SONGS OF THE SKOKIE 
 
 AND OTHER VERSE 
 
 ANNE HIGGINSON SPICER 
 
Class 
 Book 
 
 £^ S7 
 
 ^ \ 
 
 ^ 
 
 COI"XRiGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
SONGS 
 OF THE SKOKIE 
 
 Slnd Other ^hse 
 
 <S^nne 9£gginson Spicer 
 
 <Puhlished h^ 
 Ralph Fletcher Seymour 
 
 SRne c^irts ^Building. Gkicago 
 

 ^^^^<^' 
 
 Copyright 1917 
 
 by 
 ANNE HIGGINSON SPICEE 
 
 NOV 24 ISI7 
 
 
 ©CI.A479259 
 
DEDICATION 
 
 To the loving memory of the one person who would 
 have read this little book uncritically, just because his 
 daughter wrote it, 
 
 Charles Maynard Higginson. 
 
Grateful acknowledgment is made to the Canadian Magazine 
 for permission to re-print the poem, "In Joyous Garde," also 
 to the Munsey Company for "The Night Tower-man," and to 
 Good Housekeeping, Out West, the Montreal Mirror, Mon- 
 treal Herald, The Ave Maria, The Outrider, Ajax, Boston 
 Transcript, Springfield Republican, Chicago News, Post and 
 Journal from whose pages various others are re-printed. 
 
 Especial acknowledgment is made to the "Line o' Type" of 
 the Chicago Tribune the kindly hospitality of whose "conductor" 
 to nearly all the war verses, many of the garden and Skokie 
 songs, and to various of the sonnets and exercises in rhythms 
 has encouraged the writer to collect them in this volume. 
 
 A. H. S. 
 
A PRAYER 
 
 Dear Muse, a humble rhymester kneels 
 Before thy sacred shrine 
 Where through the centuries have knelt 
 All votaries of thine. 
 
 I ask no gift of serious verse, 
 Of rhythms vast or deep. 
 But let me write some lulling thing 
 That sings a child to sleep. 
 
 I ask no vellum-covered tome 
 To hold the verse I write. 
 But let me be the clipped out scrap 
 That Mother reads at night, 
 
 Or that be-fingered, laughed-at squib, 
 Part tearful, part grotesque, 
 Some tired-out man, with, "D'ye see this?" 
 Takes from his office desk. 
 
 Thou knowest I can never write 
 Great odes to Mars and Thor. 
 Muse, help me write some tiny song 
 That Sammy takes to war ! 
 
 August, igiy. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 
 A Prayer 5 
 
 SONGS OF THE SKOKIE 13 
 
 Song of an April Fool 15 
 
 Morning Hymn to the Skokie 16 
 
 Dawn 18 
 
 Prairie Love 18 
 
 The Ridge Road 19 
 
 Storm Across the Skokie 21 
 
 Jubilate 22 
 
 WAR VERSES 23 
 
 Hail and Farewell 25 
 
 Hospital 25 
 
 Overseas 26 
 
 August , * . 27 
 
 The Messenger 28 
 
 "Filleul" 28 
 
 Respite 30 
 
 Song 30 
 
 The Stars and Stripes Fly Over Westminster . . 31 
 
 Song 32 
 
 To a Laodicean 33 
 
 Her Letter, with a Sweater 33 
 
 The Croix de Guerre ^ . . 34 
 
 REAL PEOPLE 37 
 
 To Theodore Roosevelt 39 
 
 To John Masefield 40 
 
 7 
 
8 Contents 
 
 Page 
 
 Claude Debussy 41 
 
 "Johnny" Hand 42 
 
 In Memoriam — F. B. Sanborn 43 
 
 "K. of K." 44 
 
 Alan Seeger 45 
 
 SONGS OF WORKADAY 47 
 
 Comrade Life 49 
 
 The Night Tower-man 49 
 
 The Pipes of Pan 51 
 
 Along the Northwestern. Villanelle 52 
 
 Mothers All 53 
 
 Contrast 54 
 
 Metamorphosis 54 
 
 At the Office 55 
 
 Gabriel 57 
 
 Dish-washing 57 
 
 FOUR SONNETS OF MONTREAL 59 
 
 Notre Dame de Bon Secours 61 
 
 Notre Dame de Grace 62 
 
 Notre Dame des Neiges 63 
 
 Notre Dame de Montreal 64 
 
 IN JOYOUS GARDE 65 
 
 In Joyous Garde 67 
 
 My Arcady 71 
 
 Middle-March 72 
 
 The Home-place 73 
 
 Et in Arcadia Ego 74 
 
 Unknown Birds 74 
 
 In Praise of Pleasaunt Blossoms 76 
 
 The Stay-at-Home 77 
 
 Matins 78 
 
 Simone 79 
 
Contents 9 
 
 Page 
 
 Iris Time 80 
 
 Bee-have 81 
 
 Two Gardens 82 
 
 Red Lilies 83 
 
 White Lilacs 83 
 
 Michaelmas Daisies 84 
 
 The Poplar Tree 85 
 
 Wildings 85 
 
 Calm May 86 
 
 My Advocates 87 
 
 The Painter Prays 87 
 
 UNRELATED SONNETS 8g 
 
 Garnets 91 
 
 The Shopkeeper 92 
 
 Westport Morning 93 
 
 Cinematograph 94 
 
 Shottery 95 
 
 The Scales 96 
 
 The Lamp 97 
 
 Narcissus 98 
 
 When That I Die 99 
 
 Le Morte Darthur 100 
 
 RAIN loi 
 
 Rain I 103 
 
 II 104 
 
 III 105 
 
 OVER SEAS 107 
 
 Over Seas I 109 
 
 II no 
 
 III Ill 
 
 IV 112 
 
 V 113 
 
lo Contents 
 
 Page 
 
 DIM HAVENS 115 
 
 Boats 117 
 
 Port o' the Moon 118 
 
 The Somnambulist 119 
 
 Dirge 119 
 
 Resurgam 120 
 
 "Les Barricades Mysterieuses" 121 
 
 Framework 123 
 
 The Way 124 
 
 AUTUMNAL INTERMEZZI 125 
 
 Three Sonnets I 127 
 
 II 128 
 
 III 129 
 
 TO MY LITTLE FRIENDSHIPS — 
 
 Among Children, Dogs and Birds 131 
 
 To Gloria 133 
 
 Her Patteran 134 
 
 To My Little Goddaughter 135 
 
 Vain Imaginings 135 
 
 Laissez-vivre 136 
 
 Bathroom Rules 136 
 
 A Boy's Studies 137 
 
 Spring Comes to Montreal 138 
 
 Now You Are Grown 139 
 
 The Star 139 
 
 The Lesser Martyrs 141 
 
 "Sentimental Tommy" 143 
 
 Prayer to St. Francis 144 
 
 Baby Parade 144 
 
 "Happy-go-lucky" 146 
 
Contents 1 1 
 
 Page 
 
 EXERCISES IN VARIED MEASURES .... 147 
 
 Care — The Gnome 149 
 
 When Primrose Smiles 149 
 
 Spring in the Garden 150 
 
 Four Merry Men 151 
 
 The Japanese Goldfish Sauces the Statuary . . .152 
 
 I Dream of Soft Verses 152 
 
 Hill-Voices I53 
 
 Sea- Longing i55 
 
 Gathering Mallows I55 
 
 Ballade of Youth and Love 156 
 
 Upon Being Asked the Name of My Favorite Poetess 158 
 
 The Elm-Tree Shades 158 
 
 What of the Moon? I59 
 
 The First Visit 160 
 
 The Honeymoon 161 
 
 Covent Garden Market 162 
 
 Figure Dans Un Reve 164 
 
 Recipe for a Play 165 
 
 Song 165 
 
 The Clown Sings 166 
 
 Translation of Three Songs by Jacques Dalcroze : 
 
 I 166 
 
 II 167 
 
 III 167 
 
 To an Old Poet 168 
 
 Song at Parting 168 
 
 The Soul 169 
 
SONGS OF THE SKOKIE 
 
 (The Skokie is the old Indian name for a 
 marshy country lying parallel to Lake Michi- 
 gan, back of the Ridge, north of the city of 
 Chicago.) 
 
SONGS OF THE SKOKIE 
 
 SONG OF AN APRIL FOOL 
 
 Across the fields I laugh and run. 
 I toss my heart up to the sun 
 And catch it back in my two hands. 
 All girdled round with golden bands 
 It is, and chains of sunny beams 
 That glitter like my childish dreams. 
 
 And if the day is filled with mist, 
 What care have I? Where e'er I list 
 I run, and breathe soft depths of dew. 
 And feel the soft damp soak me through 
 Until my heart swells like a seed 
 To burst to very bloom, indeed. 
 
 There may be those who keep a state 
 Of dignity, and walk sedate. 
 Who do not laugh, and do not care 
 To meet Young April debonnair 
 And smiling, like some shepherd swain 
 Who greets his love, or sun or rain. 
 
 Poor fools. I'll let them go their way 
 Unmindful of the April day. 
 There must be something that they prize 
 More than these rainbow April skies. 
 They shall not daunt me as I run 
 And toss my heart up to the sun. 
 
 15 
 
1 6 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 MORNING HYMN TO THE SKOKIE 
 
 Bend rushes and wave grasses! 
 
 After night's hushes the south wind passes, 
 
 Waking the swallows and rousing the thrushes 
 
 In leafy hollows. 
 
 Out in the marshes sing, oh sing, 
 
 Bird with the sunrise caught in your wing. 
 
 "Okalee! Okalee! 
 
 Night is retaken and day is set free ! 
 
 Awaken, awaken, greet morning with me !" 
 
 The blue swallows dip, flutter and dart. 
 
 The dusk bees sip at the clover's heart. 
 
 The hylas are trilling with wee throats a-quiver, 
 
 Near a small hidden river, their heart-stirring lay. 
 
 Meadow-larks carol from out of the willowy 
 
 Copse where the grey reeds are bending in billowy 
 
 Grace In obeisance, before the renaissance of day. 
 
 Wake ! Wake ! Wake ! Raise your heads and show 
 
 blue 
 Azure-eyed grass of the meads, the sky's waiting for you 
 To reflect in your soft silken deeps her ethereal hue. 
 Iris In samite of purple befitting a queen. 
 Summon the aid of your guardian lancers In green. 
 Fend off that opal-winged dragon-fly, sapphire of sheen, 
 Assailing with blue-mailed metals 
 The veiling soft sheaves of your petals. 
 Oh pale bind-weed clamber to look at your grace 
 Where the grey pool turns amber, down, down to the 
 
 base 
 
Songs of the Skokie I'j 
 
 Where from darkness that barred her, Nymphaea 
 
 upsprings 
 To meet the sun's ardor and ope the green rings 
 That so steadfastly guard her till the month comes for 
 
 yielding 
 Her gold-ingot treasure to the plundering pleasure 
 Of picaroon lovers on gossamer wings 
 Who rob in despite of her broad leaves' upshielding. 
 
 A tanager flames in the hawthorn hedges, 
 
 While safe from the harrow, along the marsh edges, 
 
 A humble brown sparrow breathes first a soft prayer 
 
 For the nest in the sedges, then flies in the air 
 
 To alight on a low-bending stalk of the yarrow 
 
 As he shouts out exultant ; "Away. Away care. 
 
 Tears begone. Fears begone. Dread of the years 
 
 begone. 
 Forget frowning night. Worship the light. 
 Light is good. Air is good. Life is good. God is 
 
 good." 
 
 Sing little optimist, sing ! Your message is plain ! 
 
 Yours is no prophecy false, uttered for gain. 
 
 Swell little heart with your mood, sing o'er the prairies 
 
 your note, 
 Earth's benedicite good, hymned by your pulsating 
 
 throat. 
 Grasses and flowers, far and nigh, sing from the thicket 
 
 and sod. 
 Marsh-meadow, prairie and sky, raise your hosannas to 
 
 God. 
 
Songs of the Skokie 
 
 DAWN 
 
 The grass is opal-pearled. 
 
 The stars are fading fast. 
 Where the singing night-elves whirled 
 
 A stillness broods at last. 
 No bud is yet uncurled, 
 
 Only the wind sighs past 
 As the unawakened world 
 
 Waits in a silence vast 
 Till day's standard is unfurled 
 
 At the dawn-trump's mighty blast 
 Through the echoing ether hurled. 
 
 PRAIRIE LOVE 
 
 I tread the spreading, open ways, 
 
 Through billowing meadow-grassy seas 
 
 While Bob-o-Lincoln shouts his praise 
 Of summer to the quickening breeze. 
 
 The meadow-larks and blackbirds shed 
 Their liquid notes like showers of tune. 
 
 Blue swallows dart above my head 
 As I step softly through the June. 
 
 Let mighty poets chant their laud 
 Of towering mount, majestic sea. 
 
 My humble pipe trills praise to God 
 Who gave this prairie-love to me. 
 
Songs of the Skokie 19 
 
 THE RIDGE ROAD 
 
 Spring along the Ridge Road! Hear the hylas trilling. 
 Out across the Skokie a redwing calls the day. 
 Velvet furrows black from the autumn tilling 
 Show a gleam of chrysoprase, the wheat of early May. 
 Hedge-rows thick with blossom-buds, sunny glitter 
 
 falling 
 All along the marshy pools where ice shone yesterweek. 
 Voices from the woodland are calling, calling, 
 "Come foot it on the Ridge Road. The spring plays 
 
 hide-and-seek." 
 
 II 
 
 Summer on the Ridge Road. Noontide air all hazy; 
 Filled with golden pollen-dust, scarce a breeze astir. 
 All things dozing in the sun, calm, content and lazy. 
 Save when strident locusts cut the silence with their 
 
 whirr. 
 Grasses ripen yellowly in the Skokie meadows. 
 Poplars twinkle silver leaves, red field-lilies glow. 
 Anxious birds instruct their young, hidden in the 
 
 shadows, 
 "Try your wings, for very soon we must southward go." 
 
20 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 III 
 
 Autumn on the Ridge Road. Chilly air a-shimmer. 
 Branches bare and leafless against November skies. 
 Smoke curls from the chimneys, friendly windows 
 
 glimmer 
 Offering warmth and welcome as the daylight dies. 
 Glare-ice in the tracks, and the wagons homeward 
 
 creaking. 
 Haycocks heap where grass was green, shocks where 
 
 fields of corn. 
 Out across the Skokie a dismal crow is shrieking 
 "Summer's left the Ridge Road. I'm lonely and 
 
 forlorn." 
 
 IV 
 
 Winter on the Ridge Road. Icy winds are sweeping 
 Over drifts of driven snow. Not a soul in sight. 
 Stars up in the frozen sky their silent watch are keeping 
 Like unfriendly sentinels who challenge night. 
 Yet beneath its blanket white the Skokie's heart is 
 
 yearning, 
 Tiny hidden pulses throb to warn us of the spring. 
 Ere we know the year has fled, the first blue-bird 
 
 returning 
 Sings of love and dawn and all sweet reawakening. 
 
Songs of the Skokie 2i 
 
 STORM ACROSS THE SKOKIE 
 
 The winds sweep o'er the meadow grass. 
 It sways and writhes, a quivering sea, 
 And one tall-growing willow-tree 
 Dips like a ship to let them pass. 
 
 The gulls flock inward from the lake. 
 They soar and swoop to catch their prey 
 Many a bird and fieldmouse grey 
 Must perish those grim maws to slake. 
 
 The cattle wander anxious-eyed. 
 Or huddle near some thicket-patch. ' 
 A horse untethered, shakes his thatch 
 Of mane, and runs with nostrils wide. 
 
 A jagged flash, a livid streak, 
 
 A pattern of fantastic fire 
 
 Across the clouds, and high and higher 
 
 The notes of thunder roll and shriek. 
 
 A crash and then torrential rain 
 Bursts from the black and teeming sky, 
 While from my spirit's misery 
 Flows out and floods the ancient pain. 
 
 Pain? — or a racial memory 
 Of griefs and wars and sacrifice, 
 Women who watched with anxious eyes 
 And men who fought for liberty. 
 
22 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 The crash, the tumult, then the rift 
 Between the clouds. The tumults cease 
 And sunlight breaks like smiling peace 
 Across the land, and hearts uplift. 
 
 JUBILATE 
 
 Treading through the meadow grass 
 
 Where blue swallows dart. 
 Watching how the shadows fall 
 
 Where the grey clouds rift. 
 Happily my foot shall pass 
 
 While singing goes my heart 
 Beating to the red-wing's call 
 
 O'er blossomy seas adrift. 
 
 Where the blue-eyed grassy stars 
 
 Stretch like tapestries, 
 Where their sunbeam-threaded gold 
 
 The dandelions weave,' 
 When to bobolinkian bars 
 
 My feet dance o'er the leas, 
 Where's the heart could stay a-cold? 
 
 Where's the heart could grieve? 
 
WAR VERSES 
 
WAR VERSES 
 
 HAIL AND FAREWELL 
 
 Dogs barking, dust a-whirling 
 And drum throbs in the street. 
 
 The braggart pipes are skirling 
 An old tune wild and sweet. 
 
 By fours the lads come trooping 
 
 With heads erect and high, 
 I watch with heart a-drooping 
 
 To ee the kilties by. 
 
 And one of them is glancing 
 
 Up to this window, this ! 
 His brave blue eyes are dancing; 
 
 He tosses me a kiss. 
 
 I send him back another 
 
 I fling my hand out free. 
 "God keep you safely, brother, 
 
 Who go to die for me." 
 
 Montreal, November, 1Q14. 
 
 HOSPITAL 
 
 Ah, not for him the winding road 
 With pale white finger beckoning! 
 
 Ah, not for him the wind-swept road 
 That leads into the heart of spring! 
 
 25 
 
26 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 Four bleak white walls to close him in 
 
 Are all he sees of life, and truth. 
 Four walls, and shuddering deeps of pain 
 
 Would shut him in from love and youth. 
 
 But youth laughs down that winding road. 
 Love with the wind comes singing free. 
 
 Four walls ! You never shall shut out 
 From heart of him this heart of me. 
 
 January, 1915. 
 
 OVERSEAS 
 
 While Flanders' fields grow greener 
 
 O'er faithful lads and true. 
 To sit and knit at endless grey 
 
 Seems a poor thing to do. 
 
 Now France has had my lover 
 
 Since April was a year. 
 While I roll strips of linen 
 
 And choke back many a tear. 
 
 To march with drum and banner, 
 
 To dig, to shoot, to kill — 
 'Twould seem to me a Heaven 
 
 To this Hell of sitting still. 
 
 January, igi6. 
 
War Verses 
 
 27 
 
 AUGUST 1 9 14 
 
 Happy In the August sun, all this pleasant day, 
 Merry lads have leapt and run, shouting in their play. 
 Brave-limbed in their manly fun, heedless, what care 
 
 they 
 For thousand lads whose games are done, young limbs 
 
 turned to clay? 
 Mothers bereft and grey. 
 
 Now I hear the prattling noise of children overhead, 
 Laughing, playing with their toys, on the road to bed, 
 Let no sad thought cloud their joys, or vex one curly 
 
 head 
 For thousand other girls and boys now unfathered. 
 Ah, God! The fathers dead ! 
 
 Soon the loitering footsteps pass through the moonlit 
 
 mist, 
 'Tis a lover and his lass wandering where they list. 
 Scarce a thought each young heart has of pale-lipped 
 
 girls unkissed, 
 Weeping mid the sullied grass, where War left his grist, 
 When Death bid Love desist. 
 
28 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 THE MESSENGER 
 
 ''There were days when the front was really quiet — 
 once we heard an English skylark, and for a little while, 
 it made the world beautiful again." — James Norman 
 Hall in "Kitchener's Mob." 
 
 Just for a day the clamorous uproar stilled. 
 The shrapnel ceased to shriek, the smoke-drifts fled. 
 The soldiers questioned how the fight had sped. 
 Some yet undaunted, some with courage chilled 
 At fear lest all for naught rich life was spilled. 
 Some spoke slow grief for comrades who were dead, 
 And some with dreaming eyes gazed overhead 
 Toward the once-green fair land, now long untilled. 
 Then from the field a skylark rose in flight 
 Cleaving the air with ecstasy of sound. 
 Battle-tired eyes with holier fires grew bright 
 At winged remembrance of the English ground. 
 And many a soldier whispered In his heart, 
 "Hail thou blithe spirit. Bird thou never art!" 
 
 March, igi6. 
 
 "FILLEUL" 
 
 He writes me that his mother's old, her eyes are dim; 
 In all this world there's no one writes to him 
 Except Marralne, nor any cares to send 
 Those pleasant little packages that lend 
 
War Verses 29 
 
 The comfort, warmth and ease, and help make glad 
 
 The homesick heart of a poor soldier-lad. 
 
 He used to feel more suffering. Now he 
 
 Has dear Marraine to bear him company, 
 
 The world seems not so very triste a place. 
 
 Although, perhaps, he'll never see her face. 
 
 He says: if dear Marraine 
 
 Will give herself the pain 
 
 To send the little pipe she writes of lately. 
 
 And some tabac, why it will please him greatly. 
 
 Also, although he hesitates to ask. 
 
 Still nights fall cold, and frost is in the trenches. 
 
 And he has patched, truly a tiresome task. 
 
 Those flannels old, until now when he wrenches 
 
 Them off, they fall in rags, -those garments old 
 
 And worthless ! When his shoulders once get cold 
 
 It mars the usefulness. Two suits would seem 
 
 A gift from Heaven. Still he would not dream 
 
 Of asking, but Marraine had said, "Take heed 
 
 You tell me everything that you may need." 
 
 He hopes Marraine enjoys la bonne sante. 
 
 Next time he writes he will have more to say. 
 
 Meantime he is "Votre soldat devoue 
 
 A. Beaudry, Corporal. 
 — ieme Territorial Compagnie Pionniers." 
 
 October, igi6. 
 
30 Sonffs of the Skokie 
 
 RESPITE 
 
 Just for a moment, while the shells were bursting 
 Just for a moment, through the yells and cursing 
 Sleep, misty-veiled, sleep with star-gemmed garments 
 
 Came hovering, flitting — 
 Surely I smelled the perfume of the lilacs 
 Heard again ring-doves crooning on the ridge-pole 
 Surely I saw through the window of our cottage 
 
 My mother knitting ! 
 
 February i8th, igiy. 
 
 SONG 
 
 Sound of the beating drum ! 
 
 Call of the fife and horn ! 
 
 Gladly the answers come 
 
 On every echo borne. 
 
 Dawn of a larger morn ! 
 
 Shouts of a glorious throng. 
 
 From every state and town come the soldiers filing 
 
 down, 
 Singing a marching song. 
 
 Far from the friendly town, 
 
 Out on the hillside bare 
 
 Tents of the khaki brown 
 
 Stretch in the evening air, 
 
 God! In a world so fair, 
 
 Sweet in the springtide breath, 
 
 Why must men engage to earn a bitter wage 
 
 Treading the paths of death? 
 
War Verses 3 1 
 
 Hark how the answer rings 
 
 "Fight we at Freedom's word. 
 
 Ours neither Czars nor Kings 
 
 Liberty owns our sword. 
 
 Down with the creed abhorred 
 
 Whose watchword is tyranny 
 
 We battle to make way for a braver brighter day 
 
 And a true democracy. 
 
 April loth, iQiy. 
 
 THE STARS AND STRIPES FLY OVER 
 WESTMINSTER 
 
 April 2oth, 191 7 
 
 Grey waters of the Thames, your shining sweeps 
 
 Today shall bear a new reflection. See 
 
 Where, with your English Cross, our Liberty 
 
 Spreads its white Stars and Stripes, while in the deeps 
 
 Of every patriot heart new freedom leaps. 
 
 Forgot is all the ancient enmity 
 
 Of Lexington, the more than century 
 
 Of doubt. Today nation with nation weeps 
 
 And swears to keep our faith, our swords from rust, 
 
 Till we have raised the Lilies from the dust. 
 
 And brought to bleeding Belgium hope and aid. 
 
 Then, through the Seven Seas our flags unfurled 
 
 Shall carry tidings to a wakened world. 
 
 Our Stars, your Cross, in freedom's new crusade. 
 
32 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 SONG 
 
 (To be sung to the air of the Marseillaise) 
 
 A voice is calling, calling overseas: 
 
 "Come forth and right an ancient wrong. 
 
 "Overthrow old tyrannies, 
 
 "Swell the notes of Freedom's song. 
 
 "Strike a blow for your arm is strong. 
 
 "The sacred name of Liberty 
 
 "Must be protected through the years, 
 
 "The shame wrought by the enemy 
 
 "Must be washed out with blood and tears." 
 
 Chorus: 
 
 America, arise ; your starry banner flies ; 
 Redeem your word with cannon and with sword, 
 And battle for the Lord. 
 
 From east and west we hear the answer come 
 
 In the sound of marching men. 
 
 They respond to fife and drum, 
 
 From every field and hill and glen 
 
 The bugles are calling again : 
 
 "Your fathers fought for Liberty, 
 
 They bled that ye might all be free, 
 
 And their true sons are ye; 
 
 Come fight for Freedom, Law and Home." 
 
 Chorus: 
 
 America, arise ; your starry banner flies ; 
 Redeem your word with cannon and with sword, 
 And battle for the Lord. 
 
 June ^rd, iQiy. 
 
JVar Verses 33 
 
 TO A LAODICEAN 
 
 Blow hot, blow cold ! Let conscientious doubt 
 Creep its chill way, if that seem honesty! 
 But do not let it blind you to this fact — 
 Life is made up of "small observances." 
 The touch of friendly hand when grief is deep, 
 The smile, the tear, the sacred kiss of love. 
 Are small observances, straws on the tide, 
 Flickerings that hint of noble flame within. 
 
 Stand up to greet your flag! Scorn not to show 
 Your thanks to God who lets it shelter you. 
 Dread neither symbols nor symbolic acts 
 Which do embroider Life's dull tapestry 
 Of earnest work with color, beauty, grace. 
 God's gifts are flower, and song, and acts of Faith ! 
 
 June nth, igij. 
 
 HER LETTER, WITH A SWEATER 
 
 Dear Lad, the military orders say 
 
 That I may only knit for you in solemn grey. 
 
 Yet, as my needles click, it almost seems 
 
 I'm knitting more than wool. A coat of dreams 
 
 I weave for you, compact of gleams and glory, 
 
 Gayer than Joseph's, in the Bible story. 
 
34 Songs of the Shokie 
 
 An azure thread (Invisible 'tis true) 
 
 Slips in at thought of the dear eyes of you, 
 
 And through the mist of memory is seen 
 
 A happy glint of fresh and Maytime green 
 
 For days we spent together, magic hours 
 
 Of sunshine, laughter, and the smell of flowers. 
 
 Now the grey wool seems brighter to behold 
 Until it shines like skeins of burnished gold 
 At thoughts of dear, kind, foolish things you said 
 One evening, when the sunset burned its red 
 And last of all, one thread of rosy hue. 
 At thought of — have you guessed? — a kiss for you ! 
 
 June, igry. 
 
 THE CROIX DE GUERRE 
 
 P. B. 
 
 I hold the Croix de Guerre 
 Where once I pressed his head 
 With mother-love and care. 
 I hold the Croix de Guerre 
 And try to say a prayer 
 But only moan, "He's dead." 
 I hold the Croix de Guerre 
 Where once I pressed his head. 
 
War Verses 35 
 
 I hold the Croix de Guerre 
 Against the sunset skies. 
 I seem to vision where 
 I hold the Croix de Guerre 
 A Greater Cross, that bare 
 A mother's sacrifice. 
 I hold the Croix de Guerre 
 Against the sunset skies. 
 
REAL PEOPLE 
 
 SONNETS 
 
REAL PEOPLE 
 
 TO THEODORE ROOSEVELT 
 
 Long years a dweller in an alien land, 
 
 I yearned with every fibre of my soul 
 
 For this home-soil, these sacred States, the goal 
 
 Of all my striving, vision through all I planned. 
 
 Then fate (I said) was good, yet when I came 
 
 My home seemed alien, and myself estranged. 
 
 My native land's foundations shaken, changed — 
 
 Her old-time valor but an empty name. 
 
 Weak, purposeless, infirm, to me did seem 
 
 What once was steadfast, freedom now spelled fear. 
 
 Our sturdy principles turned vanes that veer 
 
 Windblown, — forgot the Pilgrim's splendid dream. 
 
 Now that I hear your voice, courageous, plain 
 
 I know at last, I am at home again! 
 
 October 28th, igi6. 
 
 39 
 
40 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 TO JOHN MASEFIELD 
 
 You who have made the rhythms of the sea 
 Beat through our hearts, though many leagues afar 
 Its tossing crests and foam-swept boundaries are, 
 What gift, oh Poet, can we bring to thee? 
 When deep o'er Spanish Waters, magically 
 Sounds chant of seaman 'neath the Southern Star, 
 The melody, like some great Avatar, 
 Transcends the din of street and factory ! 
 When from your blue horizons you bring hence 
 The heartening message that the Dauber taught — 
 "It will go on" — or plead the immanence 
 Of Everlasting Mercy, then my thought 
 Makes bold my hand, till reverently it weaves 
 One prairie star-flower 'mid your laurel-leaves. 
 
 January SOth, igi6. 
 
Real People 41 
 
 CLAUDE DEBUSSY 
 
 Wrapped in a cloak of reticence he walks 
 
 Unspeaking, but his harmonies give call 
 
 Of whispering waters, deep bells passional, 
 
 And silver flowers, twisted from glassy stalks, 
 
 To tinkle into depths where reason balks 
 
 At dank black pools, beneath a waterfall. 
 
 While Melisande waits in the forest tall 
 
 Till murderous treasons strike her soul like hawks. 
 
 Man's strange unordered thoughts of everyday 
 
 He sets to some vague crumbling melody. 
 
 Fancies unsteered like shallops drift away 
 
 To clouded isles, engirt with mystery. 
 
 The music ceases — broken is the spell — 
 
 A robin sings in the sun, and all is well. 
 
 February 24th, igi6. 
 
42 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 "JOHNNY" HAND* 
 
 October 21st, 1916 
 
 I mourn not only for thy silent bow, 
 
 kindly old musician, but am fain 
 To linger o'er old memories again, 
 
 Of youth and roses, and the throb and flow 
 Of waltz-tunes, danced to in the long ago. 
 Old hopes and fears, and early joy and pain. 
 These mingle somehow with the funeral strain, 
 And give grief's blackness old joy's afterglow. 
 And though it seems a foolish fancy, friend, 
 Yet as my thoughts, my dreams, are yours today, 
 
 1 hope when I, too, reach my journey's end. 
 And Charon's ferry fee I needs must pay. 
 Your welcoming music may so still my fears 
 That "Danube," and not Styx, my spirit hears. 
 
 ♦"Johnny" Hand was a musician who played at the "coming-out" 
 parties of Chicago girls for many years, and was much beloved. 
 
Real People 43 
 
 IN MEMORIAM— F. B. SANBORN 
 
 With the death of Mr. Sanborn ends the last link in 
 the chain which bound the memory of present day 
 America with the past which flowered in that unique and 
 typically New England group of men, the Concord 
 School of Philosophy. 
 
 No more beside the peaceful Assabet, 
 Nor in Old Concord's elm-arcaded street 
 That tall familiar figure shall we greet. 
 Somewhere with his companions gladly met 
 He takes up broken threads of speech — and yet 
 Those keen, kind eyes, with vision now complete 
 Gaze hitherward with yearning for the sweet 
 Old places that he never can forget. 
 
 Swung in sad pride above the golden rim 
 Of the great dome upon the Hill, appears 
 The flag he loved floating half-mast for him; 
 But finer tribute is the fall of tears 
 In black men's eyes and prisoner's — grown dim 
 At loss of their defender through the years. 
 
 March 13th, IQIJ. 
 
44 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 "K. of K." 
 
 Drowned off north coast of Scotland June 7th, 1916 
 
 You walked this earth in splendid reticence, 
 Oh square-chinned warrior of the level eyes, 
 Who dauntless gazed at each new enterprise. 
 Planning, with faith untrammelled, courage tense, 
 To give your country succor and defense. 
 You feared no savage under desert skies. 
 Nor dreaded nearer, fiercer panoplies 
 Of the new foe! What now your recompense? 
 Earth held no death for you ! No sculptured nave 
 Frowns cold above you. Viking strains shall roll 
 Where restless waters claimed your restless soul, 
 And the lone sea-gull circles o'er your grave 
 While old Valhalla's heroes shout, "Make room, 
 For our new comrade, Kitchener of Khartoum." 
 
Real People 45 
 
 ALAN SEEGER 
 
 Soldier, you kept your rendezvous with death 
 
 Bravely at that disputed barricade. 
 
 Poet, you met the terror undismayed, 
 
 Unconquered by the fear that conquereth. 
 
 In the chill hour when all else vanisheth 
 
 Your gleaming flower of courage did not fade. 
 
 A singing warrior, valiant, unafraid. 
 
 You cheered your comrades with your waning breath. 
 
 The soul that claimed all earthly beauty knew 
 
 That death thus met was part of beauty too, 
 
 And though your path inevitably led 
 
 Where laurelled vistas let the sunshine through. 
 
 Yet future lads shall march with surer tread 
 
 Because you did not fail your rendezvous. 
 
 January 22nd, iQiy. 
 
SONGS OF WORKADAY 
 
SONGS OF WORKADAY 
 
 COMRADE LIFE 
 
 Life touched me on the shoulder 
 While walking through the land, 
 I met him with unshrinking gaze 
 And — "Comrade, here's my hand." 
 
 So march we on together 
 
 And many a tale we tell, 
 
 And should we part tomorrow, 
 
 Then — "Comrade, fare you well." 
 
 THE NIGHT TOWER-MAN 
 
 Beneath my tower like flaming flowers 
 
 The trackside beacons burn. 
 I stand here through the evening hours 
 
 And watch them change and turn 
 When, answering to my quick-strained wrist. 
 The polished levers forward twist. 
 
 Each evening, be it shine or rain 
 
 When I a switch unlock 
 I dream that as each passing train 
 
 Glides safely through the block, 
 I am a sort of Providence 
 Speeding the weary people hence, 
 
 49 
 
50 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 For yonder train of winding length 
 
 Takes home the town-tired men 
 Who came to market brains and strength 
 
 Until the hour struck when 
 Somewhere beyond the city's bound 
 I send them home where sleep is sound. 
 
 The ocean's nothing but a word 
 
 To me, yet I can press 
 Aside a barrier that deterred 
 
 The Maritime Express, 
 I like to think that, but for me. 
 That train could never reach the sea. 
 
 Sometimes folks question if I'm bored — 
 
 "Get lonely here?" they ask. 
 They don't dream how romance is stored 
 
 For me, right in my task. 
 Enthralled throughout the spell-set nights 
 I press my levers, watch my lights. 
 
 For every train that comes and goes 
 
 I weave a glowing plot, 
 And though the sequel no man knows, 
 
 I do not care a jot. 
 I snatch at least a passing look 
 At pages from Life's Wonder-book. 
 
Songs of Workaday 51 
 
 THE PIPES OF PAN 
 
 Sometimes his eyes gazed far away 
 
 As though he saw a wondrous place. 
 It seemed as if some passing fay 
 
 With lightsome wing had touched his face. 
 His mother frowned, her instinct stirred 
 
 At danger, as a mother's can. 
 How could she know her baby heard 
 
 The Pipes of Pan? 
 
 Sometimes at school the master's look 
 
 Would catch the young lad's upward glance 
 As if across the printed book 
 
 An elf did dance. 
 Silent, enrapt, he stood at gaze 
 
 While careless comrades laughed and ran. 
 He heard across enchanted ways 
 
 The Pipes of Pan, 
 
 The years pass by, filled up with days 
 
 Of poverty, and grief, and care. 
 The smoke must dim enchanted ways. 
 
 No elf may breathe the city air. 
 The shrieking whistles of the mill 
 
 To daily drudgery call the man. 
 It matters not. He hears them still, — 
 
 The Pipes of Pan. 
 
52 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 ALONG THE NORTHWESTERN 
 
 VILLANELLE 
 
 Across the sunset skies they come 
 •Along a bright enchanted way, 
 Those flaming towers of Ilium. 
 
 By day they leave the spirit numb. 
 They have no power to charm by day, 
 Across the sunset skies they come. 
 
 The roofs of factories, gaunt and glum- 
 Mere walls in serried outline they — 
 Those flaming towers of Ilium. 
 
 Filled with machinery's roar and hum. 
 And stooping figures, grim, and grey, 
 Across the sunset skies they come. 
 
 Crowded with figures, joyless, dumb, 
 Intent on drudgery and pay. 
 Those flaming towers of Ilium. 
 
 Would they arouse to fife and drum? 
 Or fight for Liberty at bay? 
 Across the sunset skies they come 
 Those flaming towers of Ilium. 
 
Songs of JVorkaday c^-^ 
 
 MOTHERS ALL 
 
 Ye whom the deep love of man doth not turn to, 
 Ye with no hearthside nor home that ye yearn to, 
 Ye whom the high gods deny in the giving 
 Right to bring forth human creatures to living, — 
 
 Weep for awhile for the joys that ye share not, 
 Weep for awhile for the babes that ye bear not, 
 Weep, as ye must, for the small lips that cling not. 
 Grieve for the lullabies your voices sing not. 
 
 Then turn your hearts from your grief. Stay your 
 
 weeping. 
 Motherhood hid in your natures is sleeping. 
 Let it awaken and take rightful place now. 
 Loosen your heart strings, and mother the race now. 
 
 Yours be the children of mine and of spindle. 
 Children of homes where all sunshine must dwindle. 
 Children whose lives grow to hates and abortion 
 If they've no champion to fight for their portion. 
 
 See where they play In the slum and the gutter. 
 Hark to the plaint that their piteous lips utter. 
 "How on the last day when all sins are shriven 
 Will God judge stones which for bread have been 
 given?" 1 
 
 Then shall ye lift them and quiet their crying, 
 Bring them to fields of bright flowers, with birds flying. 
 Give them their birthright of love, warm and human. 
 Ye all are mothers, so ye be but woman. 
 
54 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 CONTRAST 
 
 "Man's happiness is 'I will.' 
 Woman's happiness is *He wills.' " 
 
 — Nietzsche. 
 
 Purposeful, stout of the arm, steady of eye, 
 Man rives the rocks and hews the forests low, 
 
 Cleaves mighty hills and halts the torrents' flow, 
 Crying exultant: "Thus am I happy, I!" 
 
 The woman follows him o'er vales and hills. 
 Ready to comfort, cheer, or swell again 
 
 His song of triumph with her softer strain, 
 "This be my happiness since this he wills." 
 
 METAMORPHOSIS 
 
 He takes her hand, they seem to be 
 Beneath a grey-rimed olive-tree 
 Beside a gulf of lazuli 
 In Italy — in Italy; 
 But passers-by may only scan 
 A dark-browed girl, a swarthy man. 
 Who, in the soot-grimed sordid street 
 For one brief moment, magic sweet. 
 Pause hand-clasped in the drizzling rain 
 To hear the old street-organ's strain 
 Run hauntingly, tormentihgly, 
 "Addio, Bella Napoli." 
 
Songs of Workaday 55 
 
 AT THE OFFICE 
 
 There are dozens just like her go passing you daily 
 Setting forth in the morning with courage and will, 
 To take up life's cudgels and brandish them gaily 
 
 They tramp to the office down Beaver Hall Hill. 
 
 *■ 
 
 But there's one of them all who can set your heart beat- 
 ing, 
 You watch for a moment and give her a smile 
 As she passes your office and nods you a greeting, 
 You pause in your draughting and ponder awhile. 
 
 You think of the world, and how bravely she'll face it. 
 A brown study holds you quite closely, until 
 You make a false line, sir, and have to erase it. 
 And attend to your own work, on Beaver Hall Hill. 
 
 Yet your office mates rightly would call you a dub, man, 
 Unless your eyes followed her now, and again. 
 Why even the boredest, most blase old clubman 
 When she passes, presses his nose to the pane. 
 
 How lightly she trips over pavement and cobble — 
 A soldier might pale at the risks that she takes. 
 As she crosses the road in her neat little hobble. 
 You pray that the chauffeurs will look to their brakes. 
 
56 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 They say at the office she's true to each task, sir, 
 Obliging and capable, ready for work. 
 She tries to accomplish whatever they ask, sir. 
 She's willing and honest and never will shirk. 
 
 When six o'clock conies and the day's work is over 
 You tidy your desk and you take down your coat. 
 And you wait at the door, an impatient young lover, 
 Till she comes on her way to her lodgings remote. 
 
 There's a very tired droop to that valiant young figure. 
 As you see her safe home with devotion you thrill. 
 And you vow when your pay-check is one number bigger 
 She shall not have that long climb up Beaver Hall Hill. 
 
 Montreal, igii. 
 
Songs of fVorkaday 57 
 
 GABRIEL 
 
 Out of the sordid street a woman came, 
 
 Entered a doorway, climbed a creaking stair 
 
 Gasping and weary, to an attic. There 
 
 She clutched a moment at the bleak door's frame, 
 
 Feeling her breath cut through her like a flame. 
 
 Then turned she in that refuge, cheerless, bare, 
 
 That she called home — a place of smitten air — 
 
 And startled at a voice that spoke her name. 
 
 Then as she waited, panting, hopeless, lo ! 
 
 A tall white angel with a tender face 
 
 Confronted her, held out a lily-blow — 
 
 "Take this, my daughter, sent thee by God's grace." 
 
 The woman flinched, and spoke with bitter breath, 
 
 "Oh, is it you? I hoped it might be Death." 
 
 DISH-WASHING 
 
 Why dry them if you like, dear heart. You know 
 
 I love to have you near me. 
 
 The pretext doesn't matter. 
 
 Still I hate to see you get 
 
 Your hands all greasy. 
 
 My own? 
 
 Yes, they are not like what my mother used 
 
 To call a lady's hands, well-kept and satin-smooth. 
 
58 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 Sometimes I look at other women's hands 
 
 So white! So tended! Tempting I should think 
 
 To men — if I, a woman sometimes long 
 
 To stroke them. 
 
 Then I look at these poor hands of mine, 
 
 Nails blunted, flesh burned rough. 
 
 I can but think with some regret 
 
 Of the rose-pink of youth, that long ago was theirs. 
 
 I can remember they had dimples, too. 
 
 Where now are wrinkles only. 
 
 It was not vanity that made me prize 
 
 Such beauty as I had. 
 
 I had the more to give you — that was all. 
 
 Now I can only serve you with these hands. 
 
 They have been useful all these twenty years. 
 
 These twenty busy, happy, anxious years 
 
 We've spent together. 
 
 No darling! Don't! The're soapy still and wet! 
 
 Now you have made me cry. 
 
 They are not hands, but swords of valiant service 
 
 Your kiss the accolade that nobled them ! 
 
FOUR SONNETS 
 
 OF 
 
 MONTREAL 
 
FOUR SONNETS OF MONTREAL 
 
 NOTRE DAME DE BON SECOURS 
 
 Aloof thou standest In the market-place, 
 
 Serene, remote, thou gazest toward the quays 
 
 Where safe in port from grey and sullen seas 
 
 The mighty liners crowd home from the race. 
 
 Though there Is welcome In thy radiant face, 
 
 Little of care or thankfulness have these 
 
 Whose masts and stacks top thy slight spires with ease 
 
 When, for their aid, thy aureole sheds grace. 
 
 Had It but shone so bright In other days 
 
 To guide the fragile barks of Jacques, or Pierre, 
 
 Across the rapids turbulent, what praise 
 
 Had been thy meed for that protecting care. 
 
 Yet shine on. Lady of Good Help, thy rays 
 
 Shall stir us yet to thankfulness and prayer. 
 
 61 
 
62 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 NOTRE DAME DE GRACE 
 
 The grey old convent, midway of the fields 
 
 Stands staunch through winter snow and summer rain. 
 
 Harvest it knows, and seedtime come again. 
 
 Ripe golden sweeps, and wheat-kerns earth-concealed. 
 
 From that high turret gentle bells have pealed 
 
 Over the prairies rich in autumn grain. 
 
 Or through the wintry blasts have sung refrain 
 
 Of hope to suppliants who praying kneeled. 
 
 I bring my prayer, ere yet the harvesters 
 
 Come from the reaping to their vesper song. 
 
 Grant me good courage, I am full of fears, 
 
 Comfort me Mother, for the months are long. 
 
 Ere yet the wheat springs green, oh Mother Mild; 
 
 Safe to thy altar help me bring my child. 
 
Four Sonnets of Montreal 63 
 
 NOTRE DAME DES NEIGES 
 
 The good priest asks: "Why must you always weep? 
 Four are still left to play about your door." 
 I cannot answer for my heart is sore 
 For him who on the hillside lies asleep. 
 When summer comes the hurt is not so deep, 
 Through the green woods I wander with my four 
 To pick anemones he loved of yore, 
 And violets on his little shrine to heap. 
 
 But oh ! Those winter nights when North wind blows ! 
 
 My sorrowing eyes with bitter tears are blind 
 
 Weeping for him beneath that hill of snows. 
 
 I pray with breaking heart: "Oh, Mother Kind — 
 
 Mother of little Jesus, hear my prayer, — 
 
 Keep Thou my baby in Thy tender care 1" 
 
64 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 NOTRE DAME DE MONTREAL 
 
 Thy grey and warlike towers are sentinel 
 
 Before the square where traders make their way 
 
 From bank to bourse, from politics to play, 
 
 Unmindful of thy hourly chiming bell. 
 
 But when The Great Bourdon its requiem knell 
 
 Peals forth in majesty on All Souls' Day 
 
 Then careless worldlings cross themselves and pray. 
 
 Remembering tales their fathers used to tell. 
 
 For now the noble-hearted come again, 
 
 Bringing thee loyal message from afar. 
 
 Marquette and Maisonneuve, Cartier, Champlain, 
 
 Frontenac, Roberval, LaSalle, Dollard, — 
 
 Cry — "Keep thy soul with courage, Ville Marie. 
 
 The living and the dead both fight for thee." 
 
IN JOYOUS GARDE 
 
 "We were glad together in gladsome meads." 
 The Rime of Joyous Garde. 
 
 — Adam Lindsay Gordon. 
 
IN JOYOUS GARDE 
 
 IN JOYOUS GARDE 
 
 You have come back from all your wandering 
 
 To find me as you left me, still at work, 
 Grubbing among my bulbs (an earth-bound soul!) 
 
 While you with winged feet like Ariel 
 Have girdled all the world since last we met. 
 
 Thrice welcome you, and should you not be glad 
 That there are those who simply stay at home 
 
 A-weaving welcomes for you wanderers ? 
 You come with your enthusiams fresh; 
 
 I'll share them with you gladly, if you like, 
 But do not try to make me envious. 
 
 Your happy eyes have seen the Parthenon 
 
 Since last you stood beneath our prairie sky. 
 And you have heard the Adriatic's call 
 
 Fed with your very hand sweet Hilda's doves, 
 And plucked the asphodel in Sicily! 
 
 Well! I have heard our blue lake's friendly swish 
 Upon the shore. The song-birds are my friends 
 
 Who come with joyous twittering at my call. 
 Then late in March I found hepaticas — 
 
 But here's no Parthenon, I grant you that I 
 
 67 
 
68 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 You say no sound can ever greet your ear 
 
 Like that bewildering old temple-bell 
 There in an ancient grove near Tokio 
 
 That boomed a melody you'll ne'er forget. 
 You tell me how in the great Abbey's nave 
 
 You heard a lad carolling high and higher 
 Some old Te Deum, till your heart began 
 
 To swell with rapture reverent, till it seemed 
 As if you scarce could be alive, so sweet 
 
 The sound, so great the scene. Ah! Yes, I know! 
 Sometimes at early dawn I steal from bed. 
 
 Open a door, and o'er the threshold step 
 Into a world where everything's dew-washed. 
 
 The air is silvery, pearl-like, luminous, 
 So pure, so morning-pure, one is afraid 
 
 To sully it with deed or word, or thought. 
 One lonely star, perhaps, is lingering. 
 
 It seems the very morning of the world 
 And I the first to greet it — hush; what's that? 
 
 A note — a cadence — quivering through the air, 
 Rising crescendo In an ecstasy 
 
 Of thanks to God and greeting to the day. 
 A song-sparrow, His wee, brown chorister! 
 
 You vow we have no artists here at home 
 
 Who rank with the great masters or can vie 
 With unassuming Orient artisans 
 
 Whose daily tasks are truly miracles? 
 Now tell me, was there ever Nippon bronze 
 
 Or Eastern tapestry which can compare 
 With yonder tracery of green and gold. 
 
 Sunlight and shadow, on the velvet ground? 
 
In Joyous Garde 69 
 
 And only look where, there against the sky, 
 
 The cornel lifts its shapely pointed spires 
 Of opening leaves, like tiny flames of green 
 
 Raising Spring's incense to the God of Light! 
 I cannot think those distant mystic shrines 
 Of which you speak with wonder in your voice 
 Could make my heart swell with more ecstasy 
 
 Than does this smell of rain-washed earth in May. 
 » 
 
 I am a painter, too. My canvas spreads 
 
 Only this little acre, in the sun, 
 But with this earth-stained trowel that you see 
 
 And bags of bulbs, queer roots, and tiny seeds 
 I paint my growing picture, year by year. 
 
 A "Spring-time" did your Botticelli paint, 
 I know it well, and think of it each time 
 
 I loose the earth about my primroses — 
 See where they smile, a very flash of gold! 
 
 All last October, when the early frost 
 Had turned the sassafras from gentle green 
 
 To a mosaic, flaming red and gold, 
 I plodded on my hands and knees for hours. 
 
 Digging and changing, humming as I worked, 
 A little tune of very olden times. 
 
 You know it, "Violets, like Juno's eyes" ! 
 Now It is Spring, and blossoming in the shade 
 
 Here is the song, writ out in purple notes — 
 Puvis would call that colour good, I think. 
 
 Which I, helped out, 'tis true, by rain and sun — 
 Fashioned just here, a violet madrigal. 
 
^o Songs of the Skokie 
 
 There where the pyrethrums are raising pink 
 
 And cheerful faces to the sun, it seemed 
 A bit too pink a spot, so t'other day 
 
 I took my trowel and dug up that root 
 Of pale forget-me-not, and planted it 
 
 In front of all the pink. That night a shower 
 Fell, and next morning you could never guess 
 
 But Nature's brush those colours had combined 
 So right they looked, so reasonably they grew; 
 
 One helps the miracle where'er one can — 
 But there are miracles one cannot touch! 
 
 Not long ago, out in the April sun, 
 I swear I saw Mertensia change the tint 
 
 Of her pink buds into that wondrous blue 
 She jangles bell-like in the frosty breeze. 
 
 One might go round the world a hundred times 
 And never catch that trick of hers again. 
 
 I have not seen the marbles of the Greeks 
 
 Except as we do get them, second best, 
 But still I dare, with shears and pruning-knife. 
 
 Attempt a certain sculpture ot my own ! 
 I clip the shrubs to make a better bloom, 
 
 To curb them shapely, and let in the light 
 On humble blossoms growing at their feet. 
 
 But, oh, I'm careful! And I watch to see 
 How Nature does it, and I follow her 
 
 So you would never think them touched, but say, 
 "With what luxuriance, when let alone. 
 
 These wild things grow, and spread. I like them so !" 
 
In Joyous Garde 71 
 
 Perhaps some day I too shall travel far, 
 Hearing and seeing all that man has done, 
 
 Meanwhile I dig my garden, hum my song. 
 Who will may come to see my garden grow, 
 
 Smell the earth's incense, listen to the birds. 
 
 Breathe the soft breath of peace which here exhales, 
 
 And there's no man can make me envious. 
 
 MY ARCADY 
 
 While others prate of golden loves and poet's song, 
 Of nightingales and turtle-doves and castles strong, 
 I'll sing MY Arcady, a place of common things 
 Where happiness could lend a grace to sparrows' wings. 
 There heard, the robin's cheerful song could ne'er seem 
 
 old. 
 There never blew a wind so strong that I felt cold. 
 Mere hollyhocks in blossoming grace vied with the rose. 
 Each hearthside was a friendly place where hearts grew 
 
 close. 
 
 A stranger passing by that road unwittingly 
 Might, since no sign nor beacon glowed, miss Arcady, 
 'Twas just a something set apart, a rest from care, 
 'Twas perhaps a feeling in the heart, a freer air. 
 Bereft, I feel a bitter lack where'er I roam 
 But living, working, I'll win back since Arcady spells 
 Home. 
 
72 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 MIDDLE-MARCH 
 
 Wind of the south is it spring in the woodland 
 
 Whence you have come with a message to me? 
 Say have you news of the dear land, the good land, 
 
 Thought's home and heart's home wherever I be? 
 Down through the garden for which I am longing, 
 
 (Tell me, oh south-wind, for you have been there,) 
 Say, do the daffodil troopers come thronging? 
 
 Do crocus sentinels challenge the air? 
 
 Here in the city pent homesick I'm musing. 
 
 Does the hepatica push through the leaves? 
 Well I remember the fabric she's using. 
 
 Sun-web and frost-woof the petals she weaves. 
 Where the grey river-flood fed by the melting snows 
 
 Sweeps on its angry way down to the sea. 
 Does the old alder-tree shake out its golden bows, 
 
 Greeting the spring-tide with banners flung free? 
 
 Almost I feel spite of smoke-reek of factory, 
 
 Clanging of bells and the din of the street, 
 Magic of spring-time come surging refractory. 
 
 Filling my heart with its rhythm full sweet. 
 Here, even here the first grass-blade is springing. 
 
 Dandelion circles are glinting with gold. 
 Hear, yes I hear him, a robin is singing, 
 
 "I'm here. The spring's here. Leap hearts and 
 grow bold." 
 
In Joyous Garde 73 
 
 THE HOME-PLACE 
 
 And it's if I had my wish I'd be going 'far, far, 
 
 To my own true country that is many miles away, 
 I'd cross a mighty river and be following a star 
 That's shining to south-westward where green moun- 
 tains are. 
 Till I came to my home village, and my house of grey. 
 
 For it's there dwell all my friends, who will speak me 
 kind, 
 Or if I'm coming early, or if I'm coming late. 
 Ah, it's how my thoughts fly thither in the homeward 
 
 wind — 
 Yes, my heart seems drifting with it till I seek and find 
 My own, own home-place with its small green gate. 
 
 And it's how my feet would hasten up a path that's 
 there, 
 Where the hollyhocks are growing, and the larkspurs 
 blue. 
 I would stop upon the threshold just to breathe a prayer 
 Full of thankfulness to God for the sweet home air. 
 Then I'd enter in the doorway and be finding you. 
 
74 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 ET IN ARCADIA EGO 
 
 I know a spot of beauty rare 
 
 Where roses glow in splendor, 
 Where lilies white beyond compare 
 
 Grow tall and straight and slender. 
 
 Where tropic plants with colors bright 
 Beyond one's fondest dreaming 
 
 Spring in profusion day and night 
 In ricliest colors gleaming. 
 
 Fruits such as in old Eden grew 
 
 When this our Earth was younger 
 
 In richest clusters meet the view 
 But don't appease our hunger. 
 
 For this rare spot of which I speak 
 
 Which set me so agog 
 Was in a book I saw last week 
 
 Blank's Spring Seed Catalogue, 
 
 UNKNOWN BIRDS, 
 
 Sweet is the bobolink's song 
 
 As he balances high on the grasses. 
 The catbird trills all the day long 
 
 Mocking each rival who passes. 
 There's a twitter of joy and of cheer 
 
 To be heard in the sparrow's grey flock, 
 But the birds I am longing to hear 
 
 Are the Phoenix, the Dodo, the Roc. 
 
In Joyous Garde 71; 
 
 Fine is the grey eagle's flight, 
 
 And the dip of the swallows at even, 
 The sea-gull's my special delight 
 
 When he circles 'twixt ocean and heaven. 
 The wild geese spread out in a "V", 
 
 Swift whirrs the frightened woodcock, 
 But the birds whose flight I wish to see 
 
 Are the Phoenix, the Dodo, the Roc. 
 
 Red is the tanager's coat 
 
 As he sings his low-murmuring matin. 
 Brilliant the grosbeak's soft throat, 
 
 And the oriole's vestments of satin. 
 So gorgeous the cardinal is dressed 
 
 That the quaker wrens get quite a shock, 
 But gayer I'm sure than the rest 
 
 Were the Phoenix, the Dodo, the Roc. 
 
 Audubon, every bird's friend, 
 
 Shall I find in the heavenly flock 
 When my bird-hunting here's at an end. 
 
 The Phoenix, the Dodo, the Roc? 
 
76 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 IN PRAISE OF PLEASAUNT BLOSSOMS 
 
 If I were planting a garden gay 
 
 I would have Stockes and the Flower-de-luce 
 Bordered by banks of Witch-hazel grey, 
 
 Sentinelled by a purple Spruce. 
 Gillyflowers, and the Columbine, 
 
 Ladies-Smockes, with some Fenell near. 
 There may be present day flowers as fine, 
 
 Give me the blossoms of yester-year! 
 
 No matter how small my garden plot. 
 
 There should be bushes of Guelder-rose, 
 Flanked at their feet by Forget-me-not, 
 
 With Love-in-Idlenesse growing close. 
 Fritillarias brought from France, 
 
 Galligaskins to wee folk dear. 
 Wind-flowers dipping their graceful dance 
 
 Daintiest blossoms of yester-year. 
 
 I would have beds of sweet-savored herb 
 
 Burnet and Hyssop and Marjoram, 
 Edged with Box in a close-cut curb. 
 
 With a grassy path where my foot should come. 
 Healing simples I'd plant in rows, 
 
 Alecost, Tansy, and somewhere near 
 Rosemary too, yes, I'd sow it close. 
 
 To my pleasaunt blossoms of yester-year. 
 
 Had I but known you, oh Parkinson ! 
 
 How we'd have revelled, and bent our heads 
 As we stopped to gaze over every one 
 
 Of those pleasaunt plants in your garden-beds. 
 
In Joyous Garde ■ 77 
 
 How they flourished In those old days 
 
 Of your "Earthly Paradise" loved and dear, 
 
 Xell — does Saint Peter still let you raise 
 Those pleasaunt blossoms of yester-year? 
 
 — Written after looking over an early edition of Park- 
 inson's "Paradisi in sole paradisus Terrestris." 
 
 THE STAY-AT-HOME 
 
 No voices can call me to Candahar, 
 
 Rangoon, nor the pink Arabian sea. 
 
 The magical syllables, Malabar, 
 
 Sing no Lorelei song to me. 
 
 Why should I long for an Arden tree? 
 
 Carcassonne never was one of my aims. 
 
 I have my own little Arcady — 
 
 The flowers in my garden have lovely names. 
 
 Others may journey to Miramar, 
 
 Samoa, Ispahan, Muscovy. 
 
 I find it pleasanter here by far. 
 
 Where primulas grow, and anemone, 
 
 Fennel, angelica, rosemary, 
 
 Bergamot (burning like scarlet flames). 
 
 Pale veronica (sought by the bee) — 
 
 The flowers of my garden have lovely names. 
 
 For I was born 'neath a gardening star 
 When the daffodils danced in their April glee. 
 Maple trees blazed like the cinnabar 
 While I studied my flowery a-b-c. 
 
78 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 "A is Armeria, Balsam Is B" — 
 I learned from old Nature, the best of dames — 
 Down to "V is Valerian, Zinnia, Z" — 
 The flowers in my garden have lovely names. 
 
 So voyage, oh reader, whoever you be, 
 
 From far Lochaber to Calgary, 
 
 This stay-at-home person won't join your games — 
 
 The flowers in her garden have lovely names. 
 
 MATINS 
 
 (Sonnetina) 
 
 Come out into our garden-close; 
 Look, while I hold the curtain drawn. 
 How new-born daisies on the lawn 
 Reflect the sunrise lingering rose. 
 See, while your dreamy senses doze, 
 The last pale moonflower's almost gone. 
 The morning-glory blew at dawn 
 Her trump, to summon slumber's foes. 
 
 Lift up, dear heart, that sleepy brow. 
 Here's a new day that God has given. 
 All Nature waits to show us how 
 Old faults may be dew-washed, and shriven. 
 Could they but see our garden now. 
 Even infidels would dream of Heaven. 
 
In Joyous Garde 79 
 
 SIMONE 
 
 (After the French of Remy de Gourmont. Not an 
 exact translation) 
 
 Simone, the sunshine laughs through leaves of cherry, 
 Young April has come back to make us merry, 
 Upon his shoulder bringing trays of flowers. 
 Pale violets, and whitethorn for our bowers. 
 
 He sows through meadow-fields, and through the 
 
 grasses, 
 On banks of brooks, ponds, ditches, as he passes, 
 He borders streams with daffodils, has strewed 
 Anemones through woodland solitude. 
 
 The valley-lily's for the hidden dell. 
 For open spots the golden primrose-bell. 
 And Easter daisies smile throughout the mead 
 In open spaces where the first bees feed. 
 
 Simone — and in this garden sweet — of ours. 
 He'll soon bring columbines and gillyflowers. 
 Sweet-smelling hyacinths and iris too. 
 And velvet pansies, all, Simone, for you! 
 
8o Songs of the Skokie 
 
 IRIS TIME 
 
 It's Iris time! It's Iris time! 'Twixt tulip-days and 
 
 rose, 
 The garden walk in iris time with purple splendor glows. 
 The leafy spears are on parade, the bugles of the June 
 Summon each bud and bloom and blade with sturdy 
 
 marching tune. 
 
 Although my garden's humble earth stands for democ- 
 racy. 
 
 The simple flowers of peasant birth make way for 
 royalty. 
 
 For "King of Iris" golden-crowned — and tall and pink 
 and gay — 
 
 "Her Majesty" comes, rosy-gowned (or is it "Queen 
 of May?"). 
 
 "Maori Kings" and "Gypsy Queens" are handsome, 
 
 proud and tanned. 
 Next comes a troop of "Florentines," the tallest in the 
 
 land. 
 "Penelope's" a lovely whirl of blue and gold and white, 
 "Madame Chereau" with fringe and curl, is French, 
 
 and charming quite. 
 
 In red and gold old "Honorabile" stands proud, pre- 
 senting arms, 
 
 "Dalmatica" deep pride must feel in her rich purple 
 charms. 
 
 "Pallida" wears a paler hue, of course "Canary's" 
 yellow. 
 
 "Alvarez" carries royal blue, "John Bull's" a stout old 
 fellow. 
 
In J oyous Garde o^ 
 
 The 'Quaker Lady" mauve and grey, hangs down her 
 
 peaceful head, 
 "Charles Dickens" turns to violet gay, since he is never 
 
 red. 
 "Aurea's" Gold, so's "Souvenir" though streaked with 
 
 veins of dark, 
 (For memory is sometimes drear, and sorrow leaves a 
 
 mark) . 
 
 "Rhein Nixe" and the "Lorelei" (say, must we change 
 
 their nation?) 
 "Celeste's" soft blue is like the sky, "Neglccta's" poor 
 
 in station. 
 But she has champions to fear, "Hector" the fine, the 
 
 splendid. 
 And "Agamemnon" guards the rear, with him the list 
 
 is ended. 
 
 The Earth is sweet in iris time, fresh green, and birds 
 
 a-twitter. 
 Young love that hums its budding rhyme, and beams of 
 
 sunny glitter 
 (And yet what heart can beat carefree while trampled 
 
 on and bleeding 
 The proud pale blooms of Fleur de Lis are crushed by 
 feet unheeding?). 
 
 BEE-HAVE ! 
 
 Bumble-bee, bumble-bee, can't you be humble, bee? 
 
 Blundering Don Juan of the larkspur and daisy. 
 Pride will but stumble, bee. Best not to grumble, bee. 
 
 All of the garden flowers think you half crazy. 
 
82 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 Bumble-bee, bumble-bee, how you do rumble, bee. 
 
 Thundering notes like a deep-booming 'cello. 
 Hear the flowers mumble, bee, "Isn't that bumble-bee 
 
 Growing to be just a bothering old fellow?" 
 
 Bumble-bee, bumble-bee, awkward old fumble bee. 
 
 Plundering pollen and honey-deep riches — 
 Better be humble, bee. Life's but a jumble, bee — 
 
 Character counts more than black and gold breeches. 
 
 TWO GARDENS 
 
 Oh, Mrs. Midas' garden stretches flowery acres wide. 
 Its shaded paths, its bloom-filled beds, they are her 
 
 gardener's pride 
 And people boast about it throughout the countryside. 
 
 Now Mrs. Leary's garden grows on the fire-escape. 
 One gaudy red geranium, some herbs of thwarted shape, 
 And some morning-glories straggling, set in old tins half 
 agape. 
 
 Oh Mrs. Midas never sees her flowery treasures gay. 
 She doesn't care much for them, and besides, she is 
 
 away. 
 But Mrs. Leary cares for hers with tenderness each day. 
 
 So if I like Mrs. Leary's garden better, is it odd? 
 
 For Mrs. Midas' garden is but flowers, and trees, and 
 
 sod. 
 But Mrs. Leary's garden is a prayer straight up to God. 
 
In Joyous Garde 83 
 
 RED LILIES 
 
 "Those tall red lilies in that bed 
 "Must be cut back," my darling said, 
 "Too fast they grow, too wide they spread." 
 Yet they grow on, and he Is dead. 
 
 Ah, how it mocks 
 
 My paradox. 
 
 Those lilies red crowd out the phlox 
 
 And straggle through the hedge of box. 
 
 Proud lilies, take what spot ye seek. 
 I need no fragile flowers, nor meek. 
 Your strength upholds when I am weak. 
 Somehow, through you, I hear him speak. 
 
 WHITE LILACS 
 
 A hurried step — a quick call in the night — 
 
 An open door with a pale rift of light — 
 
 Then — "He Is gone," they said. 
 
 I looked upon you dead. 
 
 And all that life had been was over, and I felt 
 
 Even as I praying knelt, 
 
 That prayer was useless, and the world was bare 
 
 Of what had made It fair. 
 
 Then as I knelt, with heart too wrung for weeping, 
 The stealthy dawn came creeping. 
 I rose, and silent stepped 
 
84 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 Out in the dew where the still garden slept, 
 
 Where near the house, in panicled perfume. 
 
 White lilacs were in bloom, 
 
 I pulled some sprays and brought them to your room. 
 
 The lonely years have fled, 
 
 Some lagging, some fast-sped. 
 
 Since that day-dawn when you I love lay dead. 
 
 Yet I may never see white lilacs in their grace. 
 
 But that I feel 
 
 The cold dawn creeping steal. 
 
 And see that still and unfamiliar face. 
 
 MICHAELMAS DAISIES 
 
 Like stars the blossoms one by one 
 Burst through a cloud of leafy grey, 
 Until beneath September's sun 
 There bloomed a flowery Milky Way 
 In honor of Saint Michael's day. 
 
In Joyous Garde 85 
 
 THE POPLAR TREE 
 
 Standeth a white poplar tree 
 
 In my garden close 
 Shaketh out like banners free 
 
 Its leaves of silver gleams 
 Proud it spreadeth while the sun 
 
 Reigns in gold and rose, 
 • But when that the day is done 
 
 When the pale moon beams, 
 Then a thing of mystery 
 
 Portentous and strange 
 Groweth the white poplar tree 
 
 Whispereth a tale 
 All of hopeless loves long dead 
 
 Of misery and change, 
 And houses long untenanted 
 
 Where ghosts walk pale. 
 
 WILDINGS 
 
 Anemones and dog-tooth violets ! 
 
 I bent above their delicate green shoots 
 
 And dug the clean pale lovely springtime roots 
 
 To plant among my well-loved garden-pets. 
 
 Praise, if you will, larkspurs and mignonettes 
 Insistent peonies, and those flaunting brutes 
 The hollyhocks ! My garden lyre-string mutes 
 
 To hymn the springtide bloom summer forgets. 
 
86 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 Timid claytonia in woodland shade, 
 
 The waxen bloodroot in the deep ravine. 
 
 Hepaticas in downy sheaves displayed, 
 
 The brave marsh-marigold with golden sheen. 
 
 Praise your white lilies, chant your rose in bloom, 
 
 But give my gentle wildings garden-room. 
 
 CALM MAY 
 
 The fronds of fern uncurl in leafy places. 
 The mystic mandrake 'neath its emerald sheaf 
 Unfolds its waxen petals leaf on leaf. 
 
 And spring steps forth with calmer-measured paces 
 
 Than when wild April led her bounding feet 
 
 A-dance through wood and meadow, scattering white 
 The silken-petalled blossoms in delight. 
 
 And chanting magic o'er the sprouting wheat. 
 
 In this new Earth, revivified and greener 
 
 Hope grows assured, passion-wrought fears are 
 
 stilled. 
 Old years renew, while youth grows ardor-thrilled, 
 
 And storm-tossed middle years breathe deep of air 
 serener. 
 
 Since resurrection thus we yearly see, 
 
 Why need the spirit dread death's mystery? 
 
In Joyous Garde 87 
 
 MY ADVOCATES 
 
 When my soul slips from this its chrysalis 
 
 And turns, half-timid, half-aspiring, where 
 
 There stands beside the Heaven's opening stair 
 
 The angel with the scales, whose duty is 
 
 Through all the rolling ages, only this — 
 
 To weigh and test the myriads summoned there, 
 
 Choosing the souls who chose to seek and dare 
 
 From those who win oblivion's abyss. 
 
 Perhaps when the computer at the gate 
 
 Says: " 'Tis a puny soul and lacking weight 
 
 For God's designs" — then those I thought long perished 
 
 Will fling into the balance all their sweetness — 
 
 To countervail my weakness, incompleteness — 
 
 The little souls of all the flowers I cherished. 
 
 THE PAINTER PRAYS 
 
 Give me the grace to see life vividly. 
 
 Not through a dimming haze of discontent, 
 
 But all the shining colors newly blent 
 
 Fresh from God's hand — as the first man might see 
 
 In Eden-days, a world of purity 
 
 Dew washed and tinted with hues Heaven sent 
 
 Sifted through mystery the sunbeams lent. 
 
 To rouse man's brutish thoughts to Deity. 
 
 Thus seeing, knowing, then I'll take my brush; 
 
 With reverent care I'll dip the paint, and then 
 
 Try to portray amid the gentle hush 
 
 Of dawn, a world daily remade for men. 
 
 Thus shall my picture worthily live on 
 
 To gladden when this hand and brush are gone. _ 
 
UNRELATED SONNETS 
 
UNRELATED SONNETS 
 
 GARNETS 
 
 TO MY FATHER 
 
 We sat together on the golden sands 
 Watching the beryl waters change to grey 
 Beneath the wind-blown clouds. In happy play 
 We dug the shifting shingle with our hands 
 And let the finer grains sift through like strands 
 Of chain unfettered. Now and then a ray 
 Of crimson through the yellow glittered gay. 
 You told me how the garnet rock withstands 
 The miner's hammer, but the pounding lake 
 Beats on its crystals till they tear and break, 
 Yet every fragment keeps its ruby glow. 
 (Ah, how the waves of time my life have rent. 
 Yet those sweet childish moments with you spent 
 Gleam roseate from the happy long ago!) 
 
 91 
 
92 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 THE SHOPKEEPER 
 
 You are a traveler from some far city, 
 
 Who, wandering in this unimportant place 
 
 At loss for interest, to my small shop trace 
 
 Your steps, and laughing ask — "What's new and 
 
 pretty?" 
 I spread my wares. You hum a careless ditty, 
 Chat with me for a casual moment's grace 
 As eagerly I rifle shelf and case 
 To show my all. You gaze, half-smiles, half-pity, 
 Then shrugging, "Not today," you turn and leave me. 
 "Another time, perhaps." You wander on 
 Not dreaming how your quick appraisements grieve me. 
 I put my wares away, all comfort gone 
 And all my heart is one dull ache of pain. 
 I think I shall not show my wares again. 
 
Unrelated Sonnets 93 
 
 WESTPORT MORNING 
 
 The cobwebs tremble sparkling in the grass, 
 
 A goldfinch loops his song along the air, 
 
 The shadows stretch long fingers everywhere 
 
 Pointing from seaward, whence the cloud wracks pass. 
 
 Beyond the bar the emerald waters scream 
 
 On Half-Mile Rock, and rend themselves in spray. 
 
 The laughing gulls derisive greet the day 
 
 And plume their satin feathers till they gleam. 
 
 The sinister black night has left the shore. 
 
 The lichened rocks bask listening to the bar, 
 
 A lonely bell-buoy clangs from very far 
 
 A tale of seamen who will sail no more. 
 
 But we? Oh, we will live and shout and run, 
 
 Breathe the salt air, and laugh under the sun. 
 
94 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 CINEMATOGRAPH 
 
 In pictured pomp across the canvas white 
 
 The silent pageant moves, living and clear; 
 
 Cordelia and her sisters, Kingly Lear, 
 
 Borne on a beam of silver through the night. 
 
 And all dream fabric ! Mystic, recondite ! 
 
 I gaze with wondering, and half with fear. 
 
 Surely, although no agent hands appear, 
 
 'Tis some great Merlin who controls that light. 
 
 So with your drama, Shakespeare. Each man knows 
 
 The wondrous incandescent figures cast 
 
 On Art's white canvas, where your genius throws 
 
 Those stirring images from out the past. 
 
 While you whose hand controlled the magic spark 
 
 That lit that beauty, still hide in the dark. 
 
Unrelated Sonnets 95 
 
 SHOTTERY 
 
 The tall blue larkspurs at the garden gate 
 Peer up the winding road and o'er the hill, 
 Whither from Stratford trudges Poet Will, 
 Revolving starry verses in his pate. 
 Within the cottage there is one doth wait, 
 Whose heart-beats through his early metres thrill. 
 She opes the lattice, leans out from the sill. 
 The sweetheart Anne, demure, and yet elate. 
 
 The noisy motors whirr. The people crowd. 
 
 I rub my eyes. Is the blur dust or tears? 
 
 I see the cottage home all desecrate 
 
 By chattering pilgrims flocking, wondering loud. 
 
 The golden sunrays of three hundred years 
 
 Have tinged the larkspurs blue at that old gate. 
 
g6 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 THE SCALES 
 
 I walked, methought, a wood of dimlit green 
 
 Where stood an angel holding scales of gold, 
 
 Who said : "A merchant am I. Have bought and sold 
 
 Full many a ware, since every soul I ween 
 
 Has something wished for, something hid unseen 
 
 That he would part with ere the days grow old. 
 
 Come you. I'll buy. With gold dreams manifold 
 
 I'll pay — come sell what bars from life serene." 
 
 Then took I my capacity for grief. 
 
 That burden on the golden scales I laid 
 
 Yet my surcharged heart felt no relief, 
 
 And even-hung the golden balance stayed. 
 
 "On the other disc — " the angel merchant smiled — 
 
 "You careless laid your power for joy, my child." 
 
Unrelated Sonnets oy 
 
 THE LAMP 
 
 In sun-swept India, in the Taj Mahal — 
 
 Vision of fretted marble intricate — 
 
 There hangs, so home-come travellers relate 
 
 When all that orient beauty they recall, 
 
 Forever hanging mid the sacred wall 
 
 A dim sweet lamp to true love consecrate — 
 
 Shining memorial within the gate 
 
 Of loveliness sleeping beneath her pall. 
 
 Deep in the secret temple of my soul 
 
 A lamp is burning, all a topaz gleam. 
 
 Tended and trimmed, in that dim hidden goal, 
 
 Commemorate to the lovely power of dream 
 
 You woke within my life, like April's breath 
 
 O'er sleeping buds, — a dream of life, not death ! 
 
98 Sottas of the Skokie 
 
 NARCISSUS 
 
 I wandered to my sacred garden nook 
 
 And there I found new-blooming at my feet 
 
 A white narcissus, golden crowned and sweet, 
 
 Challenging shyly till I bent and took 
 
 The slender blossom in my hand, to look 
 
 And ponder on its loveliness complete. 
 
 Dreaming of some old tale, half-obsolete. 
 
 Read in my childhood from a Latin book, 
 
 Then a voice whispered: "Perhaps the thing you love 
 
 Is not the man, but your own dream of him. 
 
 Thus do you like to young Narcissus prove. 
 
 Who pined above his image mirrored dim!" 
 
 I answered : "If such beauty fill my dreams 
 
 It proves me worthier of the man he seems." 
 
Unrelated Sonnets 99 
 
 WHEN THAT I DIE 
 
 When that I die no child of this warm heart 
 
 Shall through his pulses carry on my name. 
 
 When that I die and pay brown Earth her claim 
 
 No picture from my brush, no sculptured art, 
 
 Nor song of mine shall make sweet memories start. 
 
 Yet when I close the book, have played the game. 
 
 Though none may praise, please God that none may 
 
 blame, 
 I skipped no page, I played my humble part. 
 
 Could I bequeath my life's capacity 
 
 For joy, without the pangs that gave it birth, 
 
 Could I bequeath to those who follow me 
 
 My dumb sense of the beauty of this earth 
 
 As part of man's great tribal memory. 
 
 Then I would know my life had been of worth. 
 
100 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 LE MORTE DARTHUR 
 
 "The world is waste," I said. "And comfortless. 
 
 "Hatred and war have broken all the spell 
 
 "Of magicry, and tolled the solemn knell 
 
 "Of Faerie, and tales of courtliness." 
 
 Then Malory, in its worn leather dress 
 
 I took your volume from its dusty shelf, 
 
 And, opening its pages, lost myself 
 
 In the quaint spell of ancient Lyonesse. 
 
 Morgan le Fay, Arthur, and Lancelot — 
 
 Tristram and Beale Isoud — Palomides — 
 
 The well-remembered names have lost no jot 
 
 Of their enchantments and their witcheries. 
 
 For one sweet hour all present griefs were barred. 
 
 I breathed the glamourie of Joyous Garde. 
 
RAIN 
 
 SONNETS IN THREE MOODS 
 
RAIN 
 
 SONNETS IN THREE MOODS 
 
 The rain taps happy rhythms on my roof. 
 Close-sheltered, I sit lazily a-trying 
 To weave a memory of blue-bells, plying 
 A floss-hung needle through a silken woof. 
 The busy household hums. — I stay aloof 
 Harkening the rain, and listening to the flying 
 March winds through yet unbudded trees a-sighing 
 In eerie notes, like some low-moaned reproof. 
 Alas, what right have I to warmth and shelter 
 And silken comfort, when the rain is falling? 
 While you amid the carnage and the welter 
 Must daily face war's countenance appalling? 
 And yet I dream I see you smile again 
 Thinking of me, safe sheltered from the rain ! 
 
 103 
 
104 Sottas of the Skokie 
 
 II 
 
 I walked for hours today through windy mist 
 
 And rain, in copse, ravine, and fairy dingle, 
 
 Searching with eager eyes and blood a-tingle 
 
 For that frost-woven star of amethyst 
 
 We call hepatica. — The spring had kissed 
 
 Some twenty into bloom. — Now by the ingle 
 
 Where fading day and flickering firelight mingle 
 
 In homely comfort I am keeping tryst. 
 
 My flowery treasures in the blue-glazed chalice 
 
 We bought together, you remember when? 
 
 Are gathered in a delicate display. 
 
 Yet through my dream there creeps with cruel malice 
 
 A sorry thought of you and all your men — 
 
 I wonder if it rained in France today! 
 
Rain 105 
 
 III 
 
 All the day long the gaunt grey rain has dripped 
 
 Monotonous, one long disturbing note 
 
 Upon the roof, and on my heart it smote 
 
 Like spattering lead on flesh some wound had stripped 
 
 Of all protection. With my thoughts tight-gripped, 
 
 As drowning sailors frantic clutch a boat. 
 
 So I in memories perilously afloat 
 
 Have reached and clung, by stinging torment whipped. 
 
 For oh, last night I dreamt of some far place 
 
 Where with a throng I waited till you came. 
 
 You looked at me with unremembering face, 
 
 You had forgotten, did not speak my name. 
 
 And now, awake, I still can feel the pain, — 
 
 And all these long, long hours, the rain, — the rain. 
 
OVERSEAS 
 
 FIVE SONNETS 
 
OVERSEAS 
 
 FIVE SONNETS 
 
 Throughout my garden sound the happy cries 
 Of mother birds encouraging their young. 
 In nearby woods a questing dog gives tongue 
 Half-heartedly, the while his quarry flies 
 Out from the thicket to the free-winged skies, 
 While on the breeze's odorous breath outflung 
 The purple pennons of the phlox are hung 
 To lure the golden-pinioned butterflies. 
 All Nature seems with kindliness asmile. 
 The slow white clouds drift still above my head, 
 The shrill cicada's drone is quiet, — then 
 The soft peace shatters in a moment, while 
 I shudder at the thought of war-crazed men. 
 And you perhaps in the grim trenches, dead! 
 
 109 
 
no Songs of the Skokie 
 
 II 
 
 You do not know, dear love, how all the day 
 You have been with me 'neath October's blue 
 And gold. We walked the rustling pathway through 
 The meadow, still sweet-scented from the hay. 
 While furtive azure gentians watching lay 
 Shy-eyed, half-hidden where the deep grass grew, 
 And you have talked to me and I to you 
 Answered, all tender things I wished to say. 
 And now I sit beside the birchwood fire. 
 Knowing my happiness was but a play 
 Of fancy, fed by longing and desire. 
 For you are near a hemisphere away. 
 Yet God may grant this very night I too 
 May keep some distant vigil, love, with you. 
 
Overseas 1 1 1 
 
 III 
 
 Could I be sure that we have dreams for tryst, 
 Who am bereft of tender memories, 
 Then might my sorrow win a Httle ease. 
 The mills of suffering give no kindly grist 
 Out of the past, of moments rapture-kissed, 
 Nor gentle lover's talk like melodies, 
 Nor any of the haunting ecstasies 
 Of youthful dreams, rose-hued and amethyst. 
 Not even dreams ! And yet sometimes when I 
 Rise at day-dawn and gaze out through the keen 
 Fresh glimmer of the coming of the morn. 
 You seem beside me, tangent though unseen, — 
 Air is all vibrance with your voice, — ah why 
 If love is all for naught, must it be born? 
 
112 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 IV 
 
 Last night we gathered round the open fire. 
 Fierce winds without went wailing, but within 
 A girl with an enchanted violin 
 Challenged the gale at music's wild desire ! 
 When winds and strings alike had ceased to quire 
 Friendship's communing spirit entered in. 
 We spoke of all great arts to music kin 
 And how great words high harmonies inspire. 
 
 Then someone reverently spoke your name 
 Praising the living mystery of your art, 
 And all my being bloomed into a flame 
 And fiery roses blossomed in my heart, — 
 But I who knew you, loved you, only heard 
 Dumb — powerless to praise you with a word. 
 
Overseas 1 1 3 
 
 Not that you ever loved me, but because 
 
 You so loved her, I came to know at length 
 
 What love could mean in all Its nobler strength. 
 
 Ah, did you dream that you were making laws 
 
 For love's high conduct ? Or that one short pause 
 
 On your life's journey touched this life of mine 
 
 Like spark to unlit tinder, — like divine 
 
 Flame that consumes all earthly faults and flaws? 
 
 Yes ! You have set me standards that control 
 
 Like rhythms of splendid music, through the days, 
 
 My aspirations, hopes in open ways, 
 
 My secret doubts, and all my heart's dim hollows, — 
 
 Through life, through death, and heaven or hell that 
 
 follows — 
 The throbbing time-beats of my marching soul. 
 
DIM HAVENS 
 
DIM HAVENS 
 
 BOATS 
 
 I launch my tiny boats of song, 
 
 I watch them drift away 
 
 Like flower-petals scattered by the breeze 
 
 On the blue sparkling water. 
 
 I put my dreams into small boats of words. 
 
 The cargoes are of fragile stuff, my friends. 
 
 Some must make quick havens. 
 
 If they voyage far 
 
 The hold will be found empty — 
 
 What was there 
 
 Will long have vanished into the salt wind. 
 
 And yet, perhaps, 
 
 Some few of these small boats 
 
 May journey very far 
 
 And bring their little cargoes home to port 
 
 In safety. 
 
 Who knows but one — 
 
 The one I'm launching now 
 
 May reach you, you afar. 
 
 In that dim haven I may never reach. 
 
 117 
 
ii8 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 PORT O' THE MOON 
 
 Down the still ways my boat of thought adrift, 
 
 Slips from its moorings through a misty light — 
 
 Nebulous, elfin, like some floating rift 
 
 That Dian tears in fabric of the night. 
 
 Ripples of magic lap the shallop's side. 
 
 Wavelets of that great sea so deeply fraught 
 
 With wondercurrents, surging from the wide 
 
 Fathomless ocean of eternal thought. 
 
 White, white, the moonpath through that mighty sea, 
 
 On, on the current bears me to the croon 
 
 Of one long ceaseless low sea-melody 
 
 Toward my far-distant harbor, Port o' the Moon. 
 
 What shall I find when the far haven's won? 
 
 Old dreams made new? Or things outside my dreams? 
 
 Shall I but drift, the wonder never done. 
 
 Never attaining where that beacon gleams? 
 
 What does it matter since the sea is wide 
 
 And magical, bearing its argosies 
 
 Of mighty galleons that stem the tide 
 
 Bound for Atlantis or the Pleiades. 
 
 Even these so free, so proud, with outspread sail 
 
 May never make their harbors, late or soon. 
 
 Need I then murmur if my frail barque fail 
 
 To reach the glimmering beacon, Port o' the Moon? 
 
Dim Havens 119 
 
 THE SOMNAMBULIST 
 
 Along the ways of men, with look unseeing 
 Though open-eyed, she walks, but never hears 
 
 Like secret bells within her inmost being 
 
 The ceaseless call of unaccomplished years; 
 Nor ever lingers 
 To dip her fingers 
 
 In Life's deep pool of soul-awakening tears. 
 
 Plaint stirs her not, and threat is unavailing, 
 Her soul drifts on, unballasted by fears, 
 
 Like some dim ship too far away for hailing; 
 
 The joy, the passion of her life's compeers 
 Cannot awaken. 
 With heart unshaken 
 
 She greets their pleading with unheeding ears. 
 
 She smiles a gentle smile of unperforming, 
 For her no duty drives, no passion sears. 
 
 No charity can stir her heart to warming — 
 
 Unvigilant.the dangerous gulf she nears, 
 Will she rouse never? 
 But dreaming ever. 
 
 Fare, unaware, into strange other spheres? 
 
 DIRGE 
 
 Tread light, step soft, stir not a leaf. 
 Dig but a little space 
 Under the loam, for my last home 
 In some dim forest place. 
 
I20 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 Beneath the mosses and the deep 
 Green shade the branches weave, 
 Lay me away at break of day 
 And linger not to grieve. 
 
 But sing that little foolish song 
 You sang when life was new, 
 Before the hour when all the flower 
 Of love had lost its dew. 
 
 And I shall lie in splendid sleep. 
 And smile beneath the dew. 
 I'll change old grief to flower and leaf, 
 And bloom again for you. 
 
 RESURGAM 
 To my father 
 
 If they are right who claim that after Death, 
 To Nature's humbler types we shall return, 
 
 I only ask that the same spring-tide's breath 
 May find us side by side, as flower or fern. 
 
 If they are right whose more ambitious way 
 Claims that to higher types we upward trend. 
 
 Oh wait for me, who hampered by this clay 
 Fear that too far beyond you may ascend. 
 
 Yet these philosophies can never sweep 
 
 From out my thoughts those childlike hopes of fair 
 Green meadows where you wait, your eyes all deep 
 
 With longing, unfulfilled, till I am there. 
 
Dim Havens 121 
 
 "LES BARRICADES MYSTERIEUSES" 
 
 (Written after hearing the Chicago Orchestra play the 
 piece of music by this name) 
 
 Everywhere barriers, barriers for me. 
 No path is free. 
 
 Sometimes I wander for long 
 Through alleys of sunshine and song, 
 Till the chords of my heart chime a hymn 
 Exultant and loud. 
 
 When through the bright air floats a dim 
 Nebulous cloud 
 That deepens and darkens 
 Till my waiting soul barkens 
 
 To voices of warning that cry "Come no nearer, this 
 pathway is barred." 
 
 Everywhere barriers, barriers touch me, 
 Reaching hands clutch me. 
 
 No longer treading through sunny green alleys 
 
 With spirit unshrinking and vision unclouded. 
 
 But searching black valleys through great mists of 
 
 dreading 
 My soul's eyes go blinking, in terror enshrouded. 
 
 I stare through the air. What is it I fear? 
 All seems splendid and clear. 
 (A nameless 
 Unfathomable terror, 
 
122 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 A gripping of error 
 
 In a world all gone wrong, nor my spirit held blame- 
 less.) 
 
 What are these barricades 
 At which my purpose fades? 
 
 Spider-spun filaments stretch where I'm trending, 
 
 Paths once unending 
 
 End sharp for me. 
 
 Gossamer threads have turned tentacles strangling. 
 
 My nerves go jangling 
 
 At some unthinkable vision of mystery. 
 
 Some cup undrinkable, brimmed like a history 
 
 With all bitter dregs of mankind's past quaffings 
 
 Is held with grim laughings 
 
 Up to my lips. 
 
 Then I turn back again 
 
 Knowing I lack again 
 
 Strength to face gallantwise 
 
 All my high enterprise 
 
 Now in eclipse. 
 
 Barriers, barriers everywhere. 
 
 In common ways, in the breath of air. 
 
 Uncertainty besets. I am controlled 
 
 By that which bids me ever unconsoled. 
 
 Uncomforted, go seeking 
 
 For some mute thing — unspeaking — 
 
 Inconclusive, at the first touch illusive — 
 
Dim Havens 123 
 
 Aware and yet unheeding, 
 
 Alert, ever receding 
 
 Beyond my outstretched hand, — 
 
 Until bereft of hoping 
 
 With futile fingers groping 
 
 At the last step I stand 
 
 To meet once more the eternal barricades 
 
 At whose Impact the mortal purpose fades. 
 
 FRAMEWORK 
 
 Across the west one crimson streak glows bright 
 Below the grey-hung falling curtain of the night. 
 
 Against that fading beauty, In its girdered might 
 Stands forth a phantom dome, 
 Iron-ribbed, majestic, mystic In the sunset. 
 Some day in carven stone and painted glass, 
 Rich woods and silken trappings 
 And all the panoply of ritualled faith, 
 A great cathedral it will stand complete. 
 But now? 
 
 Oh now it rises, starkly beautiful; 
 Foundation, walls, and swelling bubble-dome, 
 The understructure, promise of to-come. 
 Gaunt, roofless, but how strong! 
 
 Faith of my fathers ! So I think of thee ! 
 Iron-ribbed, and mighty In thy majesty. 
 
124 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 I see thee standing, staunch and undismayed 
 Amid the turmoil of a travailing world. 
 Against the background, roseate, vanishing. 
 Of sweet beliefs, and superstitions quaint 
 That fade into the twilit afterglow. 
 Although we deck thy form with gilt and gauds 
 And foolish trappings that disguise thy state. 
 Beneath our trivialities you loom 
 Tremendous and eternal. 
 So great we scarcely see you, for our eyes 
 Are caught with images, lights, hosts of things 
 Of little value to the mind or soul. 
 
 Serene and changeless, in thy noble might 
 
 Our fathers' faith, loom larger through the night ! 
 
 THE WAY 
 
 Man's roadways span our planet's girth. 
 He charts the sea from pole to pole, 
 
 But there's no sextant upon earth 
 For orientation of the soul. 
 
 Purposeless, derelict for years. 
 
 Like seaweed broken from its stem 
 
 We drift, unless the spirit steers 
 
 By the Star that shone o'er Bethlehem. 
 
AUTUMNAL INTERMEZZI 
 
AUTUMNAL INTERMEZZI 
 
 Three sonnets 
 
 The hours fall slowly, like the dying leaves 
 November oaks loose hesitatingly 
 As though each brown shred held a memory 
 Of new-born magic that the springtime weaves. 
 And I ? Out of the past my thought retrieves 
 Those ancient symbols, beauty's legacy 
 Left to her dreamers, men like you and me. 
 Whom progress tears and alteration grieves. 
 Why, when the old gods were so free to bless 
 Those habitations of the spirit, hid 
 Today in dust of doubt and wretchedness, 
 Do we desert them? Still the Pyramid 
 Towers o'er the desert of our common things, 
 And the Sphinx ponders on her vanished kings. 
 
 127 
 
128 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 II 
 
 The clouds drift in a tumult, and the air 
 Quivers and trembles in a rushing stream. 
 Everywhere motion breaking through my dream, 
 The pulses of progression everywhere 
 I turn my eyes, save where I scarcely dare 
 To look for fear a backward glance might seem 
 To prove my craven spirit still could deem 
 The past transcendent, and the future bare. 
 And what if bare? I shake old hamper off ! 
 My emptiness? — It leaves me only free 
 To hold the finer vision. Do you scoff 
 That I yet hope the vision may come to me? 
 Nay, my serenity shall not abate. 
 Failing the vision, still the hope is great ! 
 
Autumnal Intermezzi 129 
 
 III 
 
 I front the great horizon, free in act 
 
 To face the sun, — now that bewildering grace 
 
 Of bloom and leaf and fruit, that screened his face 
 
 In shimmering beauty, can no more distract 
 
 My thought from him, the great illuming fact 
 
 Ranging beyond this quickening pushing race 
 
 Of Earth-types, struggling for some vantage-place 
 
 Whence best his strange compulsions to refract. 
 
 And though it is his setting rays I see, 
 
 Who, but for earth-charmed eyes had earlier caught 
 
 His glory while it beamed from zenith height, — 
 
 Yet have I faith, although he fades from sight. 
 
 That all on earth I cherished, yearned for, sought, 
 
 In flame-clear lucency shall dawn for me. 
 
TO MY LITTLE FRIENDSHIPS 
 
 AMONG CHILDREN, 
 
 DOGS AND BIRDS 
 
TO MY LITTLE FRIENDSHIPS AMONG 
 CHILDREN, DOGS AND BIRDS 
 
 TO GLORIA 
 
 Some day, when you are old, and wondering 
 Just how you looked in childhood's lovely spring, 
 Then read these words of your first blossoming. 
 Upon a day when jfirst I saw you stand 
 With one blue stalk of hyacinth in your hand 
 And the same color deepened and repeated 
 Within your wondering eyes 
 Where childhood's vague surprise 
 At life unsolvable lay still deep-seated. 
 
 Your face was like the wood anemone 
 Whose paleness is not pale, because the Spring 
 Kisses its cheek while It is flowering 
 Into a downy-flushing witchery. 
 
 Your hair had all the lustre that comes glinting 
 In fairy pennies, new-sprung from the minting. 
 But it had twined itself in loving hands 
 Until it hung in rings 
 Of golden treasure, such as ancient kings 
 Fought for in far-off lands. 
 
 How can I tell you what your lips were like? 
 Oh childish mouth, with inexperience 
 A still unbudded flower upon your lips! 
 Tears fill my eyes to think how Time's eclipse 
 
 133 
 
134 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 Must dim your radiance 
 
 And grief and disappointment sometime strike 
 
 Away that look of joyous Innocence. 
 
 Ah little girl! Why cannot childhood stay? 
 
 Would that the years could keep you as today ! 
 
 Yet will I pray that as these beauties fade 
 
 From that sweet body God and love have made 
 
 They shall come shining and reflowering through 
 
 Future far years, In that sweet soul of you ! 
 
 HER PATTERAN 
 
 ("Patteran Is a Gypsy word for the trail of leaves 
 and grasses which the Gypsies leave along the road to 
 show which way they have passed.) 
 
 A Bible entry: "Born. A girl." 
 A knitted shoe, a golden curl, 
 A woolly lamb, gay-colored blocks. 
 Some wee worn garments In a box. 
 
 Some dog-eared books, a pair of skates, 
 Old photographs of all her mates, 
 Boarding-school letters full of jokes 
 And "love to all the dear home-folks." 
 
 A glove, a programme from a dance, 
 A rose pressed in an old romance, 
 A rain of rice across the hall. 
 Tears on my cheeks, — and that Is all. 
 
To My Little Friendships 135 
 
 TO MY LITTLE GODDAUGHTER 
 
 Dear child, I looked at you tonight, 
 A black-haired, slender slip in white, 
 And thought how, years ago I too, 
 Was a girl graduate like you. 
 Just setting out upon new ways 
 From the familiar school-house days. 
 
 « I laughed and talked, to hide a tear, 
 
 It won't be always fun, my dear. 
 For life holds problems, harder far, 
 To solve than Mathematics are. 
 And more insistent tasks, it seems. 
 Then reading stars, or writing themes. 
 
 Yet as my retrospective gaze 
 
 Looks down the pathway of old days, 
 
 I realize that with the tasks 
 
 Comes strength to bear. If one but asks. 
 
 So let no future fears affright. 
 
 Be just a happy child tonight. 
 
 VAIN IMAGININGS 
 
 I'd like to sit out in the rain, and play at being poor. 
 Like children without any homes, It's pleasant I am sure. 
 But when I try my mother just drags me in the door 
 And makes me put my tongue out, and takes my 
 temperature. 
 
136 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 LAISSEZ VIVRE 
 
 I wouldn't tread on angle-worms out on the pavement 
 
 wet, 
 I cannot bear the poor dead mice when the kitchen trap 
 
 is set. 
 I love each living creature, I'm sorry when it dies; 
 Yet I'm pleased when Mother gives me a cent for killing 
 
 flies. 
 
 BATHROOM RULES 
 
 The child who would his mother please 
 Will learn these simple rules with ease. 
 
 Don't let the soap swim like a fish 
 But keep it neatly in its dish. 
 
 Don't leave wet towels on the floor 
 But spread them neat when bath is o'er. 
 
 When you have finished with the tub 
 Give it a rinsing and a rub. 
 
 When bathing o'er, to bed you go 
 Turn out the light, or leave it low. 
 
 Then to the one whose bath comes next 
 You'll furnish no sad warning text. 
 
To My Little Friendships • 137 
 
 A BOY'S STUDIES 
 
 His teacher's heart is like to break 
 In sheer discouragement and pain, 
 
 When in geography he'll make 
 Mistakes again, and yet again. 
 
 (He's sailing in a ship with Drake 
 Across the foaming Spanish Main!) 
 
 Although he "stays in" afternoons 
 
 Trying to do what he is bid, 
 He fails to grasp those useful boons 
 
 Which in arithmetic lie hid. 
 (He's busy counting gold doubloons 
 
 Beside the pirate, Captain Kidd!) 
 
 In history his slow wits lag, 
 
 Although his keener mates deride. 
 
 His dates are wrong, his answers drag, 
 It does not help a bit to chide. 
 
 (He's fighting 'neath the White-cross flag 
 At Richard Lion-heart, his side!) 
 
138 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 SPRING COMES TO MONTREAL 
 
 At home the red-breast's happy note 
 Carols of promised flowers, 
 The blue-bird soon will swell his throat 
 Singing 'mid April's showers. 
 
 But here the wintry frosts abide, 
 The sleigh-bells jingle gay 
 The great drifts cloak the mountain side 
 Will it be ever May? 
 
 The river wind blows bleak and chill 
 Down from some frozen sea, 
 There's ne'er a hint of daffodil 
 To cheer this heart of me. 
 
 But wait, what's that? A note I hear 
 Of voices gay and free. 
 Children are playing somewhere near 
 And shouting merrily. 
 
 "Fen ! It's my turn !" Oh, welcome noise, 
 My heart swells in a trice ! 
 It is the spring, for little boys 
 Play marbles on the ice! 
 
To My Little Friendships 139 
 
 NOW YOU ARE GROWN 
 (To R. W. P.) 
 
 Now you are grown, my little lad, 
 
 Your mother's hands are empty quite. 
 Too long the days ! Too short the night 
 
 That brings her dreams of what she's had! 
 
 She knows it's foolish to be sad. 
 You can't stay always in her sight 
 Now you are grown. 
 
 And truly, boy, her heart is glad 
 
 That you have grown to manhood's height 
 With honor clean, and record white. 
 
 Please God you always shun the bad, 
 Now you are grown ! 
 
 THE STAR 
 
 (Nursery rhyme for twentieth century children) 
 
 I 
 
 Twinkle, twinkle, little star. 
 
 Down eddying depths of ether hurled 
 Into a wonder smitten world 
 It flingeth sharp staccato gleams, 
 (Like unrelenting dreams) 
 
I40 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 Till it plerceth straight and stark, 
 
 Pitiless through the dark, 
 
 The spirit's inertia to its core, 
 
 And leaveth it prey to wonder evermore. 
 
 II 
 
 How I wonder what you are. 
 
 That spirit, ever questing, yearneth. 
 
 Of the star's substance somewhat learneth, — 
 
 With glass and measuring rod and probe 
 
 It wresteth knowledge from this globe. 
 
 And with strange beating engines flieth, 
 
 To pierce aerial secrets, trieth — 
 
 With computations variform 
 
 Chemics, reductions to the norm, 
 
 Strange prestidigitatings mathematical 
 
 And mouthings of the physic laws emphatical — 
 
 To prophecy the cosmic storm. 
 
 Computeth birth of suns, death of the spheres. 
 
 The comet's course bright errant through the years, 
 
 Doth minify to some dull rule of three 
 
 The vague coherence of the nebulae, 
 
 And yet despite this knowledge, reacheth to that wall 
 
 Beyond whose pale men are as children all. 
 
 And crieth, balked at last : "Could I but understand 
 
 Who madeth star, and holdeth in His hand." 
 
To My Little Friendships 141 
 
 THE LESSER MARTYRS 
 
 I had a dream : there stretched a heavenly plain 
 
 Where all the mighty hosts of the "Te Deum" 
 
 Went marching past me, chanting to the Lord. 
 
 They trooped, that band of all the martyred men 
 
 Who died for God and Faith, a goodly throng ! 
 
 Then followed after them another band 
 
 Of those who died to save their fellow-men. 
 
 My heart beat high with reverence at the sight. 
 
 "Oh Holy Ones," I cried, "Bless even me 
 
 Unworthy kneeling in the dusty road." 
 
 Even as I cried there leapt from out the throng 
 
 A shaggy dog who fawned and licked my hand. 
 
 Then did I see how, near these marching saints 
 
 There ran, and leapt, and crept a myriad beasts. 
 
 Dogs of all kinds, mice, white and grey and pied. 
 
 Monkeys and guinea-pigs, and cats and rats, 
 
 Frisking along, all enmities forgot, 
 
 Beside the pathway of these reverend saints! 
 
 At first I smiled. It seemed a thing grotesque 
 
 That these quaint beasts should join this holy throng, 
 
 Running and leaping in the air for joy! 
 
 Then I did cease my smiling, for I heard 
 
 How, as with cries and barks they joined the song 
 
 The saints were singing, all their squealing notes 
 
 And chattering undertones blent in a whole 
 
 Harmonious chant of praise. They sang their part ! 
 
 Then saw I good St. Francis standing near 
 Conversing with his little friends the birds 
 Who chattered joyous as they fluttered low 
 Alighting on his shoulders and his hands. 
 
142 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 He seemed less stern than any other saint 
 And so I asked him: "Good Saint Francis, tell 
 Who are these many little beasts I see, 
 Dogs, monkeys, guinea-pigs, and rats and mice, 
 Marching so merrily with the grave saints?" 
 
 Then he made answer: "These have rightful place. 
 
 They are the lesser martyrs, nameless ones, 
 
 Who have fulfilled Our Saviour's words Who said 
 
 'A greater love hath no man proved than this 
 
 That for his friend his life should be laid down.' 
 
 These humble creatures, each and all of them. 
 
 Have at His bidding laid their little lives 
 
 Upon the altar-stone for Man, their friend. 
 
 In pain unspoken, agonies unguessed 
 
 They died, a thousand deaths that men might live. 
 
 Vain were beseeching looks and broken cries. 
 
 Men had decreed their torture, so they bled. 
 
 The dogs have been man's friends since time began, 
 
 Have followed, trusted, helped and guarded him. 
 
 Accompanied his hunts, protected homes. 
 
 And barked with welcoming joy at his approach. 
 
 Then of the dog was asked the final gift. 
 
 To suffer, suffer in a living death 
 
 Weeks, months maybe or years if in the end 
 
 Some cure were learned to save the children's lives. 
 
 These cats and monkeys too have felt the knife, 
 And known fierce tremors, and deep gnawing pain, 
 In order that the children should be spared 
 Like pains and tremors and the grip of death. 
 Now 'tis decreed that in the martyr band 
 These little humble servants too shall walk, 
 
To My Little Friendships 143 
 
 Because they suffered greatly for great things ! 
 They leap and gambol, sport along the way, 
 Feeding on food celestial, drinking deep 
 From waters sweet of everlasting youth: 
 Forever young and strong and vigorous, 
 Forever to our Lord raising their cries 
 Which, though men call them unmelodious, 
 Are sweet to Him who gave these notes to them. 
 Evermore therefore cry they praise to God 
 Swelling this anthem through Eternity: 
 "We, all the myriad band of martyr beasts 
 Who gave our lives for others, cry aloud 
 In praise unending, joy without surcease, 
 'We too adore Thee. Holy, Holy, Lord.' " 
 
 "SENTIMENTAL TOMMY" 
 
 Shall fourteen friendly years go unrecorded? 
 
 Years of obedience, when you faithful guarded 
 
 Our house and garden, kept these purlieus ratless. 
 
 And did your little best to make them catless. 
 
 Never a growl or snarl, even when I hurt you, 
 
 Never a roving night. All doggy virtue 
 
 Marked your life's doings. Can my mind unheeding 
 
 Forget your hinting paw-taps, or the pleading 
 
 Of your bright eyes for sugar, walks, or petting, 
 
 (Your little special joys). Am I forgetting 
 
 The patient hours and days when you watched quiet 
 
 Beside my bed, ignoring honey diet 
 
 And proffered rat-hunts, lest perchance your Missis 
 
 Might stretch a hand and lack your moist, kind kisses? 
 
 Nay, little vanished friend, I can't forget you. 
 
 And Heaven, for me, must have a place to pet you. 
 
144 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 PRAYER TO ST. FRANCIS 
 
 St. Francis, take the spirit of this bird 
 Into your shelter; keep it safe and warm 
 And whistle to it softly. Speak a word 
 Of kindness ; let it perch upon your arm. 
 
 For know, kind saint, this little vanished joy 
 Was wont to flutter welcoming each day 
 To greet me, a gay feathered flower, half-coy — 
 Half-bold, and now that joy has flown away. 
 
 The crimson beak, the rainbow wings are still. 
 Silent the tiny heart that beat so strong. 
 Beside the fountain, 'neath the daffodil 
 Sleeps the wee husk that held that ardent song. 
 
 So kind St. Francis, smile not at my woe. 
 
 God lets no sparrow unrecorded go. i 
 
 BABY PARADE 
 
 If you wake feeling grouchy some cold winter morn, 
 Out of key with the world, and not glad that you're 
 
 born. 
 Just don't go to business, at least before noon. 
 Let me show you instead what will put you in tune. 
 'Tis a gay little pageant that's daily displayed 
 A-marching on Sherbrooke, the Baby Parade. 
 
To My Little Friendships 145 
 
 There are nannas from England so rosy and sleek, 
 There are neat bonnes from Paris, quite dashing and 
 
 chic. 
 There are nurseys from Scotland, and Erin the green, 
 All be-cloaked, and be-capped, and all good to be seen, 
 Each keeping her troop in surveillance complete 
 During Baby Parade, upon Sherbrooke Street. 
 
 In vain may the cabman wink, ogle and stare. 
 And mounted policemen be gay, debonnair, — 
 The nurses on duty give never a glance. 
 Their wee charges lead them too merry a dance. 
 There's no time for sweethearting, I am afraid. 
 These mornings, on Sherbrooke, at Baby Parade. 
 
 There are sledges, and go-carts and neat-varnished 
 
 prams. 
 Each holding its quota of babies, the lambs. 
 While marching beside come the next older scions 
 Trudging sturdy and valiant, and bold as young lions, 
 Quite dauntless to cope with all dangers they meet 
 During Baby Parade, upon Sherbrooke Street. 
 
 There are kiddies with blue eyes and eyes like the sloe. 
 
 With brown curls and chestnut, gold, flaxen and tow. 
 
 And saucily perched on each dear little head 
 
 Is a warm woolly tuque, of blue or of red. 
 
 To match the wee mittens and leggings displayed 
 
 By these jaunty young marchers in Baby Parade. 
 
 Riding safely in state with their owners you'll see 
 Woolly lambs, Teddy Bears, and dolls of degree, 
 
146 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 While Caesar and Tou Tou go marching beside 
 Tails wagging devotion, throats bursting with pride, 
 As they bark their defiance at strange dogs they meet 
 Who would join these paraders on Sherbrooke Street. 
 
 The air's all a-babble with laughter and fun. 
 The skies may be grey, but you'll think there's a sun. 
 The street seems agleam when these small girls and boys 
 Come marching your way with their laughter and noise. 
 They can banish the darkest cloud ever was made, 
 And sad hearts grow light during Baby Parade. 
 
 "HAPPY-GO-LUCKY" 
 
 I smile, albeit with tears, to see him there. 
 
 My little dog, with faithful eyes upraised, 
 
 Hopeful of petting, yearning to be praised, 
 
 Or feel my touch upon his glossy hair. 
 
 He listens every word with anxious care. 
 
 His look with striving love grows fairly dazed. 
 
 And when he hears his name he goes half-crazed 
 
 With joy, and quivering bounds into the air. 
 
 How like, how very like to man is he. 
 
 Man too goes questing, spirit ever stirred. 
 
 The rifting cloud, the sunlight on a tree, 
 
 A baby's smile, could solve his mystery — 
 
 But man has not your faith, my dog. You heard 
 
 And knew your master, Man still waits the word ! 
 
EXERCISES IN VARIED MEASURES 
 Dialect, Translations, and Conscious Imitations 
 
EXERCISES IN VARIED MEASURES 
 
 CARE— THE GNOME 
 
 (Double Triolet) 
 
 While Care, the gnome, is sitting 
 
 At ease within my room, 
 All pleasant thoughts go flitting 
 While Care, the gnome is sitting, 
 Penance and tears seem fitting, 
 
 And shaded lamps and gloom. 
 While Care the gnome is sitting 
 
 At ease within my room ! 
 
 When Joy, the elf, comes scampering 
 
 Up my dull attic stair 
 All duties seem but hampering. 
 When Joy, the elf, comes scampering, 
 Penance and morbid pampering 
 
 Fade into sunny air. 
 When Joy the elf comes scampering 
 
 Up my dull attic stair ! 
 
 WHEN PRIMROSE SMILES 
 
 (Rondel) 
 
 When primrose smiles from banks of green 
 With heart of glowing sun-caught sheen. 
 When the first blue-birds sing, and far 
 And near the sweet wood-violets are, — 
 I look at you amazed, Bettine ! 
 
 149 
 
150 Sottas of the Skokie 
 
 What — what I wonder, — can you mean, 
 In petulant, though pretty, spleen, 
 Your forehead with such frowns to mar ! 
 When Primrose Smiles ! 
 
 Do you not know, my heart's true queen, 
 That when your charms you thus bemean, 
 'Tis like black clouds that come to bar 
 The radiance of the evening star? 
 Look up — and kiss me ! Love's serene 
 When Primrose Smiles ! 
 
 SPRING IN THE GARDEN 
 
 (Rhyme Royal) 
 
 The springtime spearsmen leap from out the ground 
 
 Flaunting their crocus banners, purple, gold. 
 
 A gorgeous cardinal cleaves the air with sound, 
 
 Herald of sun, who conquers winter's cold. 
 
 Oh, miracle that never can grow old ! 
 
 You change dead frosty grey to budding green, 
 
 And sweep my spirit's corners golden clean. 
 
 The waxen cups of bloodroots pierce the leaves. 
 
 Snowdrops are almost done. The scilla's blue 
 
 Reflects the bluebird's feathers and bereaves 
 
 The wintry sky of its ethereal hue. 
 
 A robin with his new made nest In view. 
 
 Sings his old song, inestimably dear. 
 
 Of "Sursum corda ! Lo, the spring is here !" 
 
Exercises in Varied Measures 15 ^ 
 
 FOUR MERRY MEN 
 (Ballad) 
 
 Four merry men came riding forth, 
 
 From East, and West, and South and North. 
 
 None would tell his lady's name 
 
 But lo ! Their lady, she was the same ! 
 
 They strove for her gifts, together, apart; 
 Her eyes, her hands, her lips, and her heart. 
 
 To the man from the North she gave her glance, 
 To the man from the West her hand in a dance. 
 
 The man from the East a kiss did reap, 
 
 And the man from the South, her soul to keep. 
 
 The North, for a glance (they tell to me) , 
 ' Gave her his soul for eternity. 
 
 West for her hand gave a knightly kiss. 
 East, for her lips, but a glance amiss. 
 
 The man from the South took her soul (they say) 
 Handled it lightly and flung it away! 
 
 A moral there is which we all can touch; 
 Love gives much for little, and little for much ! 
 
152 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 THE JAPANESE GOLDFISH SAUCES THE 
 STATUARY * 
 
 I see you there outside, so tall and white. 
 
 A grey old man bends down to read your name ; 
 
 "Spear-bearer, probably of Dorian fame. 
 
 In ash-swept old Pompeii brought to light." 
 
 I flitter and I flare, — in, out, of sight. 
 
 Behind the emerald sea-fern, wild and tame 
 
 By turns, a living gem of opal flame, 
 
 With two great streaming silver tails bedight. 
 
 Pooh for you, Dorian! I'm alive! I go 
 
 Darting through splendid bubbly depths of green 
 
 While thousand laughing children pass, aglow 
 
 With loving rapture of my shimmering sheen ! 
 
 I frisk my prettiest for them in the sun ! 
 
 None of them marks you, Dorian ! No, not one ! 
 
 *At this time the aquarium was temporarily housed in the hall of 
 statues in the Chicago Art Institute. 
 
 I DREAM OF SOFT VERSES 
 
 (Song suggested by some lines of Albert Samain's "Je 
 
 reve des vers doux mourant comme des roses.") 
 
 There are hearts that are patient to build day by day 
 From the dust of despair and the tears of their woes 
 
 Figurines of delight of that pitiful clay, — 
 I dream of soft verses that die like the rose. 
 
 There are souls who are sturdy at launching their 
 dreams 
 
 Like great galleons of oak-timber, challenging foes 
 To the waves of oblivion and fates lightning gleams, — 
 
 I dream of soft verses that die like the rose. 
 
Exercises in Varied Measures 153 
 
 There are spirits that toil for a fame that shall stand 
 Like the great granite sphinx in eternal repose 
 
 While the temporal whirls round her head, as the 
 sand, — 
 I dream of soft verses that die like the rose. 
 
 For clay it shall crumble and timber decay 
 
 And the granite grow featureless through the sand's 
 doom, 
 But new roses grow from the old every day, — 
 
 Perhaps from my dead songs new red songs may 
 bloom. 
 
 HILL-VOICES 
 I 
 
 Up high on the hill 
 
 It is quiet and holy. 
 The High Gods brood still 
 
 O'er the lives of the lowly. 
 
 If ye list ye will learn 
 
 All of life, all of death. 
 From the brown-rippling burn 
 
 From the pines' whispering breath. 
 
 But the High Gods speak low. 
 And the world's voice is loud; 
 
 Few the message can know 
 In the clash of the crowd. 
 
154 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 II 
 
 Up higher and higher 
 
 The hill-paths ascend 
 Through heather and briar 
 
 With skies at their end. 
 
 Toil, Man, to the summit. 
 
 Climb the high rock alone, 
 Gaze fearlessly from it — 
 
 A king on his throne ! 
 
 The cloud is thy beaker 
 
 Think not of the sod. 
 Quaff deeply, oh Seeker, 
 
 The vintage of God! 
 
 Ill 
 
 Not long taste the rapture 
 
 Of Heaven's clear flask. 
 Let the lowlands recapture 
 
 Thy soul to its task. 
 
 A murmur comes stealing 
 
 Through the pines in the glen 
 Like a sad anthem pealing. 
 
 The voices of men! 
 
 With spirit grown bolder 
 
 Descend to the plain, 
 And lift to thy shoulder 
 
 Life's burden again. 
 
Exercises in Varied Measures 155 
 
 SEA-LONGING 
 
 Flower o' the lowland where honey-bees cluster, 
 
 Flower o' the highland which scents the cool breeze, 
 Flower o' the meadow with sunshiny lustre, 
 Flower o' the deep woods in shade o' the trees. 
 
 Sweet, ye are sweet. 
 
 When my senses ye greet 
 Breathing the peace of my calm inland home. 
 
 Yet my hearts frets 
 
 For it never forgets 
 Tang o' the sea-weed and scent o' the foam ! 
 
 Wind o' the field, with scent o' the clover, 
 
 Wind o' the forest with cool breath o' fern. 
 Wind o' the hills where the dark pines climb over. 
 Wind o' the low lake where hides the blue hern. 
 
 Sweet, ye are sweet 
 
 When my senses ye greet 
 Bringing me balm in the breath of your wings. 
 
 Yet my heart frets 
 
 For it never forgets 
 Salt wind of ocean that's biting, and stings. 
 
 GATHERING MALCOWS * 
 
 Past detaining lily-pads, past the ripening rushes. 
 Push your little boat my lads where the orchis blushes. 
 Where the stems of cardinal flare like red rods of 
 
 warning. 
 Where the arum, silver-fair, opens to the morning. 
 
 * On the Desplaines River, in the early nineties. 
 
156 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 Just beyond the cat-tail's bound, there among the 
 
 sallows, 
 There's the spot where they are found, tall and won- 
 drous mallows. 
 Rooted deep in river slime, secret, hidden long. 
 Give them light and air and time, then they bloom to 
 
 song. 
 Leaves of maple, copper stems, buds of emerald lustre, 
 Like a branch of rose-lit gems how the blossoms cluster. 
 See the silken petals lift, pink as baby's fingers. 
 Crimson heart where still a drift of silver pollen lingers. 
 Lads let's leave them at their best, in their stately 
 
 growing 
 Where the marsh-wren builds her nest, by the river 
 
 flowing. 
 Let no wanton fingers harsh those sweet branches sever, 
 Then shall mallows of the marsh grow in memory ever. 
 
 BALLADE OF YOUTH AND LOVE 
 
 (With apologies to Henley) 
 
 Every maid has her golden day. 
 
 Once in her life each girl's a rose. 
 Lads in their teens are easy prey 
 
 When the young blood bounding goes. 
 
 Joan's black eyes will win the beaux, 
 Peggy can net them with her hair, 
 
 Phyllis will win with a graceful pose — 
 Love is a fowler, youth's a snare. 
 
Exercises in Varied Measures 157 
 
 Nell is a maid who's always gay, 
 
 Poll's plump arm a dimple shows, 
 Chloe's clever, so they say. 
 
 Freckled Jill wears silken hose ! 
 
 Evelyn twirls on graceful toes, 
 Phoebe's cooking is something rare, 
 
 Prue's so sweet, and how well she sews, 
 Love is a fowler, youth's a snare. 
 
 Grace with her gold all debts can pay, 
 
 Susan's song lulls to a doze, 
 Cora's courage abounding aye 
 
 Will help a fellow to best his foes. 
 
 Lucy's lovely, goodness knows, 
 Jane's coquettish, have a care; 
 
 Flats loom large, and bungalows. 
 Love is a fowler, youth's a snare. 
 
 Lads unless you run away 
 
 You'll be taken unaware. 
 Made to cherish and obey — 
 
 Love is a fowler, youth's a snare. 
 
158 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 UPON BEING ASKED THE NAME OF MY 
 FAVORITE POETESS 
 
 If I give answer true, pray do not frown, 
 
 I hail the poetess of infancy, 
 
 A singing Shakespeare of her sex was she 
 A humble Homer in a homespun gown. 
 Dwelling long years ago in Boston Town 
 
 She garnered lore of great simplicity, 
 
 Nonsense, so-called, yet more than that to me 
 Since wise she seems to childhood, prince or clown. 
 
 From Sappho's day to that of Amy L 
 
 I find her matchless, cannot praise the half 
 
 Her gifts, nor dare my fountain black unloose 
 
 Rightly to pen her worth whom I love well ! 
 
 I'll name her quickly — prithee friend don't laugh, — 
 
 That fine free faultless Phoenix, Mother Goose ! 
 
 THE ELM-TREE SHADES 
 
 (Rondel) 
 
 The elm-tree shades in Phillips Square 
 
 Have sheltered more than passers know, 
 Who linger in the paths below 
 
 To rest from noon-tide's sweltering glare. 
 
 Close hidden from the casual stare 
 
 An empty nest is swinging where 
 The elm-tree shades. 
 
Exercises in Varied Measures 159 
 
 Safe winging through the upper air, 
 Southward the happy orioles go, 
 Parents and young, aflame, aglow 
 
 Leaving behind, without a care 
 The elm-tree shades. 
 
 (The king would love it well, I trow. 
 That tall straight trunk with branches fair — 
 , The elm-tree shades!) 
 
 (The City Fathers of Montreal cut down several noble trees in the 
 heart of the city, in order to give passers-by an unobstructed view of the 
 statue of King Edward!) 
 
 WHAT OF THE MOON? 
 
 Sunlight you speak of, dear. Sunlight and laughter, 
 Ripple of waters and splendor of noon. 
 What of calm evenings, and night-shadows after? 
 What of the moon, love? What of the moon? 
 
 Have you forgotten the nights when we wandered 
 Silent and wistful? Forgotten so soon? 
 Was it for nothing our Maytime we squandered? 
 What of the moon, love? What of the moon? 
 
 Tell me no more of the gold-garish sunlight. 
 Give our love's memory only this boon — 
 Tell of your hours in the white light, the one light- 
 What of the moon, love? What of the moon? 
 
i6o Songs of the Skokie 
 
 THE FIRST VISIT 
 
 "And what would be that green shore?" I was askin', 
 
 I was cryin' 
 "That's stretchin' out to eastwards, sloping backwards 
 
 from the sea, 
 "With its brown rocks reachin' outwards where the 
 
 breakers are a-sighin' 
 "With the low clouds hangin' over where the curlews 
 
 are replyin' 
 "To a question I have dreamed of in a far country," 
 
 Then 'twas one made laughin' answer, tho' the tears 
 
 stood in his lashes, 
 " 'Tis a country you should know, girl, or I doubt those 
 
 black-fringed eyes. 
 "Some serve her with loud shoutin', with paradin', 
 
 drums, and sashes, 
 "And some serve her lyin' quiet, with their bodies cut 
 
 in gashes, 
 "And some there be can only sing her ancient melodies." 
 
 Then I answered him and told him what my own heart 
 
 was repeatin' : 
 " 'Tis a small red drop that tells me, from my mother's 
 
 mother's Mother, 
 "That the green land I am watchin' just beyond the 
 
 waves a-beatin' 
 "Is the place I've dreamed of all my years, and longed 
 
 to give it greetin' — 
 "No strange land, but the home land. Mother Erin 
 
 and no other." 
 
Exercises in Varied AI ensures i6i 
 
 THE HONEYMOON 
 
 (A Habitant Confides in a Passenger on the 
 St. Lawrence River Boat) 
 
 I wass leevin' by Quebec, out near w'ere de bridge wass 
 
 wreck, 
 (My frann Jeremi Batees wass los dat day.) 
 I wass makin' plaintee cash, drivln' Yankee in calash. 
 So I go to Seraphine Lebolt, and say: 
 
 'T haf love you Seraphine, sence de day you wass four- 
 teen, 
 Wen you mek de first communion, dress in w'ite. 
 I haf got a good biznesse, an' I treat you fine, I guess. 
 Ask de cure if you don' believe me quite." 
 
 She wass castin' down de eye, an' wass actin' dreadful 
 
 shy. 
 So I catch 'er round de neck and kiss 'er twice, 
 Till she cry, "Prends garde, mon cher. 
 Dere iss someone look, tek care. 
 Bes' go a leetle slow. Tek my advice." 
 
 Now de sun iss shinin' low. An' de boat she move so 
 
 slow 
 Till she mek de landin' at Riviere de Loup. 
 We 'ave start out for a treep wot we mek on de beeg 
 
 sheep 
 For de Priest he marry us de septieme Aout. 
 
1 62 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 You wass lookln' at my wife? She Iss wort it, bet your 
 
 life 
 Aint a lady in Quebec dat 'as her beat. 
 Wid her eyes as black as coal, an' my trotter mare's 
 
 bes' foal 
 Ain' got 'air wot look more glossy or more neat. 
 
 She iss wear a marabout round her pretty neck, partout. 
 
 An' 'er robe is very chic it sim' to me. 
 
 Madame Clementine Louette, she haf mek dat robe you 
 
 bet 
 So you t'ink it comin' over from Paris, 
 
 Now dey pull de ropes about, and de Cap'n 'ear 'im 
 
 shout, 
 "Slack en ava' " so we must go, me an' my bride. 
 'Era's my card. You come my way an' I drive you 
 
 round all day 
 An' charge you — nex' to nuttin' for de ride. 
 
 COVENT GARDEN MARKET 
 
 Wot ho, Bill ! Did I 'ear yer s'y 
 Yer marigolds are spindlin' 
 And yer daylyers got the pip? 
 Blime, To me they looks quite g'y, 
 Aint noticed sales a-dwindlin' 
 'Ave yer. Bill, on this yer trip? 
 
Exercises in Faried Measures 163 
 
 Law lumme, Bill, Yer 'ave the luck. 
 Yer stall's cleaned out In 'arf an hour 
 Wile us poor coves is busy still 
 Tyin' bookays an' fixin' stock. 
 You'm sold out to the smarlest flower 
 An' gun to count yer cash in till. 
 
 'Ow do yer do it, Bill, ole son? 
 For 'Enry there 'as better bloom, 
 An' Jock gives more per penny. 
 You throws yer grin in, jes' fer fun 
 With every sale, so there aint room 
 For folks to notice any 
 
 Faults in yer flowers, or bunches thin. 
 Garn Bill ! We knows yer w'ys 
 Don't talk to us o' "lucky d'ys" 
 Wot you sells. Bill, is thet broad grin ! 
 
164 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 FIGURE DANS UN REVE 
 
 Remy de Gourmont 
 
 (The curious repetition of the "air" rhyme and asso- 
 nance in the original has had to be replaced by "eer" to 
 give any equivalence in English.) 
 
 The most dear, with eyes clear, doth appear 'neath the 
 moon 
 
 Whose ephemeral beams are the bearers of dreams. 
 
 Down a light pale-azured, by the mists half-obscured 
 
 She, ethereal, gleams! 
 
 Stars flower on her brow, her light hair floats in air 
 
 Brightly, where she treads there. 
 
 In her dark eyes still wells the chimera dwells. 
 
 Her neck bare and frail a pearl rosary bars, 
 
 Its rows flaring pale reflect smiles of the stars, 
 
 While her arms wear as charms, each its twinned brace- 
 let. 
 
 And a bright coronet on her fair head is set. 
 
 Whose mystic gems seven transpierce like the leven 
 
 My heart with their gleams — 
 
 'Neath the ephemeral moon, mother-bearer of dreams. 
 
■xoxises in Paried Measures 165 
 
 RECIPE FOR A PLAY 
 
 (Translated from Rostand's "Les Romanesques") 
 
 (Rondel) 
 
 Some costumes bright, some rhymes most light, 
 
 Love in a park, the flute a-playing 
 
 Some comic creatures foolish quite, 
 
 Some passing squabbles soon set right. 
 
 Sun-beams by day, moon-beams by night. 
 
 Dark robes a villain bold arraying. 
 
 Some costumes bright, some rhymes most light, 
 
 Love in a park the flute a-playing, 
 
 Some music, and a Watteau maying. 
 
 An "honest play" you'll soon be saying. 
 
 An antique garden flower bedight. 
 
 Some costumes bright, some rhymes most light. 
 
 SONG 
 
 (From Wedekind's "So ist das Leben") 
 
 My brow is crowned with ivy 
 
 The dew gleams in my hair 
 O'er head a pair of falcons 
 
 Cry through the clear blue air. 
 My mother from the balcony 
 
 Calls with her voice so clear: 
 "Tonight thy father will come home 
 
 "In glittering battle-gear." 
 
1 66 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 THE CLOWN SINGS 
 (From "So is das Leben") 
 
 Fortune's always busy planning 
 Freaks no human brain would dare. 
 
 When her moods I am a-scanning, 
 
 Tears and smiles have both their share. 
 
 Heaven itself seems insecurely 
 
 Set upon its own two feet. 
 Then may man with reason, surely, 
 
 Turn his somersault complete. 
 
 If your legs are easy-bending, 
 
 If your arms can lithely spread 
 Bad luck has a joyous ending, 
 
 Good luck follows, heels o'er head! 
 
 TRANSLATIONS OF THREE SONGS 
 BY JACQUES DALCROZE 
 
 I 
 
 The little bird has left his nest and flown through all 
 
 the world, 
 The little bird has left his branch, and mourns the nest 
 
 forlorn 
 He weeps. He mourns his silvery Alp and his green 
 
 pine. 
 
 The little bird has hastened on, and touched at every 
 land, 
 
Exercises in Varied Measures 1 67 
 
 The bird has hastened through the world, but mourns 
 
 his nest forlorn. 
 He weeps. He mourns his silvery Alp and his green 
 
 pine. 
 
 II 
 
 Oh little house, so olden, so olden. 
 
 Thou who sleepest so olden in the grasses. 
 
 House of another time, witness of other days, 
 
 Enfolding secret hidden memories 
 
 Of ancient seasons and of hours long past. 
 
 Ah, dear old house, my refuge and my nest, 
 
 The past inhabits thee, oh ancient house. 
 
 Ah little hidden nest with shutters drawn. 
 
 Much have you seen, what secrets dear you know. 
 
 Love with sonorous voice sang 'neath your roof. 
 
 Death has passed through thee yet thou livest still, 
 
 Holding the perfume of a bloom long spent. 
 
 Ah dear old house, my refuge and my nest. 
 
 The past inhabits thee, oh ancient house. 
 
 Ill 
 
 The daughters of Estavayer, 
 
 (Oh leafy tower, fair tower o' vine) 
 The daughters of Estavayer 
 Don't think themselves too fine. 
 
1 68 Songs of the Skokie 
 
 But when to town they wend their way 
 (Oh leafy tower, fair tower o' vine) 
 But when to town they wend their way 
 Neat pinafores wear they. 
 
 The daughters of Estavayer, 
 
 (Oh leafy tower, fair tower o' vine) 
 
 The daughters of Estavayer, 
 
 To gossip do decline. 
 
 But when they start to talk (men say) 
 (Oh leafy tower, fair tower o' vine) 
 
 But when they start to talk (men say) 
 
 They never stop all day ! 
 
 TO AN OLD POET 
 
 Once with lyre twanged dismally 
 You moaned of love to Lalage, 
 Of roses, youth, and Cupid's wing 
 You sang with pensive breath — 
 But now you laugh abysmally. 
 Chanting some quaint analogy 
 Deriding age, the while you sing 
 A virelai to Death ! 
 
 SONG AT PARTING 
 
 Pluck It and take this little rose delay not. 
 
 Flowers bud and bloom, and then untimely wither. 
 Night falls too soon, the happy moments stay not, 
 
 Vanishing whither? 
 
Exercises in Varied Measures 169 
 
 What if our love so flower-like and so fragrant 
 
 Fade like the rose that droops beneath our fingers? 
 
 What seems secure, turn fugitive and vagrant — 
 (No sweet thing lingers!) 
 
 Banish such thoughts ! A melody so minor 
 
 Must not be hymned before Love's joyous altar. 
 
 Give me your hand, your faith is freer, finer. 
 Let mine not falter! 
 
 THE SOUL 
 
 (From the French sonnet of Jules Lacroix) 
 
 When all of earth sinks into sleep supreme, 
 
 Save ocean, where unresting billows rage. 
 
 Then doth night's mystery man's thought engage, 
 
 As from Heaven's vast abysmal depths ot dream 
 
 The first bright radiance of the starry stream 
 
 Illumes that incommensurable black page. 
 
 Man watches, awestruck, as the pilgrimage 
 
 Of every star in Ocean's breast doth gleam. 
 
 Man, who by day seems pivot of the earth. 
 
 Is but an atom, save as he has part 
 
 With God, whose great horizon shines afar, 
 
 Yet is man's tiny soul of something worth — 
 
 Not ocean only, but the dewdrop's heart 
 
 May hold reflection of the evening star.