fcfi 
 (Beorge JSancroft Duren
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 o/w
 
 WRITTEN IN SAND 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE BANCROFT DUREN 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 TOBIAS A. WRIGHT 
 
 1921
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1921 
 GEORGE BANCROFT DUREN
 
 TO MY MOTHER 
 
 623311
 
 THANKS ARE DUE TO THE EDITORS OF THE 
 BOSTON TRANSCRIPT, NEWARK EVENING NEWS, 
 NEWARK SUNDAY LEDGER AND NEWARK SUNDAY 
 CALL FOR THEIR KIND PERMISSION TO REPRINT 
 SOME OF THE VERSES CONTAINED HEREIN
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTERS 
 
 I In the Mirror of Yesterday . . 9 to 42 
 
 II Peace and War 43 to 51 
 
 III Spring and Winter . . . . 53 to 56
 
 IN THE MIRROR OF YESTERDAY
 
 WRITTEN IN SAND 
 
 It was in yesteryear 
 
 I watched you trace 
 
 Our names upon the sand, 
 
 Framing them with a heart of sea-foam lace 
 
 That dancing waves had cast upon the strand. 
 
 You laughed and in your eyes 
 
 Shone a rich light 
 
 That dimmed the starry wonder of the skies 
 
 And warmed the night. 
 
 Many waves have washed that shore since then 
 Other hands have formed the names of men 
 Upon those gleaming sands, 
 And each has vanished when the sea rolled in. 
 
 So our names, too, are gone from view ! 
 Caressing waves have carried them away 
 Just as the surge of time has carried you. 
 And all that I have left 
 Is like our symbol on that faithless shore : 
 A poignant memory and nothing more. 
 
 ii
 
 AN INCENSE JAR AT DUSK 
 
 A small bronze incense jar 
 
 With dragon face and weird magenta eyes, 
 Brought from a land afar 
 
 Where cherry blossoms vie with cherry skies. 
 
 The fragrant dust is lit 
 
 And like an opening rose the flame awakes 
 As dreamily I sit 
 
 To breathe the drowsy perfume that it makes. 
 
 It brings a poppy sleep, 
 
 As on the gathering haze I build my dream, 
 Where ancient willows weep 
 
 And moonbeams are embroidered on the stream. 
 
 Trees crooning on the hill, 
 
 While from the shadowed woods the answering 
 
 note 
 Of hidden woodland rill, 
 
 Chanting a love-song from its silvery throat. 
 
 The dying flames grow cold, 
 
 And only scattered incense clouds remain. 
 I waken tired and old 
 
 To find that I have idly dreamed again. 
 
 12
 
 Upon its emerald throne like some proud queen 
 Guarded by courtier pines in stately row, 
 
 The House Upon the Hill, with august mien, 
 Looked down upon the winding road below. 
 
 Strangers who trod the dusty, burning road 
 Looked up and stopped and to each other said : 
 
 "Great happiness must dwell in that abode. 
 
 There hope and peace must surely make their bed. 
 
 "Is there no joy for us of humble birth? 
 
 Why must we sow to harvest only pain?" 
 And lifting up their burdens from the earth 
 
 They turned away and sought the road again. 
 
 Blind souls they only saw the painted shell 
 Unhappiness had built to hide its lair : 
 
 To them it was a place for love to dwell. 
 
 How should they know deep sorrow lingered 
 there? 
 
 What seemed to them soft music of the trees 
 
 Was but the wind s gruff voice in mocking jeers : 
 
 They pictured flowers nodding in the breeze 
 
 But could not see their sad eyes dimmed with 
 tears. 
 
 Thus each who passed looked up and reasoned so, 
 And wished that he might dwell in such a spot, 
 
 Unknowing that within the dust below 
 He was possessor of a happier lot.
 
 EAGLE ROCK AT NIGHT 
 
 Night lay like a black robe of silk 
 Tucked in about the far earth rim, 
 Stars that bedecked its endless folds 
 Were diamonds from the crown of Him 
 Whose loving hands had clustered them 
 In an eternal diadem. 
 
 Far as the vision could command 
 The warm, appealing lights of home 
 Shone like the soft reflected rays 
 Of stars in that majestic dome. 
 They twinkled with a witching light, 
 Then vanished one by one from sight 
 To join the dark hosts of the night. 
 
 Once a laboring furnace 
 
 Gushed molten breath into the sky, 
 
 Its blood rays rose into the drifting clouds 
 
 Staining their saintly white with crimson dye : 
 
 Rudely a whistle broke the tranquil still 
 
 As, like a winding phosphorescent snake, 
 
 A train crept slowly by. 
 
 A church bell tolled the end of evensong 
 And one could almost hear the sweet-voiced choir 
 Answer a soft amen to the rich notes 
 Reverberating from the ancient spire. 
 Way in the east the lofty gleaming lights 
 Of a great city marked an unseen sea : 
 Two steel shafts set with many thousand eyes 
 Vied with the beacon light of Liberty.
 
 O glorious night, I will remember long 
 Your witchery, 
 
 Your silence and the gift of quiet peace 
 You brought to me. 
 
 A BOOK OF MEMORIES 
 
 Of all my treasured books 
 
 A dusty, faded one I love the best: 
 
 Its name is Memories 
 
 And in its pages, only, I find rest. 
 
 Slowly I turn each leaf 
 
 To read again the fond tales written there, 
 
 Wander the bygone paths, 
 
 Relight old stars in midnight s dusky hair. 
 
 Its title page is decked 
 
 With violets we gathered long ago, 
 
 While on each aging sheet 
 
 Are living sprigs of old-time mistletoe: 
 
 Fragrance of other springs, 
 
 The haunting touch of soft, adoring hands, 
 
 Moons that died yesterday, 
 
 A glint of Stardust on forgotten sands. 
 
 No other book has charm 
 
 Enough to hold my weary heart-strings fast, 
 
 For there can be no tales 
 
 As sweet as those love bound within the past.
 
 HALLOWE EN 
 
 From catacombs laid low in dust 
 
 Where green-eyed spiders sleep, 
 
 From marshes where gaunt cat-tails each 
 
 Their lonely vigil keep, 
 
 From heart of forest, depth of lake, 
 
 Beyond the edge of light 
 
 Weird witches and their kindred folk 
 
 Come trooping forth tonight. 
 
 Down through a royal arch of trees 
 
 In homage bending low, 
 
 Across a meadow s emerald stretch 
 
 The gay paraders go, 
 
 Until at last in strange array 
 
 They reach a field of corn, 
 
 There to disport in phantom style 
 
 Until the birth of morn. 
 
 Their leader waves a magic wand 
 And like a sword unsheathed, 
 The sere and dusty stalks of corn 
 With silver sheen are wreathed : 
 And Stardust falling on the shocks 
 Wraps them in mantle white : 
 They stand like bearded sentinels 
 Against the rim of night. 
 
 A tall pine with pretentious mien 
 
 Begins a baton sway, 
 
 While martial notes of rustling leaves 
 
 Announce the roundelay: 
 
 As dancers rise, clasp hands and whirl 
 
 Into the music s swell, 
 
 16
 
 These ghostly masqueraders play 
 Beneath the fall moon s spell. 
 
 And pumpkins with long slanting eyes, 
 
 Like captive stars aglow, 
 
 Rise from the dust and slowly wave 
 
 Their green arms to and fro. 
 
 So through the night while others sleep 
 
 The mad dance holds its sway 
 
 Until the first shy kiss of sun 
 
 Warns of the coming day. 
 
 A CHILD S PRAYER 
 
 God make me like the sun 
 
 To rise each morning with a smiling face, 
 
 And as the day goes by 
 
 Help me to leave warm sunbeams every place, 
 
 Till shadows softly fall 
 
 And on the wings of night I drift away 
 
 Still radiant to think 
 
 That I may wake with smiles the coming day.
 
 THE SHOWER 
 
 Murmuring, rustling through the trees 
 
 The gentle shower came, 
 
 Until it reached the calm lake shore 
 
 And mottled the green that its bosom wore 
 
 With dancing drops of cool, fresh rain 
 
 That pitter-pattered a sweet refrain: 
 
 With a song in its heart the shower came. 
 
 And a song was in the heart of me, 
 And a song in the heart of you, 
 As we nosed our boat in the muddy bank 
 And laughed as the stony anchor sank 
 For I was in love with you. 
 
 You did not care for the rain that fell, 
 For an oak tree sheltered our small boat well 
 And the few cool drops that wet your hair 
 Commingled with the fragrance there. 
 One drop to your lips in a rambling streak 
 I brushed away with my own rough cheek; 
 Brushed it away, but held the place 
 Close to your delicate, warm, sweet face. 
 
 And together we sat while the shower fell, 
 Cheek close to cheek carefree 
 Not heeding when the storm went by 
 And the sun beamed forth in a cloudless sky, 
 So sweet was the song in the heart of you 
 And the song in the heart of me. 
 
 18
 
 IT WAS IN SPRINGTIME 
 
 It was in springtime : 
 
 Spring with its breath of new-born flowers, 
 
 Dawning of our wondrous hours 
 
 When we clambered the rocks together. 
 
 The sea lay at our feet 
 
 Whispering among the shells and crevices, 
 
 Or lifting now and then a foam-crowned head 
 
 Up from its kelp-trimmed bed 
 
 As if to say: 
 
 "Come I ll not harm you come and play!" 
 
 And then rolled back into its vast retreat. 
 
 It was the time of roses, 
 
 Roses that opened to the smiles of morn 
 
 To dream amid sweet fragrance through the night. 
 
 And, Oh ! our hearts were light 
 
 As gulls we watched wing through the sky 
 
 In tireless flight. 
 
 Now spring is here again 
 And the sea is calling: 
 "Come play with me, 
 Match your music laughter 
 With my silvery melody." 
 
 Hark, the sea is calling! 
 
 But only the echo, softly falling, 
 
 Of another springtime 
 
 Answers.
 
 DEATH OF SUMMER 
 
 Shadows are lengthening across the sky, 
 And trees have doffed their frocks of youthful green 
 For robes of richer hue, while in between 
 The clustered stars an opal moon gleams high 
 Above the woods where sleeping violets lie 
 Tucked in their leafy beds ; the winds are keen 
 With earthy smells, and everywhere are seen 
 The last gifts of a summer soon to die. 
 
 Death ! Yet how unlike other ends this one. 
 With tenderness old summer decks each tree 
 In brightest raiment, and with fragrant breath, 
 Whispering softly that her life is done, 
 She gently falls asleep : we hardly see 
 That she has gone, so beautiful her death. 
 
 20
 
 THE RETURNING 
 
 I wandered at the fall of dusk, alone. 
 
 The stars were dull, the moon s face hewn of stone, 
 
 Gruff was the wind lost was its melody 
 
 For you had gone from me. 
 
 Then you came back. The moon upon the road 
 Transformed the muddy ruts to silvery bars, 
 Lightly the wind awoke the leaves to song 
 And tears gleamed in the soft eyes of the stars. 
 
 So has it been, so shall it always be 
 When you, my love, return again to me. 
 
 21
 
 JUST DREAMING 
 
 Dearest, it is your face that comes to me 
 
 In those sweet moments when I idly dream 
 
 Of youth, and happiness, and things that seem 
 
 To seal within them love s eternity: 
 
 And like the sound of a soft melody 
 
 Or murmuring echo of some plaintive stream, 
 
 Whose silvery ripples mate with each moonbeam, 
 
 I hear your voice so happy and carefree. 
 
 What an exquisite joy my heart would know 
 If you might cease to be a memory, 
 And come again to bring my dreamings true, 
 That loving you I might live ever so 
 Finding full happiness in serving thee 
 And worshipping forever none but you. 
 
 22
 
 OLD LOVES 
 
 Deep within my heart are sealed 
 All the things I loved with you : 
 Shattered hopes and songs half sung 
 And the dreams that ne er came true. 
 
 As a rose jar filled with blooms 
 We both gathered in the May, 
 So my heart is fragrant with 
 Petals of our yesterday. 
 
 Tenderly I breathe the dust 
 And the perfumed memories there 
 Fill me with the strangely sad 
 Peacefulness that follows prayer. 
 
 Things we love each one comes back 
 Breath of half forgotten springs, 
 Songs of soaring birds that bore 
 Blue of Heaven on their wings. 
 
 Stars that only we could see, 
 Moons that smiled for us alone, 
 Laughing winds, the wild brook s rune, 
 Trees upon their mountain throne. 
 
 Things we loved all have passed by 
 Just as you have gone from me, 
 Yet I keep them sweet and dear 
 In my vase of memory.
 
 ST. FRANCIS XAVIER S 
 
 (The priest returns to find his 
 house of worship a smoking ruin.) 
 
 Where but so short a while before had stood 
 
 The modest church in sacred silentness, 
 
 Now ruins with their grim and blackened dress 
 
 Bear the unhappy sign of widowhood : 
 
 Smoke circles from a small charred cross of wood 
 
 While altar cloths, strewn with the carelessness 
 
 Of entrails from the sacrifice express 
 
 A sadness that no other ruin could. 
 
 Slowly the priest draws near God s house of prayer 
 
 With eyes that tell what lips refuse to speak. 
 
 A curious crowd breaks way to let him by 
 
 For in his face has come a great despair 
 
 As if his hopes had turned as sere and bleak 
 
 As that scarred cross mute pointing towards the sky. 
 
 24
 
 TRIBUTE 
 (To the memory of my Grandfather) 
 
 Spun like a thread that feeds a weaver s loom 
 
 Until at last the toiler s task is done, 
 
 So was his life a splendid tapestry 
 
 Of priceless faith and friendship he had won.
 
 JINNY 
 (Eight years old) 
 
 Peacefully in sleep she lay, 
 The still, bronze curls in disarray 
 Fell round her face like the last ray 
 Of sunshine at the sleep of day. 
 
 Spun like a fan of cobweb lawn 
 Her lashes tenderly were drawn 
 Like guards before her soft blue eyes, 
 Unfathomed as warm summer skies. 
 
 In reverence I bent and pressed 
 My lips against the hands at rest 
 As two rose petals on her breast. 
 
 She stirred with sweet unknowing grace 
 And soft curls wandered from their place 
 Hiding the glory of her face. 
 
 So with a tenderness divine 
 
 I tiptoed from my childhood shrine. 
 
 26
 
 PARTING 
 
 Up from the lap of the peaceful slumbering ocean, 
 Into the void of a starless, all-patient heaven, 
 Turning the sea foam into a silvery cobweb 
 A soft moon wandered. 
 
 Deep in the west, warming the earth with a last 
 
 sweet smile of contentment, 
 A coral sun shed pastel peace in its setting, 
 Gathering day to a gentle close with its splendor. 
 
 So came the sorrowful hour that looked on our 
 
 parting ; 
 And the moon and the sun and the sea and you 
 
 together 
 Were one in the sadness of leaving. 
 
 Then into the arms ,or night, with a white moon 
 
 guiding, 
 I rode away leaving you standing alone in the 
 
 flickering daylight: 
 You and the setting sun and our golden moments. 
 
 27
 
 SHADOWS AMONG THE SHADOWS 
 
 Noiselessly our canoe, like an idle water bug, 
 
 Drifted upon the silver-inlaid waters. 
 
 Before us the mountain humped its back against a 
 
 canopy of stars 
 While at its foot two breathing shadows listened. 
 
 Then a paddle slipped from the gunwale, 
 
 Waking night s silence as it smacked the sleeping 
 
 waters : 
 And two does, lifting dripping mouths in timid 
 
 wonder, 
 Melted into the mystery of the mountain. 
 
 28
 
 COBWEBS 
 
 Life is like a cobweb : 
 
 And we the spiders toiling at the rapid looms of 
 
 time, 
 Weave steadily life s tapestry with a rich thread of 
 
 years, 
 Binding the strands of passing days together as we 
 
 climb 
 Up to the cobweb s summit through the sparkling 
 
 dew of tears. 
 
 So with the spider when October comes, 
 Turning each green leaf to a rattling husk, 
 We find the finished cobweb hanging there 
 Deserted in the melancholy dusk. 
 
 Life has its grim October, too, 
 
 And when it calls we each must leave behind 
 
 The cobweb of whatever life we spun 
 
 So those to come may test its mesh and find 
 
 Our character by what the loom has done.
 
 LOVE AND I 
 
 I have a trysting place with love : 
 
 No, not where surging sea 
 
 Lashes the barnacle-covered crags 
 
 And whips the seaweed like wind-tossed flags 
 
 As it strains to set it free. 
 
 Nor do we meet 
 
 Where the candle stars 
 
 Blink as the clouds sail by 
 
 And the faithful moon from ivory hewn 
 
 Hangs sleeping in the sky. 
 
 But deep in the sanctum of my heart 
 Where silence and peace find place : 
 There love and I are truly one, 
 For that is our trysting place.
 
 STARTLED 
 
 A rosebud and a violet 
 Both in a Grecian vase 
 Were ardently a-wooing 
 In modest flower ways. 
 
 The violet demurely 
 Touched light the rosebud s cheek 
 And nestled neath its petals 
 For honeyed lips to seek. 
 
 They kissed and quickly parted 
 As startled lovers do, 
 For a peeping beam of sunlight 
 Had seen the kissing too. 
 
 3
 
 MESSAGE OF THE ROSE 
 
 Plucking the first unfolded rose 
 That bloomed within my garden close, 
 I kissed its petals wet with dew 
 And gave the lip-warm bud to you, 
 Who, smelling it, seemed unaware, 
 Of tender kisses hidden there. 
 
 You did not tell me that you knew 
 The bud had brought my love to you, 
 And yet the blush that warmed your cheek 
 Showed that the rose had dared to speak 
 Those tender words that I, afraid, 
 Upon its petal lips had laid.
 
 THE PATHS OF THE USED-TO-BE 
 
 The quaint old things of yesterday 
 
 Are but a few short steps away: 
 
 At the foot of the hill in a quiet vale 
 
 They are waiting to whisper some old-time tale. 
 
 The quaint old things of yesterday 
 Still linger ere they pass away, 
 And so we may freshen their memory 
 If we follow the paths of the used-to-be. 
 
 And the paths of the used-to-be are these : 
 A roadway cloistered round with trees, 
 A homestead, brown and ivy grown, 
 Still shadow oaks that stand alone 
 Like sentinels to guard the way; 
 These are the things of yesterday. 
 
 33
 
 A SONG 
 
 My heart is aflame with song, 
 
 Crystal clear and healing as organ notes 
 
 That creep through an incensed cloister 
 
 And out of a sainted window 
 
 To life everlasting. 
 
 My heart is running riot with music, 
 
 Soft and as yet unborn to the world 
 
 As the sound of a mountain cataract 
 
 Throwing its silver breath 
 
 Like a benediction 
 
 Upon the upturned, waiting lips of flowers. 
 
 My heart trembles with thankfulness 
 As shadow trees 
 
 Quiver and murmur in the arms of night 
 Like lovers embracing. 
 
 My heart is like a garden delicately fragrant 
 
 Echoing softly the eternal peace Chopin, 
 
 Peace of music, 
 
 Peace of poets, 
 
 Peace of understanding. 
 
 My heart is radiant with song, 
 Sweet song song of the Christ Child, 
 And its words are these : 
 "I love you." 
 
 34
 
 SUNSET 
 
 Folding the sea within a smile divine 
 The sun sank in a maze of majesty, 
 Brimming the ocean rim with Godly wine. 
 
 Wine turned to amber on the pulsing deep, 
 A saffron glow and then a withered gray. 
 Dark shadows fell and found the sea asleep. 
 
 35
 
 IN THE DISTANCE 
 
 Peaceful walks through the tremulous heart of the 
 
 woodland, 
 
 Love and hope in the nod of each sun-kissed flower, 
 Time when the smile on your lips was my shrine 
 
 of devotion ; 
 All in the distance. 
 
 Memory of days when blossoms of spring seemed 
 
 eternal, 
 Whispering hopes now lost in the depths of the 
 
 forest, 
 
 Only the dream of your face and an echo of laughter 
 Left to console me.
 
 PEACE AFTER PRAYER 
 
 Pale tapers on the altar, burning dim, 
 
 Threw lonely shadows on a crucifix 
 
 Of Him 
 
 Who suffered death to save his fellow men. 
 
 Kneeling before the candles ebbing glow, 
 Whose amber rays fell ghostly on his face, 
 A form bent low 
 In penance and in prayer. 
 
 Gently the even breezes, southward bent, 
 Crept up the somber passage from the door 
 And flames sent 
 Lean, gaunt shadows hastening to and fro. 
 
 A sudden gust blew all the tapers out 
 
 And darkness fell around the praying form, 
 
 While all about 
 
 The fragrance of sweet incense filled the room. 
 
 But though all earthly light had faded low, 
 The unseen love and light of God was there, 
 For all men know 
 The sad, sweet peace that follows after prayer. 
 
 And strains of music of the long ago 
 Returned again to charm the listener s ear: 
 And kneeling so 
 A silent benediction filled his heart. 
 
 37
 
 YOU NEVER KNEW 
 
 You are the sweet dream of a faded hour, 
 A happy hour too quickly sped away 
 When I beheld in the fairest flower 
 Of yesterday. 
 
 And yet I know the future will deny 
 A dearer time than that I spent with you 
 And I am sad to think you passed me by 
 And never knew.
 
 LOVE S HOUR 
 
 You are the dream of one immortal hour 
 When youth and love and you and I were one : 
 A time so short I found it passed forever 
 Ere yet begun. 
 
 Since then night with its host of deathless stars- 
 Each one a sacred memory to me 
 Has held its sway and every hour has been 
 Eternity. 
 
 39
 
 TO A FRIEND 
 
 Life holds unnumbered joys for me: 
 Freshness of water and the warm smell of food, 
 Deep forest paths and twilight solitude, 
 Comfort of houses ; the ease of a rocking chair, 
 Moonbeams and starlight and the breath of a 
 woman s hair. 
 
 Cleanness I love and the fresh faint smell of soap, 
 Flowers scent and the pungent, deep-voiced sea, 
 The sun as it sets in a rope of heliotrope : 
 All these bring peace and happiness to me. 
 
 Yet far above each of these welcome things 
 I hold the comfort that your friendship brings.
 
 SWEET CONTENTMENT 
 
 Soft music and a dream of you, 
 The perfumed breath of virgin Spring, 
 An amber moon hung in the sky 
 And breezes gently whispering. 
 
 These tokens of contentment known 
 But in Youth s transient age 
 Are like autumnal flowers blown, 
 Whose fragrance is their heritage.
 
 SONG OF THE LEAVES 
 
 Winter is coming. 
 How do I know? 
 The scurrying leaves 
 Have told me so. 
 
 They hadn t much time 
 To stop their play 
 For they knew Jack Frost 
 Was on his way : 
 
 But as they capered 
 And danced in glee 
 They whispered softly 
 This tale to me: 
 
 "Oh, catch the sunbeams, 
 Store them away 
 To warmthen your heart 
 Each Winter s day. 
 
 "Gather the incense 
 Of dying leaves 
 To breathe when the snow 
 Hangs from the eaves. 
 
 "And drink of the wine 
 On South Wind s breath, 
 For Winter s coming 
 Brings Summer s death." 
 
 Then they hastened by, 
 Soft echoes fell, 
 And thus sweet summer 
 Had said farewell. 
 
 42
 
 PEACE AND WAR
 
 ARMISTICE DAY 
 
 The world went mad with joy that hallowed day 
 When Peace, with low-bowed head, 
 Trod slowly down the trenches where men lay, 
 Dead bodies heaped on dead. 
 
 Laughter, like some spring stream through long 
 
 days held 
 
 Within its tomb of ice, 
 
 Woke in the hearts of those who had beheld 
 War s bitter sacrifice. 
 
 Shout after shout re-echoed to the clouds, 
 Like children s voices through 
 An old deserted house hung with gray shrouds 
 Of dreams that were untrue. 
 
 Peace ! Yet with all our songs each heart returned 
 To graves ungarlanded, 
 
 Where other men long days before had earned 
 The great peace of the dead. 
 
 45
 
 BETHLEHEM STAR 
 (Christmas, 1919) 
 
 I followed the star the shepherds 
 
 Watched burn in the ancient skies 
 
 Till it led beyond the earth rim 
 
 Where the flaming Sun God dies, 
 
 Past fields where sacred blood had flowed 
 
 Like sacrificial wine, 
 
 The star passed o er but stopped where forms 
 
 Stretched out in endless line. 
 
 Rage tore me as my eyes beheld 
 What wounds their bodies showed, 
 And yet I marveled how each face 
 With sweet compassion glowed. 
 
 And as the shepherds old were led 
 To the new-born Saviour s side, 
 The Bethlehem star had guided me 
 Where saviors of men had died. 
 
 46
 
 THANKSGIVING PRAYER 
 (To One Who Died in France) 
 
 He dines today among the hosts 
 Of ever-living dead ; 
 He feasts beside the throne of One 
 With thorns upon His head. 
 
 Yet though his loss be hard to bear, 
 My heart is proud that he is there, 
 And offers thanks in silent prayer. 
 
 MEMORIAL DAY 
 
 We can not lay 
 
 Rose wreaths today 
 
 Upon the graves ot our s who lie 
 
 So silently beneath the sky 
 
 Of flower-blooming France. 
 
 We can not kneel, 
 
 Or prostrate feel 
 
 That bitter-sweet of still commune 
 
 With those whom God hath called so soon 
 
 To their deliverance. 
 
 Yet even though we may not place 
 
 A wreath above each sleeping face, 
 
 We shall not fail one single cross, 
 
 Symbolic of our sacred loss : 
 
 Our prayers, our tears shall span the wave, 
 
 Our hearts shall visit every grave. 
 
 47
 
 Warring days have drifted by, 
 Ships grow dim against the sky 
 As the sailors are returning 
 To the firesides of their yearning. 
 
 But as years turn men to dreaming, 
 
 So they, too, will see steel gleaming, 
 
 Ghostly ships loom in the darkness 
 
 Where the moonbeams clothe their starkness 
 
 With a raiment silver spangled, 
 
 Through the breathing waves entangled : 
 
 Hear the clear voiced bugles calling 
 
 And their echo softly falling 
 
 Where the stars like tears of gladness 
 
 Sparkle with a human sadness. 
 
 Sailor lads are fast returning 
 To the loved ones of their yearning: 
 Yet within their hearts they ll be 
 Wedded always to the sea. 
 
 48
 
 An autumn once in France I knew 
 When flowers bloomed and skies were blue 
 And ruddy peasants in the fields 
 Toiled for the spoils the rich earth yields: 
 An autumn that exhaled sweet peace, 
 Foretold the granaries increase. 
 
 But when another autumn came 
 These homely lands were not the same : 
 Brave hearts wept at the heathen scene 
 Of chaos where sweet peace had been. 
 War s bludgeon held its temporal sway, 
 Death, anguish, rapine ruled the day, 
 The fields of rye were scorched and dead, 
 Each gleaming scythe was dripping red. 
 
 Two autumns now in France I know. 
 One breathes of peace, the other woe, 
 And yet the latter seems to be 
 More sacred in my memory. 
 
 49
 
 LEST WE FORGET 
 (Easter, 1919) 
 
 Our hearts with fulness beat for Him 
 Who has returned from out the grim 
 Black agony of Calvary. 
 
 Yet let us not forget one prayer 
 For countless crosses, grim and bare, 
 Mute guardians of martyrs there 
 Upon another Calvary. 
 
 OUR ANSWER 
 (In memory of the Tuscania) 
 
 Bosomed within the sea off Ireland s coast, 
 They lie our noble dead in lasting peace. 
 Gladly without demur they gave their lives 
 Unto the end that brutal wars shall cease. 
 
 And what shall be our answer to the foe? 
 
 More men, more guns, more ships across the sea. 
 
 Theirs is the challenge : ours the solemn vow 
 
 To fight until the day of victory.
 
 REMORSELESS SEA 
 
 Long days ago I loved the sea, 
 Its pungent breath, the mystery 
 Of tales it softly sang to me. 
 
 Then he was here and days were long, 
 
 And hearts were gay and friendship strong, 
 
 For we both loved the ocean s song. 
 
 War called the haunting waves had still 
 The power and charm to strangely fill 
 My heart with peace and hope at will. 
 
 But now I hate that once kind sea 
 For it has snatched my love from me. 
 With cunning hand, with giant force 
 Showing no pity no remorse 
 It thundered wrath and with a grip 
 Of brutish love dragged down the ship : 
 Down to its heart of black despair 
 And holds my lover captive there.
 
 SPRING AND WINTER
 
 THE HOKY-POKY MAN 
 
 Sweet Spring is here of that I m sure. 
 
 Yet not because the first demure 
 
 Young daffodil has raised its head 
 
 From out its green-hedged flower bed. 
 
 But yesterday I chanced to meet 
 
 Amid the chaos of the street 
 
 A hoky-poky man with cones 
 
 That brimmed with cream of peach-pink tones. 
 
 A thousand kids were hedged around 
 
 To pay their cent and taste the mound 
 
 Of saccharin snow and then to aid 
 
 Digestion with the lemonade 
 
 Within the sweaty jug of ice, 
 
 That summoned those who had the price 
 
 Of one more cent to carry down 
 
 The gutta-percha cone of brown. 
 
 Oh, blithesome Spring is surely here 
 
 When hoky-poky men appear. 
 
 55
 
 SPRING OUTBURST 
 
 I just can t make my pen behave : 
 
 It simply won t keep still. 
 
 I vowed I d write no verse this Spring 
 
 And yet against my will 
 
 I scribble on and on and on 
 
 Of flowers bright and fair 
 
 I simply have to write of them 
 
 When Spring is in the air, 
 
 Oh, springtime time of song and love- 
 
 I swore I d pass you by, 
 
 And yet I have to spring a verse 
 
 Just one or else I ll die. 
 
 BOLD, BAD WINTER 
 
 Winter, you are Bolsheviki, 
 Craven, cowardly and sneaky, 
 To come rushing from your lair, 
 Tossing wild your snow-white hair 
 And to catch us unaware. 
 
 Blushing Spring had made her bow, 
 
 Warmed us with her smile and now, 
 
 Out of season, out of place, 
 
 You come blowing in her face, 
 
 So that she her form a-freezing 
 
 Flees away in fits of sneezing.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 Form L9-42m-8, 49(B5573)444 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 J&SSUSS* L R . E NAL LIBRARY FA 
 
 
 PS 
 
 3507 
 
 D933w