A A 1 2 2 8 1 7 1 EX LIBRIS SAX C.. VUI.OS ROBERT ERNEST COWAN ROSE -ASHES AND OTHER POEMS CARRIE STEVENS WALTER (Memorial Edition) A. C. EATON & CO. Copyright, 7907, by MARY WALTER " * .V, : :.?>. I ^ ?s Contents. Portrait ........ Frontispiece ROSE-ASHES S= IN THE SUNSHINE :- Page Bt California ........ 13 Indecision ........ 15 Mendocino . . . . . . . . 17 Maternity ..... ... 19 Through Lake County ...... 21 Scattering the Mists ...... 24 Santa Clara Valley (May, 1889) .... 26 A Thought of Farewell . . . . . . 29 On Monte Piedra ....... 31 At Monterey ........ 33 The Fate of Genius ...... 34 AtLakeport ........ 36 To Adolph Sutro ....... 38 Sunset at Santa Barbara . 39 vi Contents IN THE SHADOW :- Page Un Suefio de la Noche ...... 43 As I Rock My Baby 47 Unrest 49 At Last 52 In the Desert 54 Night at New Almaden 56 A Night Ride 58 Why? 60 On the Border-Land of Tears 62 At the Dawning 63 Fragments (from An Idyl of Santa Barbara) * . 65 TEMPEST-TOSSED : A Dedication 68 Spanish Song ....... 69 The Ciy of the Spirit . . , . . . 71 A Woman's Response ...... 73 After All 75 Nepenthe 78 Ojald! 80 And Yet 81 In Bondage 82 Suspense 84 Pursued 85 Nirvana 86 vii Page At Santa Cruz 91 Storm-Born 93 Coming Home ....... 95 Willing to Go Forward 99 The Legend of Amapola 102 Alum Rock Canyon . . . . . .104 In Memory of Mrs. E. O. Smith . . . .106 To Ina Coolbrith 109 At the Cross-road 110 Santa Cruz, December 23, 1890. . . . 112 Mt. Hamilton 113 Reincarnation 116 Monte Piedra 120 Conflict 122 May 2, 1903 . . 124 Some Day 126 Love 128 Pip and Ingle |29 What Is It to Be Akin 130 Fallibility . . .133 Fragment . . . . . . . .135 Memorial Tributes to Carrie Stevens Walter . 139 ROSE -ASHES Whirled from the altar of Life, from its innermost secret recesses, Warm with the memory of fires that have burned themselves low at its shrine', Fragrant with incense of days that were p-ure as an angel's caresses; Gathered in verse-urns at latt, are thest scattered rose-ashes of mine. To the memory of my father, ioaialf timtt from whom, with my life-breath, I drew the instincts of song; to whom I owe what possibilities of its expres sion may be mine; who was to me the embodiment of all that is true and chivalrous in manhood, and who is to me as one who has but gone before to prepare a place for me, I dedicate this first published collection of my verses. CARRIE STE yENS WA L TER . San Jos t, Cai., August, iSyo. In the Sunshine California The old Pacific harshly calls to Mendocino's shore, But sighs at Santa Barbara's feet his love-song o'er and o'er ; The giant redwoods greeting send to orange, fig and lime, And Siskiyou holds out a cup for wine oi Anaheim. Proud Shasta's snow-crowned head looks out to St. Helena's base, Where Napa's vine-wrought beauty smiles in fair Sonoma's face ; Mount Hamilton reads reverently the mys teries of the skies, Where Santa Clara's valley-sweep in fruited richness lies. 14 Rose- Ashes Armed Alcatraz stands sentinel beside the Golden Gate, Beyond whose portals Farallones, like threat ening shadows, wait; The commerce of the world steals by, unchal lenged, day by day, But Tamalpais counts every ship in San Fran cisco Bay. Across the San Joaquin's broad reach of vines and waving wheat, The old Sierras pour their gold to San Diego's feet ; And northern pine and southern palm woo sea-winds from the west, While over all a spirit broods of romance and unrest. The rose entwines the orange-tree, the sea- winds rock the pines, And wheat-sheaves lift their golden heads amid the grapes' green vines ; The latest glow of sunset still enfolds it ever more, While Strength and Beauty stand hand- clasped, upon this Western shore. Indecision 15 Indecision "My will is bondsman to the dark, I sit within a helmless bark." TENNYSON. I think, to every human soul, Who truly feels life's fullest need, There comes a time, along the years, When Heaven's designs are hard to read; A veil seems drawn before the day, A light gone out where late one shone, The footsteps falter by the way With voiceless speech the heart makes moan: "My will is bondsman to the dark, I sit within a helmless bark!" Through years, perhaps, with footstep firm, We fearless walk the varied way ; Life's burdens seem not hard to bear While glad around us shines the day; 16 Rose- Ashes But suddenly our joyous song Is strangely still, we know not why, A weakness, where but late was strength, Creeps 'round the heart, we faintly cry : "My will is bondsman to the dark, I sit within a helrnless bark!" Yet, soon or late, there comes, I think, To all who feel life's highest aim, Reaction from this chill despair, Our ghosts return to whence they came ; We rise, unconquered, from the gloom, Our brows seem fanned by heavenly wings ; Hand-clasped with Hope we breast life's waves, The while the heart triumphant sings : "My will is master of the dark, And angel hands will guide my bark !" Mendocino 1 7 Mendocino Like a host of giant warriors, Mendocino's mountains stand, Warrior-giants grim and solemn, Face to face and hand to hand. Mail of madrone, spears of redwood, Cloud and sunshine helmeted, Breastplate of the fir and oak-tree, Manzanita-garmented. Sunlight, dim with faint blue shadows, Wraps them with a soft caress, Leaving not on spear or breastplate One harsh curve of ruggedness. Resinous odors, breath of hop-fields, Fragrance of the sweet wild rose, Somnorific, steal upon them, Lull them to a soft repose. 18 Rose- Ashes Mendocino's grand, gray mountains, Warrior-giants grim and hoar, Hushed into eternal silence By some stern edict of yore. Maternity 19 Maternity (To Roy.) I hold two dainty little feet Clasped in my warm and loving hand, So soft and pink, they sure must be Two rose-leaves blown from fairy-land. I hold a tiny, helpless form, Clasped closely to my happy heart, My baby ! mine by right divine, The right of pain a mother's part. O beauteous life, so fair and new, That yesterday was blent with mine ! O wondrous soul, so lately sprung A sparklet from the Source Divine! God's precious gifts, you come to me Embodied in this helpless form ; My mother-heart accepts the trust As flowers, the sunshine soft and warm. 20 Rose-Ashes My brow seems decked by coronet, The fairest earth has ever seen, The diadem of Motherhood, And God's own hand has crowned me queen What realms are opened to my sight ! I tread the regions of the blest ; And all because this little form Lies fair and helpless on my breast ; A tiny bud, whose flower complete May bloom to bless my waning years. Ah, Motherhood, you hold a bliss That best may be expressed in tears. July, 1876 Through Lakt County 21 Through Lake County A lake, which seems a silver mirror, swung Up near the clear blue sky, Around whose loveliness the guardian hills In circling beauty lie. Mountains, that hide within their silent breasts Ashes of fires long spent, Whose torches lighted, through the night of Time, Chaos' black firmament. Cedars and pines, which strike their piercing roots In cold volcanoes' hearts, That throbbed their lives out in some dead world grief, As human pain departs. 22 Rose-Ashes Valleys, whose curves are like the carved designs The hand of sculptor makes, Inheritors of all the riches left By long departed lakes. Unnumbered springs and rills, which from the earth In sunshine leap and play, And take, down mountain-side and valley- sweep, Their graceful, sinuous way. This lake, that lonely watched through untold years Orion his pathway trace, Now takes in Beauty's Western Wonderland, By right, an honored place. Above the tombs of countless ages dead, Nature's mute battle-fields, Beauty and Strength have wrought their mys teries, Order his sceptre wields. 23 The burned-out passion of a dead world's pain, This granite dust of time, Is re-incarnate in the lovely form Of flower and tree and vine. The Spirit of the Past, that wrought its work And seemed to pass away, Through loam and vine and grape is born again, The rich wine of to-day. The old-world trees, whose lavishness of leaf Formed this rich valley-soil, Yielded their lives in travail to the fruits That now reward our toil. Thus ceaselessly the mystic wheel of Life Makes its eternal round ; No link is lost, no hurry mars its sweep, One perfect whole is found. 24 Rose- Ashes Scattering the Mists A reminiscence of the Grand Encampment of the G. A. K., held in San Francisco, August. 1886. Stealing over crinkled sand-dunes, creeps the sea-fog on the town, Silent as a spirit legion, through the shadows sweeping down. Through the streets aflame with banners, all a-throb with human life, Cowers the sea-fog sore affrighted all the place with tumult rife. Measured tread of marching thousands, blaze of flambeau, blare of guns, Lingering shouts of, "Sherman !" "Logan !" "Honor to our nation's sons !" All the air a-thrill with music, roses strewn along the ways, This the tribute California, to each honored hero, pays. Scattering the Mists 25 Backward over crinkled sand-dunes, as affrighted spectres flee, Routed, beaten, creeps the sea-fog, sinks into the sheltering sea. 26 Rose-Ashes Santa Clara Valley May, 1889. Like some fair island, ocean-girt and calm, Whose soft enchantment of dim distances, Beneath the ardent glory of the Sun, Bewilders with its ever-changing grace This wondrous valley lies. Its clasping waves, The tawny billows of the hills that rise Brown-streaked with curving rows of ripening hay; These, crossed and cut by many a green ravine Thick-wooded, dank, that with long fingers strives To envious stop yet, witless, only aids The upward reaching of the hills to meet The soft, cool bosom of the clouds, which stoop To their caressing, as fond mothers do. Santa Clara Valley 27 Above the eastern range, the morning sun Flaunts the first banners of the dawn ; and here Mount Hamilton clasps hands with Mission Ridge; Then, like a king, he marshals toward the south A phalanx of the lesser hills. These go And dim and dimmer grow, 'till far beyond Where Almaden darts sharply out to bar Their way, they stop at last, a hovering band, And, like tired children, cuddle down to rest In the warm sands of sheltered Montere} r . Along the western boundary, holding back The hoarse Pacific, that unceasing frets And foams against their sturdy barrier, The hills of Santa Cruz lift stately heads ; Their sides green-flecked with laurel and madrone, Their summits, dark against the sunset sky, Close serried with the giant redwood trees, Which stand like sentinels upon the heights, The fortressed heights that guard this farthest West. 28 Rose-Ashes From Monterey to San Francisco Bay, No break is found along this western wall Through which reluctant sunshine could steal back, Despite the formal farewell of the Day, For just one little stolen, hurried kiss, One latest, last farewell (as lovers do) To Santa Clara Valley, looking out With shaded eyes that fain would lure it back. These are the sheltering walls that clasp within Their bounding lines a world \vithin itself; An Orient of fairest fruits and flowers ; An Occident of beauty fresh and new, Where polar snow and tropic sun seem blent In flower and fruit of bending orchard trees. This Santa Clara Valley, lying fair Within the clasping boundary of her hills! A Thought of Farewell 29 A Thought of Farewell I think, my friend, the Hindoo version wrong, Which claims Nirvana is forgetfulness, That all experience of the ages gone Leaves not one memory to curse or bless. I love to call it by another name, Nirvana "All-remembering" "All-divine," And think that in a grander, larger life, A clearer, broader memory will be mine. That all I've been, along the countless years Since first from Chaos' fount my being sprang, That all I've felt of joy or wept of tears, Or known of love or disappointment's pang, May stand to me in that clear, larger life, For some grand purpose in the all-wise plan, With God's good reason for the life intense That fierce through all my forms of being ran. 30 Rose-Ashes Then, in that time, I know that not the least Of memory's buds that into flower expand, Will be your friendship and your aid to me Through all the years, since first a kindly hand, A helping hand, that was a guide and shield, You reached to me a searcher for the light An humble wayside gleaner in the field Wherein you labored with man's glorious might. Then every cheering tone, your words of praise, And every kindly grasping of the hand, Will shine as stars in memory's firmament. That clasps the glory of Nirvana's land. On Monte Piedra On Monte Piedra (A Mountlet in Lake County.) These stoic rocks, profoundly still, What secrets could they not disclose ! Ebbing of seas, and rise of hill, Formation's mighty travail-throes. Tell me, O rocks, what underlies Old St. Helena's massive base? What fount of Nature's mysteries Hides back of Cobb's majestic face? What master spirit wrought the plan Of Loconomi's graceful curves? And trod it first, some god-like man, With giant form and iron nerves, Who grasped with powerful hand the crude, Fierce chaos of a rounding world, And warring atoms, strong and rude, Into harmonious being hurled? 32 Rose-Ashes Tell me the thought that wrought the smile Of pine and cedar on these hills ; What merriment knew earth the while, That brought such laugh of rippling rills? What thought divine incarnates Man, Who walks his little round to death ? Teach me the wisdom of the plan That mixed these winds with his hot breath. And ere he broke the calm above The slumbers of the countless years, W T hat knew ye of the pangs of love, Or smiles of joy, or passion's tears? Tell me what prophecies you draw Of future from the past you've seen ; And judge, by God's unchanging law, What is to be from what has been. At Monterey 33 At Monterey Along the beach beyond the dunes, I wandered one fair summer day, And heard the waves' low-whispered runes Come up the Bay of Monterey. The long gray reach of sanded shore, The glinting of the sunlit bay, The breakers murmuring evermore Their low sweet tales of Monterey, All these became a part of me, And mine the rapture of the day The day I watched the summer sea Creep in and capture Monterey. When life's last gates swing out for me, And stands revealed Heaven's first sweet day, I wonder, will its radiance be Fairer than this, at Monterey? Rose-Ashes The Fate of Genius To Margaret Mather. To consecrate your life to one high aim ; To merge your hopes, desires, ambitions, loves, In one strong purpose loyalty to Art ; To climb to heights where few have dared to tread, Alone, uncomprehended by the crowd That toil, and fret, and struggle far below ; Self-dedicated, to forego the fate Of lowlier women, with the joys and hopes, The loves and cares that round their little worlds : This is the fate of Genius this is yours, O, peerless Woman, in whose regal soul All grand emotions find their exponent. For you are of the rare and royal few, Whose springs of life, by Heaven's divine decree, The Fate of Genius 35 Have source in some far, snow-born fountain- head, And run forever in deep gorges, cut Outside the placid channel wherein flows The stream of commoner Humanity. 36 Rose- Ashes The circling hills that guard Clear Lake, like lazy giants lie Beneath the ardent sunshine, with their faces to the sky ; Konockti sees across her waves Night's elfin shadows play, And loves to catch and fling to her the first red lights of Day. Back from the lake the pretty town goes danc ing to the hills, That greet her with a gift of flowers and sere nade of rills ; The wine of life is in the air that wafts the fragrance down From resinous pines and odorous flowers to lake and shore and town. The fairest land beneath the sun, within whose border lies At Lakeport 37 The glory of an emerald earth o'erhung by sapphire skies; And where, like threads of finest gold, the yel low sun-rays fall, Where Beauty makes her dwelling-place, and Heaven is over all. 286723 38 Rose-Ashes To Adolph Sutro Where the radiant land of sunset opens wide its western door, Where Pacific's restless breakers reach their arms out evermore, There is wrought a wondrous poem on th tablets of the rocks, Wrought with pen of blast and pick-axe, as with throes of earthquake shocks. Truest instincts of the poet matchless lines oi beauty trace, Storied places yield their tribute to enhance the mystic grace ; Through the long-advancing ages, gleam of days or gloom of nights, California's sons will thank you for your poem, "Sutro Heights." Sunset at Santa Barbara 39 Sunset at Santa Barbara The mountains stand, Clearly defined, against the blood-red sky; The waves, retreating from the rocky strand, Into the mist and gloom go hand in hand To sob and die. The night comes on, As day retires with crimson banner furled, One bright star sits in beauty all alone Upon her pensive brow, as on a throne, Queen of the world. In such a light, So filled with glory, let me ever lie ; With mountains, sunset, and the hush of night, The waves retreating till they seem to smite The blood-red sky. In the Shadow Un Sueno de la Noche 43 Un Sueno de la Noche (From "An Idyl of Santa Barbara. ') You decked my breast with violets last night, ~-Their haunting sweetness thrills my pulses yet,- You clasped my eager hands with warm caress, And kissed the sadness from my eyelids wet. My soul is sad at memory of your touch ; Your flowers' rich fragrance smites my heart with pain; The look of pitying kindness in your eyes Will never come to gladden me again. For all the sweetness of that haunting scene, Your thrilling touch, your violets' purple gleam, The glance of kindness from your speaking eyes, Were but the offspring of a strange, sweet dream. 44 Rose-Ashes I wake to know your your hand can ne'er clasp mine Thro' all the years this side of Hope and Heaven ; To know that not one kindly glance of yours Shall ever to my longing eyes be given. I wake to take my burden up again, Forgot for one sweet hour of dreaming night, My weary burden of the heart and brain, And do my duty with my woman's might. I would not look upon your face again, Your strong, proud face that is a god's, to me, I would not hear the music of your voice, I would not think of you, nor hear, nor see One spoken, written word that could recall Your memory ; for only thus to me Can come a strength to do my daily work. For which my spirit must be brave and free. Un Siteno de la Noche 45 You came into my life for one brief hour, Strong, noble, grand as any god could be, And all the currents of my being's tide, And life itself, henceforth were changed for me. You came and passed. Now nevermore to me Can come the clasping of your firm true hand, May shine the tender glory of your eyes No more to me, this side the Heavenly Land. I pray for strength, I would be firm and brave To put your very memory away ; I pray for strength, and it is granted me To meet the burdens of the toilful day. But in the dreaming mystery of Night Such visions come, sometimes, of bliss and pain, That, with the dawning of another day, The hard-won battle must be fought again. 46 Rose-Ashes And yet until we both shall pass the bridge That spans the mystic gulf from shore to shore, There must remain between my soul and yours The bridgeless sea of Silence evermore. As I Rock My Baby 47 As I Rock My Baby Oh, little golden head that lies So fair upon the mother breast ! Oh, dewy mouth, as roses sweet, So oft to mine in kisses pressed ! Oh, little hands that press my cheek With dear caress of baby touch ! Oh, blue-gray eyes that seek my own With questioning glance that asks so much ! Dear, restless feet that come and go In-doors and out the whole day long, To music of the lisping voice Far sweeter to my ears than song! I trembling glance adown the years, Strung mist-like on the thread of fate, That bring my winsome baby girl, Her womanhood's most fair estate. 48 Rose-Ashes And dread the time my sheltering arms Can shield her precious form no more, When she has watched, with shaded eyes, My boat glide to the Farther Shore. I wonder will the proud young head Bend some day to a chastening rod, The while -my folded hands, perhaps, Lie 'neath the violet-tufted sod ? I wonder will the bright young eyes Grow dim and heavy with the weight Of tears they are too proud to shed, For life's hopes wrecked and desolate? Oh, little hands, take up your work, Whate'er Hope grants or Life denies ; Look bravely in tire face of Fate, And shrink not, droop not, bright young eyes. And, may-be, from the Farther Shore, A mother's love can reach to bless, Can guide and shield the wayworn feet With more than olden tenderness. January, 1885. Unrest 49 Unrest The faint sea-breezes lift the silken hangings With soft and sad unrest ; The weary song-bird fain would still the music That trembles in his breast. I sit alone, environed by the shadows That steal into the room, And, bolder grown, with pity for my sadness, Wrap me in tender gloom. The pale cream roses in their emerald couches, The sweet-breathed heliotrope, The star-eyed jessamine, whose radiant white ness Seems -emblem best, of hope ; The bending sprays of lily-of-the-valley, With bells like drops of snow, The purple violets, with dewy lustre So like to eyes I know ; 50 Rose-Ashes The large magnolia, empress of the blossoms, Whose fragrance rare and sweet, Is as the essence of all Southern glory Born of magnetic heat, All smite me with their perfume-laden kisses, As drops of fragrant rain, That stir within my soul a restless cadence Half passion, and all pain. Oh, weary ways, that lie along life's journey, Lone wastes of space and time, That stretch between me and peace that calls me As some far distant chime ! I strive in vain to win a blest nepenthe, Or soothing oenomel ; Still swell along the years life's solemn changes, Sad as a tolling bell. Unrest 51 Oh, strong, pure voices from that blessed future, From which doth emanate Wisdom and peace, teach me life's hardest lesson To work, and hope, and wait. 52 Rose-Ashes At Last Along the toiling ways of life, My footsteps come and go ; How sad to me the dust and heat, Your heart may never know, Dear friend, The while I come and go. Yet heaviest task would seem but light, Nor long the weariest ways, If I could know I'd win at last, The guerdon of your praise, Beloved, After long toiling days. And I could climb the rockiest heights, Or tread the burning sand, If I could meet, when all was done, The clasping of your hand, Your true and loving hand. At Last 53 In darkest hours, my faith could see The sunshine smiling through, Could I but know I'd come, at last, To light and love and you, Dear heart, When weary toils are through. 54 Rose- Ashes In the Desert This desert-drouth in which my soul Plods on beneath a burning sky, Has withered all my fairest flowers, The very fount of song is dry. A ceaseless struggle to maintain With slender hands, by force of will, A painful hold on life's rough rocks, Keeps all my song-birds sadly still. I think God made a woman's hands To stroke the babe upon her breast, To smooth the grief from pain-knit brows, And strew the lotus-flowers of rest. But cruel thorns too often tear The feet of women who must tread Life's rugged thoroughfares, to win Their own or helpless children's bread. In the Desert 55 No Boaz rules the field of Toil To drop with generous hand some grains, For heart-faint Ruth, who gleans across The sharpness of its stubble-plains. She can but walk with purpose firm And heart each hour upraised to God ; The while she prays her sinking feet May find the path her Lord has trod. 56 Rose-Ashes Night at New Almaden Soft the trickling waters slip Through the shadows of the night, Under spectral trees that dip Low their phantom boughs, gray-white. Up the shadowy mountain side Climb dim redwoods to the skies, Gazing out on Night's star-tide In a reverent surprise. Giant ghosts of chimneys rise Dim from summits of the steep, 'Neath which fiery furnace eyes Know no night of rest or sleep. Brawny men their toil-watch keep, Where the drill and pick-axe chime, In Earth's strongholds dark and deep Break the treasure-vaults of Time. Night at New Almaden 57 While the great heart of the Mine Pulses strong beneath our feet, Overhead the roses twine Through the length of silent street. There Toil's arteries throbbing strong With their tide of living men, Here a plaintive Spanish song Thrills the night at Almaden. 58 Rose- Ashes A Night Ride Across the marshes' sombre reach, Where gathering shadows deepening lie, The glassy pools reflect the red Rich glory of the sky, Where fairest mysteries lie. Above the low coast-hills, the moon A new-born crescent lowly swings, Hand-clasped with Night's first star that tells Its tale of heavenly things, While low the slim moon swings. A ghost-like mist creeps slowly up Creeps silent, slow, from distant bay, O'er gloom of marsh and gleam of pool It spreads its mantle grey, Sun-wrought from out the bay. A Night Ride 59 Above the noise of rushing train, I hear the marsh-bird's lonesome call, And turn from light and warmth within To watch night's shadows fall, And list the marsh-bird's call. My heart, like mirror pool, reflects A heaven of love I leave behind, A heaven of light and love I pray The shadows may not find, Dear light I leave behind. The clasping of my children's arms, Home's circling light and warmth and love, My lonely spirit galls for these As marsh-bird's cry might prove A cry for home and love. 60 Rose-Ashes Why? Why do we strive to work a glad solution Of all life's problems here? Why should we eager question "Whence?" and "Wherefore?" Of every falling tear? Why grieve that effort fails of hoped fruition ? That love unsought is given? That chafing spirits fret in hateful bondage ? That tenderest ties are riven? That what seems wrong in our imperfect vision, Triumphs in place of right, As heaven's dear sunshine leaves the earth in sorrow, Affrighted by the night? Why? 61 If we could learn God's perfect law of being That rules thro' all the spheres, I think we then should know His glorious reason For toil and pain and tears. In the grand anthem wrought by life's creation Some notes seem dissonant, Because our human ears catch but imperfect Faint fragments of the chant. The march of God is ever forward onward Let us this truth discern, Upon Time's dial-plate Fate's mystic fingers Can never backward turn. Could we but see, as with angelic vision, What purpose is in pain, I think, perhaps, that sorrow's saddest numbers Might prove life's glad refrain. 62 Rose-Ashes On the Border-Land of Tears On the border-land of tears, Raised by hopes or crushed by fears, Joy and grief alternate swell, In the soul no peace can dwell. On the border-land of tears Stand the ghosts of vanished years ; All we might be and are not Greet us on that haunted spot. Clouds, like ships, from shore to shore To and fro pass evermore, Sable bordered, scarce appears Tint of peal through mist of tears. All Life's quivering mile-posts loom Sad as grave-stones through the gloom ; Trembling hopes are crushed by fears On the border-land of tears. At the Dawning 63 At the Dawning Frail little barque on the rude ocean cast, Ocean of Life, dark and wild, Ah, many's the storm and the firce, cold blast, That may shipwreck thy hopes, ere the voyage be past, And thou be at rest, little child, Dear one, Safe from the storms dark and wild. Poor little feet ! that from thorns may bleed, Thorns 'mid the roses cast! Be patient and suffer, for few will heed When the footsteps fail, or the tired feet bleed 'Till the ending comes at last, Poor feet, And thorns and roses are past. 64 Rose-Ashes Wondering eyes! to be dimmed by tears, Tears often hid by a smile Glad eyes, you'll grow sad in the coming years, For falsehood and treachery weeping your tears, 'Neath the pitiful -mask of a smile Sad eyes, Yes, weeping a weary while. Dear little heart ! that must ache so sore, Ache with a cruel pain When bright visions fade, and hope shines no more, Yes, ache till you reach the radiant shore Far over Life's troubled main, Dear heart, Where endeth all woe and pain. Fragments 65 Fragments (From "An Idyl of Santa Barbara.") NIGHT-FALL AT SANTA BARBARA A precious amber vase just filled from Elysian fountains, Whose sacred libation is poured to the year's expiring ember, A chalice whose wine is spilled over ocean and islands and mountains, Is the close of this perfect day of our California December. Like ghosts of the past stand the towers cross- tipped of the church of the Mission, While closer and closer the shadows creep round them like stricken things, The shadows that seem like the souls of the years that have bowed at its altar, Or land-birds blown out over ocean that droop their desolate wings. 66 Rose-Ashes SANTA BARBARA Where the roses' rich gifts are completest, Where sea-winds kiss odorous trees, Where song's liquid numbers are sweetest Santa Barbara looks out o'er the seas. LOVE Among the silver threads of Life So closely twine Love's golden strands, That if we loose their clinging hold, The fabric crumbles in our hands. Tempest-Tossed A DEDICATION An underground fountain ivhose springing Bespangles the desert with flowers ; A nest-hidden bird whose loiu singing Breaks silence of desolate hours; A low bank of violets, leaf hidden, Whose odor is sensuous bliss; A bit Id wish that creeping unbidden, Lifts face for a welcoming kiss; T? ue source of Life's deep inspiration, Whose beauty and fragrance ate mine, In the hush of a sours exaltation This offering I place on your shrine. Spanish Song 69 Spanish Song (From "An Idyl of Santa Barbara.") What does it -mean, this tyrant spell that holds me A captive in its chain, That thrills my wayward heart with strong emotion Love's passion and its pain? O, restless soul that beats Life's bar unceasing, A tiger held in thrall, O, passion's surge that would engulf calm reason, And give to Love life's all ! Can I not curb the strong, defiant feeling That struggles in my soul, And scorns all form and law that cold convention Would frame in Love's control? 70 Rose- Ashes I strive in vain, for all that life could grant me, Or hope's bright vision greet, My woman's heart would haughty as an empress Fling proudly at your feet, And ask no thought from you in compensation, No love-thrill in return; My own, unsought, from Life's rich depths must seek me, All else my heart would spurn. You are to me the noblest realization Of manhood grand and true, The one man in God's universe I care not What I may be to you. And thus to live swayed by a godlike feeling That may not be expressed, To bravely strive yet never quite subduing Love's longing and unrest. The Cry of the Spirit 71 The Cry of the Spirit The words that are spoken but shadow The thoughts that are never expressed, And back of life's turmoil there lieth The infinite rapture of rest. From over the mountains enshadowed There flusheth the glory of dawn ; Gethsemane's gateway but claspeth The way that a Saviour has gone. Through avenues cypress-embordered, Love walketh with radiant crown ; From cross-tipped summits of anguish The pitying Christ looketh down. We turn from the hands that are offered To those that we cannot grasp, And faint in our terrible longing For forms that we never may clasp. 72 Rose- Ashes From the arms held out to embrace us, We shrink with a moaning, to pray For the pressure of arms that are folded Forever and ever away. O, what does it mean all this yearning For something forever beyond, This passionate cry of the spirit, This waiting on days undawned? O, fathomless ocean of longing That breaks on a glittering strand Beyond where our thought-shafts may quiver, The shore of an unknown land, You bear on your bosom forever Our shallops of hope pain-born Sent out in the nights of our sorrow, To seek for the harbor of morn. A Woman's Response 73 A Woman's Response My friend, your words of eloquence, Your tones of passion-pleading, The tremulous music of your voice, Fall on my heart unheeding. A dark face, like a cameo, Comes evermore before me, To exorcise the passion-spell Your thrilling touch casts o'er me. When I would yield me to the tide That torrent-like impels me, A dreamy memory lulls my brain, And from your arms compels me ; The memory of a proud, dark face, With eyes of tender meaning, Which I may never seek across The chasms intervening. 74 Rose-Ashes Ah ! Life, for me, means one long strif*. With rebel foes internal, A ceaseless struggle of the soul To stand on heights supernal. The dark face like a cameo, With eyes of tender meaning, May never come to me across The chasms intervening. At Love's high altar I have bowed, The sacred Host revealing, I cannot prove apostate now, At shrines less holy, kneeling. And so, I cannot see your eyes So full of passion-pleading; The tremulous music of your voice Falls on my heart unheeding. After All 75 After All I have come to my room all alone to-night, A respite from care here to borrow ; But I sink on my knees by the side of my couch, Bowed down by a tempest of sorrow. I have been so brave through the long busy day For the toil and the earnest endeavor, That I deemed my feet on the strong white heights Would stand thus securely forever. I have prayed for strength, and I thought it was mine, Every passionate heart-cry to smother ; The touch of your hand should be henceforth to me I said but as that of another. 76 Rose-Ashes And calmly I stood on the summits of peace, And heard not the pitiful sobbing Of sorrowful surges which beat at their base With ceaseless, insistent throbbing. And yet after all I have come to my room, A tryst here with memory keeping, But to sink on my knees by the side of my couch In a pitiful tempest of weeping. My love, must it always end this way for me, This strife of the spirit and human, Must I be, when all the strong effort is done, Just a loving and sorrowful woman? Must ever I toil to gain heavenly heights Where respite from passion is surest, To be always hurled from their summits of peace When I deem that my feet are securest? After All 77 To be hurled by the thought of a long ago kiss, Or the thrilling of vanished caresses, Borne down by a flood-tide of memory, thick- strewn With the flotsam a wrecked Past possesses. 78 Rose-Ashes Nepenthe I live as in a dream, Treading alone life's pathway through the years, Walking alone, alike in smiles or tears Walking as in a dream. It seems but vaguely true That many changing years have passed me by, So many years since last I said "Good-bye" To love and hope and you. Ah, well ! 'twas better so, Better we parted in the years long flown, Better that I should live my life alone, And sadly bid you go. For your bright pathway led To that dim height where Fame defieth Death, Mine through deep vales fanned by the fevered breath Of hopes now cold and dead. Nepenthe 79 Yet once I fondly deemed That naught on Earth could ever soothe my grief, That Heaven alone could give my soul relief, So sad to me life seemed. I smile and yet I sigh To think that once ah, once I loved you so Made you my idol, and could feel such woe To speak the last "Good-bye." All feeling now is fled; No pain stirs in my heart at thought of you, Only the faith that Love and Heaven are true, All all beside is dead. 80 Rose-Ashes OjaU! I wish I knew that from this wearying dark ness, Through which I grope my way, I'd come at last to see the clear blue heavens, And greet God's perfect day. If some day I should turn from toil and sadness, To meet your clasping hand, And know, at last, that all my soul's deep longing Your own could understand, Could I but know that in some far sweet morning, We should stand side by side, And in that hour find all Life's questions answered, I should be satisfied. And Yet 81 And Yet I would my soul were free From love's sweet slavery, The heights of perfect peace to proudly greet ; I'd know no chains to fret, No bonds of love, and yet Love's slavery is so sweet! Could I forget you, dear, Cease wishing you were here, Cease holding my soul's arms your own to meet, I know that peace I'd gain, In freedom from Love's chain, But slavery is so sweet! And so I cannot, dear, Cease wishing you were here, Cease holding my soul's arms your own to meet, Nor even wish to be From such dear bondage free Love's slavery is so sweet ! 82 Rose- Ashes In Bondage "Let us be free," we said, "to come and go, Bound by no ties that fetter us in vain, No viewless chains the world should never know, That cut into the heart with ceaseless pain." "We will be free," I said, I was so strong To win the radiant heights where souls are free, My words seemed echo of a brave sweet song That passed in waves of light from you to me. The clasping of your hand I put away, And turned me from the love-light of your eyes; I was so brave, I thought, to turn away And shut the gate 'twixt me and Paradise. In Bondage 83 To turn away because an angel stood With sword of duty, pointing stern the way Through starless night and dreary solitude, Where Love and Pity send no hopeful ray. And am I free? Yes, as the prisoned bird That beats its weary wings against the bars, Is free to soar and let her song be heard ' Full in the glory of the sun and stars. Yes, free as all things caged and bound are free To cast aside their chains for dance and song ; I live to know that, through eternity Love's chains beyond all human will are strong. 84 Rose-Ashes Suspense O, torturing sweetness of kisses That wait and long to be given ! O, tender completeness of blisses That beckon from Hope's dream-heaven ! Will dear hands that greet us in grasping Respond to the thrill of our own? Will fond arms that meet us in clasping Hold us close as in dreams they have done? O, eyes that with love-light are burning, Will your warm glance ever grow cold With the shadow of change or of turning From the passionate ardor of old? Pursued 85 Pursued Pursued by the fear that a sorrow May steal like a wolf to my fold, By dread lest the dawn of to-morrow May herald some anguish untold. Oppressed by a shadowy terror That Wrong has crept in for the Right, That Truth has been murdered by Error Her blood blurs the fountain of light. O, Mountains of Peace that like spectres Seem shivering and shrinking away, Shall ever I tread your calm summits In strength of some far distant day? 86 Rose- Ashes Nirvana To cease the toil, the strife, the fierce endeavor, To close sad, tearful eyes, To fold the weary hands in restful stillness, After death's glad surprise. To lie enmantled by the cool green clover, In hush of dreamless rest, To heed no more the mystery of Day's dawning, Or red death in the west. To claim a kinship with the stoic mountain, In placid silentness, A brotherhood with rocks and turf and grasses Which rain and winds caress. To put aside the strife for worldly treasures, All passionate desire, To be absorbed into the womb of Nature, Merged in creative fire. Nirvana 87 To be embodied in the trees and blossoms, Or winds and rainbow lights, The psychic essence of cloud-tints and sunshine, Or grace of swallow-flights. To see the End clasp hands with the Beginning, Life's mystic circle, wrought By plan Divine, each earth-born link a symbol With deepest meaning fraught. OTHER POEMS At Santa Cruz 91 At Santa Cruz For hours I watched the languid breakers creep Along the smooth, gray beach at Santa Cruz, A charmed watch I could not choose but keep, Lest I some witchery of the scene should lose. Across the dreamy distance of the bay, Whose azure dimples glisten in the light, The low foot-hills that shelter Monterey Like half-seen spectres tremble in my sight. Ben Lomond, monarch of the hills that hold This green-walled crescent in a fond embrace, Stands like a giant of the days of old, And lifts to heaven his calm, majestic face. 92 Rose-Ashes From deep ravines and summits dark with pines, From rugged hills where laurel and madrone Mingle with redwoods, or where wild wood vines Creep through deep glens no human foot has known, Float resinous odors on the warm, soft gale To meet the sea-winds and the ocean dews, These meeting forces mix, dissolve, exhale And spill their incense over Santa Cruz. And while I heard the languid breakers moan, And pulse their ceaseless tide upon the sands, I learned a secret in their monotone, And read the signal of their white foam hands. Storm- Born 93 Storm-Born Like forms half seen, that float Adown the quivering river of our sleep, I see the grand gray hills their vigil keep. Through storm and mist that down their bare sides sweep, They seem as things remote. Chant me your hymn, oh Storm, And Night and Darkness that around me lie! Shout me your deepest meaning, oh ye Sky, And Lightning-darts, that waken but to die In Thunder's fierce alarm ! Are ye not types of Life, Ye haunting spirits of the upper deep, Strong human life, born but to watch and weep, Whose restless throbs find, but with Death's calm sleep, Surcease of toil and strife? 94 Rose-Ashes Dost symbol Love divine, Ye everlasting hills, whose regal crest Is pillowed on the Storm's tumultuous breast? Not Time nor wildest Storm thrills with unrest That steadfast heart of thine. Oh Life, that ceaselessly Moans and complains as weary heart-sick child, Thy father bids thee turn from tempests wild To Love thy mother. Thee, their wayward child, She calls -most tenderly. Coming Home 95 Coming Home Gleaming through rain and darkness I see the lights of my home, Where my children all are gathered Waiting for "Mamma" to come. My eldest born my Willie Who leaves for a moment his book, The "Arabian Night's Entertainments," To come to the window and look. He is dreaming of fairies and genii, And castles, strong and grand, Which he shall go forth to conquer With the strength of his own right hand. My son, when you go out to battle, To do a man's brave part, You will find there are giants to conquer Whose homes are in the heart. 96 Rose-Ashes Do battle 'gainst Wrong and Oppression, Take arms in Humanity's cause, Strike for Right and for Principle always, Regardless of blame or applause. There is Mary, my first-born daughter, With her tender, womanly grace, And the beautiful soul that speaks through her eyes And glorifies her face; The pearl of mother's treasures In the diadem of Home. Ah! my heart is filled with longing As I think of the years that must come; When she shall take up her life-work Of willing hands or brain, And mother's arms can shield her no more From the heart-aches and the pain. Then my little, restless Roy, With his fancies queer and quaint, f Repeating odd lines from Whittier, His childish patron saint. Coming Home 97 Will life be cruel to you, My delicate, sensitive one, When you go out to meet its giants, That each must encounter alone? May angels of love attend you, For your spirit would faint, I fear, Without their kind ministrations And their presence ever near. Last, -my golden-haired "Delmasita," Whose blue-gray eyes reveal That the secrets of the Pyramids Their wondrous depths conceal. Child of Life's glorious promise Of Prediction and Prophecy, That hint of a life-work for brain and will The fates have assigned to thee. Remember that where much is given Very much will be required, And do whatever is thine to do By the highest motives inspired. 98 Rose-Ashts And thus my heart gives them greeting Across the lessening space Of dark, which I traverse to meet them And take my accustomed place. Ah! I know I'll remember in Heaven This joyful coming home, When I shall be watching and waiting, For my children all to come. December, 1884. Willing to Go Forward 99 Willing to Go Forward "Say unto the Children of Israel that they forward." (To Rev. and Mrs. N. A. Haskell. A ugust, 1893.) When the soul stands in some dark crucial hour, Just by the gate of its Gethse-mane, And with prophetic vision sees beyond Stretch cypress bordered ways evanishing, Through which comes not one ray of blessed light, Nor promise of a height where sunlight falls, Or roses bloom, or joy-birds gladly sing Then what but voice of God can give it heart To ope the gate and bravely enter in, Willing to go forward? 100 Rose- Ashes What shall we say of loving gratitude To one, who in such hour can firmly clasp Our shrinking hands that fain would hide our tears, And with no doubtful voice teach us to see With eyes of faith, the infinite rest and peace That hold to us entreating arms across The farther portal of the darkest way? Can make it all the joy of the beyond, The bliss that shines across the "sorrowful way" So clear,. so plain, that with glad voice we cry "Willing to go forward." Dear friend to whom we tearful say to-night Not quite "farewell," but "till God's own good time," And "Mizpah" for the waiting interval This have you done unconscious week by week: Into some shrinking heart that hardly dared To face life's problems day by day, you turned The sunshine of your higher faith and gave The courage to go forward. Into hands Willing to Go Forward 101 That else would timorously have let fall Life's burden, as a too sad, weary weight, You have infused a strength that is of God, A power to lift and firmly clasp what load He deems them worthy of; and made tired feet "Willing to go forward." And, so, to-night we fain would say to you In timid, halting speech, yet lovingly: "May the dear God His tenderest blessings shower On you and yours, unceasing; may you bear So clear a vision of the waiting joy That guards the outer portal of each way, How dark soe'er the cypress-bordered reach Stretching between, that your exultant soul In singing, may not feel the pain ; in faith Of light forget that it is dark ; and thus Attuned to heavenly harmonies ever be 'Willing to go forward.' " 102 Rose- Ashes The Legend of Amapola Deep in the bosom of that mountain range Which crosses California north and south With many a branching spur to east and west Close clasped by rocky ledges, lies concealed Vein upon vein of purest, virgin gold. Far in the depths of some forgotten Past, Ere man had come to search the treasure out The ardent sun had pierced the hiding place With his warm wooing, and had won his suit. And from this union Sun with Gold was born The Amapola, California's flower, Its swaddling clothes, the warm delicious air Of California Aprils ; and its fount Baptismal, softly falling rains and dews That bid to greenness her brown-bosomed hills ; While every twittering call-bird that salutes The day-break with his pipings, and the lark That sings his Matin and his Vesper hymns In deep blue heavens these were choristers; The Legend of Amapola 103 The priest, the Spirit of the broad, free West ; While sighing pine and moaning ocean gave With "married music," solemn sponsor vows. Through countless years the gorgeous blossom bore A name unknown save but to Sun and Gold, Sponsors and Priest, and they have told it not To listening ear of man. But one day ca-me, A hundred years or more ago, a band Of holy friars to our shore, who bore Christ's cross to savage races in our wilds. This sun-gold flower they "Amapola," named. Adding as whispered benedicite, "Copa de oro" holy grail, which holds Within its sacred chalice, heaven's gifts Of warmth and beauty California's dower. These mystic names the early Father's gave So long ago, and blessed with prayer and sign, Let not "Eschscholtzia" dare erase, or write Her own across. But let the sun-gold flower Be "Amapola" to the end of time, With "Copa de oro" tender sigh of love God's "cup of gold" a prayerful after-thought. 104 Rose- Ashes Alum Rock Canyon Once, long ago, when Nature's hand Was busy at formation, She found a box of chaos scraps, The loveliest of creation. And so, in sweet caprice who knows? To please some dear companion, She took the store of beauty-scraps And made this matchless canyon. The wildest, sweetest, fairest things Are here in glen and torrent, You'll vow there never was a place Like Alum Rock, I warrant. The quaint madrone, the laurel trees, And countless shrubs that cover The mountain sides ; the soft, warm air, The blue sky bending over, Alum Rock Canyon 105 Make it a spot when weary worn You seek with loved companion, And find the gods of rest and peace Dwell in this matchless canyon. 1895. 106 Rose- Ashes In Memory of Mrs. E. O. Smith (Written for her memorial service, Sept. 11, 1904.) To write a verse in memory of our friend, This honored task I feel I cannot do, In presence of the poem of her life Its rythm, depth and tender cadences I pause in reverence, and know that rhyme And measured words are all inadequate To speak the heart full thoughts we have of her. So, but a modest tribute here I bring And on love's altar place speaking her name. She lived her life so grandly ; she took up So bravely all it gave of joy or pain, Whatever duty offered did so well, With gentle dignity and womanly grace, That those who knew her best marveled the most. In Memory of Mrs. E. O. Smith 107 And yet no duty ever pressed so hard She had not time to reach a hand to one In need of aid; how many such were drawn Within her sphere of sweet beneficence, In their fierce hour of need, only our Lord And her own guardian angel ever knew. Her marvelous energies could well have shaped The destiny of nations ; yet so filled With human sympathy and selfless love For all her kind, was her great heart, she spent Her life in thought for others, and their weal ; To plan, to guide, encourage or inspire Whatever effort that could work for good Of others always others never self. How much we miss her, only years can tell, In which we turn to ask her wise advice, Or clasp her kindly hand to find her gone. Yet could this friend belov'd tell us today This very while we meeting mourn for her All that it means to solve the problem of Death's solemn mystery, not one of us Who loved her so, and felt it must not be / 08 Rose- Ashes That she should go, would wish to call her back. And yet, remembering all we lose in her, Our need steps in between her greater gain A.nd us ; grief blinds us, and we feel that earth Is lonelier without her, ever more. To Ina Coolbrith 109 To Ina Coolbrith Long years ago, while yet my eyes I shaded from the dazzling light Of one beloved sun-star, that shed His kindly radiance on my sight, You came within the scintillant sphere Of aureole light enfolding him And then two stars together sang, Clear, sweet, upon dawn's whitening rim. He faded from our sky but you Staid singing, still with stronger tone; Our homes were yours, our gods, our hearts, And you are California's own. Then let me, least of all the lights Of California's minstrelsy, Greet you for her, and give you hail ! Our Morning Star of Poesy. San Jose, Cal., January 29, 1907. 110 Rose- Ashes *At the Cross-road There's a time in the life of each mortal, When he stands by a shadowy gate, Beyond whose mysterious portal Diverges the cross-road of Fate. The gate swings apart and he glances Bewildered down vanishing ways, And out over unknown expanses A wish and a prayer in his gaze. He'd choose the bright pathway of pleasure And linger in rose-bowers of ease, Would grasp in his strong hand Life's treasure And drink its rich wine to the lees. *The poems which follow were left by Mrs. Walter in manuscript form, some in the making, hence incomplete in places, and many of them not yet subjected to the final test of her ever rigid polish ing. M. W. At the Cross-road 111 Then gaily Fate's dice-box he rattles, With laughter and jest, casts his die, Of Love and of Pleasure he prattles, Hears song-larks of Hope in the sky. In this crisis of Time, what he chooses, But God and the future can tell. He wins and Hope crowns him ; or loses And treads the scorched pathway of Hell. But never again at Life's portal May he linger and dreamily wait; 'Tis given but once to each mortal To stand at the cross-road of Fate. 112 Rose- Ashes Santa Cruz, December 23, 1890 The tide goes out and the tide comes in, But never a tide comes in for me, Till death shall perish and life begin On the distant shores of a farther sea. I am sick to the heart of this fierce, rude strife, This struggle to be and to hold my own, To call this barest existence life ! With death-songs of love for its undertone. O breakers, that mark on the quivering sands The heart beats of ocean forever the same, Do you reach me in pity your white foam hands, As I breathe in your pauses, my prayer a name? Ah ! the tide creeps out and the tide creeps in, But one day a tide shall come to me On the shadowy shore of a dreamy sea, Where death shall perish and life begin. Mt. Hamilton 113 Mt. Hamilton [. Mt. Hamilton : what joy to tread Thy wooded ways and hilly, To seek in upland fields of gold The Mariposa lily; Or creep through dim sequestered paths To secret pastures leading, Where half afraid, beneath the trees, The wild, slim deer are feeding; In wooded glooms to come upon The gentle harebells sleeping, Where perfumed silence is but stirred By wild-cat's stealthy creeping; To watch in manzanita groves The timid quail low crouching, Along the bare hills yellow side The lank coyote slouching. 114 Rose- Ashes II. What is the tie that binds my soul to yours, O hills of Hamilton? With strands that fail not, but whose strength endures While my life's course shall run ? Great loving hills that took me to your breast Tired frame and broken heart And wrapped me in your winds of peace and rest, My life of thine a part! Hills of my heart ! no other love like mine Was ever given thee Since first your glorious heads were reared to shine Beside the western sea. When tenderest ties of love for me were dead, As mountain mist exhaled And I left desolate, to thee I fled, Whose welcome never failed. Mi. Hamilton 115 All human help may fail the heavens be brass Above the aching head Yet steadfast you whose love may only pass When earth itself is dead. 116 Rose- Ashes Reincarnation This strange Buddhistic faith that we have lived In former incarnations on the earth That we may come again long ages hence, Through Karmic forces to a happier birth, If we have garnered in this present life, And in the former ones, sufficient store Of this same Karma thro' unselfish love And toil for others, to unclasp life's door ; It creeps about my heart until I fain Would wring the secret from the long gone years, And know the story of my wrong-lived life That brought me this deserved baptism of tears. Reincarnation 1 17 I see the great hot desert round me lie, Far to the north and east in endless reach, While to the south, the warm Erythraen sea Throbs its strong pulse upon a low white beach. O, hot, magnetic, soundless desert, where Not one poor, flippant tree or shrub intrudes Its puny presence to divert the soul From the hushed awe of God's own solitudes, I reach my hand to you across the span Of chilling western life that seeks to hold This strong fierce soul of mine in half-loosed clasp And, homesick, cry for that free life of old. What is it that I did or left undone In that glad life, my soul's own native land, That I was banished to the cold of this, Tossed on bleak rocks that spurn my cling ing hand? 118 Rose- Ashes And can I gather by a life of toil And self renunciation thro' long years, By laying on some altar day by day All I have asked of God in prayer and tears, tears, Enough of this Karmaic force to give My homesick soul a passport to the land It yearns unceasing for that lies close by The Arab sea, the sun-kissed desert sand, Then I can reach my glad arms up to God, Unfettered by the chains that gall in this, Can feel the desert fire thrill in -my veins And meet the simoon as a lover's kiss. Then I may lie at will as long ago, My garments but the mantle of the heat Wrought by the sun ; my home a silken tent Where skins of savage beasts caress my feet, Where I am queen of all the desert round Whose wild fierce sons obey me as of old, Whose green oases feed my countless herds, My noble steeds that but the deserts hold. Reincarnation 119 And then some happy day, will come again My King, still thro' this dreary time my own, For whom my soul has mourned in all this life In saddest widowhood and been alone. For he was stronger, truer far than I Doomed to no exile by this law divine Of restitution but in patience waits With faithful heart the full extent of -mine ; My King my love who comes to me across Wide desert wastes from far Euphrates' plain, When Karma's will is wrought, and I have won The clasping of his sheltering arms again. Oh ! I will strive and count them not as long The years this incarnation brings of pain, If I can win my desert lone and free, My home, my King, my native wilds again. 120 Rose- Ashes Monte Piedra On toil-won summits God's sweet peace Enfolds the weary hearted ; Alone, upon this mountain top I check the tear drops, started. Your rock-crowned summit which I win By pathways steep and weary, Another summit, stands, for me, Up pathways far -more dreary. I brought among your pines and rocks A heart too sad for sighing; Your strength puts my weak will to shame, Your soul to mine replying. So here I lay my burdens down, Upon your strength, my weakness, And Life's sad summits lose for me One-half the olden bleakness. Monte Piedra 121 I cannot say yet, "I am strong For Life's demand or duty," But only this, "Such strength will come, Brought by your strength and beauty." For this I crown you Mount of Peace Cross-tipped though heaven-shining Your toil-won summits bring to me God's peace for weak repining. 122 Rose-Ashes Conflict With my hand-clasp on your throat, with my knee upon your breast Lest you rob my soul of peace, lest you steal my spirit's rest Giant form of tyrant Passion, pale with love's sharp agony, I would kill you with my hand-clasp, crush you with my trembling knee. I would crush you, I would kill you, hurl you from me cold and still Yet you woo me, ah ! you win me, spite of all my strength of will. I would fiercely crush and kill you, in my spirit's deep unrest. Yet you softly woo and win me with your head upon my breast. Conflict 123 God-like form of tyrant Passion, pale with love's sweet agony, Clasp me, hold me, I would yield me, to thy deepest ecstacy ; I would slay you but you hold me in a rap ture of unrest With your strong arms close about me and your head upon my breast. 124 Rose- Ashes May 2, 1903 (In Memory of Willie Walter.) Twelve years, twelve years ! ah, is it that since then? That day of days that strikes its piercing root So deep into my soul that time nor change Can ever by the faintest slackening loose The fierceness of its hold upon my life! Not time nor space nor earth's convulsions count In those strong tides that overwhelm the soul, Submerged beneath whose waste of waters lie All earthly things ; on whose compelling crest Tosses an ark that holds ah ! what it holds ! Leaven of life eternal and the dove That best of all in earth can bring God's peace That understanding passeth. Ah, the ark, That this wild deluge floats to loftiest heights That else were unattained of Aararat. May 2, 1903 125 But yet, dear heart, as I sit here and count By aching heart throbs all the years since then That day you kissed yourself out of my life My life that needed you, God knows how much And when the brave, sweet, manly soul you were Went smiling back to God that gave me you, The way grows dark before me and I hurt Through all my being with the travail pain That would from earth's all too constricting womb Deliver me new born to that fair world Wherein I know you dwell and wait for me. 126 Rose-Ashes Some Day Through the fogs and the clouds that surround us, We are cheered by one glimmering ray, -A promise that Hope keeps repeating, "Your ship will come in some day." Tho' the winds are all firm set against it, And it's drenched by the dashing spray, And empty the hold and the locker, Yet "our ship will come in some day." Tho' we starve for the bread she is bringing, For the wines, tho' we faint by the way, And are chilled for the warm silken garments That our ship will bring in some day, Yet, what is the long weary waiting; "It soon will be over," we say, As we look far across the dark waters, Whence our ship will come in some day. Some Day 127 And what though a shroud and a coffin Awaits him who sinks by the way ; In the beautiful harbor of Heaven Is his ship not in that day? 128 Rose-Ashes Love Oh ! what is it all but a hurt at best, And a woman's heart-undoing? A passion-tossed hope, a fierce unrest, And a chase not worth pursuing? Oh ! a woman's love, for which man pleads Like a god is ever and ever But dead-sea apples whose ashes fall With a sting on the heart of the giver. Could he prove as fond when the prize is won And the fierce pursuit is over Could he give her truth for the truth he asks, And the lover be always a lover, Then Love would not be a hurt at last, And a woman's heart undoing Not a phantom that fades when the chase is done Unworthy the hot pursuing. Pip and Ingle 129 Pip and Ingle Up Memory's telephonic wire I hear an old time message jingle, That speaks of friendships new lit fire, When you were Pip and I was Ingle. Ah, me! those vealy days of youth, Their memory makes my pulses tingle ! Those days of mutual trust and truth, When you and I were Pip and Ingle. And now among my auburn strands, The silver threads are far from single, While yours, snatched out by Time's rude hands, Bald-headed Pip ! and gray-haired Ingle ! But still the love and trust of youth Make as of old my heart-strings tingle ; You always will be Pip to me, And I to you am always Ingle. To Charles Warren Stoddard. 130 Rose- Ashes What Is It to Be Akin? Two may be born within a common home, Of self-same parents, reared beside one hearth, Be trained alike from youth to man's estate, Walk down one path from childhood unto age, And sleep at last within a common grave, And yet be not akin. Two may be born the whole wide world apart, Of alien race speaking an alien tongue ; Trained up in different ways from youth to age, Yet, meeting, one day recognize in each The Buddha's sacred mark of brotherhood. It is not accident of blood or place Of birth that makes humanity akin ; But something that lies deeper in the soul As arteries that bear the rich, red flow What Is It to Be Akin? 131 Of life lie far below the refuse bearing veins : The same benevolent impulse in the heart To aid a struggling brother in his need; The kindred wish to banish low desires For higher things and good of all mankind ; The kindred instinct of beneficence To wipe off tears and dash their track with smiles; The kindred thrill of reverence when the bow Of God arches the rain-washed heaven ; The joy born of roses perfumed red, Or violet's fragrant purple in green leaves ; The throb of selfsame rapture at the cry Of first-born babe, one surge of gratitude That out of travail pain comes perfect joy; The sharing of one grief o'er coffined form, Placing of lilies pale, or asphodels In tiny fingers that can never more Return a loving clasp, These show a closer tie of brotherhood Than accident of birth. 132 Rose- Ashes The environments of birth its time and place, These are but flotsam on the sea of life Whose stream, from Infinite to Infinite, Scarce feels their weak disturbance of its tide, But sets toward unknown shores, or haply toward Some Saragasso sea of rest and peace, Where in infinitude of thoughtful calm We reach life's great solution that mankind Are brothers all and seeming difference Is difference of stage along the road, The King's highway from that mysterious place "In the Beginning" to that other place, No less mysterious, which we call "the end" For lack of better term, but which may be A new beginning to a higher end. Thus on and on and on Infinity. Fallibility 133 Fallibility Oh, could I hold me to the high ideal My soul in hours of ecstacy has wrought, Could I but make this heavenly vision real, And grasp the phantom I so long have sought ! And stand upon those heights of perfect whiteness, Whose snows have chilled all physical desires ; To face the sun undazzled by its brightness, Whose rays are free from any earthly fires ; To put aside forever all the yearning For clasping arms or touch of lips or hand ; To stand unmoved by any fear of turning. Loyal to all I prize as pure and grand ! 134 Rose- Ashes But ah, this falling down, this strong endeavor To rise again, from earthly longings free ; This piteous struggle that goes on forever That I would conquer, yet which conquers me! Why was I cursed with this two-fold existence, With power to see, and not the power to do, To know that safety lies but in resistance, Without the strength to hold life's rudder true? Fragment 135 Fragment I do not ask if you have loved before, Or, I being dead, if you could love again, For loving me now, you know old love no more, And I being dead, could feel no jealous pain. What if on stepping-stones of some dead low We climbed to this, our life's most perfect bliss, Or, death dividing us, one grope to prove Some ease of pain in love less fond than this? MEMORIAL TRIBUTES TO CARRIE STEVENS WALTER Memorial Tributes 139 To Carrie Stevens Walter (Obit 26, April, 1907.) Believing, as I must, that the soul is im mortal, and that it is the soul speaking through this fleshly instrument, I say to you, dear spirit, do you recall those old days in the early sixties when you were a young poet at school in Oakland, when I first met you? We could neither of us look forward into the future now the past. You did not know that you were to love and to suffer, as you have, dear friend. I did not know my fate but the Good God has brought me home to the place I love better than any other on earth, and it is here I receive the word that tells me your earthly career is at an end. Think, dear friend, of the old days when we were school mates. You were writing your first verses and how sweet they were. 140 Rose- Ashes Not in all these years have I lost faith in you. You have been not only the poet, but the practical one who has made a blessed home for tire splendid children you have brought into the world. I can truthfuly say that in spite of adversity your spirit has ever been the same bright, happy, eager, brave. I wish I could say the same of mine. And now, when your new life begins, you will not forget us. You will remember that even from the old school days we have been the same bosom friends. That we have shared our joys and sorrows. That like an other sister you have stood by me and helped me as I would to God I could have helped you and that your cheerful temperament shed a bright ray into a life that has not been without its shadows. For the love of you, dear friend, death is less dreadful. I seem to have you still by the hand. You are nearer to me now than you were a few days ago ; and because you are now a spirit, never more to be burdened with the Memorial Tributes 141 care and cross of life, I send you the loyal love of -more than forty years. CHARLES WARREN STOOD ARD. Monterey, California, 27th of April, 1907. 142 Rose- Ashes It is her birthday. The sun shines ; the birds sing joyously; the west wind sighs among the roses in her quiet garden. The sweet-briar which she loved and planted at her window climbs riotously upward to the eaves; its nameless sweetness comes into her room in friendliness and stirs about her face as if it knew, and, knowing, knew she knew. And there she lies so still, so white, so peacefully ! Tall candles burning at her head, unheeding all the beauty of the world she that so loved the beautiful ! Her hands were ever reached to them that suffered need ; her heart beat hardest for the heart that ached. It does not seem that she could be so quiet while people mourn. A city rises up to pay her tribute with its grief, and still she rests unheeding all of it ; upon her face the mystery of babes that smile in dreams, but on her brow the majesty of those who have fought the great, great fight, and conqured as they fell. She stepped out into God's unknown with her armor on and at the head. Memorial Tributes 143 Tender, loving mother; bravest,truest friend, I lay a white flower at her feet, and say as we have said in many bygone years : "Goodbye, dear heart; God bless you." MADGE MORRIS. April 27, 1907. 144 Rose- Ashes Carrie Stevens Walter Carrie Stevens Walter, brave, bright, true- hearted, genius-gifted Carrie Stevens Walter is no more. She has gone to join "The choir in visible of those immortal dead who live again in minds made better by their presence; live in pulses stirred to generosity; in deeds of daring rectitude; in scorn of miserable aims that end in self; in thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars." Of that great immortality of pure and noble souls this gifted woman has become a part; and while her death removes from us the active and potential inspiration of her daily presence, it leaves us the influence of her life and the cherished record of her genius, which will re main an unfailing portion of our intellectual treasury forever. Carrie Stevens Walter has been identified Memorial Tributes 145 with our community from her girlhood. Forty years or more ago she came among us a maiden in her teens, already a teacher, and already somewhat known to fame. From that time to the present she has been one of us in all that -makes for womanhood and in much that contributes to progress. Here she bore and reared her children, displaying in herself and exemplifying in them those graces and fruits of maternity which are the crowning glory of her sex. Here amid the labors and cares of a life not always blessed with sun shine her genius sparkled forth continually in verse and prose which had nothing of bor rowed or reflected luster, but which shone by virtue of its own inner light. There has always been something about the style and matter of her writings which seemed to bring one into immediate touch with the spirit of the writer and the theme; and while there was no mis taking the exquisitely feminine suggestion which ran through all she wrote, yet no single line of her's was ever effeminate. In fact, when moved by deep conviction or strong emotion 146 Rose- Ashes to the stress of tense expression there was wont to flash from her eyes and gleam along her lines a certain wild masterfulness which savored of the jungle; again, the broken sing ing of the dove would tremble through her verses, revealing the restless pulsations of her sensitive heart, as in her poem entitled, "On the Border-Land of Tears" "On the border-land of tears, Raised by hopes or crushed by fears, Joy and grief alternate swell, In the soul no peace can dwell. On the border-land of tears Stand the ghosts of vanished years; All we might be and are not, Greet us on that haunted spot. All life's quivering mile-posts loom, Sad as gravestones through the gloom; Trembling hopes are crushed by fears On the border-land of tears." The strain of exquisite sadness which runs through these verses was not at all the usual, Memorial Tributes 147 or rather manifest, mood of Mrs. Walter's mind. On the contrary, her clear eye and open, mobile features were usually turned with a smile and hopeful, helpful word unto the world. She never lost her faith in human na ture, nor wavered for an instant in her al legiance to those great principles of truth, justice and liberty in which are reposed the hopes of the race. In everything which she did or wrote is to be recognized this noble elevation of her soul ; this striving to do and be and say some thing which would make for the betterment of her kind. In the presence of such a char acter how small, how pitiful are those vanities in the pursuit of which so many men and women are content to waste their lives. JOHN E. RICHARDS. 148 Rose- Ashes Carrie Stevens Walter So the old circle narrows, day by day! A brief good night to you, sweet friend and fair. My love with you, and in your greetings say I follow soon, to those who wait me there. fna Coolbrith. Memorial Tributes 149 "Rose Ashes" "Rose Ashes?" Nay! but roses freshly blown, Are hers, sweet as with fragrant airs that stir In dew-wet dawns ; and songs, to earth un known, She hears dear voices sing to welcome her. Ina Coolbrith. a- UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY This book is DUE on the last date stamped below Form L-9-20m-8,'37 PS 3139 Walter - Wl7ra Rose-ashes - ~ rc >rary PS3139 .Wl7ra 009 616 547 7 Jff ? U . ER N REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY PS 3139 VJlTra AA 001228171 3