r\F this edition of THE SWEET 0' ^ THE YEAR five hundred copies have been printed, of which four hun- dred and sixty-four are offered for sale. This Chap-book is a production of The Ryerson Press, Toronto, Canada. Copyright, Canada, 1925 by The Ryerson Press Tke Sweet o' tke Tear AND OTHER POEMS By Charles G. D. Roberts THE SWEET O' THE YEAR 'HE UPLAND hills are green again; Ji The river runs serene again; All down the miles Of orchard aisles The pink-lip blooms are seen again; To garden close And dooryard plot Come back the rose And bergamot. The ardent blue leans near again; The far-flown swallow is here again; To his thorn-bush Returns the thrush, And the painted-wings appear again. In young surprise The meadows run All starry eyes To meet the sun. Warm runs young blood in the veins again, And warm loves flood in the rains again. Earth, all aflush With the fecund rush, To her Heart's Desire attains again; While stars outbeat The exultant word — "Death's in defeat, And Love is Lord." * * * THE UNKOWN CITY THERE lies a city inaccessible, Where the dead dreamers dwell. Abrupt and blue, with many a high ravine And soaring bridge half seen, With many an iris cloud that comes and goes Over the ancient snows, The imminent hills environ it, and hold Its portals from of old, That grief invade not, weariness, nor war, Nor anguish evermore. White-walled and jettied on the peacock tide, With domes and towers enskied, Its battlements and balconies one sheen Of ever-living green, It hears the happy dreamers turning home Slow-oared across the foam. Cool are its streets with waters musical And fountains' shadowy fall. With orange and anemone and rose, And every flower that blows Of magic scent or unimagined dye, Its gardens shine and sigh. Its chambers, memoried with old romance And faery circumstance, — From any window love may lean some time For love that dares to climb. This is that city babe and seer divined With pure, believing mind. This is the home of unachieved emprize. Here, here the visioned eyes Of them that dream past any power to do, Wake to the dream come true. Here the high failure, not the level fame, Attests the spirit's aim. Here is fulfilled each hope that soared and sought Beyond the bournes of thought. The obdurate marble yields; the canvas glows; Perfect the column grows; The chorded cadence art could ne'er attain Crowns the imperfect strain; And the great song that seemed to die unsung Triumphs upon the tongue. * V V O EARTH, SUFFICING ALL OUR NEEDS O EARTH, sufficing all our needs, 0 you With room for body and for spirit too, How patient while your children vex their souls Devising alien heavens beyond your blue! Dear dwelling of the immortal and unseen, How obstinate in my blindness have I been, Not comprehending what your tender calls, Veiled promises and re-assurance, mean. Three Not far and cold the way that they have gone Who through your sundering darkness have withdrawn Almost within our hand-reach they remain Who pass beyond the sequence of the dawn. Not far and strange the Heaven, but very near, Your children's hearts unknowingly hold dear. At times we almost catch the door swung wide. An unforgotten voice almost we hear. I am the heir of Heaven — and you are just. You, you alone I know — and you I trust. I have sought God beyond His farthest star — But here I find Him, in your quickening dust. * * * HILL TOP SONGS i. HERE on the hill At last the soul sees clear. Desire being still The High Unseen appear. The thin grass bends One way, and hushed attends Unknown and gracious ends. Where the sheep's pasturing feet Have cleft the sods The mystic light lies sweet; The very clods, In purpling hues elate, Thrill to their fate; The high rock-hollows wait, Expecting gods. II. When the lights come out in the cottages Along the shores at eve, And across the darkening water The last pale shadows leave; And up from the rock-ridged pasture slopes The sheep-bell tinklings steal, And the folds are shut, and the shepherds Turn to their quiet meal; Four And even here, on the unfenced height, No journeying wind goes by, But the earth-sweet smells, and the home-sweet sounds, Mount, like prayer, to the sky; Then from the door of my opened heart Old blindness and pride are driven, Till I know how high is the humble, The dear earth how close to heaven. ' * V * WAYFARER OF EARTH UP, HEART of mine, Thou wayfarer of earth! Of seed divine, Be mindful of thy birth. Though the flesh faint Through long-endured constraint Of nights and days, Lift up thy praise To life, that set thee in such strenuous ways, And left thee not To drowse and rot In some thick-perfumed and luxurious plot. Strong, strong is earth With vigour for thy feet, To make thy wayfaring Tireless and fleet. And good is earth, — But earth not all thy good, 0 thou with seed of suns And star-fire in thy blood! And though thou feel The slow clog of the hours Leaden upon thy heel, Put forth thy powers. Thine the deep sky, The unpreempted blue, The haste of storm, The hush of dew. Thine, thine the free Exalt of star and tree, The reinless run Of wind and sun, The vagrance of the sea. * * «b UNDER THE PILLARS OF THE SKY UNDER the pillars of the sky I played at life, I knew not why. The grave recurrence of the day Was matter of my trivial play. The solemn stars, the sacred night, I took for toys of my delight, Till now, with startled eyes, I see The portents of Eternity. * * * THE HOUR OF MOST DESIRE IT IS not in the day That I desire you most, Turning to seek your smile For solace or for joy. Nor is it in the dark, When I toss restlessly, Groping to find your face, Half waking, half in dream. It is not while I work — When, to endear success, Or rob defeat of pain, I weary for your hands. Six Nor while from work I rest, And rest is all unrest For lack of your dear voice, Your laughter, and your lips, But every hour it is That I desire you most — Need you in all my life And every breath I breathe. * * * THE STREAM I KNOW a stream Than which no lovelier flows. Its banks a-gleam With yarrow and wild rose, Singing it goes And shining through my dream. Its waters glide Beneath the basking noon, A magic tide That keeps perpetual June. There the light sleeps Unstirred by any storm; The wild mouse creeps Through tall weeds hushed and warm; And the shy snipe, Alighting unafraid, With sudden pipe Awakes the dreaming shade. So long ago! Still, still my memory hears Its silver flow Across the sundering years — Its roses glow, Ah, through what longing tears! Seven THE SUMMONS DEEPS of the wind-torn west, Flaming and desolate, Upsprings my soul from his rest With your banners at the gate. 'Neath this o'ermastering sky How could the heart lie still, Or the sluggish will Content in the old chains lie, When over the lonely hill Your torn wild scarlets cry? Up, Soul, and out Into the deeps alone, To the long peal and the shout Of those trumpets blown and blown THE RYERSON POETRY CHAP-BOOKS Lome Pierce — Editor