PATHS OF JUNE 
 
 a/ 
 
 DOROTHY STOCKBRIDGE
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 PATHS OF JUNE 
 
 BY 
 
 DOROTHY STOCKBRIDGE 
 
 NEW YORK 
 E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 
 
 681 FIFTH AVENUE
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1920, 
 BY E. P. BUTTON & COMPANY 
 
 Att Rights Reserved 
 
 Printed in the United States of America
 
 PS 
 
 TO MY FATHER 
 
 the finest man I have known, gentlest of poets and 
 philosophers, of kindly wit and mellow wisdom, 
 whose companionship has been and is more near and 
 dear to me than my most secret thoughts. 
 
 623927
 
 THE author is indebted to "Art and Life," "Ains- 
 lee's Magazine," "The Delineator," "The New 
 Fiction Publishing Company," "The Portland Daily 
 Argus," and "The New York Sun" for permission 
 to reprint poems from their pages.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAOB 
 
 THE FELLOWSHIP OF POETS 1 
 
 WORDSWORTH . . . 7 
 
 WHEN I AM OLD 8 
 
 ENTREATY ..... 9 
 
 DEATH AND MEMORY 10 
 
 CENTURIES 11 
 
 ON YOUR BREAST I LIE 15 
 
 SUNSET 17 
 
 MOOD 18 
 
 To K. V i 19 
 
 Loss 21 
 
 MASEFIELD 22 
 
 WHEN WINTER STIRS 30 
 
 THE SWALLOW 31 
 
 To A BUTTERFLY . 32 
 
 A LILY OF THE VALLEY 34 
 
 POUGHKEEPSIE 35 
 
 MEETING 37 
 
 PORTLAND HARBOR 38 
 
 RETURN 40 
 
 [vii]
 
 Contents 
 
 PAGE 
 
 To THE MUSE 42 
 
 To A CHILD THAT DIED AT BIRTH .... 45 
 
 IT'S BETTER TO BREAK AWAY 46 
 
 A SONG 47 
 
 THE MERRY MONTH OF MAY . . . . . . 48 
 
 THE SONG OF BALDER ........ 50 
 
 LONELINESS . . . . . . . . . . 55 
 
 MADCAP APRIL . 56 
 
 RECOMPENSE . . . ... ... . . .58 
 
 LAKE ST. SACRAMENT 59 
 
 A WINTER SUNSET 63 
 
 BEAUTY OF EARTH 64 
 
 DANDELIONS 65 
 
 THE LITTLE HOUSE 66 
 
 To RUPERT BROOKE 67 
 
 STAR GOSSIP 72 
 
 LOST SONGS . . . . . 73 
 
 A WHITE SAIL 74 
 
 IRREMEDIABLE ......... .75 
 
 THE ETERNAL EXILE ........ 76 
 
 RAIN ON THE ST. LAWRENCE . . . . . . 84 
 
 TWILIGHT ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 85 
 
 STARLIGHT . . . ... . . . . .86 
 
 SONNET SEQUENCE . . ...... .87 
 
 SWEETHEART, WAKE UP ....... 91 
 
 [viii]
 
 THE BARON'S DAUGHTER 93 
 
 INEFFABLE . . . . . . ' - ; . . . . 97 
 
 ENTREAT ME NOT 98 
 
 I AM GROWN A WOMAN ....... 99 
 
 THE WEST WIND AND A ROSE 100 
 
 IF FAITH SHOULD DIE 101 
 
 POSEIDON OF MANY MOODS 102 
 
 ON CASCO BAY 107 
 
 THE GULLS 109 
 
 FREE VERSE 
 
 HAUNTED Music 113 
 
 WHEN ONE WAITS AT NIGHT 114 
 
 LAKE GEORGE 115 
 
 FAIRY TALE 116 
 
 THE BENCH BESIDE THE DOOR 117 
 
 THROUGH THE GROVE OF DREAMS . . . .118 
 
 DOWN THE RAINY STREET 119 
 
 SPRING MIGRATION 120 
 
 NON OMNIS MORIAR . 121 
 
 [ix]
 
 PATHS OF JUNE
 
 THE FELLOWSHIP OF POETS 
 
 BECAUSE I can think in stars and measure 
 the world in rose-leaves, 
 Because the dusk is to me 
 The hour when the spirits of violets dead 
 Commune with each other, 
 Claim I the right to dream as you dream, 
 To love as you love, 
 
 To worship the infinite Being in terms of the part; 
 Claim I the right to sorrow, as you, and rejoice, 
 To sing the triumphs of nations, 
 To denounce the ills of the world, 
 To scatter the blooms of devotion 
 Before the fair feet of my lady, 
 Whom never I had nor shall have, 
 Yet whom through the vagrant years 
 I have loved and desired. 
 To sing the glad praise of my lover, 
 To tremble beneath his glances and sigh with his 
 
 sighs 
 
 Who never has sighed nor shall sigh, 
 Whose eyes I never shall see. 
 [1]
 
 The Fellowship of Poets 
 
 ii 
 
 Methinks 'twas but yestereve, deep in the heart of 
 
 the evening, 
 
 I heard the swish of a garment, 
 And glancing forth from the casement beheld 
 The edge of a violet robe caught on the points of the 
 
 stars. 
 
 Who was it had passed? 
 Methinks 'twas but yestermorn 
 I heard a galloping horse upon the hard roadbed, 
 And ran to the window 
 And peered out into the morning, 
 But the dust was thick in my eyes 
 And I could not see the rider. 
 Who was it had passed? 
 
 in 
 
 You and I are the echoes that haunt the mountains. 
 If we echo untruly we |niss our function. 
 You and I are the winds that call from the sunset. 
 If we call not truly we miss our reason for being. 
 You and I are the makers of stars, 
 If we set our stars awry we fail in our trust 
 And our songs are jangling and out of tune. 
 [2]
 
 The Fellowship of Poets 
 
 IV 
 
 "She is ill," they said on the countryside. 
 "Her lover died. 
 
 She lies in her lonely room on the sun-swept hill 
 And moans to die." 
 
 I hastened into the fields and gathered daisies, 
 Eager armfuls, white and yellow, 
 And carried them to her lonely room on the sun- 
 swept hill 
 
 Joys to prick the blackness of her grief 
 As stars the night. 
 
 And this I did for the sake of a song 
 I heard in the twilight. 
 The song had no beginning nor any ending, 
 And the singer was hidden. 
 
 There are many who scoff. 
 
 The wreckers of civilization stand in the streets. 
 
 Clear your eyes of the dust of their falling temples, 
 
 Above the dust shine the deathless stars. 
 
 Climb ye up to the lonely housetops, 
 
 Gather ye moonbeams. 
 
 Ye will need garlands of stars to enchain your captive 
 
 fancies. 
 
 The wind will throw in your lap 
 Golden stars to clasp the mantle of your dreams. 
 [3]
 
 The Fellowship of Poets 
 
 VI 
 
 Let me sing my verse of the song. 
 
 Time is hastening, hastening over the hills. 
 
 Let me sing my verse of the song. 
 
 Others are singing; 
 
 There are voices across the stars. 
 
 I ask not to sing alone, 
 
 But only that some poor shepherd, weary and worn, 
 
 Passing near to my bower may hear and be comforted. 
 
 Let me sing my verse of the song. 
 
 vn 
 
 Come to it lightly out of the hay sweet field, 
 
 Laugh at your singing as men at their work. 
 
 Sit beneath green boughs where apple-blooms hover 
 
 Like butterflies caught in a net of green. 
 
 Sit in the shade and laugh at your singing. 
 
 VIII 
 
 Measure your languid verse in the lap of the noon, 
 Teach the light triplets to run with the feet of gay 
 
 children, 
 
 Bind up your thought in the heart of a rose, 
 Tie the petals with shreds of a rainbow. 
 If you must sing of night 
 Picture the star clasp on her bosom. 
 [4]
 
 The Fellowship of Poets 
 
 If you must sing of storm 
 
 Picture the ingle-nook and the warm clasp of hands. 
 
 DC 
 
 There are two spirits in my heart. 
 
 The one is myself. 
 
 The other is gowned in a tattered rainbow. 
 
 I do not know her, 
 
 For she has wandered down the long road from a 
 
 strange land. 
 
 She sits at the sunset gates 
 And watches the world and sings. 
 Myself sits by the fireside, 
 And watches the embers, crooning softly. 
 Sometimes the stranger's voice startles me there 
 And I go to the doorway. 
 Our eyes meet across the sunset, my other self and 
 
 I- 
 
 There is in them a strange recognition, 
 But we do not speak. 
 
 Bind not the feet of love in the bonds of desire, 
 Build him a cage of sunbeams and song and light 
 
 laughter. 
 
 Hold him not in your arms lest he flee affrighted, 
 Wear him in your cap, enthrone him in your eyes, 
 [5]
 
 The Fellowship of Poets 
 
 Flaunt him abroad in your speech, 
 Never be niggardly. 
 
 Strew his bright roses before the feet of the world, 
 Laugh and withhold not. 
 He will not wander far and will soon return 
 And crown your hair with a wreath of crumpled rose 
 leaves. 
 
 XI 
 
 I have gathered my fancies into a net of song. 
 
 Take up my flowers with careless fingers 
 
 And scatter them by the roadside. 
 
 Who shall regret them? 
 
 The song is strung on a thread of sunbeams. 
 
 If a shadow break the thread, what does it matter? 
 
 My heart will reach forth light fingers of dreams 
 
 And tie the broken ends into a knot. 
 
 The lost flowers will laugh and my heart will rejoice 
 
 in song. 
 
 The song has no beginning nor any ending, 
 And the singer is hidden. 
 
 [6]
 
 WORDSWORTH 
 
 NOT superman, but human, more than most 
 Sensitive, to suffer and enjoy; 
 Holding through life, and at what bitter cost, 
 The simple heart that swayed the untutored boy; 
 Using the simple speech that taught his ears 
 Rough music ere he reached his manhood's prime; 
 Pondering deep through the eventful years 
 Impassioned truths, unbound by space or time. 
 
 No juggler he of pretty word or phrase, 
 
 But, like the hidden thrush at even hour, 
 
 Pours from his heart his heart's impassioned power, 
 
 The crown and garnered sweetness of his days; 
 
 By times is silent, and again he fills 
 
 With shepherd pipings all the Quantock hills. 
 
 [7]
 
 WHEN I AM OLD 
 
 WHEN I am old shall I grow still and sigh, 
 When I am old, 
 
 And think my dreaming past and hope gone by, 
 And life grown dull, love being dead, and die 
 When I am old? 
 Such I have seen, but oh, not I, not I ! 
 
 Let me still know that dawns are smiling cold 
 
 Across the bosom of our forest pool, 
 
 And evenings with still brows are bending down 
 
 On field and town, 
 
 And noonday's warmth and midnight's starry cold 
 
 When I am old! 
 
 Let me still know that song is good and laughter, 
 That men are brave and women still are true, 
 And friends are worthy trust, and after, after 
 Life that is sweet comes sweeter death and you 
 
 Let me still know that in some other place 
 Through some diviner air 
 Shall bloom the secret wonder of your face 
 Some other where. 
 
 [8]
 
 ENTREATY 
 
 THIS most I crave, if even such as I 
 May crave such things, to hear the tempest 
 
 moan 
 
 And not to fear; 
 To see the wild sprays fly, 
 To hear 
 
 The swish of cloud- wreaths on tall peaks of stone; 
 To suffer grief and pain, to stand alone; 
 To sense the universe some God has made, 
 Grow old and sick and sad, grow faint and die 
 But not to be afraid! 
 
 [9]
 
 DEATH AND MEMORY 
 
 OH Azrael, the angel men call Death 
 And poets call eternal Life and Rest, 
 There is a little rose upon thy breast 
 Not withered in thy stern and blasting breath, 
 That thou hast picked upon the banks of Lethe 
 In the Elysian Gardens of the blest. 
 If life and joy be dearest this next best, 
 Shade of the light thy mantle darkeneth, 
 
 One said, "Lo, Death was in the house last night. 
 We felt his icy breath all through the room. 
 His shadow fell across the firelight, 
 And chilled our hearts and filled our lives with 
 
 gloom." 
 
 But on the hearth what is it that I see? 
 Lo, Death has dropped his rose of memory. 
 
 [10]
 
 CENTURIES 
 
 O CENTURIES! 
 You have built high your myriad dead to make 
 
 this sum. 
 
 In age-old mysteries 
 Your dim processions come, 
 Christ on the cross and Nero in the mire, 
 All hopes and fears 
 
 And prides of Rome and Babylon and Tyre, 
 And the world fire 
 
 Of Helen's smiles and Heloise's tears; 
 All children and their laughter, and the eyes 
 Of long dead beauties, lighting with their gleams 
 Some Sultan's dreams; 
 
 And for our pride have built and cast away 
 Empires more dead to memory than they. 
 
 Out on you, long dead and passionless 
 First cause of all! In the volcanic stress 
 Of the first birth 
 Of ocean and of earth 
 
 What wanton dream of yours builded the face 
 Of this brown beggar eating roasted meat 
 In Beefsteak Johnny's Place? 
 [11]
 
 O Centuries 
 
 What children laughed and died that these might run 
 
 Bright headed in the sun 
 
 On high uplands, 
 
 Dew on their feet and flowers in their hands? 
 
 Strange web upon whose shining surface lies 
 
 High heart and high emprise, 
 
 Riverside on a Sunday afternoon and ships 
 
 With the sea against their lips, 
 
 The warm breath of the city, busses fleet 
 
 From street to street, 
 
 Buildings high as heaven, and the span 
 
 Of bridges, pure and cold, the noblest work of man; 
 
 Railroads belching fire 
 
 Around the earth, crimson against the night, 
 
 And silver white 
 
 Through wide sea ways ships driving, sails unfurled, 
 
 Or strained with throb of wheel and hum of wire 
 
 Bearing from light to light 
 
 The produce of a world to feed a world, 
 
 With my closed eyes I see 
 Long fields, gasping and thirsty in the sun, 
 And men who work in groups or silently 
 Move down the rustling corn rows one by one. 
 Or on some July evening see again 
 Green pastures whipped with rain 
 So still and far! 
 But here where subways are 
 [12]
 
 O Centuries 
 
 And crowds of tired men and women pour 
 
 From shop to shop and store to store, 
 
 A woman whom the lips of children kissed 
 
 Trudges, bad-tempered, with her shopping list! 
 
 What irony did your cold heart bestir, 
 
 Centuries, when first you dreamed of her? 
 
 Life holds me close. I only dimly see 
 
 Gigantic shapes that rise 
 
 Against far skies, 
 
 Shadows of little things grown monstrously, 
 
 Yet dimly feel 
 
 Those forces fierce and few 
 
 That first creation knew 
 
 And are upon us now for woe or weal. 
 
 How could you know that more than might of kings 
 
 Such little things 
 
 As the pipe dream 
 
 Of wheels revolving in expanding steam, 
 
 Born of the dust that was a living brain, 
 
 Might lift again 
 
 The shadow of world chaos at our door, 
 
 Or that the scream 
 
 Of hungry children crying in their pain 
 
 Might lay that shadow in the dust once more? 
 
 Oh, first, great Cause, what silent dreams have bound 
 Your eyes on those still nights before the stars 
 Crossed the last bars 
 
 [13]
 
 O Centuries 
 
 Of being and began their timeless round, 
 
 And earth and ocean, deep in endless deep, 
 
 Aroused from sleep, 
 
 And the first passions and the last awoke 
 
 And stirred quiescent matter till it felt and spoke? 
 
 Did you dream then that the end of all was this 
 
 To meet and kiss 
 
 And die and drift apart down the still wind, 
 
 Leaving behind 
 
 No faintest trace 
 
 But a chance trick of smile 
 
 Or line of brow or chin that lives awhile 
 
 In some child's face? 
 
 Or was all end to make some perfect thing, 
 
 Or peace or happiness, who knows? 
 
 Or a baby's hand, or a starlit night in spring, 
 
 Or the petals of a rose?
 
 ON YOUR BREAST I LIE 
 
 ON your breast I lie, 
 wind of the night, wind of death. 
 My pulse beats low with your breath, 
 And strange shadows pass 
 Wavering-footed over the sodden grass, 
 And strange things are born and die, 
 And I 
 Grow still and aware at the cool suspense of your 
 
 breath, 
 Wind of the night, wind of death. 
 
 I who was not afraid at the touch 
 Of the cool hands of grief, 
 Thinking beyond measure, 
 Loving too much, 
 Forgetting my self-belief 
 I have lost my treasure. 
 
 I am grown afraid with the fear of little things, 
 The old world-weakness catches in my breath, 
 And the rush of your wings, 
 
 And the sting of your pride flung fearless in my face 
 From the stars and the farthermost space 
 [15]
 
 On Your Breast I Lie 
 
 Wake only poor discontent and the voice of anguish 
 
 loud 
 
 In my heart once still and proud, 
 Wind of the night, wind of death. 
 
 Some day I shall rise and fling 
 
 This terror out of my heart, 
 
 And will turn apart 
 
 And sing 
 
 For my own pleasure under some quiet hill 
 
 Where the air is still 
 
 And blue violets are, 
 
 And afar 
 
 Blue hills cut into a bluer sky, 
 
 And the pangs of men pass by 
 
 And my soul draws near, 
 
 And then perchance if I please, I shall climb to a 
 
 star 
 
 Or pass to some hidden brook 
 And lie and look 
 In the clear, brown, shining pools, and sleep in the 
 
 shade of a tree 
 As it pleases me. 
 And it will be all one, 
 
 For I shall laugh in your face and put off fear 
 From year to year, 
 And the catch in my breath 
 And the chill of my heart will be gone, 
 Oh, wind of the night, wind of death. 
 [16]
 
 SUNSET 
 
 THE flowers have faded, every one, 
 The leaves are dead. 
 I found the garden stripped of bloom. 
 The soft-eyed nymphs attendant on the sun 
 Heap the flushed rose leaves for his crimson bed 
 Low in the west, and from their careless fingers 
 Caressed with purple gloom, 
 The lilac blossoms trickle, one by one. 
 
 [17]
 
 MOOD 
 
 YOU are singing of love, but how can you love to 
 night 
 
 When the wind blows cold from the sea? 
 Satyr-love, ah yes, 
 Riotously 
 
 In the wide moonlight 
 Opaque and white 
 And tangible as a bridal dress. 
 Just for an hour, perhaps, the wild, sweet pain 
 Were I never to see your face again. 
 
 You are singing of love. Ah, God, what do you 
 
 know 
 
 Of the world-old fire? 
 
 Love of the drawing room and sick desire, 
 Take up your lute and go. 
 Jove comes to me to-night as he came of old 
 In a flood of gold, 
 And the wind blows cold 
 With a hint of snow. 
 
 [18]
 
 TO K. V. 
 
 FRIEND, from the womb of half-remembered 
 things 
 
 My heart turns back to you 
 Inevitably as that April blooms anew 
 After the passing of a thousand springs. 
 Sure as the sunlight that succeeds the rain, 
 Peace after pain, 
 
 Or the bee's flight to seek the clover, 
 Or love to meet the lover, 
 After long parting we should meet again, 
 Nor space nor time avail to hold apart 
 Kinship of mind and heart. 
 
 I have watched you sometimes when the lamplight 
 
 lies 
 
 Across your brow and hair, 
 And the swift lights and shadows in your eyes 
 Change unaware, 
 
 And gropingly my thought has tried to trace 
 The child face I remember in your face. 
 But that unchanging thing, the soul of you 
 That once I knew, 
 
 Slips back again to its accustomed place, 
 [19]
 
 To K. V. 
 
 So strange-familiar, so familiar-strange 
 
 I do not know the change, 
 
 But feel that sweet fulfilment that one knows 
 
 When the first rose 
 
 Blossoms again in June beside the door, 
 
 Opening pale petals to the sun 
 
 The sum of earth's lost beauty, which alone 
 
 Perfection lacked before. 
 
 I have no gift to give for what you bring 
 
 Rich beyond measuring, 
 
 Yet feel no shame 
 
 To take, unworthy, at your hands that name 
 
 Of friend, most sacred, for I too have seen 
 
 There is no little thing, no petty, nothing mean 
 
 In the clear light of faith that lies between 
 
 High heart and heart. 
 
 There most unworthiness takes something on 
 
 Of beauty from the ideal it leans upon, 
 
 Needing no justification. Joy the prize, 
 
 And to look life in the eyes. 
 
 [20]
 
 LOSS 
 
 INTO the dark I peer, 
 The dark that lies 
 So heavy on my heart, 
 Stretching my hands to tear the veil apart. 
 In the breathless hush I hold my breath to hear, 
 But your voice is dumb. 
 
 And silent, out of the void, the shadows come, 
 Shrouding again your half unveiled eyes. 
 
 [21]
 
 MASEFIELD 
 
 AN IMPRESSION 
 
 IT'S the month of Mars, the war god, 
 And the hour's the hour of death, 
 And down the cobbled street-way 
 Conies the day's last shivering breath. 
 Across the narrow street end 
 The red tide's at the flood, 
 And against the crimson sunset 
 Stand dark house-eaves, dripping blood. 
 
 But hey, and ho, for a land of daffodils, 
 
 Of a smile across the meadows and a glory on the 
 
 hills, 
 Of a green mist in the willow and blue violets in the 
 
 fen, 
 Where the song-sparrow's a-twitter, and the robin's 
 
 back again. 
 
 It's the month of Mars, the war god, 
 
 And the day is on the wane. 
 
 The glory of the sunset 
 
 Fills the city's heart like pain. 
 
 [22]
 
 Masefield 
 
 And the crowd turns up to meet it 
 Faces pinched and white that seem 
 Eager, pensive, strained, expectant, 
 Like lost faces in a dream. 
 
 Then hey, and ho, for a land of daffodils, 
 
 For a smile across the valley and a glory on the hills 
 
 Where the smoke of distant cities fades before the 
 
 sunset gleam, 
 
 Where the cares and sorrows thronging, 
 And the old, unanswered longing 
 Fade like faces in a dream, 
 
 He came swinging down on the windy side 
 And the roll of the sea was in his stride. 
 He was brown of face and quiet-eyed 
 One would judge him a seaman by his looks, 
 And yet a man with a taste for books, 
 Thoughtful friends and quiet hours, 
 Country roads and birds and flowers. 
 And as he came through the quiet street 
 He cast one eye at the forward moon, 
 And suiting his thought to a measure meet, 
 He sang an old sea-faring tune: 
 
 "Good-by, sweet Mary of Plymouth. 
 The freshening wind blows cold. 
 We're off for Valparaiso 
 To try for Spanish gold. 
 
 [23]
 
 Masefield 
 
 "Then heave all together! 
 
 We're off from Plymouth Sound. 
 
 Hark to the music of the jangling chains! 
 
 We're off and outward bound. 
 
 "One cheer for merry England, 
 And one for our empty hold. 
 We won't be needing ballast 
 When we've got the Spanish gold." 
 
 Now as he paused and lingered at the corner 
 As though in doubt, through the half-open door 
 Of a low dwelling where a noisy crowd 
 Of children wrangled, came a clear, sweet voice, 
 Divinely fresh, and clear and very young. 
 I saw him turn and listen, and the babel 
 Of voices hushed a moment. Some one said, 
 "It's Lilias. It's the song she made herself." 
 Then a pause while the sweet ringing notes 
 Poured from the inner gloom. And then a shout. 
 "Ki yi! I'll beat you all down to the sign 
 Of the Blue Heron." And the noisy crowd 
 Swept down the rosy street and out of sight. 
 The voice came nearer. Dust rose in a cloud 
 Through the half open door, the swish and swing 
 Of the hard laboring broom rilled in the pauses, 
 Then Lilias herself upon the step. 
 Scarce more than child she seemed, and sadly white 
 With indoor living; neither short nor tall, 
 [24]
 
 Masefield 
 
 With shoulders slightly stooped. Most wonderful 
 In her cheap dress and gaudy cotton apron, 
 And underneath the bib, a heart of light 
 That freed itself in song. 
 
 "Listen, little children, listen while I tell you, 
 
 There are other children happier than we. 
 
 Children of the air that walk the green streets of 
 
 Heaven, 
 Children of the waves that dance upon the silver sea. 
 
 "Children, little children, see the white gulls flying. 
 They, I think, are spirits of the children that have 
 
 gone. 
 
 All across the harbor see the gray waves dying; 
 The sea babies are dead, and the sad winds moan, 
 
 "Birds of the white wings, 
 Take me away. 
 The wind sings in the bay. 
 Hark how the wind sings! 
 Birds of the white wings, 
 Take me away." 
 
 She dropped the broom. With arms outspread 
 She stood beside the dingy door, 
 Lost in the wonder overhead, 
 Deaf to the city's distant roar. 
 
 [25]
 
 Masefield 
 
 The street is for the moment still. 
 
 The impatient stamp of a horse's hoof 
 
 Rings on the cobbles. To and fro 
 
 The eager sunset fairies go 
 
 Over the salty scented sea, 
 
 Weaving a gorgeous canopy 
 
 Of golden warp and woof. 
 
 "Hullo!" The charm snapped. Turning frightened 
 
 eyes 
 
 She saw the smiling sailor, hat in hand, 
 Upon the step. A strangely taking face 
 With the wide, serious eyes and frank, sweet smile. 
 The little woman, prematurely wise, 
 Looked and was reassured, and smiled in turn. 
 A strange thing, such a smile. A friendship born, 
 Grown, and perfected in a single glance. 
 A rare smile; such as an old man might count 
 Upon the fingers of one hand. 
 
 The sunset faded and the night came on, 
 And on the step before the dingy door 
 The sun-burned sailor and the pale-faced maid 
 Sat talking. He with bared head thrown well back 
 And scanty, forceful gestures of a man 
 Who holds tight reins upon a mighty soul, 
 Told of the things that he had seen and done 
 In many lands and under foreign skies, 
 On seas whose utmost ripple laps the pole. 
 And she, bent forward, chin on blue-veined hand, 
 [26]
 
 Masefield 
 
 With flushing cheeks and eyes alight with dreams, 
 Hung breathless on his words. 
 
 About her feet the vast, eternal tide 
 
 Stormed with wild laughter. She could feel the roll 
 
 Of the sea beauty, staggering in her stride, 
 
 Then plunging toward the ever-fading goal. 
 
 She heard the cordage creaking, and the sea 
 Hiss, and the ship's bells ringing out the hour, 
 And saw the wind-worn vessel suddenly 
 Blossom with shining whiteness like a flower. 
 
 She saw the decks scrubbed clean and white with 
 
 sand, 
 
 With little groups of sailors here and there, 
 And heard strange talk of many a palmy land, 
 And women with black eyes and shadowy hair. 
 
 She clutched his hand and shuddered at wild tales 
 Of stormy nights spent clinging to the spars, 
 Tossed by the fury of unbridled gales 
 Halfway between the ocean and the stars; 
 
 Tales of brave deeds and mean, of sudden death, 
 Of seekers stricken almost at the goal; 
 Of the sad flickerings of the failing breath, 
 And tragedies of body and of soul. 
 [27]
 
 Masefield 
 
 And then she smiled, hearing of woodland ways 
 
 Leading among the everlasting hills; 
 
 Of bird-songs, brooks, and flowers, and summer 
 
 days; 
 Of fields of fern and nodding daffodils. 
 
 Then in a milder vein he spoke of hours 
 In his dim chamber; where the lamplight ends 
 A row of cherished books, fragrant as flowers 
 With memories, and seen through a blue wave 
 Of pipe smoke, eager faces, earnest, grave, 
 A group of chosen friends, 
 
 Raptly she sees, forgetting time and place, 
 Before her eyes the pageant of her dreams. 
 And fitfully across her upturned face 
 The light of the dim street lamp dimly streams. 
 
 The night moves on, the raw chill air grows bold, 
 The lurid sky reflects the city's light, 
 Till, seeing that she shivers with the cold, 
 The story-teller kisses her good-night, 
 
 And strides away adown the gusty street, 
 A moment silent, feeling something rise 
 And choke his breathing, something very sweet, 
 Remembering her patient, grateful eyes. 
 [28]
 
 Mase field 
 
 He pauses at the corner, doubtfully, 
 For from the darkness he has left behind, 
 A strain of a familiar melody 
 Comes swirling to him on the gusty wind: 
 
 "Children, little children, listen while I tell you, 
 There are wondrous countries that we shall never 
 
 know, 
 
 Glory and adventure, kindliness and daring, 
 Out beyond the ocean where the bold winds blow. 
 
 "Birds of the white wings, 
 Take me away. 
 The wind sings in the bay. 
 Hark how the wind sings! 
 Birds of the white wings, 
 Take me away" 
 
 [29]
 
 WHEN WINTER STIRS 
 
 WHEN winter stirs and wakes and lies wide-eyed, 
 Shaken with wonder as the green things start 
 Unbidden from his breast, I sometimes think 
 How love once grew in my quiescent heart! 
 
 [30]
 
 THE SWALLOW 
 
 SEE the merry swallow, heart of mirth, 
 Lilting, tilting on the swaying bough, 
 
 Hear him shaking out his chatter o'er the unawakened 
 earth, 
 
 Flitting now. 
 
 Who can tell his meaning? Just a happy heart con 
 tent 
 
 In the blue-swept firmament? 
 
 Neither ecstasy nor sorrow 
 
 Haunts his accents wild. 
 
 Just a careless chatte- 
 
 Like a child. 
 
 See the little mate upon her nest 
 
 Where the flickering shadow comes to rest, 
 
 Hear the flow of cheery crooning from his perch 
 
 above 
 
 Full of tenderness and love. 
 Where's the merry fellow seen but yesterday 
 Flaunting through the heavens his brave array? 
 Who has taught him in the night hours long 
 That strange new sweetness in his song? 
 
 [31]
 
 TO A BUTTERFLY 
 
 AIRY- WINGED fancy, where art thou flying 
 O'er the mown fields where the daisies are dying? 
 Where dost thou roam? 
 Where, 
 
 In the wide regions of air, 
 Lieth thy home? 
 
 Drunk with the breath of the hay 
 I ponder thy flutter and sway. 
 Airy-winged sprite of an hour, 
 Dream of a flower, 
 Whither away? 
 
 Spirit a-tilt on the rose drooping there, 
 
 Dead in the beauty of morn were it never so fair, 
 
 A breath, and thou fleest. 
 
 Art thou the soul of the flower released, 
 
 Or the voice of its prayer? 
 
 Spirit of light and of motion, 
 Linger awhile. 
 
 Fain would I tell thee this notion 
 As fleeting as thou; 
 
 [32]
 
 To a Butterfly 
 
 That when God made thee, I think it was not of a 
 
 smile ! 
 See how thou wanderest, fitful as thought through the 
 
 years, 
 
 Bringing me now 
 Fancies too dainty for words, too tender for tears. 
 
 Spirit of light, thou hast fled 
 
 Vaguely away 
 
 Over the buttercup bed 
 
 Where the golden cups shed 
 
 A reflection of day. 
 
 Where hast thou gone on thy wandering, wavering 
 
 wings? 
 
 Where the blue bell swings? 
 Back to thy palace of white 
 In a lily's heart? 
 Yet still in my fancy I see thee, the fluttering thing 
 
 of delight 
 That thou art. 
 
 [33]
 
 A LILY OF THE VALLEY 
 
 HAVE you ever seen a lily, a slender, virgin lily, 
 Growing in the valley where the brook runs 
 
 cool, 
 
 Leaning to the shallows where the ripples linger stilly, 
 Then purl and pass through stirring grass and 
 thoughtful, moss-green pool? 
 
 If you have not, then you know not shyest beauty, 
 
 frailest splendor. 
 In her modest maiden whiteness trembling by the 
 
 singing stream 
 She has caught the wistful prettiness of things serene 
 
 and tender 
 That children know whose fancies grow and fade 
 
 from dream to dream. 
 
 Go and seek her; you will find her where the water 
 
 lingers stilly 
 Ere it wanders to the river, silver gleaming, faint and 
 
 far. 
 And you'll know that earth and heaven were created 
 
 that a lily 
 Might fill the air with fragrance there where shine 
 
 and shadows are. 
 
 [34]
 
 POUGHKEEPSIE 
 
 Poughkeepsie in the springtime when the apple 
 trees are blooming 
 And the lilacs are in blossom and white showers of 
 
 petals fall! 
 
 All the gardens foam with blossom, 
 Apple, peach and cherry blossom, 
 Riotous, unbridled blossom 
 Overflowing every wall. 
 
 In winter time your tawdry streets are dull and drab 
 
 and dreary, 
 Aswirl with winds that pirouette like dancers on a 
 
 floor, 
 But some golden day in springtime comes the robin's 
 
 signal cheery 
 And an army of gay blossoms bursts from every 
 
 garden door. 
 
 Such a carnival they celebrate you cannot hold or 
 
 bind them 
 Though you wall them in with masonry and make 
 
 the prison tall. 
 
 [35]
 
 Poughkeepsie 
 
 Where'er you go, where'er you go you're always sure 
 
 to find them, 
 A merry mocking multitude o'erhanging every wall. 
 
 Where'er you go they follow you with perfume, flung 
 
 in showers, 
 And petals fallen on your path, like heaps of fragrant 
 
 snow, 
 And you dream you are in fairyland and laugh 
 
 among the flowers, 
 At the earth that you deserted half a hundred years 
 
 ago. 
 
 Oh Poughkeepsie in the springtime when the apple 
 
 trees are blooming, 
 And the lilacs are in blossom and white showers of 
 
 petals fall! 
 
 All the gardens foam with blossom. 
 Apple, peach and cherry blossom, 
 Riotous, unbridled blossom 
 Overflowing every wall. 
 
 [36]
 
 MEETING 
 
 MOONLIGHT on the white breast of the sea, 
 Sunlight on the white brow of the hill. 
 I stand upon the dim shores silently 
 And all the world is still. 
 
 Stars upon the forehead of the night, 
 
 Stars upon the bosom of the sea, 
 
 And high between them, gowned in pearly white, 
 
 A cloud floats wondrously. 
 
 Death within the ocean at my feet, 
 Life within the shadow of the hill. 
 I stand upon the moment when they meet 
 And all eternity is still. 
 
 [37]
 
 PORTLAND HARBOR 
 
 OH, the salt is in my nostrils and the wind is in 
 my hair, 
 And the eager capes reach out to grasp the sea on 
 
 either hand. . 
 There's the city out behind me, but I'm better here 
 
 than there, 
 For the ocean ships, the sailing ships come beating in 
 
 to Portland, 
 
 The grim and white-toothed ocean ships, 
 The fleeting, gray-winged sailing ships, 
 The gaunt and battered whaling ships 
 Come beating in to land. 
 
 The buoy out there is ringing, tossing in the waves 
 
 and singing 
 An ancient song of stormy nights and battered, sunken 
 
 hulls, 
 A clanging note across the waves to warn the ships of 
 
 Portland, 
 
 For the ocean ships, the sailing ships, 
 The gaunt and battered whaling ships 
 Come beating in to Portland beneath the circling 
 
 gulls. 
 
 [38]
 
 Portland Harbor 
 
 There's a lighthouse on the rocky ledge before the 
 
 gates of Portland, 
 A lighthouse on the jagged reef gnawed by white 
 
 fangs of foam, 
 Twin blinking eyes that search the dark to find the 
 
 ships of Portland, 
 The ocean ships, the sailing ships, 
 The gaunt and battered whaling ships, 
 The weary ships of Portland that come careening 
 
 home. 
 
 Oh, the salt is in my nostrils and the sun is on my 
 
 hair, 
 And the angry winds are buffeting the capes on either 
 
 hand. 
 I have left the streets behind me. Oh, I'm better 
 
 here than there, 
 For the ocean ships, the sailing ships come beating in 
 
 to Portland, 
 
 The grim and white-toothed ocean ships, 
 The fleeting gray-winged sailing ships, 
 The gaunt and battered whaling ships 
 Come beating in to land. 
 
 [39]
 
 RETURN 
 
 I STOOD upon the sands beside the sea, 
 The waves went from me, laughing on the 
 
 bar, 
 
 Then, like naughty children, 
 Staggering back across the yellow sands 
 Repentantly, 
 
 Bearing in their outstretched hands 
 The evening star, 
 The waves came back to me. 
 
 I stood within the crowded market place 
 And joy went from me in a flood of song, 
 When lo! through all the mart 
 A miracle! for echoed, magnified in every 
 
 face 
 The joy poured back into my heart. 
 
 I stood within the garden in the dawn 
 And saw with bated breath 
 The failing flicker of the last lone star 
 Slain by the shafts of light, 
 [40]
 
 Return 
 
 And near at hand pathetically white 
 
 A young rose lying in the arms of Death, 
 
 Then smiled, remembering 
 
 How the waves came again across the bar. 
 
 [41]
 
 TO THE MUSE 
 
 I HAVE ever praised thy name, O Singer of Songs. 
 In the hush of the blinding dawn in my barefoot 
 
 days, 
 
 Knee-deep in the fields dew-cool where the robin sings 
 And the daisy wakes, 
 And the swallow, mad with the morning, swoops and 
 
 swings, 
 
 Dropping bright rain of rippling song and shakes 
 Joy from his wings, 
 
 Touched in my dumb child soul and set apart 
 In the lonely ways, 
 Aching and tense 
 Knowing thy presence, 
 In my inarticulate heart 
 I have sung thy praise. 
 
 But thou with gracious head mist-veiled and bent 
 Hast turned as from an unworthy instrument. 
 
 I have ever sung thy praise, Singer of Songs. 
 In the foolish pride of my youth in the heat of noon 
 When the roses scented the morning, trembling sweet, 
 And the buttercups gilded my feet, 
 
 [42]
 
 To the Muse 
 
 And the bumblebees booming amid the clover 
 
 Said to the brooding birds "The June is over"; 
 
 And close on the heels of June 
 
 The hot hay winds from the meadows made reply 
 
 With a breath of July, 
 
 Proud of my towering strength, 
 
 Feeling at length 
 
 Sure of my wings, 
 
 Apart in the lonely ways, 
 
 Secure in a sense of the beauty of things 
 
 With my uncouth tongue I have sung thy praise. 
 
 But thou disdainfully thy head hast bent 
 And turned as from an unworthy instrument. 
 
 Bewildered with grief, weary into the night 
 Down the long roads of darkness I have strayed, 
 Hearing no sound although to left and right 
 In the writhing trees the battling storm wind swayed, 
 Blind though the north was kindled with the light 
 Of flashing swords in tournament arrayed, 
 And underneath the arching ferns there might be seen 
 Fire-flies like fairy lamps wandering through the green 
 In vague, uncertain flight, 
 Miserable with pain, 
 
 Sick with uneasy thoughts, regrettings vain, 
 Lost and afraid, 
 
 I knew nor sight nor sound when lo! again 
 Upon my throbbing senses, drawn and tense, 
 [43]
 
 To the Muse 
 
 Stole a sweet comforting without a name 
 
 As of one who came 
 
 And touched with gentle hands of perfect art 
 
 The dumb strings of my heart, 
 
 Waking them into speech, misery's dull release, 
 
 Waking them into peace, 
 
 Life and content, 
 
 As though, O hidden Singer, thou hadst leant 
 An instant o'er thine instrument. 
 
 Singer of Songs, eternal, beyond praise 
 
 Or fame, 
 
 In the chill winter of the last lone days 
 
 My tongue shall speak thy name, 
 
 Great beyond greatness, fairer than all art, 
 
 Knowing that life has given me too much 
 
 That for a breath the lutestrings of my heart 
 
 Have answered to thy touch, 
 
 That for one flying hour thy breath has stirred 
 
 To melody unheard 
 
 This heart else dumb, and that thy hand has leant 
 
 For one brief, perfect hour upon thine instrument. 
 
 [44]
 
 TO A CHILD THAT DIED AT BIRTH 
 
 SWEET be thy sleep, oh! thou who like a dream 
 Camest in the night. 
 
 Thy soul, long used to Paradise, too frail 
 To bear the light. 
 
 We held thee all too close; we did not know 
 Dreams are too frail to press, 
 And wakened shivering in the cold gray dawn 
 To loneliness. 
 
 [45]
 
 IT'S BETTER TO BREAK AWAY 
 
 OH, it's better to break away 
 When the heart is dull, 
 Cleanly and clearly away. 
 But some day, some day 
 Life will come back to the full, 
 Love will come back to the full 
 Some day. 
 
 And I will come back to you 
 
 Over the sea, 
 
 And your hands shall welcome me, 
 
 And perhaps your kisses too, 
 
 But your eyes will look away. 
 
 Ah, sweetheart, sweetheart, 
 
 If you but knew, 
 
 Love has come home to stay 
 
 To-day. 
 
 [46]
 
 A SONG 
 
 NO bud more swift to greet the spring, 
 No bee to suck the clover, 
 No lark to rise on morning wing 
 Than I to meet my lover. 
 
 For though the lark's with rapture mad 
 And earth's blithe soul flows over, 
 There is no other heart as glad 
 As mine that greets my lover. 
 
 [47]
 
 THE MERRY MONTH OF MAY 
 
 I CAME upon a lilac spray 
 A-bending and a-bowing 
 Upon the wind of merry May. 
 The sun smiled broadly in the sky, 
 And how I laughed as I passed by, 
 For it was such a merry way 
 The lilac had of bowing. 
 
 Through shady vales I walked along 
 And heard a bluebird singing, 
 
 And paused awhile to hear his song. 
 The sun paused, too, in sympathy, 
 And deigned to laugh awhile with me, 
 
 For it \ as such a merry song 
 The bluebird was a-singing. 
 
 I reveled in long, golden days 
 When May was in the hedges, 
 
 And earth a-tune with thrush's lays. 
 And as for us the sun and I 
 We held our breath and tiptoed by, 
 
 Lest we profane the sacred ways 
 Of Maytime in the hedges. 
 [48]
 
 The Merry Month of May 
 
 Oh! those were golden hours and free. 
 
 All in the merry Maytime! 
 Then brooklets gurgled merrily, 
 
 And all the Springtime's treasured yields, 
 
 And all the lore of woods and fields 
 Were open as a book to me 
 
 All through the merry Maytime. 
 
 [49]
 
 THE SONG OF BALDER 
 
 THERE came in the floodtime of the year 
 Balder frofii the shades, 
 And lifting up his eyes e'en to the heavens 
 He touched his harp and sang. 
 
 "Behold the stars that rock upon their course, 
 
 Beating through clouds like ships 
 
 That breast the maddened fury of the sea, 
 
 And then like candles in the wind 
 
 Before the tempest of onrushing light 
 
 Flicker and die. 
 
 Now the chill breathing earth 
 
 Shivers and blows across the gusty fields, 
 
 And icy fingers 
 
 Turn back the tattered pages of the night, 
 
 And lo! within the portals of the east 
 
 See the frail ghost of Freya to her murmurous 
 
 lips 
 Pressing the rose of dawn, 
 
 "Below my feet a river curls 
 
 Silently slipping through far reaching fields, 
 
 A golden river pensioned of the sun. 
 
 Yet lift your eyes 
 
 [50]
 
 The Song of Balder 
 
 You may not see its source, 
 
 Nor I, nor any man, 
 
 But if we follow back along its banks, 
 
 Touched with a veil of silver mist that clings 
 
 Like dim forgetfulness on buried years. 
 
 See the wide stream of glory and of fame 
 
 That breathes of god-like men 
 
 Who died for Woden. 
 
 Yea, for Woden and their father's gods 
 
 And recked the world well lost 
 
 'Ghosts,' ye cry, 
 
 Only ghosts, 
 
 Cold breaths of sea damp wandering from the 
 
 night, 
 No more. 
 
 And strong men fought and bled, 
 Suffered and sorrowed more than human strength 
 All for a phantom god, 
 And with their sacrifice of blood and pain 
 And stern, heroic dust 
 Built up a temple to the empty air. 
 Oh! mighty Love that moves behind the world, 
 Oh! mighty Love that moves men's hearts to tears, 
 They in their blindness looked upon Thy face. 
 
 "There came a Shepherd into Galilee 
 And Woden fell. 
 
 Yea, Woden fell because mankind had found 
 A higher step toward God as Woden was 
 [51]
 
 The Song of Balder 
 
 In days forgotten. 
 
 Oh! mighty Love that moves behind the world, 
 
 Oh! mighty Love that moves men's hearts to 
 
 tears, 
 
 Thou in Thy wisdom taught Thyself to men 
 Wisely to their needs. 
 
 "Now the soft ev'ning opens like a rose 
 
 Upon the hills, 
 
 And shadows fall like petals from the clouds 
 
 Purple as heather, 
 
 And still below the dim horizon's edge 
 
 Spear'd troops are marching, 
 
 Long, golden spear-shafts glinting in the sun, 
 
 And banners trailed in crimson. 
 
 "All's in the making as the evening is; 
 
 Time's in his youth. 
 
 Ye paint Death and Time all in one image. 
 
 Crown ye Death with Rosemary, 
 
 Wash his feet in the rivers of forgetfulness, 
 
 Crown ye Time with rose-buds, 
 
 Strew the young years underneath his feet. 
 
 All's in the making, 
 
 And all our praisings and our scorns 
 
 Are but the faint beginnings of a creed. 
 
 We cannot see the end. 
 
 "Now is the breathing space 'twixt light and 
 dark, 
 
 [52]
 
 The Song of Balder 
 
 When spirits of dead flowers come a-tiptoe 
 
 To light the candles at the shrine of night, 
 
 And I am only a poor heathen god 
 
 Forever unbelieved. 
 
 Yet must I speak. 
 
 Satisfy the cravings of your hearts, 
 
 Oh, ye who in the nightime faint beneath 
 
 The beauty of the stars. 
 
 And find ye to your need 
 
 A god, oh, vagrant hearted! 
 
 Worship at the shrine that seemeth highest, 
 
 And be it War or Peace or mightiness, 
 
 Or gentleness or laughter or the light 
 
 Of beauty in the eyes of her you love, 
 
 Or innocence or knowledge or the strength 
 
 Of men or little children, or the shade 
 
 That lies across the meadows when the spring 
 
 Plants violets there, 
 
 Ye still shall worship truth, 
 
 For every god and every creed 
 
 That shines in the still eyes of lonely men, 
 
 And every old belief that wrings the heart 
 
 To ecstasy, and every new 
 
 That shakes the soul with darkness and with 
 
 doubt 
 
 Are fleeting shadows of the living God, 
 The Power that moves behind the Universe, 
 The Love that moves men's hearts to tears." 
 [53]
 
 The Song of Balder 
 
 Night's trailing garment brushed across the 
 
 grass, 
 
 And the soft shadows 
 
 Melted and mingled blotting earth and sky, 
 And like a shadow Balder passed again 
 Into the shades. 
 
 [54]
 
 LONELINESS 
 
 SOMETIMES at night 
 I feel your arms around me and the old 
 Still pain of unresponsiveness, 
 The bitter passion of your lips that press 
 On lips so cold 
 And passionless; 
 See the hard knowledge grow 
 To terror in your eyes, the broken pride 
 Dead that upheld you so, 
 Ah, God, could I have died! 
 
 I could have loved you, but for that and this; 
 
 Had you been so and so, 
 
 Or spoken thus, or not, or were your kiss 
 
 More passionate, or less, how could I know? 
 
 Or you who could not guess 
 
 Close in your arms my utter loneliness? 
 
 [55]
 
 MADCAP APRIL 
 
 MADCAP April's running wild. 
 By the brown brook I have caught her 
 Trailing white feet in the water, 
 Gleeful as a naughty child. 
 
 In the tree tops I have seen 
 
 April of the laughing eyes 
 
 Where the bare, cold boughs have been, 
 
 Laughing at a dream of green 
 
 Born of sheer surprise. 
 
 Dainty crimson tree tops flare 
 
 To a sky of perfect blue; 
 
 Coral branches carven fair 
 
 Swaying in the waves of air 
 
 As April bends 
 
 The boughs and rends 
 
 The web and lets the heavens through. 
 
 Madcap April's dancing by, 
 Her bright hair of silver gold 
 Trails behind her through the sky, 
 Glorious fold on fold. 
 [56]
 
 Madcap April 
 
 And loosened in her flight drop down 
 Dandelions from her crown. 
 
 Silver April, loved and feared, 
 For thy pranks the more endeared, 
 Wilt thou never venture down? 
 With a twinkle in her eye, 
 See, she bends in answer sly, 
 Tweaking the grim mountain's beard, 
 Laughing at his mighty frown. 
 And the skies smile and reprove her, 
 And the hearts of poets love her, 
 Laughing loud as they discover 
 Their own youth in this sweet rover 
 With the laughter of a child. 
 April, running wild. 
 
 [57]
 
 RECOMPENSE 
 
 WHAT was it that she told me yestereve 
 Slipping the troth-ring back into my hand? 
 She did not love me, dared not to deceive, 
 My true friend ever could I understand? 
 And bending in the old, confiding way 
 She sighed, "Love comes not at the call again." 
 And wept to bring me trouble, but to-day 
 I do not feel the pain. 
 
 For I have drunk of Lethe in the night, 
 
 Star waters, crystal white, 
 
 And I have bathed my hands in early dew, 
 
 Beginning life anew; 
 
 And laid my dead love by, 
 
 Swathed in haughty cerements of dead dreams, 
 
 In a dim place lit by the voice of streams 
 
 And guarded by the frail shades of light hours 
 
 In a low grave of flowers. 
 
 [58]
 
 LAKE ST. SACRAMENT 
 
 I'VE come to-day 
 A long, long way 
 From Lake St. Sacrament. 
 
 Before my eyes 
 
 The village lies 
 
 Beneath the waning crimson skies; 
 
 On either hand 
 
 The corn shocks stand 
 
 The touseled sentinels of a forgotten land. 
 
 Across the hills 
 The whip-poor-wills 
 Fill the young dusk with mournful cry, 
 And from stone walls 
 The cricket calls 
 
 And swooping black bats, squeaking, circle 
 swiftly by. 
 
 The bright clouds swoon 
 
 And vanish soon, 
 
 And the bright cup of the new moon 
 
 Tilted anew 
 
 [59]
 
 Lake St. Sacrament 
 
 In hands of blue 
 
 Baptizes the still-breathing earth with holy 
 dew. 
 
 Weary I creep 
 
 Away to sleep 
 
 Among the corn shocks, lonely, spent. 
 
 I've come to-day 
 
 A long, long way 
 
 From Lake St. Sacrament. 
 
 Above my. head 
 The boughs have spread 
 Their canopy of gold and red, 
 And on my path 
 Like smoldering wrath 
 
 The year has left its brown and crimson 
 aftermath. 
 
 Late berries wink 
 Upon the brink 
 
 Of every crystal flowing stream, 
 And in green dells 
 The far cow bells 
 
 Fill with a human note these fairy hills of 
 dream. 
 
 Once more the air 
 Turns back my hair, 
 [60]
 
 Lake St. Sacrament 
 
 And stirs the woods and lingers there. 
 And over all 
 The sly nut's fall 
 
 Is heard, and squirrels scampering to their 
 carnival. 
 
 Aroused from sleep 
 The glad waves leap 
 From contemplative depths beneath, 
 And purple blue 
 Across the view 
 
 The wide lake laughs and shows the white 
 ness of its teeth. 
 
 I hear through all 
 The crow's hoarse call 
 Mellowly through rich distance fall, 
 And pause to eat 
 Where two brooks meet, 
 And laughing, hold a furtive converse, gay 
 and sweet. 
 
 Now through my dreams 
 The moonlight streams 
 Across the lake in wavering line, 
 And from the hills 
 The night wind fills 
 
 My heart with homely scents of balsam and 
 of pine. 
 
 [61]
 
 Lake St. Sacrament 
 
 I seem to feel 
 The slender keel 
 
 Beneath me tip and turn and reel, 
 As on dark tides. 
 Past grim cliff sides 
 
 My frail canoe, tip-tilted like a flower, 
 glides. 
 
 I seem to see 
 
 How daintily 
 
 The fairy hills and waves are blent 
 
 I've come to-day 
 
 A long, long way 
 
 From Lake St. Sacrament. 
 
 [62]
 
 A WINTER SUNSET 
 
 I WONDER if those dim, calm sunset skies 
 Are not the reflex of some paradise, 
 That slim, white, feathered cloud an angel's wing, 
 That breathless hush an angel listening. 
 
 [63]
 
 BEAUTY OF EARTH 
 
 ON the cliff edge over the tumbled sea 
 I and the wind and you, 
 
 And you were crowned with a crown of gold, 
 And the sea was blue. 
 
 Your shoulder touched my arm, and the wind 
 Came from some far off place 
 And blew your hair from its fastenings 
 Across my face. 
 
 I was sick for the kingdoms of the moon, 
 But the beauty of earth sufficed. 
 I will be pagan all my days 
 And forswear the Christ. 
 
 [64]
 
 DANDELIONS 
 
 THE sky is blue beyond the tower; 
 Across the dandelion fields 
 The wind is telling the hour, 
 Playfully blowing the tufted seeds 
 From each nodding flower. 
 
 See how they dance as the wind skips by 
 
 Jauntily chucking them under the chin 
 
 While the grave sun winks his languid eye 
 
 With a cheerful grin. 
 
 And tossed with elfish glee on high 
 
 White puffs of down are drifting through the sky. 
 
 [65]
 
 THE LITTLE HOUSE 
 
 THE little house where I live is built against the 
 sky 
 
 Among the friendly chimney pots up a creaking stair, 
 It's like the road to heaven that is perilous and high, 
 But the lamp is always lighted and the door stands 
 open there. 
 
 The little house where I live, it is so small and low 
 I think it is a house of cards built on a whimsy frame. 
 Sometimes I want to pet it like a kitten that I know, 
 And I love it with a laughing love that's like a little 
 flame. 
 
 [66]
 
 TO RUPERT BROOKE 
 
 LAST of the troubadours, whose wind swept lute 
 Lies still and mute 
 On Syros' sea-washed isle, 
 Where mile on mile 
 The blue ^gean sea untroubled lies, 
 Sunset, sunrise 
 Lean on your quiet breast 
 And wake no laughter in your dim, unseeing eyes. 
 
 As children, with their mother stricken dead 
 
 Swift and alone, run fearless to her bed, 
 
 Confident of the warm, awaiting arms, 
 
 These things you loved creep to you undismayed, 
 
 Stars and the sun and storms. 
 
 But we who have seen death, shaken and afraid, 
 
 Turn from your peace with heart's uncomforted. 
 
 And yet 
 
 How should we dream you ever could forget 
 Those winds you loved, and every cherished thing, 
 Young grass and spring, 
 And the blue heaven's laughter and the stars, 
 And men and love and wars; 
 [67]
 
 To Rupert Brooke 
 
 The high heart's courage, truth, and her fair fame, 
 And the music of her name, 
 England your best beloved. 
 
 I think that those are wisest who still know 
 
 Your breath upon their brow, 
 
 Your youth in earth's young beauty, the glad look of 
 
 you 
 
 When spring wells up anew, 
 
 Your voice upon the brooks and winds and trees, 
 And children's voices and the laugh of men, 
 And women's skirts rustling, and songs and seas 
 Bring back your voice again 
 That was a part of these. 
 Love dies not but abides from age to age 
 Our human heritage, 
 
 And your great love that was so proud and free 
 Is immortality. 
 
 So we who love you find our peace in this, 
 Death lies not where love is. 
 
 There was a life that long beside mine own 
 
 Lived as mine own and not apart from me. 
 
 Dying, my soul is richer for that soul, 
 
 My life shall be 
 
 The purer for that death, 
 
 And round about my ways 
 
 Love and the memory of completed days 
 
 Winds like a living breath. 
 
 [68]
 
 To Rupert Brooke 
 
 So you who had such store of love to give 
 
 Among earth's greatest, you have freely given 
 
 Love and the seal of love, your life, and even 
 
 All that life means and is and was to you, 
 
 The will to live, 
 
 And the little things men feel and think and do, 
 
 Glad for her sake that was your best beloved, England, 
 
 Unknowing that your Splendid Heart could raise 
 
 Above the bitterness of darkened days 
 
 Her heart as high as heaven. 
 
 Ah ! God, could I have stood beside you there 
 
 Playing man's greatest part before the years 
 
 Blot with inevitable night the sun, 
 
 And the last echoes of our smiles and tears 
 
 Drift down the windless darkness, one by one, 
 
 For I have held it to be best of all, 
 
 Man's supreme right 
 
 And highest pride, 
 
 To see the sum of life, the sweet and gall, 
 
 The thrilling power, and to turn aside 
 
 For love, out of the sunlight and the day 
 
 Into the harder way, 
 
 Into the night. 
 
 To me, alas, denied. 
 
 But I shall find some spot remote and strange 
 From the swift whirl and change 
 Of temporal things, 
 
 [69]
 
 To Rupert Brooke 
 
 Some quiet corner of my heart where clings 
 
 Eternally 
 
 The memory of you, 
 
 And there, perchance, musing upon some night in 
 
 spring, 
 
 A warm, damp wind will bring 
 Across dark, heaving leaves of purple sea 
 A breath of the blue Mediterranean space, 
 And in the twilight of that place 
 Will hover a still light of fire and dew 
 Twin born of earth and heaven, and in that hour 
 Wild and elusive as the pale moon-flower 
 That dies where light and shadow curve and break 
 Along the margin of an inland lake; 
 But I shall understand, 
 
 And in that time, perchance, I shall have power 
 To lift the torch that from your failing hand 
 Slipped like a star out of the weary sky 
 When daylight creeps on darkness, and to speak 
 Those things you might have spoken since that hour 
 When life and death upon your pallid cheek 
 Took alternate stand, 
 
 In wavering tide of battle passed, repassed, 
 Till in the weary dawn your soul at last 
 Saw the still sunrise on the dim, Lethean strand. 
 Perchance I shall not play too mean a part 
 If to the mighty summons of your heart 
 My heart is true, 
 
 And if to future lives I shall pass on 
 [70]
 
 To Rupert Brooke 
 
 When I am gone 
 
 The torch I had of you. 
 
 Stilled is the lute, Master, hushed the song. 
 
 But in the twilight hour, the hour of sleep, 
 
 Come all these little things you loved and creep 
 
 Near to your quiet breast, 
 
 Hoping that as children hope for the light that lies 
 
 In the mother eyes. 
 
 Murmurous evenings break upon your rest 
 
 And winds that laugh and weep, 
 
 Bird notes and the light step of the spring 
 
 Passing and whispering, 
 
 And the voice of ocean calling to your hill 
 
 Yet you lie so still. 
 
 But somewhere where the winds of heaven have birth 
 
 In some far corner of the earth 
 
 Lone sea-caves in their purple depths prolong 
 
 The echoes of your song. 
 
 Somewhere in earth or heaven still there lies 
 
 The warm, glad look, the smile of your immortal eyes. 
 
 [71]
 
 STAR GOSSIP 
 
 TV/TY window's far above the place 
 J.T A Where voices hum and traffic jars, 
 And sometimes when it's very dark 
 I sit and gossip with the stars. 
 
 On cloudy nights I'm friendly with 
 The window lights across the way, 
 
 But when it's dark I lean far out 
 And call the stars to come and play. 
 
 Oh, I'm not lonely any more 
 
 For country ways and far seashores 
 
 When all my friendly little stars 
 
 Come tumbling in from out-of-doors. 
 
 [72]
 
 LOST SONGS 
 
 I 
 
 JUST as the winds of the west lie on the heart of 
 the sunset 
 Wrapped in a saffron cloud where the red light comes 
 
 and goes, 
 So the souls of lost songs, fled from the lips of the 
 
 singer 
 
 Lie on the laps of blue violets lulled to eternal re 
 pose. 
 
 But sometimes when the moon is on the wane 
 
 And the stars seem vaguely stencilled on the sky, 
 
 When darkness falls upon the earth like rain 
 
 And eerie footfalls pass us closely by, 
 
 Then far across the valley 
 
 Where the wood-nymphs dally 
 
 With lily white feet in the sparkling stream, 
 
 You will find the lost dreams sleeping 
 
 Where the river nymphs are weeping 
 
 And in pools of purple fragrance the violets dream. 
 
 [73]
 
 A WHITE SAIL 
 
 THE light of whitest lilies 
 Silvered all the angry sea, 
 And presently 
 
 The crimson dawn clouds fluttered up 
 Like butterflies in the tilted cup 
 Of a pink anemone. 
 And far away, far away, 
 Like a rose leaf dropped in the path of the 
 
 day 
 
 By the fleeing midnight pale, 
 A white sail, a white sail, 
 Came drifting in to me. 
 
 [74]
 
 IRREMEDIABLE 
 
 THEY were lovers once, but who shall cross again 
 That swift abyss dividing heart and heart. 
 Their eyes once warm with love are turned apart, 
 Cool as the sea with unremembered pain, 
 On other aims and other ventures bent 
 In soft unconscious sadness, silently. 
 It is not love or lover they lament 
 But that so fair a thing should cease to be 
 
 [75]
 
 THE ETERNAL EXILE 
 
 I SOMETIMES think we meet so carelessly, 
 As you and I once met, our hands, our eyes. 
 And smiled unknowing. 
 
 How could we know that our two lives were flowing, 
 Swift as the sea gull flies, 
 Inevitable as the cool winds blowing, 
 Each unto each as the river to the sea? 
 
 We spoke of trivial things, and our light laughter 
 
 Met each half-spoken jest, and followed after 
 
 In meaningless, happy mirth. 
 
 For a few fleeting hours we trod the earth 
 
 Unconscious of a change upon the wind. 
 
 And then you spoke, or I 
 
 Some passing thought, some dream, and mind to mind 
 
 Leapt with a kindling light as in old wars 
 
 A watch-fire blazing high among the stars 
 
 Called forth a thousand beacons in reply, 
 
 Signalling through the night. 
 
 With the first breathlessness of glad surprise 
 
 Our glances met, and now we saw the light 
 
 Behind the eyes. 
 
 [76]
 
 The Eternal Exile 
 
 What boots it how we spoke of God and man, 
 
 Of poetry and truth? 
 
 Where reason ended and where faith began, 
 
 Philosophy, 
 
 Science and its unfathomed mystery 
 
 The living breath? 
 
 To know the unknowable of life and death 
 
 Is the eternal privilege of youth. 
 
 Like an explorer each fared forth to find 
 
 The other's mind, 
 
 And at the end 
 
 With a shy hush of awe we spoke the name of friend. 
 
 "Not light acquaintanceship, 
 
 True friends," you said, and I 
 
 Assented. Fate stood smiling by, 
 
 Finger on lip. 
 
 We said, "When love and faith are blended, 
 And mind is tuned to mind, and eye to eye 
 Looks with a level gaze, why one so friended 
 Might still give thanks to God when joy is ended 
 And peace gone by, 
 
 Holding the clasp of one strong hand more sweet 
 Than the echo of a thousand careless feet 
 That know not whom they seek and drift apart 
 With each distraction of the heart." 
 
 We laughed that were so wise. 
 But in the quiet shadow of your eyes 
 [77]
 
 The Eternal Exile 
 
 No laughter lay, 
 
 But such a look as comes at early morn 
 
 Into the sky before the light is born 
 
 Presaging day. 
 
 Like a lone watcher on the hills I lay, 
 
 Raised my still glance to meet the quiet sky 
 
 And my slow heart took on a faster beat 
 
 Unknowing why. 
 
 I scarce can picture now the first still light 
 
 Of those new days. 
 
 Mornings and evenings poised twjxt night and night 
 
 Unmoving in a veil of summer haze, 
 
 Like that still afterglow that lingers on 
 
 In arrested motion when the sun is gone, 
 
 A frozen beauty painted on the air, 
 
 Seeming eternal, beyond change, so there 
 
 Time lingered on from silver hour to hour 
 
 And held his breath; 
 
 And the gardens held their flower, 
 
 And the birds their song, and you and I were free 
 
 Of the past and future, in eternity 
 
 Forgetting life and death. 
 
 But that was long ago, and Time astir 
 Has shut the gates on our other selves that were 
 In that far Eden. For you spoke, 
 And with the silence broke 
 
 The enchantment, and my voice that answered woke 
 [78]
 
 The Eternal Exile 
 
 Time from his sleep, 
 
 And the angel of our conscious love to keep 
 
 The gates and bar forever our return. 
 
 The future loomed 
 
 Upon us, and the past upraised its head 
 
 That had been dead. 
 
 The flowers bloomed 
 
 And died, and the days moved on 
 
 From sun to sun. 
 
 And our hearts turned earthward, moving unafraid 
 
 Down quiet ways of joy into the shade, 
 
 Most like to gods, who, leaving what we knew, 
 
 Dared to know all, and yet most human too. 
 
 So fared we forth from Eden with our kind, 
 
 Knew pride and grief and shame, 
 
 Joy like the joy of God that has no name, 
 
 Calm trust and that strange fear that fills the mind 
 
 With a hundred tortuous images, fearing most 
 
 Unworthiness, and the great cost 
 
 Of love such lack must pay, till love grew blind 
 
 To love, and yet, strange paradox, believed 
 
 What most it doubted and was still deceived. 
 
 But you and I held more than this, 
 
 Kinship of mind and thought, 
 
 Full recompense for that poor brittle bliss 
 
 Of look and kiss 
 
 So dearly bought. 
 
 [79]
 
 The Eternal Exile 
 
 We looked to the same star, dreaming our dreams 
 Near as two souls may gain. 
 This wrested we from Time. What matter if 
 The price be pain? 
 
 And half of this we understood and said 
 
 Each to the other with slow, faltering word, 
 
 And the thrush heard 
 
 And thrilled us with his music overhead. 
 
 How should we know that we too were earth-wise 
 
 Who had looked love in the eyes? 
 
 We said, if I remember, 
 
 That the May 
 
 Withers away 
 
 And falls in golden showers 
 
 In September, 
 
 And the hot perfume of June's crimson flowers 
 
 Endures but an hour's 
 
 Delay. 
 
 But that still beauty that pervades the year! 
 
 Lives on forever, changing, beyond change, 
 
 Wearing a thousand forms, forever near, 
 
 Forever far and strange. 
 
 So love itself, changed and unchanged, lives on 
 
 When the crown of love is gone. 
 
 The thrush's voice and the brook's hurrying feet 
 Filled the green shadows of our cool retreat 
 [80]
 
 The Eternal Exile 
 
 With music, and our souls with quietness, 
 
 Folded our lives away 
 
 From the heat and press 
 
 Of the world's day. 
 
 And our talk fell to less and less 
 
 And died away. 
 
 Then your voice said from where you sat apart: 
 
 "E'en love itself must hold in its hot heart 
 
 Some quiet spot of shade where the broken word 
 
 And tremulous voice of passion is not heard, 
 
 And the near lips and the chance touch of hand 
 
 Waken no madness in the quiet blood, 
 
 But the eyes rest on eyes that understand 
 
 In simple quietude, 
 
 Else love must turn to madness, nor remain 
 
 Secure and sane." 
 
 So said we while the brook beneath our feet, 
 
 Forever changing, ever still the same, 
 
 With laughter sweet, 
 
 And many a pause and wayward murmurings 
 
 And silver utterance of unknown things 
 
 Slipped by and passed forever. And birds came 
 
 And bathed and broke the surface with their wings, 
 
 And the wood thrush sang unseen. You spoke to me 
 
 Of the eternal charm and mystery 
 
 Of flowing water and the changeless tides, 
 
 And those dim things beyond the mind of man, 
 
 Space and eternity. 
 
 [81]
 
 The Eternal Exile 
 
 And then we smiled, thinking we two alone 
 
 Of all the ages and of all the lands, 
 
 Standing astride of Time, we two have known 
 
 The unknowable, who have clasped hands 
 
 And loved beyond all measure. So we dreamed, 
 
 And like the sun-splashed river streamed 
 
 Time underneath our feet. Now that is over, 
 
 And the loud silence in our hearts has grown 
 
 And filled our lives where the clear voice of the lover 
 
 Is silent, and the call of earth is loud 
 
 To our attentive hearts, and love's faint breath 
 
 Is stilled in death, 
 
 If love can die. So much at least is Time's 
 
 Who has laid away our loves that were too proud. 
 
 Yet what we said was wiser than we knew, 
 For what has been lives on 
 And bears its fruit in some far other world 
 When the mortal seed is gone. 
 That which has been changes like the tide 
 That ebbs and flows 
 
 And wears from dawn to dark a thousand hues, 
 Grays and blues, 
 Aquamarine and rose, 
 And in the fading light 
 
 Takes home to its still breast the tired ghosts of stars 
 At night, 
 
 Yet still lives on through changes that impress 
 Its surface for a moment and depart 
 [82]
 
 The Eternal Exile 
 
 Singly and silently to change and die, 
 
 Reborn and redestroyed relentlessly, 
 
 Yet cannot perish into nothingness. 
 
 There is no nothingness, not even love 
 
 When heart grows strange to heart. 
 
 For that which lived its poor brief bloom and died, 
 
 The visible symbol of the eternal truth, 
 
 Pride of our pride, 
 
 Youth of our youth, 
 
 Like the look in the eyes of a friend 
 
 Lights our dim hour with love unto the end, 
 
 Fills the unechoing chambers of our lives 
 
 With sense of unseen comradeship, a peace, 
 
 A presence in the room. 
 
 Nor ever loneliness or gloom 
 
 Shall press upon us though our lives are strange. 
 
 What's mortal knows indifference and change, 
 
 But what's immortal has no power to cease. 
 
 Love grew in our eyes to fitful flower, 
 
 And lived its hour 
 
 A thing remote, apart, 
 
 And died and left despair. 
 
 That too is dead. But still the love eternal in our 
 
 heart 
 Shall bloom again perhaps some otherwhere. 
 
 [83]
 
 RAIN ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 
 
 COOL gusts of wet, sweet winds that whip my 
 dress, 
 
 Harsh rain upon my brow, 
 And the delighting, lace-like filminess 
 Of snowy spray flung from the lurching prow; 
 The engine's purposeful and rhythmic breath, 
 The living jar and strain 
 Of well-matched timbers that have passed through 
 
 death 
 
 And found new life again; 
 
 The slim, white seagulls stooping to their prey, 
 The cold sublimity of sky and flood, 
 The misty earth, the heaven's somber gray, 
 The spangled river sweeping on its way 
 All this is in my blood. 
 I lean to meet the waves that storm the bow, 
 I hold my face to feel the driving rain, 
 Oh! wild, unchastened heart, why yearnest thou 
 To taste the uttermost of joy and pain? 
 
 [84]
 
 TWILIGHT ON THE ST. LAWRENCE 
 
 OH! the clear, starless, lingering edge of day! 
 The young moon, pale against the radiance, 
 
 lending 
 
 A modest glow to mark the quiet ending 
 Of light that lives alway. 
 
 The low-hung lights of ships, the home lights friend 
 ing 
 
 The stranger dusk; far voices hushed and holy; 
 The idle murmur of the silver-flowing 
 Eternal river, and the pale moon bending 
 Lowly, lowly, 
 
 To kiss the clustering isles, 
 And from across sweet waters, miles and miles 
 Of lakes, sweet winds soft-blowing, 
 Young moon beyond the river, stay your going. 
 
 [85]
 
 STARLIGHT 
 
 I HAVE lain on the cool grass under the stars 
 And felt the circling of the universe, 
 The tossing of that ship we call the earth 
 Upon the ground swell of eternity. 
 The earth sways beneath me, and my soul 
 Faints with the dizziness of great distances. 
 
 [86]
 
 SONNET SEQUENCE 
 
 1HAVE said farewell and smiled and drawn away 
 My hand from clasping yours and let you go. 
 The gray storm curtains folding round you throw 
 No gleam of light across the parting day. 
 The grief of those who lift vain hands and pray, 
 Having said the last farewell, weighs on me so 
 There are no tears can ease my utter woe. 
 Fear calls to heel and I must needs obey. 
 
 But now deep peace succeeds the parting storm, 
 And silence lies where wild unrest has been. 
 Thank God, thank God who pities still our pain, 
 Across the lonely miles that lie between 
 Your heart is beating and your hands are warm, 
 And we who grieve may some day meet again. 
 
 This little, old, blue locket that I wear 
 Hung close against my heart, how light it lies, 
 And yet the burden of the tears and sighs 
 [87]
 
 Sonnet Sequence 
 
 And the crown of all my happy life hangs there. 
 The relics of my faith, a lock of hair 
 Cut from the dear brow of one loved, a prize 
 Too rich for such a shrine, the pictured eyes, 
 Grave eyes that read my soul and lay it bare. 
 
 Some find their God in churches, some at sea, 
 
 Or high among the hills, but at my shrine 
 
 I teach my head to bow and bend the knee, 
 
 Feeling the throbbing of a heart divine 
 
 In this strong love that binds your soul to mine, 
 
 In this dear passion between you and me. 
 
 Dear days of our acquaintance! One by one 
 I turn them slowly over, lingering 
 On each light laugh and look and smile and tone 
 Fraught with unspoken meaning, fingering 
 These faded flowers I sought to understand 
 Dreaming they held some word unuttered, 
 And then, dear God, thy lips upon my hand, 
 Thy lips, dear love, that laid our friendship dead. 
 
 Dear days of careless, sweet inconsequence, 
 Of undreamed happiness of glance and touch, 
 Of budding hopes and glories, and the sense 
 That all things matter much but none too much; 
 [88]
 
 Sonnet Sequence 
 
 Dear days, you have your perfect crown in this, 
 That he who made you killed you with a kiss. 
 
 Dear, I am not indifferent as thou art 
 
 To praise and blame, nor strong to smile at grief, 
 
 Nor is there strength or virtue in my heart 
 
 To match thy valiant might of unbelief. 
 
 I too have dreamed, beloved, all my days, 
 
 And dared the hidden fastness of the wind, 
 
 Yet am more used to walk the common ways, 
 
 Afraid to tread the barren heights behind. 
 
 Greatness is all too lonely, yet I know 
 I still should dare to climb if only thou 
 Wilt take my hand in thine and show me how, 
 Nor grow impatient when my feet are slow, 
 Still dare to climb and see and understand, 
 Strong in the warm, dear comfort of thy hand. 
 
 Oh! my beloved, as I dream to-night 
 Before the blazing hearth, stirred through and through 
 By the shrill violin, the ruddy light 
 Frames in a sudden glow the face of you. 
 Now as before your eyes are turned to mine 
 Full of swift fire and dimmed with sudden tears, 
 [89]
 
 Sonnet Sequence 
 
 And with one indrawn breath the flame divine 
 Flares heavenward that shall light all future years. 
 
 No need for meeting lips or clasping hands. 
 The poor, dull, clogging body holds its breath. 
 Cut from eternity, a flaming sign 
 To mark the eternal, that brief moment stands. 
 Earth, Heaven, and the truths of life and death 
 Hang tremulous between your eyes and mine. 
 
 6 
 
 Stand farther off, beloved, I cannot bear 
 Thy dear disturbing nearness very long, 
 I who must needs be still as mountain air, 
 And free as mountain tempests, and as strong. 
 The fortress in my bosom heaved and shook 
 Like a beleagured citadel, when thou, 
 With the triumphant army of thy look, 
 Drew nearer yet and nearer yet, and now 
 
 Oh! my beloved, for pity stand away. 
 
 I have no strength to keep or let thee go. 
 
 I who have planned such wise, firm things to say 
 
 Am brave but to be silent, for I know 
 
 I have nor strength nor power nor will to fear 
 
 The untried future, love, with thee so near. 
 
 [90]
 
 SWEETHEART, WAKE UP 
 
 SWEETHEART, wake up. 
 The day is born anew. 
 In every flower cup 
 Sparkles the dew, 
 And swallows swoop and swing, 
 And bluebirds sing. 
 
 Sweetheart, arise! 
 
 The dawn's young blushes pale. 
 
 Across the splendor of the eastern skies 
 
 The wild goose squadrons go 
 
 Statelily slow, 
 
 Sail upon sail. 
 
 Sweetheart, come out. Earth's wonders mani 
 fold 
 
 Knock on thy drowsy lids. 
 What alchemy turns the red dawn to gold? 
 What dreamer of the sandy wastes of old 
 Painted against the sky the pyramids? 
 What God between the past and the to be 
 Hung pendent like a jewel on a chain 
 This shining hour, 
 [91]
 
 Sweetheart, Wake Up 
 
 The new, clear sunlight, pure of any stain, 
 
 The dew on leaf and flower, 
 
 The warm, dear scent of clover, 
 
 The swallows swinging over 
 
 Sprinkling the morning air with song like rain, 
 
 Love kin to pain, 
 
 Thee 
 
 And me, 
 
 Thou so dear beloved, and I thy lover? 
 
 Love is the theme the singing world's about! 
 
 Sweetheart, come out! 
 
 [92]
 
 THE BARON'S DAUGHTER 
 
 THE Baron sat in his ancient hall, 
 Hey, ho, with a roundelay. 
 He was bent and bowed who once was tall. 
 Oh, the lanes are white with may. 
 
 And once he sighed for his love long dead. 
 
 Hey, ho, with a roundelay. 
 
 And, "Had I only a child," he said. 
 
 Oh, the lanes are white with may. 
 
 The fairies brought her in the night, 
 Hey, ho, with a roundelay, 
 And laid her on a pillow white. 
 Oh, the lanes are white with may. 
 
 The fairies danced around his chair, 
 Hey, ho, with a roundelay, 
 Sweet as roses and thin as air. 
 Oh, the lanes are white with may. 
 
 They sang aloud to the cold white moon, 
 Hey, ho, with a roundelay, 
 "Beware the spell of the fairy tune." 
 Oh, the lanes are white with may. 
 [93]
 
 The Barons Daughter 
 
 The Baron's daughter grew tall and fair, 
 Hey, ho, with a roundelay. 
 The gold of the sun was in her hair. 
 Oh, the lanes are white with may. 
 
 The Baron's daughter grew fair and wild, 
 Hey, ho, with a roundelay, 
 Fair and wild as a fairy's child. 
 Oh, the lanes are white with may. 
 
 The Baron loved her passing well, 
 Hey, ho, with a roundelay, 
 And guarded her from the fairy spell. 
 Oh, the lanes are white with may. 
 
 He gave her a cross on a silken band, 
 Hey, ho, with a roundelay, 
 But the silk was woven in fairyland. 
 Oh, the lanes are white with may. 
 
 There came a minstrel to the hall, 
 Hey, ho, with a roundelay, 
 And he was young and straight and tall. 
 Oh, the lanes are white with may. 
 
 They sat him down at the table long, 
 Hey, ho, with a roundelay, 
 They sat him down the knights among. 
 Oh, the lanes are white with may. 
 [94]
 
 The Baron's Daughter 
 
 The minstrel sang a fairy tune, 
 Hey, ho, with a roundelay, 
 The knights fell down as in a swoon. 
 Oh, the lanes are white with may. 
 
 The fairies danced on the oaken stair 
 Hey, ho, with a roundelay, 
 But the Baron slept in his carven chair. 
 Oh, the lanes are white with may. 
 
 His daughter crept to the minstrel's knee, 
 Hey, ho, with a roundelay, 
 And white as the hillside snows was she, 
 Oh, the lanes are white with may. 
 
 The Baron's daughter raised her head, 
 Hey, ho, with a roundelay, 
 And "Stranger, who may you be?" she said. 
 Oh, the lanes are white with may. 
 
 He bent him down and drew her near, 
 
 Hey, ho, with a roundelay, 
 
 And looked in her eyes that were dark with 
 
 fear. 
 Oh, the lanes are white with may. 
 
 The maid has gone from her father's hall. 
 Hey, ho, with a roundelay, 
 She is gone with her lover so straight and tall. 
 Oh, the lanes are white with may. 
 [95]
 
 The Baron's Daughter 
 
 He has taken her home o'er hill and lea, 
 Hey, ho, with a roundelay, 
 To the cold white moons of her own countree. 
 Oh, the lanes are white with may. 
 
 The Baron sits in his ancient hall, 
 Hey, ho, with a roundelay, 
 He is bent and bowed that once was tall. 
 Oh, the lanes are white with may. 
 
 He has sought her far but he knoweth well, 
 
 Hey, ho, with a roundelay, 
 
 No man may break the fairy spell 
 
 Oh, the lanes are white with may. 
 
 He has sought her far through sun and rain, 
 
 Hey, ho, with a roundelay, 
 
 But she will never come back again. 
 
 Oh, the lanes are white with may. 
 
 [96]
 
 INEFFABLE 
 
 "1 % THAT wilt thou?" came the ocean's call to me. 
 V V "What wilt thou?" sang the bird upon the 
 
 bough. 
 
 What can I say? Tis only thou and thou. 
 How can I answer to thy cry, sea? 
 The bluebird's song, a mocking melody, 
 Falls from the painted heav'n, fading now, 
 The late sun sets beyond the mountain's brow, 
 And stars peep through the cloud-folds, silently. 
 
 A breeze comes from the meadows, soft, and cool, 
 
 And sweet, as wandering from fields of broom; 
 
 And mirrored in the bosom of the pool 
 
 The sunset opens slowly into bloom. 
 
 Still, still the ocean's voice comes in to me. 
 
 How may I answer to thy cry, sea? 
 
 [97]
 
 ENTREAT ME NOT 
 
 ENTREAT me not to love you. All my heart 
 Is very cool and still. No swifter beat 
 Leaps up to meet 
 Your nearness when you stand 
 Beside me, or your lips upon my hand. 
 
 I have given you so much, gifts without end, 
 
 My thoughts, my hopes and dreams, my faiths and 
 
 fears, 
 
 Long days of laughter, called you friend 
 Through all the years; 
 All that my mind can give and all my will, 
 And still 
 
 You are not satisfied. 
 The best I have to give you cast aside, 
 Claiming the last, high gift, alas, I know 
 I do not love you so. 
 
 Yet sometimes when you're gone the long days 
 
 through 
 I have great need of you. 
 
 [98]
 
 I AM GROWN A WOMAN 
 
 I AM grown a woman, so they say, 
 In some strange way, 
 And songs and laughter stir 
 New visions, new desires. 
 I think they do not know that oftener 
 I dream of far, cool seas and red campfires, 
 And brooks of childhood, chattering and sweet 
 Around bare feet. 
 
 But when I dream to-day 
 
 A new, hard pain 
 
 Shuts on my heart lest I should pass again 
 
 That old, glad way. 
 
 I am grown a woman, so they say. 
 
 [99]
 
 THE WEST WIND AND A ROSE 
 
 I BREATHED upon her petals pink, 
 For she was wondrous fair. 
 I crept into her hidden heart 
 And found it golden there; 
 I swayed her on her graceful stem 
 And begged her for a kiss. 
 In all the world I have not found 
 A flower as sweet as this. 
 
 Fair courtesans of field and wood 
 May woo me as I pass, 
 But I'd give all their beauty for 
 A rose leaf on the grass. 
 
 [100]
 
 IF FAITH SHOULD DIE 
 
 IF faith should die, 
 And love immutable grow cold and change, 
 And you and I 
 
 So loving and so loved grow vexed and strange, 
 What should I do, God, what should I do, 
 Calling on empty air, clasping the shadow that was 
 you? 
 
 Yet still through windy ways from sky to sky 
 
 The wild geese fly. 
 
 And still the clear dawn brushes with her feet 
 
 Lush pastures, cool and sweet, 
 
 And I shall find new paths and other ways, 
 
 And young, new days, 
 
 Forgetting that I dreamed a long night through 
 
 Mad dreams of earth and heaven and hell and you. 
 
 [101]
 
 POSEIDON OF MANY MOODS 
 
 THE tempest stands before the gates of heaven 
 Clad in a purple tunic, 
 Crouched like a man about to run a race. 
 And now, the signal given, 
 Comes on apace. 
 God of the merciful waters, 
 Hold thy white steeds awhile! 
 The prayers of thy daughters, 
 The tears of thy daughters 
 Implore thee, Poseidon, smile. 
 God, thou hast taken our all; 
 Render us back our own! 
 The light is gone from thy hall, 
 And thine eyes are cold as stone. 
 Thy bosom is wide and lone. 
 God, give them back to us, back to us! 
 
 Poseidon lays him down between the lands, 
 
 Resting his head upon the sands. 
 
 His white hair washes in and floats away 
 
 Where children play, 
 
 And his broad bosom breathes, serene and deep, 
 
 As though in sleep. 
 
 [102]
 
 Poseidon of Many Moods 
 
 But slyly under drooping lids he sees 
 The barefoot babies romping unawares, 
 The water splashing high about their knees, 
 And slyly smiles to see them jump and run, 
 Bright-headed, in the sun, 
 With eyes as young as theirs. 
 Oh, gentle God of children, lend thine ear. 
 Poseidon hear! 
 
 Who has not known it that Poseidon loves the red 
 
 wine 
 
 Grown on high Olympus when the gods were there? 
 In the upturned sunset cup, see the royal red shine, 
 Wafted to his thirsty lips through leagues of limpid 
 
 air. 
 
 Oh, the dance that follows after! 
 Oh, the breathless, deathless laughter! 
 The nipping whiteness of his teeth bared against the 
 
 sky. 
 
 Oh, the drunken, reeling billows 
 Decked with lace from mermaids' pillows, 
 And their wild, exultant laughter as the cold sprays 
 
 fly. 
 
 Drunken king, in very truth 
 Thou hast bound the heart of youth 
 And holdst it captive by the magic of thy silver tongue. 
 Oh, Poseidon, what divine 
 Vintage of the gods is thine, 
 
 Grown on high Olympus when the world was young! 
 [103]
 
 Poseidon of Many Moods 
 
 Out beyond the world's edge thou liest in state, 
 
 Poseidon, 
 
 Out beyond the sea's edge, out beyond the foam, 
 Of interlacing coral boughs 
 Thou hast built thyself a house, 
 Out of pearly shell fish thou hast reared thyself a 
 
 home. 
 
 There the white armed Nereids play 
 In the spray, 
 
 And the sea nymphs dance at night 
 Down the moon path in a white 
 Radiance, bright as day. 
 
 From beyond the world's edge thy call comes in, 
 Poseidon, 
 
 From beyond the sea's edge o'er the curling foam: 
 
 Over half the world it comes, resistless and compel 
 ling. 
 
 And thy children answer it and gladly turn them 
 home. 
 
 Over all the sea's face the white sails are swelling, 
 
 Beating down the salt winds from unknown lands, 
 
 For thy voice is young and sweet, and the fading 
 skyline 
 
 Beckons to adventure, and the world is in our hands. 
 
 Dreams of ancient buccaneers and sailors of old 
 England, 
 
 Dreams of Scott, and Peary with his frozen sail 
 [104]
 
 Poseidon of Many Moods 
 
 Fill our eyes with golden visions and our hearts with 
 
 yearning. 
 All the seas are ours to roam. What reck we if we 
 
 fail? 
 
 Gain or lose, 
 Who shall choose? 
 In thy hands are storm and gale. 
 Sails are set, 
 DCCKS are wet, 
 The wind is in our sail. 
 Blue heav'n is o'er us, 
 Life before us. 
 What reck we if we fail? 
 
 Poseidon, all-father, thy child is come home again. 
 
 Long ages since from thy bosom we rose, 
 
 Now we come back on thy bosom to roam again, 
 
 Shorten earth's span 
 
 By the life of a man 
 
 Then back to thy fount head to take our repose. 
 
 What shall come after, 
 
 Tears, then, or laughter? 
 
 Many have striven to grasp what shall be. 
 Life? We did live it. 
 Peace? Thou wilt give it 
 Down in the purple green depths of the sea. 
 We who have taken all, 
 Loved and forsaken all, 
 
 Giving our hearts and our souls to life's quest, 
 [105]
 
 Poseidon of Many Moods 
 
 More than the prudent wise, 
 
 We have known Paradise, 
 
 We have seen life at its worst and its best. 
 
 Poseidon, thou'st given 
 
 Better than heaven, 
 
 Knowledge to suffer and joy and be free. 
 
 Meeting death's cold kiss 
 
 We turn where oblivion is 
 
 Under the sea. 
 
 [106]
 
 ON CASCO BAY 
 
 OH the romance of the ocean has caught me in a 
 net, 
 The pulsing heart, the groping hands, the lips against 
 
 the sky. 
 The long white hands have found me and I never can 
 
 forget. 
 
 The glory and the motion, the rhythm and the fret 
 Are part of me, the heart of me 
 And shall be till I die. 
 
 II 
 
 Oh, the ships that come and go, 
 Oh, the breakers' hammer shocks, 
 Oh, the sails of burnished show, 
 And the hot sun on the rocks! 
 Oh, the blue of sea and sky, 
 And the wind's kiss on my lips. 
 Oh, the gulls that circle by, 
 And the dancing of the ships! 
 [107]
 
 On Casco Bay 
 
 in 
 
 I hear in mournful, intermittent roar 
 
 The sweet-tongued waves upon the shore; 
 
 I see the white-capped billows of the clouds 
 
 Beat on the jagged horn of the low moon, 
 
 And evermore 
 
 Mine awed heart cries "Forbear!" 
 
 I cannot understand your song 
 
 Nor catch the rhythm of your tune. 
 
 [108]
 
 THE GULLS 
 
 A WHIRL and ebb of gray and white 
 A whirr and sweep of driving wings, 
 Stooping, swooping, where 
 Far below the ocean flings 
 Sparkling spray to crown them kings 
 Of the light and air; 
 Swinging where the white cloud swings 
 Transfixed through its heart with light, 
 Mystically fair. 
 
 Who shall whisper what they sing 
 Passing swiftly on the wing 
 Of the rapture, fierce, undying, 
 And their own wild hearts replying, 
 Of the grandeur, cold and lone. 
 Yea, indeed, thrice happy he, 
 Who in measured melody 
 Makes their joy his own. 
 Freedom of the wind-swept air, 
 Glory of the painted sky 
 For the taking. You and I 
 Pent within the city's glare 
 [109]
 
 The Gulls 
 
 Put our sad hearts sadly by, 
 Yearning unaware. 
 
 A whirl and ebb of gray and white, 
 A whirr and sweep of driving wings, 
 And far below the ocean sings 
 And far above in veering flight 
 Spirits of the storm and wind, 
 Trailing silver light behind, 
 Sport among the dark clouds, crying 
 Of a rapture, wild, undying, 
 And my own wild heart replying 
 In a broken melody 
 Singeth to the sobbing sea. 
 
 [110]
 
 FREE VERSE
 
 HAUNTED MUSIC 
 
 THE old violin, broken a thousand tiroes, 
 Mended as many, 
 Scarred and battered, 
 Worn, old, 
 
 Has learned to answer to the passion of the 
 master. 
 
 Ah, the soul compelling voice of her singing. 
 There are eyes that wander, eyes that drowse, 
 Eyes full of dreams, eyes dark with passion, 
 Wistful eyes, eyes of attainment. 
 
 God breaks hearts and mends them 
 In a thousand curious ways. 
 
 [113]
 
 WHEN ONE WAITS AT NIGHT 
 
 WHEN one waits at night 
 The moments creep so slowly, on such 
 
 leaden feet. 
 
 When one waits at night 
 The darkness is so very dark, 
 The silence so very still. 
 
 The beating of one's own heart is painful. 
 
 Oh, the disappointments of the footsteps that 
 
 come 
 
 And do not pause. 
 The darkness is so very dark, 
 The silence so very still 
 When one waits at night. 
 
 [114]
 
 LAKE GEORGE 
 
 HILLS of my love, that I have known and loved, 
 To-night I know you not, you smite my heart 
 With a new beauty. 
 
 You have drawn a veil across your bosom. 
 I put out my hand, and cloud-like 
 The world melts and fades, 
 And the sunset glows through the gray mist 
 Upon a land of clouds. 
 The lake's broad breast heaves and rocks my frail 
 
 canoe. 
 
 That alone is real, bearing me through a dream. 
 Some one is singing the "Land of the Sky-blue 
 
 Waters." 
 
 The music lays light fingers upon me 
 Wringing my heart. 
 I who know not love, to-night I love. 
 I who know not grief, to-night I grieve. 
 I who know not joy, tremble at the knocking of light 
 
 fingers on my heart. 
 
 Hills of my love, I have come to you again, 
 In the land where I build my dreams I have found 
 
 you. 
 
 [115]
 
 FAIRY TALE 
 
 THE sun shone on the east wall of the tower. 
 The shadow peeped around the edge 
 Trying to catch a glimpse of her bright pursuer. 
 I think the pitiful flowers weep 
 Because the shadow never sees the sun. 
 I saw the sweep of her gown as she gathered it 
 
 close 
 
 Standing a-tiptoe in the corner. 
 Then she was gone. 
 
 The sun reached out his arms in vain. 
 I saw him peep into the cups of roses 
 Wondering if she were hiding there, 
 And laughed to myself. 
 He will never find her 
 Where she lies hidden in my heart. 
 
 [116]
 
 THE BENCH BESIDE THE DOOR 
 
 I HAVE wandered the garden all around, 
 I have looked at the rose bush from ev'ry side, 
 But now I've come back to the bench beside the 
 
 door, 
 You can see the roses best from there. 
 
 I have wandered over all the world, 
 
 I have seen the sun in the east and in the west, 
 
 But now I've come back to the bench beside the door, 
 
 The sun shines warmest there. 
 
 I have wandered through all the realm of dreams, 
 
 I have looked at my desire from ev'ry side, 
 
 But now' I've come back to the bench beside the 
 
 door, 
 'Tis only there my heart forgets itself and sings. 
 
 [117]
 
 THROUGH THE GROVE OF DREAMS 
 
 THROUGH the grove of dreams, through the 
 thicket of wild speculations 
 I have wandered on light feet. 
 The dew was on my forehead, the fire eternal in my 
 
 heart. 
 
 I fancied that I had found a short cut to the stars. 
 I plunged recklessly through the brambles, 
 Brave with my dreams, 
 And found at my feet the broad highway 
 Unrolled like a scroll. 
 
 There were voices there and faces that I knew 
 Familiarly strange as seen through other eyes, 
 How simple, sweet, and excellent is life. 
 
 [118]
 
 DOWN THE RAINY STREET 
 
 DOWN the rainy street in a breathing space of the 
 rain 
 
 A man comes with a wagon of fruit. 
 He chants his wares in a rich, melodious voice 
 Full of a round and hearty cheer. 
 "Strawberries, strawberries, fine fruit and straw 
 berries." 
 
 Out of the distance his voice comes slowly 
 And fades again. 
 And the birds sing in the dripping branches. 
 
 [119]
 
 SPRING MIGRATION 
 
 SEE where he sits upon the topmost bough 
 Singing now. 
 
 He and the sun together set a-tune 
 The laughing air with promises of May, 
 And farther off of June. 
 
 He and the sun together pass away 
 To northern climes, and yet they leave behind 
 Ropes of fair flowers for the hours to bind 
 The truant May. 
 
 [120]
 
 NON OMNIS MORIAR 
 
 1 Tl THEN there shall come an ending of the tune 
 V V And all the sweet and bitter in the sum 
 Of one great chord the Master shall take home; 
 Then, when the far cry of the wailing loon 
 Shrills down the waters of the still lagoon 
 And mingles with the drowsy insects' hum, 
 Because I so have loved her, I shall come 
 To haunt once more the long, sweet, paths of June. 
 
 And when the magic moment holds the earth 
 When great Apollo swings below the skies, 
 And when, the signal of another birth, 
 The wheels of his supernal chariot rise, 
 Then you shall hear with all the birds a-tune 
 The heart I left to sing again in June. 
 
 [121]
 
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