NEWBORN TODAY. The world's newborn today ; And who will walk today with open eyes Will find amid the old some faint surprise, A thousand years the earth has crept along — A thousand, thousand years, and song Nor numbers infinite can say What long eons are still upon it's way; And yet the world's newborn today. The world's newborn today; And who will dream today and bear men's sneers; And work amid his silent, bitter tears, And turn no eye upon the flaunting crowd, But keep his spirit clean, not proud; He shall yet live to see some ray Gleam o'er his troubled night of wild dismay, Because the world's newborn today. 16 The world's newborn today; And some will wildly pray and toil to leap Afar in time and place, and some will weep In quest of life's one aim ; but he's a seer Who'll calmly walk and see and hear Within the things that 'round him stay His chance for sweetest life without delay, And know the world's newborn today. 17 I PONDER O'ER LOVE. I ponder o'er love and o'er death, O'er fame and unrequited toil, O'er placid young men and young women Dreaming in the day of their dreams, O'er hard-headed men of trade, And the public cheat held in high esteem, O'er the patient artist buying with his youth That which he shall gain in age But cannot enjoy, the day of pleasure being past; O'er the young nun, barred from the world, Yet bound by nature to be still a woman; I ponder o'er the tragedy of idealists, Living in a world of bog; O'er ministers grown larger than their doctrine, O'er the chance-taker who has lost, And o'er him who has won, O'er proud, beautiful, idle women, And humble, ugly, toiling ones, 18 O'er the tired worker in the shop, And the master of the shop, O'er solitary women who sit in gloom, O'er the bride and the bridegroom And the secret chamber that is theirs, O'er the dead love of them that still live, O'er the mystery of the mother's love, And the agony of ungrateful children loved, O'er lonely sailors out at sea, Ever watching the dead, dead waters, O'er soul-poisoned kings of nations and gold; I ponder o'er myself, indifferent just, Breathless in the roaring sea of time. — Let me forgive much, forget more; Let me close my eyes and fall half asleep, That the pictures may grow softer and stiller, And the life, O thou God! again grow gentle. 19 THE GREATER HEROISM. Work as if thy task were made for thee; Be strong as if thou hadst courage, And charitable as if thou hadst been rewarded; Remain poor if riches are dishonorable, And carry poverty with the dignity of virtue. When others dine sumptuously, eat thy crust; Let love be thy guide and justice thy God — Not for thyself alone, but for all men. 'Pursuing these things thou wilt be misjudged And, in the gloaming of thy days, forgotten; Then, uncomplaining, lie thou down at even, Cheered by the love in thy heart, And by the full-grown soul of thy charity; Then hast thou won the heroic battle, Yet not stained the sweet earth with blood; But in the garden of love and sacrifice, Hast thou planted serenely growing flowers, That shall still blow when thou dost slumber In the shadow-land of dreamless sleep. 20 THE PHILOSOPHER'S DELIVERANCE If it were man's sweet privilege, I should have cried. All day I've tried To solve the thing and meaning bring Into the thousand daily facts That constitute our varied acts. And now the evening's falling, And darkness grows; and human woes That seemed at noon so small, by moon Appear a giant's awful size In fearsome, weird, fantastic, wild disguise. My whole philosophy is Then subject to the light and hue Of things around and every sound. What's true today seems tomorrow false — Enough! Tonight I'll dress, dine out, and waltz. 21 YOU WHO WRANGLE WITH ME AT THE MART. You who see the worst of me, Who wrangle with me at the mart, Who discuss prices with me, pro and con — Do you condemn me? I do not condemn you, For you are a chattel like myself, Answering the necessities of the day — You who wrangle with me at the mart. Underneath the wrinkled face, You have to me a gentle face, And between the rough words, I hear your other voice — kind and low; This I remember, forgetting all else; For this shall I hear again, And shall know in the after-dawn That glows beyond this dead sea of trifles. 22 O PASSER-BY! passer-by, O passer-by! Have you good words of me Upon your lips as I draw nigh To you each day? If so, I beg That you'd them say, For soon I'm gone and cannot hear, So speak the kindly word 1 beg and smile while yet I'm near. I'd speak to you, If courage came, And I quite knew You'd take the love my heart oft sends, And give me yours as well — O passer-by, come let's be friends! Life's smiles and tears And happiness And childish fears Are mine, just like your own each day, (You understand I know.) So come and let's be friends I say. 23 THE DISHONORED POET. Full oft alone at night he sang a song The world sang gladly after him, and long Remembered it; for on Parnassus Mount He dwelt with dreams beside the muses' fount, And knew the fairy paths that spirits walk. — Then shame, defender's and accuser's talk, Then silent all. His monstrous name is hid As if of it the world itself would rid. O thou whom men call God ! did thy hand shake As from the formless void of things to make This life thou gatheredst thy materials strange, And in this crooked shape didst them arrange ? Where sentest thou his double soul to dwell — With its sweet songs to heaven, or deeds to hell ? 24 TO A POET. Ambitious true it is in you To hope that it be said, When life is past and you at last Lie still and newly dead: "The days are run of this sweet son Who failed in worldly strife, Was poorly clad, but wandered glad Along the paths of life ; For open wide on every side His heart had many a door, And they that knocked found them unlocked, And saw there evermore As rich a world as love unfurled In any human breast; And none were lost and none were crossed And every one was blest." 25 Ambitious true it is in you To hope that this be said, When life is past and you at last Lie still and newly dead. Yet on and on, from youth's clear dawn Till life's still evening rays, The battered heart would backward start To march the withered ways, If there were not among the lot Of all the peaceful dead Some lofty souls who'd paid life's tolls Of whom such words are said. 26 WALK SWEETLY. Walk sweetly through this noisy place, O thou with pliant soul ! And learn to go with thankful heart As onward seasons roll. And though 'tis human fate to fail, Tis great to hold still fast To that one thing thou lovest best, For it alone will last. And though the shadows on thee fall, If thou art gentle still And calmly walk with thankful heart, Thou'st done the Master's will. And next the laugh of happy maids, An old man's smile is best — The greatest triumph in the world— And surely it is blest. 27 I KNOW. And will you put the verse aside Because you've tried To all the measure of your strength ? And ask at length, Why should you follow words like these — Whose wish to please? And' are you tired — your courage low ? — I know. These words are dead, they clothe you not, Nor fill the lot Of pressing needs that steal your days Till evening's rays. You will not read — nor have the time? You say I rhyme With selfishness and pride aglow? I know. 28 And true it is these words are dead; No cloth they spread, Nor shelter bring to you at night, Nor gold by light Of morning when perchance you stray So still away From strangers' doors in spirits low — I know. The strong man's hopeless work of years, His inward tears; The dying youth of her unwooed, Her solitude; The broken heart's unseen distress, Its sleeplessness; The honored now and dishonored so — I know. Where'er you are, my brother dear, I'd bring you cheer; And you of full-blown maiden's grace, And you of face All warped and drawn in time's caprice, I'd bring you peace. In secret longing all you go — I know. 29 I've dined in good men's gracious halls; I've heard the calls Of lonely fishers where I've slept And waters crept Along the barren banks of need. I've piped the reed, And broken love's sweet music low I know. To you who walk in shadows dark And keenly hark For kindly words if but to live, Myself I give, My life and all my heart and hand Here where I stand. Tis thus that both our lives will grow I know. I bring but this one common thought My life has wrought; That from the dregs of drear despair Still everywhere There is a joy I yet may sip — Tis comradship With all mankind, the high and low I know. 30 home again: I'm home again and the room is still, Save faintly hums the low-turned light, An insect buzzes now and then, And the rain is pattering in the night. The noise of the crowd still rings in me, The dust of the street is on my shoes, My limbs still ache from the marches long; But ills fly quick while silence woos. A thousand darting visions rise, As I sit in the humming light and muse O'er the din and dust and heartless rush, And myself in memories' wanderings lose. But the room is still; and the insect's buzz, And the soft, sweet hum of the low-turned light, And the rock of my chair, and the pattering rain, Will banish the noise of the world from the night. 31 KINDNESS. Who lives For kindness gives A light to darkened lands; And tho no image of him stands In public place, he is a martyr Amid piratic schemes of barter And triumphs tho he die unwept; His light may once have crept Through hearts of stone And shone. 32 O LONELY WORKERS! Hide it as men will, even from themselves, behind the efforts of every man is the vision of a woman; It looms across the lonely way and on the background of every evening's twilight, When the day's work is done and the worker's heart creeps to his lips and whispers for sweet companionship in the silent hours. O lonely workers of the world, wandering, plodding, and ever wandering, may the kindly peace of this midsummer night woo you also ! IN YOUTH'S WILD PRIDE A boy there was who prayed but to be great; And all impatiently he burned his light Into the deepest dark, till dark took flight; And his one joy was fame to contemplate. He thrilled with wildest dreams as he did wait, And scorned the common lives of men held tight Within the toils of need ; and worshipped might E'en though it clutched the poor with fangs of hate. And had — Oh had his highborn plans been wrought, With earth's great monarchs then he would have trod, The world of beauty would his smile have sought, And courted oft and counted sweet his nod ! But lo ! grim fate his climbing heel had caught, And set him down 'mid common men to plod. 34 WHERE GOD IS. "God's in his world and all is well," Said the man who had stores ot worldly things. "There is no God and the world is hell," Said the man who had need of worldly things. For life needs rest Before it is blest By the God that we say is good, And the pain of toil Will surely spoil The faith that had understood Our God to be naught but just. So let's bring rest To the wearied breast And not let goodness rust, For love's a thing That God will bring, And God is one who thrives the best Not in pain from o'er toil where poverty dwells, But where there's work's reward and rest — That's the place where our God most often dwells. 35 rOU WITH THE STILL SOUL. Maybe you have a still soul that goes murmurless like the water in the deep of rivers ; And perchance you wander silent amid the din of the world's grinding barter like one journeying in strange lands. You, too, with the still soul, have your mission, for beneath the dashing, noisy waves must ever run the silent waters that give the tide its course. 36 FORGET. let me keep My grief locked in my breast ! For it can make no burden light; And I would have my songs bring rest. But if sometimes my eyes be wet, And I have made you sad, 1 pray forget. 37 IN THE HOSPITAL. I make what modest haste I can To fill my little place, For now it seems the night shades fall Around my withered face. The nurse has been so kind today, And all day long has fanned; The doctor has looked oft at me — I think I understand. No one has come to me today, No one has wandered here; And as the world grows hard within The world without grows dear. Again I'm free, I walk with friends Along the shady street: The rattle of the busy town Again is music sweet. And as I wander in my brain Beyond the sick room door, The nurse complains, "You must lie still, Vou must now write no more." 38 And so, good-bye to you at work In shade and sunshine fair, I'd give what worldly goods I have To be with you out there. O beautiful world of green and gold, Of bloom and blossom gay, Of laughter, health and perfect sleep, O take me back some day ! take me back ! I still am young, And still would know the sweet Of lover's whisper in the dawn, When lips on lips shall meet. 1 still would hear a woman's voice By quiet evening light, And plans repeated o'er and o'er, And last a sweet good-night. Again the nurse commands me now, And I resign to fate, While evening shadows softly fall, And I lie still and wait. 39 SHIPS RETURNINQHOMR We are all ships returning home laden with life's experience, memories of work, good times and sorrows, each with his especial cargo; And it is our common lot to show the marks of the voyage, here a shattered prow, there a patched rigging, and every hulk turned black by the unceasing batter of the restless wave. May we be thankful for fair weather and smooth seas, and in times of storm have the courage and patience that mark every good mariner; And, over all, may we have the cheering hope of joyful meetings as our ship at last drops anchor in the still water of the eternal harbor. 40 TWO WOMEN. Two women passed : the one had children many, A babe within her arms then cried, The other woman hadn't any; Yet both these women looked and sighed. 41 WE SIT AND JUDGE. We sit and judge without delay On how each one betakes his way, And laugh at every narrow man Who can't enjoy the things we can, And deep in hades souls we plant That can enjoy the things we can't. 42 THE LIGHT OF A CHEERFUL HEART. I tell you that you and I and the commonest person are all journeying the same way, hemmed in by the same narrow path, leading to the eternal years. We pride ourselves over our particular superiority; but really there is little difference between us; And in this journey over the thousand hills and valleys called life, he is wisest who is patient where the way is hard, has faith when he does not understand, and carries into the dark places the light of a cheerful heart. 43 TO-MORROW. How oft you've said to-morrow Is time enough to speak a gentle word To one whose olden friendship time had blurred And set to naught sweet trysts of other years, When life and love and faith were pledged with tears That flowed as others' griefs you heard — To-morrow you intend to speak the word. 'Mid discontent, to-morrow Is then the golden day when you have thought To build the temple which in dreams you'd wrought So beautiful that aged men did say With pride they knew you in their childhood's day. Though old ambitions come to naught, To-morrow is the golden time you've thought. When worn with care, to-morrow You'll change your course for one which steals away To quiet lands where cooling shadows stray And sunbeams tremble on the placid green, 44 Far off 'mid some forgotten olden scene; And there as once you'll rest and play. To-morrow you are going far away. 'Mid childhood scenes, to-morrow With long embrace your heart will melt like snow, Close by the Mother's heart whose love you know. Those lips from which the rose is gone will press Your joyous tearful cheek with mild caress. Again you'll hear the cattle's low. To-morrow you will kiss the brow of snow. Art lonely ? Then to-morrow You'll freely yield your aching heart the time To weave some love romance of purest rhyme. With throbbing heart at fall of silent night You'll speed to one who waits by evening light, Where fancy love's sweet corals chime. To-morrow you will yield your heart the time. When age has come, to-morrow You'll speak with God to leave some kindly deeds Writ by your name that softened selfish creeds Of man's slow moving love of brotherhood, 45 That brought new hope to them who near you stood In life's dark streets or sunlit meads. To-morrow you'll ask God for better deeds. To-morrow, O to-morrow ! Fast fall, the fading years. A thought, a dream Of gentle words; of faith and love a theme; A smile, a step or two, and then 'tis done. Quick is the veering stream of life full run; Yet in the crimson west still gleam To-morrow and to-morrow's endless dream. 46 OFT IN CROWDED MART. To many strains I've touched my lute, But not as worthy as I should, For life and time still oft refute The things for which I once have stood. Though changed as seem my songs from youth, A voice within my heart still sings, "Live thou in tenderness and truth And love mankind instead of things." And often in the crowded mart, 'Mid rangling, selfish slaves of men, This little humming song will start, And bring me to myself again. 47 DO YOU REMEMBER ONCE UPON A NIGHT— To J. A. W. Do you remember once upon a night — 'Twas in the time of coming winter's frost; And wildly fierce and cold the sharp winds tossed, And whistled madly in the moon's chill light — Do you remember when you caught a sight Of me and I had wandered far and lost My way, all faint of heart, and was much crossed In life's dear plans that I had sought with might? You said kind words and took my weakened hand, And all your gentleness was life to me Who had been lost in night's all stormy sea. And then again I hoped and worked and planned By your dear help my tangled feet to free. I've not forgot your love— you understand? 48 WHO LOVES MANKIND. Who truly loves mankind, Though struggling he shall find His humble, daily bread, His soul is like the sun 'Mid myriads who have none And, walking, still are dead. 49 I KNEW A DAUGHTER. I knew a daughter, A little babe, The last of many others, Of sisters and of brothers, A queen of bliss And many a kiss, This dainty little miss. I knew a daughter, A glowing girl, Who rose upon the drudging The rest did unbegrudging And toiled away That they might say She's "noble born" some day. I knew a daughter, A woman fair, Who lived for naught but pleasure And idled without measure, Who quite forgot The toiling lot Of them that rested not. 50 TO THEM THAT CARRY THE LIGHT. You swerve Not from truth's way, But hold with iron nerve, And God I say You serve. Forsooth All things built on A lie will be uncouth And cry ere gone For truth. Today The world is quick; You call, with brief delay 'Twill pierce the thick You say. Though night And age come on, Ere men perceive the light, And you are gone From sight, 51 Still you— If you hold fast Through persecution's rue- Shall have at last Your due. Meanwhile The work you find, Let it the years beguile, Grows sweetly kind And smile. Nor cease At all in this; For you it is the least That truth is bliss And peace. 52 GIVE ME TODAY. Poets I've read until I'm weary — Weary of meter, rhyme and lay — Weary of far-off airy dreams, Give me some life today. I've read of languid eyes and tresses That shone in the warming sun of May Beside a lover well content. Give me some love today. I've followed lines that told of pageants, Of lordly castles far away, Of women fair in gorgeous dress. Give me some wealth today. I've seen in rhyme the feet of leisure Of men and maids who never stray From placid halls to wrangling mart. Give me some rest today. Just for a day I am beseeching A day of love's sweet tender touch, Some worldly goods, and what e'er comes ! Pray, do I ask too much ? 53 AT THE OPERA. " Tis grand," I cried, as the song went on With music sweetly wild. My friend replied, "You ne'er have heard The prattle of your child." 54 I LOOK OVER THIS WILDERNESS. I look over this wilderness of monstrous buildings and this race of hurrying, careworn, nervous men, whose feet never touched the cool, budding earth, and whose souls lie dormant or dead in their fevered bodies; and I ask, "O God! is this civilization?" Better the plain-clad follower of the plow, who is no man's chattel, and toils in God's pure air, the witness of incessant birth of bud and bloom, and of the sky by day and by night- lacking ornament— but calm and free. 55 THE HATE AND THE LOVE OF THE WORLD. I have seen men binding their brothers in chains, and crafty traders reaching for the bread that women and babes lifted to their mouths; I have seen merciless greed extracting yet the last pittance frpm the defenseless and weak; I have seen suffering go unaided, and known the stinging malice of them I loved ; I have heard the iron din of war, and have seen the waxen face of early death; And I have cried in my heart, THE WORLD IS HATE! I have heard birds calling their mates in the still forests, and insects chirping to their loves in the tangled grass of meadows; I have seen mothers caressing their babes, and aged men supporting with devotion the slow steps of stooping women; I have seen cheerful hearthstones surrounded by laughing children and strong men and sweet women; I have heard the tender words of lovers in the pure passion of youth; And I have cried in my heart, THE WORLD IS LOVE! 56 I SIT AFRAID. world, how I have loved you ! And you have stripped me and scourged me; Yet have I loved you, And my heart has been full of you. 1 hear you say, "Who are you That we should care for your love?" I answer, "I am nothing, But I loved you." And I answer again, "I am nothing, But I have reached my hand to the lowest, And I have sat with want That the weak might be nourished, And the lonely filled with love." Each one of you would I have folded in my arms, Not in the public place in view of eyes, But on the unseen path of every day, For my heart was full of you, My lips blooming with wild, sweet songs at morn, And softer strains in evening's twilight hour. But you stripped me and scourged me. Now silent I sit afraid. 57 THE OLD MAGNOLIA TREE A Tale of South Carolina. "You want to see some one?" the lady said, As an old, bent darkey lifted up his head From out his hands; and rising from the door, Came slowly toward her, for she said no more, And stopped inside the gate to know his will. The spacious lawn and house within were still; For empty was the place, some weeks had passed, Or maybe months and weeks, since tenants last Had trod the rooms that now lay grim and bare. Upon the lawn were trees, palmetto, pear, And evergreen, and near the fence there stood An old magnolia tree of scented wood; Long years the burning Carolina sun Had met its leaves where boys now men had run. Deep cracked and old, four mighty pillars sent Their tops to meet an arched roof that bent And leaned. And yet some recent art not mean With color made the house look bright and clean. 58 "You want to see some one?" the lady said, The silvery-haired, old negro bowed his head, And coming near with salutations dumb, He finally replied, "Ah does, yes urn." And bowing on with many side steps slow And questioning smiles and trembling voice still low: "Is you de one dat's gwine to move into Dis house da's made so fine, please, Miss, is you ? Ah's lived heah long 'fo' you was born, ah guess — Please, Miss, de dog a-tryin' tear your dress. Ah's only lived one place 'cept jes' right heah; Mas' Hambleton fetched me from way down fah Sabannah rivah — Hambleton — yes um. Ah watch de chores an' does whatevah come." The lady was the minister's good wife, But lately come to guard the spiritual life That parish held far down the Congaree, In sunny Carolina, 'mid a sea Of white-capped cotton fields now fresh o'errun, Immaculate beneath the Southern sun. He might stay, the lady said, and do the chores, And mow the lawn, and mind the outer doors, And water flowers, and trim the trees, with all There'd be enough until each evening's fall. 59 And so he stayed, this darky old, and said But little as the burning days turned red In even's hour, and did his work all well And kindly, with a mind that did not dwell In hesitation on the longest task; Nor for a single half-day's rest did ask, As months went on in that hot Southern clime, Until again 'twas cotton picking time. And now the minister's good wife called him As oft, while day at east was growing dim, And said, "To-morrow rake the leaves to burn, For now it is the cooler season's turn ; And I think, too, the old magnolia tree You might cut down, and then you come to me; And there next spring we'll make a flower bed." He smiled and bowed, "Yes um, yes urn," he said. He raked the lawn and raked and raked yet more, Until it looked like one vast velvet floor; But swung no ax into that dying tree, And sat beneath its limbs content and free Till evening late, still humming some old song, And thus a week and days soon slipped along. The minister's good wife called him once more, And standing in the mighty pillared door, She said, "You haven't cut that tree down yet — The old magnolia near the fence; don't let 60 Me see it there this time to-morrow eve;" And with these earnest words she turned to leave. "Please, Miss, de ole tree make a lot o' shade When de sun all day a-shinin' hot an' rad." "Oh — no, I think not much; fell it to-morrow." "Yes urn," he said, as if his heart knew sorrow. To-morrows and to-morrows quickly came, The old magnolia tree still stood the same. Once it was an ax he lacked, and then His back was feeble, and he asked again A few days yet to do the task, and said, As before, "Yes urn," and humbly bowed his head. And so the torrid Southern summer passed, And solemn, cooler evenings came at last ; And now the good wife's o'ertaxed patience failed, And once again the old negro she hailed, And once again demanded — would he fell The tree, or would he then and there dare tell That this command he had no mind to heed, "it's but an old o'ergrown and dying weed, I'll have it cut; if you have not the will Or strength for it, there are some others still. I'll have it down — to-morrow — by this hour!" With these sharp words his form began to cower, 61 And o'er his face now old with years of life There spread the signs of grieving, inward strife. "Well, well, and what reply have you?" she said; The old black man raised up his silvery head, And turned his kindly eyes upon her face, Where shone the power of that other race. "Don' talk like dat," and then he paused until His timid heart was mastered by his will. "Dem buds now turnin' white an' bloomin', Miss; An' when de wind it touch 'em wid de kiss, Day smell so sweet. Ah's seed 'em bloom up dah Along 'fo' you was born or come down heah." She tossed her head and with a woman's frown, "To-morrow morn,I say, it shall be down!" "No, Miss, ma good ole Misses she done plan' Dat tree when de war was los', an' ah — ah can' Cut it down. Young Mas' he nevah love young Misses At furse, she jes' a-grievin' for his kisses. Bote pa'nts say day should marry an' day did, Sometimes young Mas' to Cha'leston goes an' hid Fu' days an' half de niggers starts to hunt, An' den he talks to Miss so cross an' blunt When he comes back, poor Miss she cry and cry, An' den git sick till young Mas' 'fraid she die." 62 Impatient with his tale of times far gone, The woman raised her hand, yet he went on. "But when de baby Mary come, young Mas' He change an' love young Miss and hole her fas' In bofe his arms an' kiss her evah day, An' kiss de lid'le baby too, an' say He nevah, nevah know what babies for — Dat — dat was 'fo' de war — 'fo' de war. An' ole Mas', too, an' good ole Misses bofe, Day laugh an' cry wid joy fu' days, and loaf 'Round young Mas' house an' quarrel wid Ann, de nurse, 'Cause each one wan' to hole de baby furse; An' jump around wid it an' laugh and dance — Ole Mas' an' Misses dem — dem young Mas' pa'nts. Den d'rectly say de war a-gwine come on, Ole Mas' an' young Mas' bofe to Cha'leston gone, A-sayin', 'You take kyar ma babe and Miss,' An' ride away, an' from dat day to dis Ah ain't seed him no mo', but ole Mas' he Come back, a bullet hole shot fru his knee; An mos' de heartless niggers run away An' leave Miss an' de baby, but ah stay. De lid'le baby Mary, she grow fas', An' 'fo' we know free summers day done pass, 63 An' den one night de wind blow fierce and loud. Day say de blue-coats heah, a mighty crowd, Gen' Sherman's ahmy come from up de sea; De cannons roar, de houses burn, and we — We scared to deaf — de niggers, whites, an'all; In fron' de house we hear de devils call, A-sayin', 'Burn it down and dem inside!' De barns a-smokin' whah de niggers hide, De sky all rad wid flames like blood — de shrieks De women folks a-makin' as de seeks To hide — de white an' black, no dif'ence now! De babe she lay on Miss's breast, her brow A-burnin' wid de fevah. Now day come, Like mad men drunk fu' human blood, an' some A-wavin' torches run inside de gate, Ah jumps clean f ru de window, an' says, Wait ! Dah's a babe inside dat's sick an' nigh to deaf!' Seem like dat crowd of blue-coats hole dah breaf, Some come a-runnin' 'round whah ah was sayin' It ovah — ovah 'g'in while dey was stayin'. One shouts, 'We gwine set all you niggers free !' Ah shouts, 'Ah is, you need'n stay fu' me!' Den on ma head a knock — ag'in — once more, Ah reels, a-stagg'rin, re'ch out fu' de do', 64 An' drap right down and hears ma massa say, Take kyar ma babe an' Miss,' an' ride away. One beside de captain shouts, 'De house! de house!' 'Stan' back !' he say, an' day was still as a mouse. An' as ah turn, dah in de torches' light, Stan' Miss an' de babe, like angels dressed in white; > An' de sound of marchin' seem to die away, An' da'kness come a-fallin' whah ah lay, An' seem like summah time a-long ago. An' winds a-blowin' fru de trees so low, Like fa' off music from de crooked lane Whah cabins stand along de fields of cane, And whah de niggers dance an' sing an' sing Till stars a-wavin' an' de valleys ring. Ah soon wakes up, but de babe she gone to rest Dat winter night, asleep on Miss's breast. We bury her one morn, young Miss an' me, Dah by de fence whah she could always see De place her baby Mary sleep so still. An' when de springtime come ah makes a hill Besides de grabe; an' Miss, so po' an' white, She drap a seed, den fol' her hands up tight, An' raise her eyes to de evenin' sky an' pray, To herself-like, den aloud an' slow she say, 65 'Lawd, bring fort' de tender leaf from out de ground, An' let de years spread branches fa' around, An' let de tree live on in place de dead.' She drap her hands, an' dat was all she said. De years day come, an' creepin' past day go, An' from de seed dat same magnolia grow. Young Miss she soon turn ole an' put away; Ah only an' dat tree is heah to stay. Sometimes it seem to talk; an' evah breeze At night finds dis ole body on its knees, An' dah de sound of whisp'rin' leaves above Seem like de voices ole of dem ah love; An' evah mornin' 'fo' you's up ah hears De warbler sing so sweet it fetch de tears ; An' in de risin' sunlight of ah see Young Miss an' de babe sit dah beneaf dat tree, An' thinks ah hear young Mas' a-callin' say, Take kyar ma babe and Miss!' and ride away." 66 AS I RETURNED TO THE DIM OF MY STUDY. You pallid-faced person with the book under your arm, you with the eyes that look far away, and you with the eyes that look in, sitting nightly by your lamp — You who daily browse in libraries and dusty bookshops — is it an explanation of the cosmic wheels you seek ? I, too, with rapture have searched in libraries, touching this volume, scanning that, and pondering long o'er yet an- other. Oh with what a throbbing heart have I implored the pages to yield their wisdom to me! No speech can explain the unworldly joy that was in me, while I pursued the thoughts of one the world had dubbed an immortal seer. And at last, having mastered the thought, I cried to the great God in thanks for my joy. Had He not made me a confidant of His wisdom ? Was I not also now a keeper of immortal truth? How I have walked in the sunlight with an air of superior knowledge, questioning the advantage of farther study! Poor fool ! The awakening — the terrible awakening to find that I had been dreaming day and night for months, to find that my 67 immortal seer was not the only immortal seer, that he was no seer at all, to find that another held the secrets of God whispered from on high ! The second cry of ecstasy was less joyous, the third still less, the fourth still less, until at last there was no more ecstasy, distrust pricking me like a thorn. But now I know the greater wisdom ; for pursuing one night the last pages of the last metaphysician who would teach me what he knew not himself, I heard a child crying in the dark, And I sought out the child in the dark, and carried it on my shoulder to the love it had wandered from. And on my return, I passed a house where there was laughter, and music, and dancing; And farther on, under the light of a lamp, one called me by name, and took my hand, and pressed it in his own, and spoke kindly; And as I returned to my metaphysician, in the dim of my study, I smiled ; for I saw that the thing I sought was in me, and in the child, and in the dancers, and in him who took me by the hand. 68 On the Shores of the Sky WHO ENTERETH HERE. (For the Door of Your Dream House.) Whoe'er thou art that entereth here, Forget the struggling world And every trembling fear. Take from thy heart each evil thought, And all that selfishness Within thy life has wrought. For once inside this place thou'lt find No barter, servant's fear, Nor master's voice unkind. Here all are kin of God above — Thou, too, dear heart; and here The rule of life is love. 71 THE MOUNTAIN TOP. Once I lived on a high mountain, dead to the distant world of men, dead to possession of any thing, dead to myself of flesh. The quiet sun attending me by day, made of earth a dome of beaten gold, I wandering always on the top, and looking downward on the world. By night the moon walked with me, my brother of the sky, saying things in a voiceless voice, which I understood. The stars knew me in the night and smiled, children of the house of God playing on the mead of heaven, calling often to each other. Not once saw I God face to face, yet heard Him when I stopped my ears, whispering as does the sea on the bosom of the night. 72 I feared to close my eyes, banishing the world, and call Him to show His face, lest I should die. Yet always by day and night I saw His children of the mead looking down on me, I looking downward on the world. Speaking with no one, human speech I nigh forgot — the sighing seas of God breathing in my breast. All the music of forgotten worlds echoed in my brain; and the unborn children sang, and the dead children sang. But naught could I see save the dome of beaten gold, and the playing babes of the sky, and the sun and the moon. And none would come to touch me, and take me by the human hand, and press me tight in arms that held the warmth of earth as I. 73 I saw naught but eternal things, heard naught but eternal speech; I alone was ephemeral amid these timeless beings. The purity of the mountain top froze the crimson rivers of my flesh; and since I was to die, I longed for mortal kin. The kindly human voice, with the sin of the crowded world, and duty, and toil, and laughter — all called for me to come ; And rushing down from the mountain top, I sought again the world of women and men, the warm water of human things touching me on every side. In lane and mart I walked with men; drank from the cup of love till I was subdued with joy, yielding childlike to the manner of the world. Now the mountain top is far away; but the love of dying things is mine, for out of death our love is made ; and I am with my kin. 74 GOODNESS. He sent his soul to live in deepest solitude, That goodness he might learn and heaven win, When lo ! a soundless voice rang through his sleeping soul, 'There is no goodness where there is no sin, And cowards they who shun in fear The battle here." 75 PROGRESSIVE CONFESSIONAL. ASCETICISM. I have known earthly joys, and yet In by-ways oft at night I've met, As years have moved so swiftly on, Some secret pain from out the past That had its birth in pleasures gone And made me beg God's grace at last. SCEPTICISM. And yet so many deeds called wrong Have brought me joys in goodly throng; And many deeds that men call good Have plunged me in the deepest dark; I doubt that e'er I understood On which God puts his righteous mark. POSITIVISM. Now this one thing is clear to me; That laws, howe'er proclaimed to be From God, if they 'gainst nature go, Are human made, and do confess Man's ignorance. For this I know, Our God has meant us happiness. 76 THE WALL. LOVE. We're up against the wall and can't climb o'er, And can't break through; So let us play and laugh and try no more, Come, just we two. LIFE. We're up against the wall and can't climb o'er, And can't break through; So let us try on this same side the door What we can do. DEATH. We're up against the wall and can't climb o'er, And can't break through; But now 'tis on the other side the door Just facing you. 77 LETTER TO A SOLITARY. How often have I unpacked my heart under the stars, careless of the swift night hours, and scornful of the days and years as they passed the horizon of the present! Why did I not disembosom myself to one who could understand, instead of carrying the conventional face in the sunlight of many days ? I lacked courage, faith; and so was kept from my own by cloistering the inner songs save from the dead ears of the silent night. The fingers of the gods I found cold, lacking the warmth of human hands, and the voice of the stars in the night — though unforgettable — was still incomplete without the music of human whispers. In meditation I trod the snow-stained mountains, where the air is chill, unwarmed by human breath; and though my vision widened, the sweet noises of the peopled valley died away, and the songs of love withered on my lips. 78 I do not counsel you, O solitary! to shun eternally the mountain, and the purer air, and the broader vision, and the prayers by the star-tapers of the night, and the foot- steps of God echoing on the mosaic of the inner cathedral. I do not counsel you to blind the spirit-eyes, impatient to look from the spires of immortality, or to be ignorant of the inarticulate language of the golden worlds that nightly sweep the brooding dome, or never to bathe yourself in the strange solitude of the moon. I do not counsel you to quench the beacon on the hilltop of your timeless self, or to stop your ears to strains of immortal music. These — all these the sweet people of the valley need, still prostrate in the church of things. Therefore, O solitary! bring now and then from the mountain your vision, your music, and your light. Set your lamp in the darkened places, and sing in the crowded world the whispered melodies of your better self; re-echo with 79 your own feet the steps of God heard in the inner cathedral, breathe the breath of purer air, and paint on the curtain of daily life your visions of the timeless hour. Though some understand you not, others will kiss your lips to smiles, and sit with you in the luminous hour, and you shall feel the warmth of strong hands, and the light that is within you shall be as a wedding house. And you, O solitary, shall touch your kin with the naked hand, and blend with the music of the world your spirit songs, and walk attended in the quiet evening over the paths warmed by human steps, knowing the pressure of a woman's hand at dawn — you! Godlike yet human still. 80 I SIT AND WAIT. I sit and wait upon my soul tonight, And watch the changing sky, The clouds and stars that fly Within the silent moon's far-reaching light That glorifies the night. Now would some keen, hard-headed son of trade Laugh loud at me, and say, "Your soul is gone? which way? And tell me of what stuff a soul is made. The thing's no good in trade." And proud philosophers would hard contend To tell me all they knew Of souls in me and you; Forgetting where the lights of heaven blend And shine, while they contend. So each one to his wish, and as for me, I sit tonight and wait In slumb'rous moonlight late, 81 To feel the freedom of the world in me Like waves of a shoreless sea. Wee foot of earth, I journey with the dead That smile in bliss afar On yonder liquid star, And on and on to ruby worlds of red From earthly vision fled; Where lonely faces I have known on earth Now smile in endless bliss, And fling to me the kiss Of love, 'mid twilight music soft with mirth Remembered long ere birth. And evening gardens built of pleasant thought, Where tripping laughters greet The timid bridal feet Of them new- wed to bliss; and sleep is naught But love subdued and caught. Oh, wake me not ! but let me still beguile Myself in this sweet sleep, As through the world I creep On nameless wings, and rest myself, and smile- Let me be dead awhile. 82 THOU MOTHER. Again thou whispereth through the years to me, I feel the pressure of thy lips at eve; Again thy kindly moistened eyes I see, And hear sweet counsel that I should not grieve, Thy gentle arms around me tight as we, Rock slow, and I thy sweet caress receive; Yet oft I see thy face with sorrow wrung, Until sometime in fright I scarce believe That I still dream. The tales when thou wast young, Thine own sweet hopes, thy lips, and laughter free, In some weird way are strangely haunting me. Thou mother of my childhood's pleasant days, Still whispering hope and courage through the years, In stilly cooling eve and daylight's rays, Art thou naught but a vision bringing cheers? Or dost thou walk with me along the ways, And know my inmost joys and my dread fears That pass when thou art near and far-off seem ? O wake me up, thou God, if I but dream ! 83 AFIELD. Drunk with dreams and songs and love I wander afield. Meditations, softened by the peaceful lands of growing grain and the illimitable sea of blue o'erhead in which float the placid ships of summer, draw my heart to my lips as one whose talent is in song. I yield to the thousand felicities of this transport, as a child led by his father's hand, and I question not. 84 O DREAM OF LOVE! Lost in olden dreams and gleeful songs, I tread again the garden paths of youth. The joys of myriad hopes in twilight's hour, And visions in the shadowed starry night, Lift up my heart unto my parted lips, Like one whose talent is in song. And as The kindly earth yields forth each spring Her budding brood, so in my barren heart There blooms again the rose of sweet content. O'er worldly din and godless strife of men Arise the symphonies of endless peace; Resurrected is the human heart From out the grave of withered selfishness, And touched to song the moistened lips of love. They awake that slumbered in their gold, With tender arms enfolding them that want. Tired men that tread the crowded streets Find a place of sweet repose at night, And fill with love the hearts of lonely women. From myriad mother arms come forth sweet babes, 85 Like budding roses dewy fresh at dawn, To light with joy the byways of the earth. — O dream of love ! endure through speeding years That I shall pass in worldly din and dust, A shining light to cheer my wand'ring steps, As long ago in sunlit paths of youth. 86 MY NATIVE CITY. I. A long walk. Tired and contented. I have been dreaming again. My walk led me upon a hill to the southeast. When at the top, I turned to see some cattle grazing on the wayside — and behold! my native city lay at my feet. How silent, how small, how secluded! Like a new toy in the grass, or a nest tucked away among the trees of the surrounding valley; or — save for the lines of smoke moving slowly to the north — like a picture hanging in a gallery. No one was near me, and only a few farmhouses in the distance. And I thought and dreamed of the wanderings of men amid the toy-town in the grass, Of the desires and hopes that had come and passed in this nest among the trees. I thought of my own wanderings, and remembered some sleepless hours divine with the music of the night. A thousand memories filled me with the joys of other years — memories of friends changed and gone, and of the 87 dawning sun lighting up the nimble fancy worlds of youth. I thought I could see the place where two lovers met in the dim past, and out of the kiss of their lips I crawled into the morning of the world — and these poems after me. Though I did not hear their words, unforgotten is their lover's parley; for ere they knew me, it was I who moved their lips to speech in the still night. How much history has passed within this small space of earth ! of no importance to the world; yet all important the life of each to himself. How many have lived and toiled and planned here — how many, tired and care-worn, have lain down here to repose at night! How many places where elegance and beauty once reigned have fallen to base uses ! and how many, merry with midnight music and the dance, have been lifted into immortal joy, as if death were not ! II. O my native city ! thou knowest not how often I have thought of thee when far away. When I have wandered amid other scenes, and other men and 88 women and children have passed by me, fondly have I thought of thee. The cool shade of thy many trees, and the memory of the gentle river at thy margin, have been a solace to me in strange and distant places. But thou wilt go on unconcerned as ever when I am gone into the silent land. Soon wilt thou forget that such a worm as I crawled about thy streets in the shadow of thy buildings. Within thy bosom I lay as a child, have grown to manhood, and shall at last rest in dreamless sleep. But thou, too, must pass away; and where now is trade and manufacture God in his time will plant another forest; And it will grow, and no man will know that thou dwelt there. On new-born branches birds will whisper songs of love, and flowered children of the wilderness will drink the sun wine, and gloaming eve shall know the wild dove's voice, and this race of hurrying, contentious men shall lie — O so still under the grass ! So, too, all things shall pass away — I, thou, country, earth, solar systems. What remains? — God! 89 SCORN NOT THE INNER SONG. What dreams of golden lights are these That steal upon the placid leas And through your heart Where passions dart At day? What mystic murmurs these you hear That come and ever more come near In softest gloom Of twilight's bloom At eve? Are these a premonition rare Of what the other life so fair Shall be at last When this is past And gone? Scorn not, therefore, the inner song The soul sings for itself along The hastening years Of many tears At eve. 90 Nor scorn the limpid whispers high That steal across the evening sky And part your soul From all the dole Of day. 91 AN ARTIST'S PRAYER. Lord God, thou who dost paint with magic touch The curtains of the soft and silent night, This gift I ask, that o'er whatever cloth My brush may glide, now to and fro and 'round, There will come that which ever pleases thee. Help me to make the things that beauty hold Amid these veering lines and diverse shades, That cheer will bring to sad and solemn men And tired women in their dreary haunts, That youth will not forget on highways hard With troubled years, when somber night is on, And when no kindly light leads through the way, That joy and love may dawn like newborn days In hearts where long the chambers have been dark. Let lowly life and dusty daily toil Come near me evermore and day by day, That I forget not them that still are kind Though tried by years of unrequited toil, Alas ! and sometimes want and age and pain. Let me not love my pictures more than men, 92 Nor follow the wild lead of some mad dream, Nor see myself as if above the crowd Commanding that they all shall bow their heads; Instead, with kindly heart and gentle hand And smiles upon my face, let me serve them Whose muscles ache at evening's twilight fall While mine in comfort still are fresh and strong. May all these be not empty, idle words, But all the burden of my life's sweet task. And when thou seest that my work is done, Let me feel thy soft evening shadows fall As when I climbed into my nursery bed With childish faith in time's old long ago; And let the kiss of peace lie on my lips. 93 AT NIGHTFALL. Though I know I shall sometime no more open my eyes to the night or the day, I am one who looks at the stars when unchained from the work-bench at nightfall. They are a sign that I am not ephemeral, nor you, nor you, whoever you are. The dawn comes and the dark and the sign sparkling in the brooding night, forever and forever. 94 BY THE WABASH'S LISPING FLOW. By the Wabash's lisping flow When the day was sinking low, Oft I've sat in silence long Listening to the river's song, Gurgling, gushing all night through Till the time of morning's dew, Till the golden shafts of sun Glistened where the waters run, Dashing, splashing ever on Making music to the dawn; Singing with a voice that said, "This wild life for years I've led. Come with me along the lands To the ocean's widened sands; There to revel in the deep In a blissful boisterous sleep." Mutt'ring, mutt'ring ever so Till my heart was filled with woe. "Come and in a tempest's roar We will wash old England's shore, O'er the Thames we'll gently glide, By old London town we'll stride, 95 Through the Norman's magic land, Taking rivers by the hand, Then we'll ride before the lee Into Greek's Ionian sea, 'Long the lands of China old To the creeping northern cold. O'er the earth we'll wander free Into rivers, lakes, and sea, Singing, laughing, night and day, Nowhere, nowhere shall we stay; And in long, long years maybe We shall come again to see These old shores so still and dead." This the singing waters said In a mutt'ring, mutt'ring song Through the silent hours long, As I sat with heart beguiled Like some wistful little child, Dreaming, beaming all aglow By the Wabash's lisping flow. 96 THE HALF-DREAM. At the breaking of twilight on a spring morning, half waking and half asleep, in that mysterious humor between death and life, when the faculties lack will and the imagination is free, I fancied I lay by an open window on the slope of a mountain; Through the dim gray light the shafts of the sun rose from a hill before me; and I thought a sea lay beyond that, and I could hear the murmuring waters; Besides this there was no sound save an angelus tolling as if far away; The herds on the mountain lay still, and the last stars trembled faintly in the lighting sky. Presently to the voice of the sea was added the sound of early matins issuing from children's lips in cloistered walls, and then one clear voice — a woman's; 97 Then silence and the murmuring, murmuring waters of the sea. When I came to myself I could not account for this vision, unless it was something I had seen or dreamed long ago of happiness and peace on earth — Something that had been forgotten, and now, by the machinery of my own mind, arose from out the oblivious and dust- beladen past. 98 I GIVE MYSELF FOR LOVE. O you who love me, do you wish to bind But me, that losing love Yet no escape I find? My heart I cannot barter for all days, Though swearing with my tongue A thousand, thousand ways. The house of love is spirit, and no key Will firmly close its doors Forever and for thee. Yet if you love but me, the one true way, Without agreements long, I'll go with you today. But if by spring or noon or summer you Look sad upon my face, We'll smile and say adieu. Glad, glad that we have tasted to the core The sweet of all the world, Though we shall taste no more. LOFC. 99 For this I give my all— below, above, On earth, and after it— I give myself for love. 100 REVELATION. * I. Once, after long weeks in the dust and heat of the city — in the noisy strife of the crowded world — covered daily with the grime of toil — Once, I say, I stood in the still night upon the shore of a lake ; and for a long time I watched the lurid west. And with my own eyes I saw God painting upon the sky-curtain of the softening dark ; And, after a while, the moon and her brood of stars wandered through the night; And I said to myself I need no bibles of old revelation; this is revelation; out of this beauty is my faith born. II. Now that night is passed, and I again hear the noise and feel the grime of the crowded world; But now I am more patient and longer suffering, for I know that nightly God is painting His revelation on the sky- curtain over the lake where I stood. And over every lake, and over the crest of every hill, and over the green level of every open field, and if we could but see, over the sky-obscuring houses of every city- is God painting His revelation. 101 AN EASTER PRAYER. Resurrect Thou the dreams and songs and love that enchanted the garden of my youth, filled with the joys of a thousand hopes in the still morning's twilight, and dawning visions in the shadowed, starry night. As the kindly earth yields forth each spring her budding brood, so in the barren winter of my heart may there bloom again the rose of sweet content. O'er the din of the world and the strife of men, let rise the symphonies of eternal peace. Resurrect them that slumber in graves of gold; and deliver humanity from those cruel conventions that are but the husks of virtue. Make kindness king, and teach us that good deeds are greater than philosophy. To tired men that daily tread the crowded streets, give Thou a place of sweet repose at night ; and fill with love the hearts of lonely women. Bring forth sweet babes from out the arms of each, to light with joy the byways of the earth. Thou .Great God, uphold me also in the lonely hour; and though I fall in the din and the dust of the world, resurrect Thou me. Even to the last, turn my 102 hands to kindly service, and part my lips in gleeful songs of love. And in the softly falling dark, when all grows strangely still, may I be glad to have trod the sweet green earth, and know the tender touch of love. Yet may I depart with joy, as one who journeys home at evening. 103 MY KIN. If I have called to mind one' long laid low; (Thy better self) thou art my kin; I am not he, although I know him, too, within. 104 WHO SLEEPETH HERE. Who sleepeth here within this bed He will be dead, While through the night the darkness creeps Round where he sleeps So silently, but wakes him not, Nor moves a jot Of all that hangs and stands around, Nor makes a sound; But creeps and creeps and blacker grows, Until who knows But spirits dance upon the sheet With nimble feet ! Perhaps his own soul goes about Within the rout, Perhaps his own soul wags its toes™ I say, who knows! And dances hard and laughs and smiles Through many miles Within the darkened, darkened room Of deepest gloom. And when the revelry is done, Before the sun 105 Begins to peep above the hill, On tip-toes still His own soul then will crawl in bed Beside the dead, And pull his ears and pull his nose Until the doze Is broken quite — then quick as can It's in the man; And all is o'er and all is done — The night is run. And now you laugh at this strange thought And say 'tis naught But nonsense from a mad heart's throes — But yet who knows ! 106 CROESUS'S DREAM. He lay that night in fitful sleep, For schemes of gold that day were deep, And plans for sordid gain Yet tossed within his brain. He dreamed his gardens grand he trod Till morn. An angel fair from God He saw nearby the gate He asked to be his mate. He told of all who lived by toil In houses his, on bounteous soil, And that in trade he led; And asking then he said: "I've gained so much of earth, shall I Not merit heaven when I die?" "Not so," the angel quoth, "No man can merit both." 107 THE VOICE. I sought to write a lofty theme, Some sweet and righteous poet's dream; When quick there came from out my heart A ghastly voice that made me start: "Such work is for the just," it said, "Almost thy heart and soul are dead; If thou would'st lead men to the light, First bring thyself from out the night." 108 • A TOAST TO SOMBRE STUDENTS. This world a riddle hard you call — A mess from which you fain would shrink? Perhaps 'tis wisdom, all in all, To learn to laugh as well as think. Let wildly unrepressed the jest Rush past the luscious lip, Twill bring a round of goodly sound And make our laughter trip. And let the spirit light take flight From out the sombre sea, To memories, gleams, and glad wild dreams In hearts of you and me. And let the stories come and some Of love and suitors bold; So long they last that much is past Of life in fashions old. A sombre student I should die, If lost in theory's sea; For life holds cheers as well as tears. Take this old toast from me: 109 This world a riddle hard you call — A mess from which you fain would shrink ? Perhaps 'tis wisdom, all in all, To learn to laugh as well as think. 110 WILL YOU COME BACK? Will you come back to me, My friend, Where day's sweet silent shafts still blend Night's sea — Will you come back to me? I think of you in silent hours, You know The dawn and dark drag on how slow 'Neath bowers Alone in evening hours. I need you more with all the years That come, Each bringing its fast growing sum Of fears. I need you more with years. Some place you've gone, I know not where. I bend My head each stilly night and send A prayer To "lands I know not where." ill And should you hear my voice at last, Come quick, Soon will the night be falling thick, And past Will be my voice at last. And once again we'll live in dreams Of youth, When all was joy and hope and truth. It seems you're here amid my dreams. Will you in truth then come to me, My friend, Where day's sweet silent shafts still blend Night's sea — Will you cpme back to me? 112 TELL ME Come tell me, you who verses write — Do you with might Betray your inmost thought? And you who paint these pictures grand- Do they all stand For what your heart has wrought ? And you who cut the marble cold — Does it now hold The things your life has taught? And you, O you, who sweetly sing ! Do your words bring The bliss your soul has caught? 113 IN THE NIGHT'S MYSTERIOUS STILLNESS. Have you ever walked out in the still, still night, and sat where you could see the lights dying one by one in the distant city — Sat until the stars sang to rest the weariness of the world in you — until you lost yourself in dreams on the soft bosom of the night, And felt again the peace of early youth welling up in you like a fountain of sweet waters — until like a child in the father's arms, you felt unafraid, And withered memories bloomed again in that innner garden, and little things were forgot in the vast stillness of the glorious growing night, And the same old ships of gold that sailed o'er the Pharaohs sailed o'er you in the same old sea of dark, And epochs and wars and the myriad passions and loves of the myriad years faded in the infinite peace of the still, still night? 114 IF THE NOISE OF THE CITY. If the noise of the city offend you, go afield, when you may, with the birds and the wild free life that troubles not ; The growing grain and the placid sky have a kind of voice ; and though you are alone, the boundlessness of the universe is with you. The dream of imperishable passions in old history, the love of mothers for children, and the love of children, born and unborn, and all love, swarm in the soft air, speaking to the inner ear in the still language. Go afield with the birds and the growing grain and the placid sky, and dream and forget; and you will see that you are changed when you awake and the gleams of the city peep in your twilight returning. :i5 PRIVATE INTERPRETATIONS. He said, "I saw you very late last night; Some business, sir, that made it right For you to walk the dark so dread And wild?"— "An engagement with the stars," I said- He smiled. "And once on Clinton Road at early morn I saw you out when most men scorn To rise. Had you seen some one fair?" He chaffed. — "Oh, yes! I met the sunrise there." — He laughed. 116 HOPE Deny me all the good of earth — All joy and soul-rebounding mirth, All weajth and rank and love's great days; But leave one thing by which to cope With ebbing life's dim evening rays — Leave me but hope. 117 THE POET AND THE PIRATE. A Query. I. He sang a song once in his youth, A song from out his heart, A peal of tender truth, Of simple life and honest deeds, Of love and faith in God; As sweet as though through reeds The summer wind itself had sung, And played upon the harp That nimble nature strung. But soon forgot, in stress of years, And tasks and wearied flesh And silent inner tears — Forgot the warming tenderness Of boyish dreams, yet knew That each year's light grew less. Until the youth that sang the song Had passed, but he still moved Among the changing throng; And lived as one born hard and gray, Who'd never dreamed, and quite 118 Forgot his boyish lay, And daily plied a crafty trade, Until his coffers full Aside he'd smiling laid; And they that crossed his path at mart Accursed his cunning hand And grinding, selfish heart. II. The tender song of truth lived, too, And crept its silent way To many a heart of rue, To hamlets where of wearied toil Men rest in stilly eve From turning o'er the soil. In cities many a weakened heart Took faith and strength again Life's restless work to start. And children built upon its cheer, And gray and aged men It spared from coming fear — Now this the query that I bring, When life is done, how will God straighten out this thing 119 Of youthful singer and his cause- Of pirate at the mart? But one in flesh there was, Yet surely two in point of heart. If one and he condemned, What of the gentler part? — O dreamy, youthful singer, gone The way the world of years, In that last rising dawn, I'll listen for thy voice again, As oft I heard it low And sweet — I'll listen then ! 120 DREAM-WORK. Tis great to dream Though one should be a shirker, But greater far To dream and be a worker. 121 O SWEET CONTENT. O sweet content ! where is thy mild abode Where I may dwell in endless peace ? Show me the much sought road And give the lease. The answer came, "Then cease to vainly roam In search of me, for thou wilt find My quiet hidden home Within thy mind." 122 THE DREAMER AND THE DEAD. The dreamer to the flesh must yield, Else life's a passing eddy; But he who lives in flesh alone, Why — he's quite dead already. 123 1 SIT AND SMILE AT MYSELF. I. I sit and smile at myself, As deep into the dark I dream and write. What boots it to me that I should waste my youth And burn the oil of night ? For I'll but live my little day, And then away. I sit and smile at myself, As dreaming half the sweet of life I miss, And beat my soul against the deadened wall Of fate, and lose the kiss Of love and laughter light, As here I write. I sit and smile at myself, And yet as I dip oar in life's swift sea, I somehow feel that I, poor fool, still do The work that's meant for me. So on and on and on I write Into the night. 124 II. Sing on, O singers all! (A voice calls out) sweet dreamers, dream yet on And chant and chant upon the beach of night, Until the graying dawn Finds flags of brotherhood unfurled Across the world. For life's a battle hard And singers still must come from out the throng To soften them who in the hot pursuit Will listen to a song. So spin thy lays in ringing rhyme At midnight time. This be excuse enough, Thou scribbling, ever scratching, jingling seer, And in the final counting of the world, When each man's page is clear, And all is o'er with earth's wild pace, Thou'lt have thy place. 125 MY YOUTH AND I. I said good-bye to him, My youth, myself, 1 said good-bye, the time Had come in truth. His hand was soft in mine, His cheeks were red, His lips like those of girls' I've heard it said. No petty falsehood did His eyes bedim; And women freely went Their ways with him. He said not always could He stay with me; And so we parted, I, My youth and he. One thing he left behind, His image here, Drawn in memory's hall That with the past grows dear. 126 Dreaming now in twilight, The picture dim I see again, again I walk with him. Again we dream and drink Of love's sweet wine; The lips of olden days Are pressed on mine. And gleaming golden worlds Of mystic light Float o'er our heads upon The sea of night. And whispered music lisps From trembling leaf Some old forgotten songs Of love and grief. And if I go at last Where all is fair, I pray my youth again Will meet me there. 127 And when my aged eyes Are no more dim, I'll take his hand and say, "Hello" to him. 128 AS I LOOK INTO YOUR FACE, O NIGHT! I. As I look into your face, O night ! I feel the magic tissue of the dark That coolly presses on my fevered face and breast; I see the beckoning stars, pledges of my early God, The changing lines of distant hills, The glistening water in the moon's still light, The shadows of passing lovers, arm in arm, Dreaming in this moment's fleeting bliss, The old man musing of times forgot and dead, The maiden patiently waiting for the familiar step, The well-mated husband seeking rest at home, The young mother singing tender love songs, The darkened woods with magic memories filled, The dusty road with the myriad noises of the strange dark, The gleams of lonely houses, And the lurid gleams of distant cities — As I look into your face, O night! II. As I look into your face, O night ! I see the temples of my early dreams, 129 The music of evening winds lisps in the dark, The music of my life goes o'er the world, I am the world, and one with the infinite God, And there is in this hour no mine and thine, The stars speak, the stillness, too, has language — I understand; eternity broods upon the world. I see my calm face, ruddy and fresh with youth; Anguish and bliss alike sleep as with the dead, Dumb lie the martyrs beside the babes in oblivion, Speechless the tongues that commanded the world; Kings, nations, history, fade With the crimson blood of wars past. All is still, peaceful, eternal, And strange things arise out of the sea of dark — As I look into your face, O night ! 130 SLEEP SWEETLY. Sleep sweetly now that the gates of the crimson night are closed, and leave to-morrow's struggle for to-morrow; The earth is peaceful, only the stars and still moon are abroad, and they wage no war. 131 SOMETHING WILL RISE IN YOU. Occasionally permit self-abandonment to the caprice of beauty; rush past the sentinel that keeps you in the prisoned city, and live for an hour in the house of the world, acquainting yourself with the still people of the air. Learn the music of a summer night by the restless wave of the sea, or surrender to the sunlight of an open country where the illimitable sky at last meets to kiss the sweet, green earth, and stay till the crimson shafts burn the western world; And something will rise in you that is not connected with the tiring routine of your trade — something strange and calm. 1S2 GOOD NIGHT. Good night, thou sweet, old world, good night; Enfold me in the gentle light Of other days, when gleams Of dewy meadows held my dreams; And quiet walks, as day sank low, Dispelled each touch of woe. Let me forget these joys be gone, But feel them coming on From out the past, with laughter's cries And dream-enamored skies Of old. One hand let me hold tight. Good night, thou sweet, old world, good night. 133 In The Gardens Of Amour. YES OR NO. I know my heart and yet I answer not, For some I've seen grow sad by deep regret. Better than love that fails is solitude, Barren and hungry-hearted to the last. It has still the happiness of day dreams, For love that fails awakes the sleeper quick With ruthless hands of saddened memory. Better is solitude that still is sweet In thought and not unkindly looked upon, Whose virgin cheeks remember not love's kiss At break of dawn nor in night's deepest sleep, Whose breast is strange to touch of children lips. Far better ne'er to know love's throbbing joy Than sadly to remember love is dead, And hear cold words that once were soft and sweet, And feel no more the press of eager arms Where oft thy head did lie in bliss at eve, And deign to beg where once thou didst permit. Give me stern love that's fierce in jealousy, Ardent, like love that's born by open fields 'Mid silence save the soft winds whispering, 136 FROM A PAINTING BY SIR JOHN WILLAIS YES OR NO And grows each starry night by garden stile, And lingers late before the last farewell; So strange and wondrous sweet it would not part But for the swiftly moving pallid stars That call ere long the noiseless break of dawn; Love that does not forget the first sweet kiss, The gentle, hesitating touch of hand, That blissful calm that made us one at first By cheerful glow of winter evening fire ; Such love that stronger grows through changing years, When age shall steal the rose from off my cheek And dim my eyes and bend me slowly down. And in that distant time wilt thou forget The ancient trees 'neath which we sat at dusk, And how, like twilight's spreading dark, our souls Went forth with night's still music o'er the world, And we both dwelt again in olden times By glistening shores of golden liquid seas, And heard the echoed songs of all the world Resound as softer grew the thickening dark? Love's music old, wilt thou then break the reed In twain by cruel neglect of thy warm lips, Or wilt thou find the music sweeter still, 137 Like early childhood's oft repeated songs ? Though I pale before thee on life's long way, Wilt thou then still find joy in all my smiles ? And sit with gladness by my side at eve ? And walk with me through memory's olden lanes, To mark again the hallowed spots where first Thou kissed my cheek and shyly spoke my name — Where once with saddened hearts we quarreled awhile. And thou with moistened eyes besought my love, Which was again thine own ere thou didst ask — And where in shade of yonder sighing woods Oft tranced I sat and listened to thy hopes, And silently implored a part in all Close by thy side through joyous coming years? When once I give thee all wilt thou forget, In stress of other things, to kiss the lips That yearn for thee by lonely evening light ? Then wilt thou whisper in my ear as now, And set astir the chords of love's sweet dream, And say the things that draw me close to thee Ere slumber close our eyes in still of night ? I hear again thy oft repeated vows. Would thou wert nigh to still my wavering thoughts, And speak once more the words that are my bliss — That feed my heart which thou hast hunger taught. 138 TO YOU WHO COME AT EVENING. I know you oft have told me, dear, The world is full of hate and strife; But I'm content with you and life — With you each night beside me here. You often fear that I am sad, Because some things you think I miss; I would not lose a single kiss For that which makes some persons glad. And when you touch me with your hand, And say the words you used to say, Why — all the night is turned to day, And I forget the things I'd planned. And often when we here have sat, And I have said, "Tell me again," I've seen you smile a bit, but then, You see, we women live on that. We women love that we may live; The heart is hungry, too, and I — No matter if you don't know why — Well, I'm content with what you give. 139 'TIS RAINING NOW. Tis raining now And love is past, And from the brow Of day at last The with'ring night Shuts out the light Until to-morrow. Ah, well, let be — The sun will rise By morning's knell From out the skies. Though love's not mine, The sun will shine Again to-morrow. 140 AFTER DAY. Draw your chair beside me here, As in other times, my dear; Needn't talk, or even smile, Sit in silence for awhile. Knowing you're beside me so, As the light is burning low, And the night is growing cool, While the stilly hours rule — Just contentment over all As the shadows on us fall, — Tis the best of all our life, After each day's toil and strife, In the time of night and dew, Thus to sit alone with you. 141 A WOMAN'S QUESTION. Am I not meek ? I give my hand, my lips, my cheek, My dear, to you — My life, my soul; and shall not rue. Sink deep in joy And revel long, I'll be thy toy, My dear; from now To play the part you'll teach me how. To thy demands Of dawn and dark, though like the sands, My dear, I yield. Wilt thou my aged heartaches shield ? Thy heart's caprice, For all of me, will it ne'er cease, My dear, to cling To both the flesh and soul I bring? 142 LET PASS. To J. F. R. Let pass, dear heart, let pass This pain, this brief distress that grieves thee so— These unkind words, and doubtful glancing eyes In which till now had shone but kindly looks; I say let pass the talk of talkers all. Not one still star of all the night knows aught Of their ill words, nor does the growing green In stilly woods where plays the summer sun, Nor shall the days that come to thee anon, Nor shall the gentle rain of summers nigh, Nor olden paths that sweetly greet thy feet. Thy soul's deep purposes they do not know; Or knowing, still they could not understand. Keep thou yet on the way thou lovest best, For none of all the world knows it as thou, - And all the precious facts that are thy life. Therefore, this brief distress that grieves thee so, Let pass, dear heart, let pass. 143 THE LOVES OF OTHER YEARS. Where are they, The loves of other years, The smiles, the walks in evening still, The limpid, lithesome, fancy-worlds With cherished secrets none shall know Of childish hopes and fears — Where are they, The loves of other years ? Where are they, The loves of other years, When sunny paths led through the fields, Oft trod by feet that hastened not, To cooling, shady woods where dwelt Sweet endless dreams of life's good cheers- Where are they, The loves of other years ? 144 Where are they, The loves of other years, The eyes of faith, the timid touch And gentle voice, the dainty step Across the silvery, singing creek, The face that ever still appears— Where are they, The loves of other years? Where are they, The loves of other years, The lips that sang the nursery songs, And they that in the noiseless night, In whispers low and unforgot, Betrayed their hearts with laughs and tears— Where are they, The loves of other years ? Where are they, The loves of other years — In some far world of endless bliss, With sweet caress and hand in hand, Do they again live as on earth ? O Thou, whose love my question hears, Where are they, The loves of other years ? 145 10 Where are they, The loves of other years ? Old memory will not let them pass. Though faded be the pictures now In dusty bygone galleries old, Again I ask as evening nears — Where are they, The loves of other years? 146 . THE DREAM. I thought I lived with you beneath a sun Whose golden rays ne'er left the deep blue sky, But shone and shone where rolling meadows lie, With playful smile spring's blossoms wooed in fun, And danced in leafy vales where waters run And where the sweet brook's murmurs never die, And on the mountain peaks so still and high Which all but fearless strong-winged birds must shun. I thought that time went sweet and soft and slow, And left no marks save those of gentleness That bound thee to my life with strong caress; And I saw naught but all thy soul's deep truth, No fading bloom, nor form the years bent low, But ever still the beauty of thy youth. 147 WHERE LOVE ABIDES. Where love abides There is no talk of duties mine and yours; The ever glowing light within allures Each willing foot and hand To move or still to stand Whate'er betides — Where love abides. Where love abides There is no grief or secret inner thought Or plan or longing hope the day has wrought But each may fully know The purport high or low; And no one chides Where love abides. Where love abides The first gray gloom of leaden falling dark Brings joy; and each will hastened will hark To hear that sweet old sound, As footsteps oft resound At eventides — Where love abides. 148 Where love abides The tender buds of gentleness within Will bloom the day had stifled 'mid the din ; And solitude grows sweet Where hands so quickly meet And lips besides — Where love abides. Where love abides The silvery breaking dawn once more finds mates United in their secret themes and fates Forever and a day; And so runs life away In goodly strides Where love abides. 149 THE BRIDE You tremble, dear. See, 1 am not afraid, And all myself I give, my heart is light; The crimson on my cheek should flee in fright, And yet does not; 'tis there delayed Because I have no fear. I oft have prayed, With warming breath of whispers in the night For this sweet hour with you, and tight Have clasped my hands, as in my thoughts you strayed. My lips I've saved for you and all the cheer That summer's dewy morns tossed in my heart That, when at eve you're wearied, I might start Some trifling little talk which all the fear Of morrows and the day should swiftly part From you, and make you glad that I was near. 150 A BACHELOR'S WINTER EVENING REVERY. You didn't think, When last we stood Together near the margin of the wood, And looked o'er rolling valleys' snowy lands, With toying, tight-clasped hands And eyes that fancied years Of joy and lover's cheers — I say, you didn't think deep in your heart That time would drive us — O so far apart? And do you mind How I made through The drifted fleecy snow a path for you, And how the evening's dark came o'er us slow And in the distance low Gleamed cheering household fires bright, And then the peaceful night ? I say, and do you mind how long I'd stay Near you while evening hours slipped away? 151 I cannot think — I will not think That all is done and past and there's no link In that old chain of memory that will Draw us together still, Though many a winter's snow has gone And dark and stilly dawn, I say, I cannot think I've had life's due Until again I've made a path for you. A path for you — A path for you ! 'Mid dear old fancy's snow, if you but knew, In stilly winter eves, within the wood Where silent we oft stood, A many a path for you I've made Where winds had barriers laid. But one— just one more path I claim my due, The long one through the blooms and snows with you. 152 TO-MORROW I'M AWAY. Come here and take my hand And press my lips, Just for today — To-morrow I'm away; With pulsing heart And quickened feet I'll tread another street; And in the toils Of duty's net I may sometimes forget You for awhile, And this sweet day In life's all stormy way; And oft I'll know The want of heart Again life's work to start, So press my lips Just for today — To-morrow I'm away. 153 THE DEAD WIFE. O thou whose lips I've pressed in hush of night, Whose tiny hand has trembled in my own Beneath the talking boughs the wind has blown, Hid snugly from the evening's starry light — O thou, my all, why hast thou quit my sight? Thy straggling curls will no more touch my cheek, Thy voice and smile are gone where'er I seek With watchful eyes and my strong passion's might. If all my soul's deep grief thou now dost see, If thou dost know the lonely inward tears My heart hath shed along the saddened years, Break through thy silent doors to life and me, Who hourly watch and wait with trembling fears, Lest in the realm of death I know not thee. 154 Love's Tragic Convention. i. AT THE DANCE. We circled oft the hall in varying motions, And talked, through all the music wrought, Of friends and dress and common things; But here is the speech 1 thought: "Before the night has yielded all its music And the dance is o'er and dawn is here, And the dream waltz plays as each sleeps on, O say you love me, dear ! "1 hold you near to me; you are my captive; And the mellow night is full of dew, And as the winking, sleepy stars Wink on, I dance with you. "O say you love me, dear, while yet the music Still trembles through the waves of night, Your fallen curls creep o'er my face, And the house of life is light. 155 "For o'er and o'er again this evening's dancing I'll dance with you in memory's hall, And feel your whispers on my cheek And the rebel curls that fall. "And when life's lonely way grows hard and narrow, And some great lord your hand shall sue, I'll then remember fondly still That I have danced with you." Instead, we talked of friends and dress and nothings ; And the silent speech my heart had said Lay silent still, and the dance wore on, Till the dance and night were fled. II. VERSES TO A WEDDED SWEET HEART. I am not rich in spirit now, I should not write at all; But rather calmly hold my peace While leaves and raindrops fall. The autumn days are passing fast And chilly winds now moan, 156 And frosty winter comes again To find me still alone. 1 only wished to say to you, Whom time's unending flight Has borne so far away from me, I think of you tonight. I think of you tonight again; Again you are with me, In other autumns long ago Beside the talking sea. Again the sea gulls soar and dip, The waves break on the sand ; You whisper in my ear again And hold me by the hand. And long we sit content with life, While twilight shades the sea, And one by one the stars appear — Again you sit with me. The music of a thousand worlds Now fills the gloaming eve, 157 And olden songs sing out again — We slowly rise to leave. And though the world grow gray with night And misty winds turn chill, And village lights peep in the dark — With me you wander still. And on and on. At last we pause, And stand awhile to say Good night, again a sweet good night, And turning I'm away. I loath to break this golden dream Of olden days long past, Of crimson skies and dew and dawn, It holds my spirit fast. I only wished to say to you, Whom time's unending flight Has borne so far away from me, I think of you tonight. But I'll obey convention, dear, And censure's frowns eschew ; And so I'll tear these verses up That I have sung to you. 158 III. AND EACH PASSED ON. 1 have been at the house of a friend; An evening feast was laid; I met there a woman about my own age. We desired to know each other; And both tried ; but I lacked the cleverness, And she the courage; We did not break through the crust of conventionalities Of our over-civilized generation. Had we been children of the woods and fields, Of the rude earth, Then we might have spoken; But as it was, we brushed elbows in the night, And each passed on. IV. FOR NEITHER DARED. He saw her once, And mused that day and in the night till late, A-wond'ring what might be their fate If fortune brought them near. 159 Again he saw, Again he builded castles in the years. But could he win who'd known such tears That flowed beneath a smile? And once again — And she with wand' ring eyes, like his, went on, For neither dared. Now the day is gone; But still he dreams his dream. V. WHILE A SEASON CHANGED. While a season changed I lingered in a strange city, filled with men and women and children, just as other cities, With buildings and trade and the petty histories of each, and the petty histories of families preserved by word of lips. With nightly entertainments and spectacles, with actors and orators and pleasant singers, with ministers, with rich and poor, just as other cities; But all has passed out of me now except the still face of a solitary woman looking at me through the dim years. 160 BY CLARENCE WHITE HER SOLITUDE VI. HER SOLITUDE My life is still tonight, no bitterness, Nor joy, and but one endless thought creeps out, As dreaming here I sit and think about My days that soon shall fade and grow still less. And yet, O God ! I cannot, cannot guess Why lonely I must dwell and ever doubt The time will come when he, my own, will rout My fears and all my restless heart's distress. Why didst thou plant in me this longing so That in my wake and sleep forever calls And yet beyond my pail of fortune falls ? Not always I'll be young, the bloom will go. All this, O God! I have not understood. Am I not worthy — have not I been good? 161 11 VII. I PUT YOU ASIDE I put you aside With slow and gentle hands And silent inner grief, For fear that dreary days Will both betide— And yet I put you aside. I put you aside, Though my one light of life Go out, and all that made This world so beautiful Shall pass and hide — And yet I put you aside. I put you aside: The world (and God, some say,) Command — I knowing well The heart no more will wake That here has died — And yet I put you aside. 162 I put you aside, (O God, what recompense Can'st thou make me when oft In evening's loneliness My soul thee chide!) And yet I put you aside. VIII. HE WILL COME He will come, she said Deep in her bounding, girlish heart, and smiled With confidential lips, And childhood's dreaming fancies wild That over blissful pathways led — He will come, she said. He will come, she said, As many daily tasks and years came on; And from her cherry lips And cheeks the girlish glow had gone; And though her glad, wild dreams had fled — He will come, she said. 163 He will come, she said, As o'er the mellow chords of her pure heart The hand of bitterness Oft now and then a tune would start, When some old playmate's life was wed — He will come, she said. He will come, she said, And sweetly smiled with faith again serene In that one perfect love Beyond the faded" and the green Of earth. Ere last they laid her dead, He has come, she said. IX. UPON NEPONSET'S SHORE At eve hard by Neponset's crystal wave — Neponset's gleaming wave — I saw her last. The night was wild, The dark fell fast, and cold the blast, And all alone she ran; Along the snowy path no sound she gave That eve hard by Neponset's crystal wave. 164 Her pallid face, part hid by fallen hair, Long, streaming, waving hair, The wind made rise and fall and curl ; And wild the guise about her eyes As she ran by me swift, All open at the throat, her arms both bare, Her pallid face part hid by fallen hair. I watched her as she sped along the night, The glimmer of the night, Till she was gone. I went to rest, Yet ever on until the dawn She ran within my sleep, Her hair awry, her face a haggard white — I watched her as she sped along the night. Next morn as I walked on the frozen shore, Neponset's blustrous shore, I saw barred tight a mourning house, To mark the flight a soul that night Had made. Of one I asked, "Who's dead?" — "The love-mad huss," she is no more — Was found at dawn upon the frozen shore." 165 Now ever on that gusty, fitful shore, Neponset's icy shore, I see her go through night's wild blast, In lonely woe, still to and fro; The marble face, the eyes Of withered white — she paces evermore Upon Neponset's fitful, icy shore. 166 WHEN I COME HOME When I come home will you be there to greet Me with a smile and outstretched arms, A heart of quickened beat, When our eyes meet ? And will you tell me all your thoughts and deeds, As in the gloaming night again We take the path that leads O'er grassy meads? And as of old will you my grief beguile — The grief the weary days have brought? And will you make me smile With you the while? And as the mellow years come on, will you Remember still that love is young And fresh as morning dew For me and you? I'm coming home ere long to you who wait So patiently as seasons go, Beside the woodland gate In evening's late. 167 In fancy's eye a thousand times I see You there with eager, anxious look That scans the rolling lea In search for me. I see you run into my arms at last, And feel the tremor of your lips, That softly words would cast Which oft have passed. I'm coming home ere long to you who wait So patiently as seasons go, Beside the woodland gate In evenings late. 168 BEAUTY. Though withered be the cheeks and eyes, Like some dead rose at dawn; Oft know the soul and in surprise The withered things are gone. Sunbeams the rose's red replace; The soul's the sun unto the face. 169 A MAN AND A WOMAN. A man and a woman once walked in the evening to a wood, that the trees might hide them from the light. Far into the deep shadows wandered they, when one said, in fear, "Let us return." (No matter which one said it.) Still they wandered in the dark, watching the light within themselves, as it glowed in the garden of their love. The night came over the world and the wood. Seeing they had tarried too long, they determined to return at dawn. Well, it is a silly story; but — do you know — it never grew morning in that wood again. 170 I FLING THEE TO THE WINDS. Thou faded rose— thou faded rose! How many poets, God but knows, Have sung of thee, thou withered flow'r, That I have kept unto this hour. And thou art brown, thy leaves are dead; Long years thy master has been wed, And quite forgot the boyish hand That plucked thee up in yon woodland. And pressed thee to his lips and mine, And said, "Our love, like some old wine, Shall with the years but sweeter grow," Then kissed me, in that long ago. Thou faded rose! I give thee up Once more to earth, and no more sup Thy memory's olden wine; but fling Thee on the winds the night doth bring. 171 PARTING. I hate to part from you, my dear. I hold your hand and say Good-bye, you hear? But somehow yet I stay Near where you are while moments pass. And is it true you're sad As I, alas? Or maybe glad, And only tremble so for fears That I should deeply grieve From inward tears Before I leave. I cannot tell what life will be So far away from you. Then you'll miss me? And is it true That here you'll stand in early night, Remembering how still We've seen day's light Descend yon hill That now is hid in mellow / gloom With magic memories laid 172 Of love's sweet bloom That shall not fade? And will you wish me well, my dear, As time goes on so fast, Until I'm here By you at last ? And tell me you will not forget The stilly eve our eyes First shyly met In wild surprise. But now they look away from me Toward the gloaming hill. Is is to see The night fall still? I know you see what's in my heart, And have seen— O so oft! I cannot start, Your hand is soft In mine ; your lips now tremble, too ; You know the words I'd say Just now to you While yet I stay. And thus, they'll out, I love you so That part of me would die- But, then, you know, And so— Good-bye. 173 TO BE WITH YOU. To be with you this evening, rarest of the evenings all, And listen to the whispering leaves and to the night bird's call, The silvery moonlight on your face — To be with you in some still place. To be with you and watch the tiny budding myriad stars, Wee far-off golden worlds beyond the earth's unkindly jars, As quietly they march night's sea Above the world and you and me. To be with you somewhere within this evening's mystic shade, To hear your plans and hopes and tell you mine, all unafraid That you'd forget to hold them dear When I'm away and you're not here. To be with you and listen to the harp of summer's breeze, Alone with night and wavering stars, beneath the lisping trees, To feel the cool of falling dew — To be somewhere alone with you. To be with you this evening, rarest of the evenings all, And listen to the whispering leaves and to the night bird's call, The silvery moonlight on your face — To be with you in some still place. 174 LOVE'S PARADOX. Here is my hand, It holds my heart, You understand. And with it goes Whate'er may come Of joys and woes. It is my all I give to you This even's fall. My hand — take it — Gently — the heart — You will break it! And yet I know 'Twill surely break If you let go. 175 SPRING. A wayward, careless girl, they say thou art, Wild Spring, whose gurgling laugh is loud and shrill, Whose parted, panting lips beg kisses quick; And open at the throat thou hast a will To lure lone lovers to the meshes thick. Thou shouldst be lodged safe in a wintry clime To cure thee of thy wantonness with youth, And made to hold thy frosted nose where chime The icy winds to chill thy blood forsooth. Thou wayward, careless girl, thou shouldst be taught To handle gently hearts of men and maids Round places where thy mischief thou hast wrought In witching nooks laid deep with greenish' shades. 176 JUST AS OF OLD. We walked these woods together, you and I; 'Twas long ago, beneath this selfsame sky; And rustled, too, just such brown, withered leaves In time's old stilly, cooling autumn eves. And here we sat together once beside This spreading tree on that calm eventide, When first a flood of life's strange light came o'er Us both, and faintly whispered evermore That all was well, and only gentle ways Lay out beyond, lit by these selfsame rays. And then, as now, the amber sky grew dark ; And low and sweet the call of dove and lark Stole o'er the falling night, and fireflies Strolled through the blessed gloom in weird disguise. Your words were liquid then and soft and went Straight to my heart as if by masters sent. Twas long ago these evenings here with you, And many a sun and storm and morning's dew Has come and gone about these stilly trees, And there upon the ever-blowing leas Has bloomed and died each summer's tender leaf. And all is well, as then, and there's no grief; / 177 12 But ever still I see you there as last We walked, before the years so quickly passed; And ever still each calling bird at night Brings forth your face in unforgetful light, And memories old that make life still a dream, As when we watched the sun's last fading beam. Where'er you are, the heart that youth did hold- It still is yours, e'en now, just as of old. 178 IF YOU WOULD SAY. If you would say What's in your heart the livelong day, While I am waiting, waiting still To hear your voice, like some sweet rill, Proclaim an end to this delay — If you would say. If you would say You know my faults, yet bid me stay Where your sweet face I'd always see Through years and all eternity, My deeds would then each joy repay — If you would say. If you would say — Henceforth through meads and woods we'd stray, And arm in arm go all the while Through open fields each lengthening mile 'Mid sweetest scent of fallen hay — If you would say. If you would say — Then in the silent fall of day, 179 When one by one the stars appear, Close by your side I'd have no fear Of grieving doubts or wild dismay — If you would say. If you would say — Then for the gift of thee I'd pray A prayer of thanks to Him who stole The sea's soft music for thy soul, And lit thine eyes with magic's ray — If you would say. 180 THE LOVELESS MARVELED. She had a sorrow once, Born of bliss; Twas but a hand, a voice, A lover's kiss. It grew like mountain trees, Strong and tall. This sorrow grew to be Her all in all. It touched her lips to song. Over reeds Her fingers played — her hands To kindly deeds. The loveless marveled much, Seeing this; Not understanding aught The lover's kiss. 181 HEARTS COMMAND. Love some one — in God's name love some one — For this is the bread of the inner life, Without which a part of you will starve and die; And though you feel you must be stern, even hard, In your life of affairs, make for yourself at Least a little corner, somewhere in the Great world, where you may unbosom and be kind. 182 I SHALL COME TO HER. If some there be with aged mien Who wisely smile at love, And say 'tis but a childish dream And one they are above, To them 1 say who sit and smile, Because they so prefer, I pray I shall not die until My feet have come to her. I know somewhere tonight she sits Within her father's home, While I a foot-loose wanderer Am destined still to roam. But I shall find her out I know, And thus within her place She calmly sits and waits for me, And she will know my face. And one sweet day, we two shall meet, Whatever may occur; And so content I wander on, For I shall come to her. 183 THE ONE WOMAN. How could I help but love you, coming up a cool and radiant fountain in the hot and dreary night of life ? I swear the sins of youthful women lay upon my hands, the grimy sweat of wearied men in strife, Who'd clothed my body with garments fair, and the agonies of children, too, condemned to toil that I might freely live — I swear the cries of beaten slaves turned not my ear, nor wails of stunted children that the sea of want doth give. There was no order in my days. I slept and ate as instinct called, and heeded every wanton passion near, A face, a form, a game of chance, the gossip of the idle wags, and live to finish quickly earth's career. And though I shall regret what now I here confess, and cringing turn from this swift lash that o'er my back I send — I swear that thing called soul had not set torch within the blood- stained walls where creaked my heart, bent on low passion's end. How could I help but love you, coming like a balmy light into the dead and moonless night of empty years ? You spoke and I saw the blood of murdered innocence glare red upon my hands, and heard the wailing sea of tears. 184 You touched my hand, and through my restless life stole scenes of quiet woods and dancing shafts of gold upon the green; As asphodels and running vines, and shades and linnets' songs, and the softly sounding lyre of doves perched high unseen. Things I had dreamed of in my dreaming childhood came again, and solitude with you was what I longed for most ; Out of other distant worlds remembered visions sprang that long ere earthly birth I knew 'mid God's immortal host. And when I kissed your lips this world was born again, and in the still and starry night I was with you and God ; And truth and mercy bloomed within my soul, and kindly words bred fast upon my lips, and bliss came where I trod. And long I lay upon the grassy earth, your hand in mine, and listened to your voice that showed the better way; And your own God I learned to love, but loved you more o'er all I ever knew, you who were fated not to say. If I am aught and tired men and weary women know my voice, and smile amid their tears, it is for you; And if a song has left my lips, some clear and simple song that comforts brings within some lonely heart of rue, It is not mine, but comes from out the mellow shaded woods 185 of memory now mouldering in the faded past ; And if the springtide and the autumn bring reborn the songs of life, it is because your spirit holds me fast — Because I pressed my lips to yours in the secret, voiceless woods where asphodels and running vines forever blow, And where the linnet and the dove sing songs alternately unto the hearts that hear and understand and know. 186 ONE OF LONG AGO. Hast never sat with sadness in the stilly, stilly night, When all the dancing day's bright beams of sun had gone to flight, And through the pulseless falling dark a luring wind sang low The music that the stars march to so silently and slow? Hast never sat and thought of one, 'mid sad old memory's tears, — One who had lived within your heart through all the joyous years? Tis sweet this sadness that comes on when night begins to fall, And spreads its silent softening dark through chamber doors and hall. It is the only heritage that time has left me now; And on its steady course it keeps my vessel's shattered prow. And thus in corners of each life you'll find some hidden face That through the years keeps marching on and holds each soul in place. So let the night grow thicker still and breezes turn to storm, 187 There's armored safe within my heart and free from earthly harm This smiling face of one who looks into my eyes e'en now, While through the world I go alone till snow lies on my brow. 188 In Rebellion AMERICA. Lincoln, rise up from out thy tomb today, Thou lover of the lives of common men, America hath work for thee again. Here women want in sight of wealth's display, Man grinds his brother down and holds a sway As in the times of bloody lash and den, Save now the flesh is white, not black as then. In toiling holes young girls grow old, decay. Though thou art dead could but thy soul return In one who loved his fellow men as thou; Instead of greed that we might justice learn, Love character in place of gold as now, Write far across our native land's sweet soil, "Here none shall live upon another's toil." 191 TO THE MASTERS OF MEN. They that toil — What have they done That they should beg To work and run By your command ? I cannot understand. They that toil- Why do they fear Some heartless ill When you draw near Their slavish life, Bound to unending strife? They that toil- some day they'll know This earth is for Them too, and lo ! Who shall withstand Their loud and fierce command? They that toil — They slumber low; 192 But they shall wake And they shall know Their mighty power In that strange reckoning hour. They that toil- God made them too With love of life No less than you — 'Mid breaking storms They'll come in myriad swarms. Therefore, O Ye masters all! Ere whirlwinds rise And temples fall And daylight wane, On earth let justice reign! 193 13 THOU THAT ART IDLE BORN. Thou that art idle born — knowest thou the weariness of toil, When the flesh refuses and cries "no farther," And the soul believes no longer in God, And the night and the glorious day are hateful; When fear of want knocks ever at thy door, And evil dreams harass thy sleep? There are none such, sayest thou, O beautiful one that art idle born!" They are in thy house, in the street, everywhere. They adore thee, thy beauty, thy imperious manner, Thy placid eyes, and thy careless self-assurance, Thy soft, white flesh — Thou — thou that art idle born! What great virtue is thine That God has so elevated thee That men and women children serve thee, Yet thou servest not at all ? And what crime have they committed Who serve always yet are never served? Does God not also love them ? 194 No bitterness to thee that art idle born — Only be thou gentle and kind, And touch with thy soft hand the leaden brow, Grown ill and old in service ; And with thy beautiful face and thy body, And the things that cover thy beautiful body, Give thou no offense. Soon the shadows gather And creep over the garden of thy soul, And it grows still with thee, Thy memories fading like an evening's twilight, And thou sleepest in thy last chamber, And the vain flesh is humble ! Thou — thou that art idle born ! 195 EGO IPSE. All the questions have I asked, All things have I tried; But nothing satisfied. 'There is no vital task Except to wait till time has fled And I am dead," I said. Thus I walked in living death, Smiled at God's great trick Of life, till I grew sick Of smiles; and then in breath All hot and vile with bitter cry I prayed that I Might die. Back I pushed all human creeds, Standing lone and nude With God in solitude, And lo! from out the weeds Of human thought I looked in awe, MYSELF I saw Was law. 196 SUNDAY NIGHT. Back to the world to-morrow morn, Back to the white-heat world, To grinding barter, sweat and swirl, Back to the lips with anger curled. I'd linger here in the still, still night, With stars and the clear, clean sky, And gentle words, and slowing steps Of worshipers going by. Does life demand so much of food, Of costly raiment rare That but an hour may be plucked From all the days of care? The world is sold to the mammon god; The many serve the few, And whips crack loud o'er myriad heads Each hour to starve or do. Back to the world tomorrow morn, Back to the white-heat world, To grinding barter, sweat and swirl, Back to the lips with anger curled. 197 IF YOU HAVE MADE GENTLER THE CHURLISH WORLD. If you have spoken something beautiful, Or touched the dead canvas to life, Or made the cold stone to speak — You who know the secret heart of beauty; If you have done one thing That has made gentler the churlish world, Though mankind pass you by, And feed and cloth you grudgingly — Though the world starve you, And God answer not your nightly prayers, And you grow old hungering still at heart, And walk friendless in your way, And lie down at last forgotten — If all this befall you who have created beauty, You shall still leave a bequest to the world Greater than institutions and rules and commerce; And by the immutable law of human heart The God of the universe is your debtor, . If you have made gentler the churlish world. 198 THE LIFE THAT NEVER DREAMS. The life that never dreams, nor now and then in the still night consults the oracle of the stars, Nor considers the mystery and beauty of our world and golden worlds in the ocean of eve as they burst through the waves of dark, Nor sees any love and tenderness in men, but dwells always in the things of its own flesh — That life, though bearing the semblance of spiritual man, proud of his immortal destiny, is still with the lower orders of being, Insensible to the enchantments that are born out of the beauty of the world. 199 THE TASK. I know I do not understand this world, This universe of life and growth and death. I do not damn the Maker, saying still Within myself that surely all is well. The myriad stars shine nightly in the sky, The earth yields forth her budding brood in spring, And always dawn and noon and dark succeed; Volcanoes burst and flooding rains descend, And sprigs shoot forth where barren winter lay; The piping winds bound through the bending trees, And withered leaves again return to earth ; Soft lips grow hard and tresses gold turn gray; Sweet babes are born, and stooping, aged men Depart into the soft and silent night. And not one jot of all this can I change. Nor you, my metaphysics peddling friend, Explaining how the cosmis wheels go round. I, too, was once a trader in that junk, And oft have strutted in the lecture room, 200 Showing all my choicest wares to students bland: Kant's Dinge an sick 1 doled in precious lots To scholars, in return for which they gave A year of nightly brooding, swearing still 'Twas worth the price to be so well equipped For life. (1 know they cursed me later on, As I my pompous masters, too, have cursed.) And gloomy Shopenhauer's raging Will I crammed into the throats of sweet young men; And all the other tribes of babbling seers 1 sold with profit to myself, until At last my heart awoke and called me fool — Called me fool, for I had seen how each By reason stoutly contradicted each; Saw the world submerged in theories wild, Saw all things proven which men pleased to think, Until my mind 'mid contradiction fell. But o'er the dreams of philosophic seers, I heard with certain ear the moaning cries That burst from out the souls of human want. These alone, when all else failed, were real! And you, my dealers in theology, Forgetting Christ in man-made thoughts of him, 201 And calling loud for patrons everywhere, Know you the chambers in the house of God ? Just how He made the thing and of what stuff ? With Christ have you walked through the pits of hell ? And do you know the souls of mortals doomed ? Who told you all the secret ways of God, That you may dole the keys of paradise To them that buy in fear your ragged wares ? Back to the vales of darkness all ye mongers That steal of earth its joy, and fill the world With midnight mists of ignorance and fear ! With all your wisdom not a raindrop more Nor less shall fall to quench the thirst of earth. Amid the pedantry of mountebanks, Parading wrathful gods with horned heads, The silent universe goes on its way, Scornful of twaddling bugs' sophistic lore. The myriad stars shine nightly in the sky, The earth yields forth her budding brood in spring; All nature moves as by a hand unseen. And not one jot of all this can I change, Nor you, my mortal friend, whoe'er you are. Ignorant am I of cosmic things, 202 And you, and ignorant shall ever be. But we are not forlorn in wild despair : We still may turn our eyes across the night, All lustrous in the gold of other worlds, Where seas of dark reach on to seas of dawn, And whisper to the silent soul within, That all's in place in this God-impassioned world. But there are things my eyes have often seen That stop the crimson rivers of the heart, That cause the breath to halt ere it rush forth To mingle with the breathings of the world. Not cosmic things no human hand can change, Nor tampered history, sacred of profane, The bouncing ball of babbling pedantry. But worlds of faces damned ere they did leaye The yielding womb to be despised of men, Born slaves to know the lash from childhood frail, And fed into the mouths of mammoth mills Where Christian lords pile up their godless gold. What boots the question here of trinity? And I have seen ill-shapen women stare From sorrow sodden faces early old. 203 Plodding on to toil they went at dawn, Childless, homeless, solitary souls. Once these were young and sweet to look upon, And fit for babes to bloom upon their breasts, Like drowsy roses dewey fresh at dawn. These oft had whispered prayers for lover's kiss That's born of righteous love in stilly night, And dreamed the dream but women understand Of unborn babes that smiled within their sleep, Nightly clamoring to be born of them. Unloved they wandered in a loveless world To join the women dead from early times, The helots mute of wanton avarice. What grief so great to wither in the bud, And ne'er press tight the moistened lips of love, To dream of music that one may not hear, And miss the clinging arms at break of dawn ! And millions yet shall die with withered breasts Where babes have never touched their tender lips. And 1 have heard the cries of younger men That saw no more the stars above their heads, Shut ever in by trade's benighting bog — Young men that still did hold to early dreams, 204 O'ermatched by them whose cunning had no heart, And left the prey of human vulture's greed With saddened eyes that kindly looked at death. No love's embrace to speed their nightly coming, Nor children clamoring for sweet caress, And claiming yet another fabled story Ere led by gentle hands to dreamland's door; Lonely followers of goodness still, Though laughed to scorn by them whom they did serve. What earthly captain with his spoils of trade Shall right the wrongs of these that lie so still, If God perchance forget again to touch To conscious life these earthly scar-marked souls, And light again the citadels of thought ? O who will close the wounds of these that fell Before the piping spears of avarice ? And here and there, I know, the sweet green earth, Where now some quiet planter turns the soil, Shall once again be wet with human blood ; And oft again the knife shall deftly rise To strike a brother down in godless wars, And children weep again o'er grassy mounds, And stooping women, from whose face the rose Has fled, shall think again of early love; 205 i And younger women dream what might have been. And all for what ? That traffic patriots May wreck for profit's sake the weaker nations. O profit, crowned on high as earthly king, Stretching thy blood-stained hand across the world, Well armed with bible, rum and edged blade, To thee a life is but a leaf of grass; Thy ears are deaf to stunted children's wails, And dumb thy palsied tongue to mercy's word ! Thou soulless low-browed god of gloated gold, When shall we shake thee off, and once again Build up the kingdom of the human heart ! The fight to live is now with man, not nature. The goodly earth yields but by touch of hand Enough for all. But o'er the bloom of fields, And treasures hid deep down, and useful craft, The misered hand of greed crawls in the night; And all the air is charged with words of gain, From trader's shop unto the thrones of art. The smell of profit clings e'en to the God That men implore and barter with in prayer, And all who breathe must breathe this charged fume. Thus millions wither ere the noon of life 206 And die in soul long ere we bury them. The rushing steps that move in crowded marts Go not of choice, but driven by the lash, And dare not pause lest they be trampled down. Here then abides the work of wakened man; To break the chains that would a brother bind, And stay the misered hand that now is full, To draw grim profit's heel from childhood frail, And lose the women slaves in holes of hell, To lift the human heart from graves of gold, And knock unceasingly on temple doors Where feeble souls have slumbered long, To plant a rose in every barren breast, And in the din and tumult of the world To sing and teach and live the things of love. The sunshine calmly paints its twilight hues Each day in still extremities of earth; And nowhere blooms a leaf but speaks of love ; The stars fret not aglow in mellow night, And soft peep forth like village lights at eve ; The forest winds resound the melodies That live alone in quiet, wooded worlds; 207 O'er ragged mountains, plains and lapping seas, The silent ships float on the soundless wave ; The nightingale still spends his only song In noon of night ; and wander birds still rove, As in the olden times, each with his mate; The quiet moonlight tiptoes o'er the earth, Like playful water on a sandy beach; And wand'ring in its noiseless path of gold Arises olden bliss we knew ere birth, And silent robes of beauty deck the world, From tender leaf to twilight's quiet stars. — O lift us up, thou God of all, to love, Above the soulless martyrdom of things ! The rushing world is hungry at the heart. 208 BREAKING HOME TIES By MAX EHRMANN. Author of "A Prayer" and "Who Entereth Here." Cloth. Decorated and with frontispiece, $1.25 net. "The best piece of writing Max Ehrmann has done." — Publishers' Circular, London. "A beautiful thought, expressed in the noblest language in blank verse — this book appeals to all who have severed the ties of home and gone forth into the world. The youth who marches out to wage war with fortune will be strengthened by its reading." — Washington Star. "Every young man should read this book. With rare ability and de- lightful meter Mr. Ehrmann has depicted a father confiding in and advising his son on the eve of the son's departure from home. This book is unique among American publications, in as much as it contains, in excellent verse, a surprising wealth of distilled knowledge of the world, to be found elsewhere only in Polonius' Advice to His Son, in Burn's Cotter's Saturday Night, and in his Epistle to a Young Friend. With rare pathos and great earnestness these vigorous lines depict the experiences, trials and tribulations of the father as he frankly confesses his errors of judgment that his son may profit by his mistakes." — New York American. "A strong wordsworthian flavor." — Boston Budget. "Verses full of inspiration." — Louisville Courier- Journal. "Simple and wholesome." — Book News Philadelphia. "Fearless council in beautiful verse." — Columbus, O., State Journal. "Shows the author to have the true poetic instinct and to be a master of the technique of verse." — Seattle Post Intelligence. "All the qualities of classic verse." — Terre Haute Star. "The lines have a peculiar power." — San Francisco Bulletin. "Power and facility of expression." — Indianapolis Star. The Mystery of Madeline LeBlanc By MAX EHRMANN. Cloth. $1.00 net. "Powerful description— in every sense thrilling." — Dayton Daily News. "Distinctly original both in plot and literary style." — Toledo Blade. "Constructed in the heroic vein of Victor Hugo." — The Daily Courier, Lowell, Mass. "Holds honest interest to its singular conclusion." — Indianapolis News. "A thrilling romance, punctuated with descriptions of fascinating interest." — Detroit Journal. "In every sense a strong production — not "strung out", but moves with the rapidity that enlists and holds interest."— Buffalo Enquirer. "Well knit together, revealing imagination and power." —St. Paul Dispatch. "Here are all the accessories of the weird, yet the sympathies are ap- pealed to, leaving a good taste." — Minneapolis Journal. "Possessed of the real fire of French people." — Evening Wisconsin, Milwaukee. "The denoument is successfully concealed until the proper moment, when it comes upon the reader with all the requisite surprise." , — Philadelphia Press. "The plot is most ingenious, written in a style of spirit and grace." — The Detroit News Tribune. "A thrilling story ingeniously developed, holding interest to the last." — The Worcester (Mass.) Spy. "The plot is wierd, intricate and mysterious. One is carried into the shady regions of mystery, half unconscious." — Cleveland World. A FEARSOME RIDDLE By MAX EHRMANN Cloth. Illustrated, $1.25 net. ' 'The human interest stands out in thrilling relief." — The Outlook. "This story shows that Mr. Ehrmann has a ready pen and an imagination that can make the reader's blood run cold." — Chicago Record-Herald. "In its intensity compares to Conan Doyle, but in its atmosphere gives something of the impression of "Frankenstein." — Los Angeles Times. "This is an interesting story, intensely interesting. Once you have read it, you think about it for many days to come. It is unique, and the telling so ingeniously convincing that one is inclined to believe that it is a plain recital of actual events. And is it? The interest is aroused, set to work at the very start, and kept busy holding the pace to the end. This absolutely original study must be a surprise to the public, and will direct attention to Mr. Ehrmann's future work." — Washington Star. "Any book bearing the name of Max Ehrmann is certain to be both en- tertaining and excellent. A Fearsome Riddle not only maintains, but heightens the author's standard." — Picayune, New Orleans. "A Fearsome Riddle is a mystery story that would make Sherlock Holmes' tales look like transparent glass. * * * * It may be said of the author as it was long ago said of Bandelaire: He has invented a new shiver. ' ' — Chicago Tribune. "A strange story of a master and a slave."— Boston Globe. "Told with great effectiveness, and so written as to get some breath- less results in the way of exciting interest."— St. Louis Republic. "Curiously interesting. Written simply and direct." — Philadelphia Press. "A strange, well-written story." — Chicago Inter Ocean. "The originality of the plot is the power point."— Boston Journal. "Greatly interesting, ingenious and new." — New York World. "Mr. Ehrmann's style is precise, simple, scientific, so that he invests a fantastic idea with an atmosphere of dry realism; the story is worth reading for this quiet reserve and the neatness of technique." — Brooklyn Eagle. "A powerfully written book which is creditable to Mr. Ehrmann's literary genius." — Buffalo Courier. "This author's literary progress will be watched with some interest." — New York Times. "The originality and vigor of the plot wonderfully sustain the interest." — Brooklyn Citizen. "This story is original, clever, unique; and in a startling way it touches the wondering faculty. The history of the professor's life, as related by Blanchard, makes the latter part of the story"of great interest." — Cleveland World. A FARRAGO By MAX EHRMANN Goth. $1.25 net. "We do not say how well Mr. Max Ehrmann has described our southern youth in eastern colleges, but we certainly say that he has given us a most lovable fellow in the person of John Francis Avonill." — Louisville Courier- Journal. "As often as heredity has been the theme for a novel, it has never been more subtlely employed nor more cunningly demonstrated than in the character of Henry Van Abering in "The Blood of The Holy Cross." — Washington Post. "An admirable book, full of life and real stories." — The Telegram, Baltimore. "The Blood of The Holy Cross" is not a religious story as the title suggests, but a Harvard College story, and is told with that fidelity to realism that one wonders whether or not it really happened." — Philadelphia Press. "As real as life itself.'' — Richmond (Va.) Times. "The affairs in the old Lieutenant's study and the duel on Castle Place are masterpieces in their line." — Boston Globe. "A PRAYER" AND OTHER SELECTIONS By MAX EHRMANN Ornamented and Decorated in Colors by Miss Agnes Watson, 75 Cents. "A masterpiece." — Terre Haute Star. "Worthy to be engraved on granite."— Edwin Markham. "Delicately expressive, sweet in its sentiment, masterful in its im- agery, and majestic in its message." — Indianapolis Star. "Touchingly tender, truly poetic, and nobly prophetic."— Eugene Debs. "Literary critics of note have declared "A Prayer" to be a classic." — St. Louis Republic. PUBLISHED SEPARATELY IN CARD FORM EACH DECORATED AND COLORED Ji Prayer Who Entereth Here Evening Song Love Some One Jin Artist 's Prayer You Who Come at Evening Jin Easter Prayer The Greater Heroism By MAX EHRMANN Max Ehrmann's books, by various publishers, may be had through any bookseller, or direct from The Viquesney Publishing Company, TERRE HAUTE, INDIANA 20 W OCT 4 wg «c * V" v > * * * °- .> V ^ " no V I t ^ k ^°o 9 ^ *-^IK* .^ ^ • N © o^ '