PS 3505 
 .U86 G3 
 1912 
 Copy 1 
 
 #ateg of ^rben 
 
of Kthm 
 
 frnrg Abama (Hurtia 
 
 Copyright, 1912, by 
 Henry Adams Curtis 
 
 Sakoma Hark, i. 01. 
 
fe 
 
 50^ 
 
 a. 
 
 / 
 
 'C(,A328857 
 
^ ®I|f (^nttB of Kvhtn ^ 
 
 ^^%HEN through the gates of A r den 
 ^^^ I saw the great white way 
 That reaches toward the sunset 
 
 Where ships at anchor lay. 
 My dream was of the universe 
 
 Beyond the misty sea. 
 And there my love a-beckoning, — 
 A -beckoning to me. 
 
 When through the gates of A r den 
 
 I saw night's crimson cars, 
 Jind drifting toward the sunset 
 
 A fleet of golden stars. 
 My dream was of the universe 
 
 Beyond the midnight sea, 
 Jind there my love a beckoning, — 
 
 A -beckoning to me. 
 
 When through the gates of Arden 
 
 I see the fields of green 
 That smile from dawn to sunset 
 
 Beneath the skies serene. 
 My dream is of the universe, — 
 
 My universe in thee, — 
 Thou art, my love, a-beckoning, — 
 
 A -beckoning to me. 
 
^ Sl|? (Satf H of Kthm ^ 
 
 Qlomorrnui 
 
 ^J^hrohhing through market-place and street 
 ^^ //e Aears The Master's bugle horn. 
 
 Nor love, nor hate, nor smiling scorn 
 Put hindrance to his sandled feet; 
 
 He feareth neither watch nor ward 
 Who hails Tomorrow as his Lord. 
 
 He walks alone; no human guide. 
 
 Nor close companion walks with him; 
 
 With heart undaunted, courage grim. 
 He scales the pathless mountain side; 
 
 Higher and higher climbeth he 
 
 Into the hills of mystery. 
 
 From faith to faith, from sooth to sooth, 
 He follows ways sublime that lead 
 Out from the land of faultering creed 
 
 Into the land of light and truth; 
 
 His beacon flame the alpine glow. 
 Nor heeds the darkling world below. 
 
 He hears the voice of councellor 
 
 In the soft winds that whispering; 
 
 In the tempestuous night the fling 
 Of trumpets, and the guns of war; 
 
 He sees the battle fought and won; 
 
 The bivouac when the setting sun. 
 
^ El}t (^nUB of Kthm ^ 
 
 He mindeth neither cross nor rod, 
 
 But marches boldly toward the goal 
 Where dwells the Master of his soul; 
 
 Where waves the banner of his God; 
 
 Or his the strength to stand and Wait 
 The pleasure of that Potentate. 
 
 For him no muffled drums are beat, 
 
 Nor tumult from the steepled bells; 
 Nor monument his story tells, 
 
 Nor hand to Weave his winding sheet; 
 By them forgot, by them unknown. 
 Until tomorrow claims its own. 
 
 March on, my brave! The songs you sing 
 Shall on the rending floor be sung; 
 Your stainless storm-blown banners hung 
 
 In the proud aisles of whispering; 
 
 jind the untrodden paths you blaze 
 Shall be tomorrow's beaten ways. 
 
^ ®I|p (^nttB of Krhtn ^ 
 
 ^J^hey tell me summer mornings Wake 
 ^^ As smiling on the hills; 
 '^hat down the valley, through the hrak^^ 
 
 As noisy run the rills; 
 That daisies yet the mowing strew 
 
 Where bobolink soft sings, 
 As when I drove the cattle to 
 Their dewy pasturings. 
 
 '^hey say the summer evening skies 
 
 Are painted just as gay;, 
 That through the dusk ^he swallow flies; 
 
 The robin pipes his lay; 
 The sheen is on the waving grain, 
 
 The goldenrod in bloom, 
 The same as when adown the lane 
 
 I called the cattle home. 
 
 I wonder if it can be true. 
 
 And things the same as when 
 For me the yellow cowslips grew; 
 
 The violets in the glen; 
 If in the misty dawning peals 
 
 The blackbird's reedy trill; 
 If through the mellow twilight steals 
 
 The lover's laughter still. 
 
^ (Sl}t (&uUb 0f Kthm ^ 
 
 I wonder if the corn shocks stand 
 
 In Warm Odober days 
 jind if o'er all the brooding land 
 
 Spreads Autumn s golden haze- — 
 // when Thanksgiving trtt^ draws near 
 
 And Christmas mornings dawn, 
 The cellar full of things that cheer. 
 
 As in the days agone. 
 
 Jis when down to the river's side 
 
 I rode Old Dandy Jim, 
 Where knee deep in the foaming tide 
 
 I used to water him; 
 As when the wind glad minded stirred 
 
 The orchard noontide shade; 
 As when from meadows far I heard 
 
 The mower whet his blade. 
 
 I wonder if old Crumpled Horn, 
 
 Alice and Lady Jane-, 
 Yet in sweet scented summer morn 
 
 Browse in the grassy lane. 
 And does some other barefoot lad 
 
 Call home the cattle now, — 
 A boy as happy and as glad 
 
 As I was long ago. 
 
^ pf (&uUb of Kxhm ^ 
 
 J^W'ajestic Night, with all thy stars adrift 
 ^ ^ Upon eternal seas, into thy calm, — 
 Thy holy calm, I would my soul uplift, 
 jlnd where thy healing halm, — 
 Thy secret medications, at th^ throne 
 The da^ atone. 
 
 'Tis not thy splendor filling the immense 
 
 Uncharted spaces, nor th\) crooning song; 
 Rather it is thy large beneficence 
 
 That seemeth to belong 
 Onl^ to thee, thou tender-hearted Night, 
 Breathing delight. 
 
 When I have slumbered 'neath the solemn 
 drone, — 
 Th;^ kind, refreshing benedictions, — when 
 Upon its noiseless wings the darkness flown, 
 
 Shall I to toil again? 
 Or Wake to grief? Or to the uncouth day 
 Dread tribute pa})? 
 
 Reveal to me the secret. Is that all? 
 
 To take again when spreads the gairish light 
 *C7?e heav}) load? As to a bugle call 
 
 Renew the bootless fight? 
 Pursue mad mirth? Trouble the joyless years 
 With childish fears? 
 
^ ®I|f O^at^a of Krhm ^ 
 
 My soul. In this strange stillness answers me. 
 
 Art an Ambassador of gladness sent, 
 Faring from mystery to mystery 
 
 Unto the day now spent, 
 And then of lethe drink? To faint and fall 
 Neath mortal thrall? 
 
 Brother of all glories that are past; 
 
 Companion of the cohorts of the sun; 
 And of the shining hosts fearless and vast, — 
 
 Art thou indeed undone? 
 And earth's allure, from where its gardens be, 
 Breathed into thee? 
 
 O Night; the ver^ soul of me is dumb. 
 
 It knoweth not. Or knowing well it hides 
 Behind its phantom Self, and though shall come 
 
 Eternity's deep tides 
 Sweeping along from Heaven, — or from Hell 
 Unspeakcdile. 
 
 jih, that I could for this short hour forget 
 That my sick soul listened strange 
 blandishments, 
 But da}) has run its course, the sun is set, — 
 
 Then from thy twilight tents 
 Come forth, O Night, and sooth with soft caress 
 This weariness. 
 
^ 5II|? (^uttB of Kthtn ^ 
 
 Mi or yonder, Comrade, you have cleared 
 your hark, 
 And I who would go with you still marooned. 
 Walk sad this lonesome shore and silence 
 wound, 
 With calling for Felice and through the dark- 
 
 You knew her not? Knew not my soul's 
 delight? 
 Nor merrier the morn, and her bright eyes, — 
 Her eyes were as the summer evening skies 
 
 Where ambushed lurk ^he many stars of night. 
 
 When on the dewy meadows her white feet 
 Danced to the wind's soft fluted melodies. 
 As the low breathing sound of drowsy seas 
 
 Upon the sands Was her light laughter sweet. 
 
 Smiling she came to me and day was filled 
 With the soft radiance of rejoicing dawn; 
 Nor strain from golden throated warbler 
 drawn 
 
 Clear as her song that to the gladness thrilled. 
 
 Friend, you will speak Felice? Beside the 
 
 gates. 
 Large eyed and songless now for me she waits. 
 
DEC 19 mt 
 
 PRINTED BY 
 
 THE PIONEER PRESS 
 
 TAKOMA PARK 
 
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
 015 905 153 5 #