L. J. DICKINSON THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES L. J. DICKINSON L. J. DICKINSON "Yet I, a dull and muddy- mettled rascal, peak, Like John-a-dreams." Hamlet. PUBLISHED BY THE COLWIN COMPANY SUPERIOR WISCONSIN 1915 Copyright, 1915, by L. J. Dickinson Press of the Randall Company Saint Panl 7) FOREWORD SOME rhymes herein have none of the grand bow-wow to com mend them to the grown up critic. Let's hope they commend themselves to my young friends. TO MY MOTHER LUCY A. DICKINSON YOU read my heart, if you cannot hear my human voice, and you know that all I am and do is yours. You formed and inspired. You were and are my poem. So mine are yours. CONTENTS L. J. DICKINSON Frontispiece Absent 11 Affinities 12 Aflight 12 After the Rains 12 After the Storm 13 Afterwards 13 All in His Image 14 All's Law 14 Alone 14 Alone in the Dark 15 Apprehension 15 Ashes 16 Assurance of Welcome 16 At Home in His Worlds 16 At Set of Sun 18 Barren Acre, The 18 Beatrice 18 Beyond the Marge 19 Birthdays, The 19 Black Wing's Love 20 Blind, The 23 Body to the Soul, The 24 Boulders 25 Brothers 26 Butterfly, The 26 By the Huron 26 By the Lake, Illustration 27 Call of Northland Waters, The, Illustration 27 Calm 28 Challenge, The 28 Christmas 28 Confession 29 Country Cemetery, A 29 Covered 30 Cradle Song 30 Crown, The 31 Day is Done, The 31 Denied 31 Deserted 32 Difference, The 32 Divine Right of Kings, The 32 Dream, A 33 Easter Lilies 33 Easter Thought of Heaven, An 33 Elfred 33 Emancipated Woman, The 34 Ensemble, The 35 CONTENTS Evening Song 35 Evidence of Things Not Seen, The 35 Faith 36 Fate 36 Father 36 Father and Mother 37 Fellowship 37 First Love 37 First Snow, The 38 Flirtation, A 38 Flower Girl, The 38 Fogs 39 Footfall, The 39 Found 39 Friend, A 40 From Whence Cometh Our Help 40 Gaunt Gray Wolf 41 Gleam, The 41 God of All the Earth, The 41 Golden Light 43 Good Death 43 Greatest King, The 44 Gypsy, The 44 Handclasp, The 44 Heartache 45 Heart's Desire 45 Heart's Elfland, The 46 He Hath Remembered His People 46 Her Look of Love 47 Hid 47 Hills, The 48 His Seal 48 Home 48 House on the Milky Way, The 49 Hushaby 53 If a Man Ask for Bread 54 If a Man Dies Shall He Live Again 54 In April 56 Inevitable, The 56 In May 57 In Morning Light 57 In the Autumn 57 In the Morning 58 In the Universal Language 58 John o' Dreams 11 Keepsakes, The 58 Lay of Elfwine 59 Lesson, The 61 Life 62 Life, an Indeterminate Sentence 62 CONTENTS Little Boy that Died, The 62 Little Children of the Poor, The 63 Little Gold Curls 63 Lost Rose, The 64 Lullaby 64 Made Sorrow-Wise 65 Man and Inner Man 65 Market-Place, The 66 Marsh Weeds 66 Midwinter 67 Miller, The 67 Mother 68 Mother-Love 68 Mourning Dove, The 68 My Grandmother's Kitchen 69 My Mother's Hands 70 My Ring 70 Mystery, The 71 Nest, The 71 Never Mind Me 71 New Moon, The 72 Nobody Like You 72 No Other Way 73 Not in Vain 73 November 74 Old School Slate, The . 74 On the Marshes 75 Our Parting 76 Peg Away 76 Piper, The 77 Plant, The 77 Playmates 78 Pluck 78 Prodigal, The 78 Promise, The 79 Prospector, The 79 Public School Teacher, The 82 Question, The 83 Recompense, The 83 Remembered 83 Reported Missing 84 Resolve 85 Robin's Question, The 86 Robin's Song, The . . 86 Rockies, The 86 Romance 87 Sated 87 Scar, The 88 Setting Star, The 88 Soldiers All , 88 CONTENTS Some Flowers from the Gardens of the Minnesingers: (1). Four Anonymous Poems 119 (8). Two Poems by Dietmar von Aist 120 (3). A Song of the Mystics 121 (4). Four Poems by Walther von der Vogelweide . . 121 Song of the Birch, The, Illustration 89 Song of the Rocks, Illustration 93 Son's Pledge, A 93 Sorrow 93 Soul Set Free, The 94 Stars in the Dark 95 Sugar Snow, A 95 Summer is Over 96 Sunday Morn 96 Sympathy 96 Tale of Clover, A 97 There Shall Be Light 97 Three Poems 98 To a Dog 99 To Each His Burden 100 To Mother on My Birthday 100 To Mozart 100 To Mr. Merryman 101 Too Plain 101 Tool, The 102 Tree, The 102 Two Workers, The 104 Unchanged 104 Understood 104 Uninterpreted 105 Veil, The 105 Vigil, The 106 Violets 107 Voice of Many, The 107 Wait Upon the Lord, Illustration 107 Water- Wheel, The 108 Way, The 108 Wayfarer, A, Illustration 109 Weary 109 Were I a Rose 109 When Day is Dead 110 Wife, The 110 Wife of Waibingen, The 112 With a Gift of Flowers 113 With a Letter 113 Winter Fleet, The 113 Woman of the Mart 114 Woman's World Conquest 114 Woolly Lamb, The 116 Word Absolute, The 116 Word Was God, The, Illustration 116 Working Woman, The 117 Wreck of the Benjamin Noble, The, Illustration 118 JOHN O' DREAMS DDD John o' Dreams A wanderer by the wayside, I, With a hungry heart and a dreaming eye That sees, and not sees, the crowd pass by. For I listen for music, elfin sweet, Strain, lest 'tis lost by the trampling feet, Or acclaim of triumph that fills the street. And I never can join with the passing crowd. I must list for my music. 'Tis not allowed Though my heart is hungry and head is bowed. If they find me listening yet some day Where I let them pass on the dusty way, They need not pity me then and say: "He missed life for music, and life is sweet." For I shall have risen with song-glad feet And have followed where Music is Life complete. Absent (In memory of Bessie Kirtland) The patient-faced hepatica Watched through the April days, And dropped in listing for her feet Adown the shaded ways. 12 JOHN O' DREAMS The robin pleaded her to peep, He'd built his nest around. The apple-blossoms flushed and paled And faltered to the ground. The Spring spread all his glories out, But she did not behold. For she had gone away from us Till all the Springs are told. Affinities Thousands of roses Everywhere start. Each has its drop of dew Hid in its heart. World full of people Fill mead and mart. One there is of them all Dear to my heart. Aflight The birds seek southern lands These crispy autumn days; A warmer glow Calls them to go Where summer sunshine plays. My thoughts are like the birds; They fly away to thee, O'er hill and dale, O'er wood and vale, Wherever thou mayst be. After the Rains After the rains In the country lanes, The clover springs up And the buttercup, After the rains. JOHN O' DREAMS 13 After the tears And the heartsick fears, Then melt all our troubles And mad gladness bubbles, After the tears. After the Storm All the day has been so stormy And the tree-tops drip with rain. Why should one harsh flash of lightning Come to fill my heart with pain? In the lurid light, a visage I have known in former years Looks upon me, white with passion, And my pulse beats high with fears. Go away, come not to haunt me At the closing of the day. With the storm-clouds and the lightning, Go, I beg you, go away. Afterwards After the battle is done, And the corpses lie stark in the sun, Then the heart of each man is sick After the battle is done. After the fire has swept, And the trunks stand all charred where it leapt, Then the heart of the forest is sick After the fire has swept. After the passion has fled, And the waste places yield up their dead, Then the heart of hearts is sick After the passion has fled. 14 JOHN O' DREAMS All in His Image This little, single human life of mine, A tiny crumb let fall amid Fate's wine; A will, defiant, independent, free; A heart that laughs despite its agony, That finds in every face some worthiness, And aches for human sort to help and bless; Bereft of all the ties that make life sweet Yet running on life's way with willing feet This human life of mine. Where did it learn That all Earth's lives are like it, all must yearn For something vast, forever wave on wave? Where did this midget spirit learn to crave? Blest or bereft, the heart turns ever home; Give less than God, the soul must seek her own. All's Law Men say they come not back, our dead, A half-way truth, since they are always here. He has one universe, our God ! And we and they, together in his hand, Are in his world We go not, neither come, but stay. I do not know their life beyond this flesh, But this I know: His law is law, Upon this earth, or in the milky way. The law of right and justice deals with them as me, The law of growth. We both are in his hand, I and my dead. I do not understand. It is enough, though I know not His worlds, I know the Father's love. Alone I wakened in the midnight When all about was still, And groping through the darkness Slipped to the window-sill. JOHN O' DREAMS 15 There high above the housetops The moon sailed red and dim, From out the murky shadows A faintly showing rim. Far in the hazy distance It wandered on alone. I crept back to my pillow, But all my sleep was flown. My heart was aching for it As there it moved afar Across the midnight heavens With not a single star. Alone in the Dark The waves swish on, and sweep, And all but wash the mark, And sob themselves to sleep, All alone in the dark. The dense black shadows creep Across the waves. I hark And hear the great pines weep All alone in the dark. But you and I are here. You would not leave me? Hark! My heart would. stop with fear All alone in the dark. Apprehension The fog is thick, and darkness steals Upon me here. I strain my eyes, but cannot see The houses near. The murky night shuts out all else, And grows apace, And I am chill and sick at heart In this lone place. 16 JOHN O' DREAMS And as I try in vain to see, A nameless fear Makes known that you are lost to me Though now so dear. Ashes I stole into the room, The hour was late, And found but burned-out ashes On the grate. I crept into your life, Near spent apart, And found but burned-out ashes In your heart. Assurance of Welcome When that last dark fight bids this body be still, I will grasp Death's hand; I will go with a will. As a helpless infant I entered here, But my cry found hearts that held me dear; And no more helpless I'll go, than then, Where their love will receive me. So, Death, choose when. At Home in His Worlds The lights of home were kindly, Warm their glow. Though the far corners lay in shadows there, The not far corners of our little room, And rooms and worlds without Lay deep in gloom. But that we saw not in the lamp's kind glow, The steady light of home. We sat close-housed together, Happy in our love And in the glow of home. Lake Superior By the Lake Page 27 JOHN O' DREAMS 17 But one chill night we sat together so, Thick clouds close pressing, And we but nearer, since of fog and night, Happy together in our four-walled home, And then the lights went out, The kindly lamps of home, That hands had tended since our tender years. The lights went out. And lone left, in the dark, The vast world's dark, Our soul looked up and saw the midnight stars. And after years of ache and loneliness, Of parched throat that clutched the household name And hurled it out in agony of prayer, We found it was no four-walled room, our home. It was His spaces and His omnipresences: In microscopic systems of vast worlds Infinitesimally small; in pages Of old books, and books not written down But lived by living men in busy towns; In them of lesser sort who keep the law, His beasts, and no communion have with us Who will and do. And there too in his presence Where they're gone, Who kindled once long since The lights of home, They kindle still those lights for us. They love us and their whispers come From His great silences And fill our souls, And let us know how we Are souls as they are souls, And in our endless life Shall grow, through loss of dear But lesser things, To know, from Pisgahs painful climbed, Our home of homes His omnipresences. 18 JOHN O' DREAMS At Set of Sun As once you stroked my thin and silver hair So I stroke yours, now at the set of sun. I watch your tottering mind, its day's work done, As once you watched with forward-looking care My tottering feet. I love you as I should. Stay with me. Lean on me. I'll make no sign I was your child, and now time makes you mine. Stay with me yet awhile at home, and do me good. The Barren Acre I walked in a barren garden On a hectic autumn day. And the leaves in the sad-eyed silence Loosed their hold to drift away. The garden was utterly empty, Though 'twas watered well with tears; Though angels folded their wings of stone And watched through wastes of years. But when all earth's gardens have perished, And the sun and the moon are not, Its flowers shall bloom forever, Not one poor bud forgot. Beatrice You came along the Arno long ago We peer through centuries and see you there, As first your lover saw you, tender, fair, His soul amazed before your young youth's glow. You saw no face heart-scarred amid the throng, As you, a joy, made mortal, filled his view. You passed upon your life's short way, nor knew That moment's place in his immortal song. He lived an exile, gnawed with pride and wrong, JOHN O' DREAMS 19 A human soul that quaffed Hell's poison cup And scornful threw them back the dregs to sup. Of all the earth, his hate has burned most strong, But love was his and from Inferno rise The dreams of Beatrice and Paradise. Beyond the Marge Beyond the marge I go Where Earth and great Sky meet. I go the trail all men have gone With ne'er returning feet. Beyond the marge I go Into the land of peace, Where seers and men of old have taught All sins and sorrows cease. But if 'tis I that go, This soul of mine I've known, For me will be such peace and calm As I have made mine own. Beyond the marge I go I do not understand The trail of Earth, the trail of stars, Leads on to God's own land! The Birthdays I read your birthdays on a low gray stone : The day you came to this old world of ours, When nestlings pipped the shell and buds burst flowers And mother eyes upon your coming shown; The other birthday, when the clouds dripped rain That brought young leaves and blossoms into life, They said you died (the words cut like a knife). We knew you lived at last, and angels blessed our pain. 20 JOHN O' DREAMS Black Wing's Love Black Wing was a Huron, Bold of soul, a warrior Used to blood and pillage; Ne'er escaped his foeman, But gave life up groaning Stung by Black Wing's anger. But the warrior Black Wing Loved a half-breed maiden White the maiden's fancies, Dusky red her yearning And her cloud-white fancies Drifted not toward Black Wing, Nor her dusk-red yearning. White her misty day-dreams White his love and whiter; Dusk-red her perverseness Still more red his longing. Fair were White Fawn's fancies, Matched was his affection; And the strength of Black Wing Matched her opposition. Still came no betrothal. So the tide was setting When it chanced that Black Wing Sped a biting arrow From his sure-pulled bow-cord, And the arrow found out Not a velvet wood-deer But a man in buckskin ; And his blood mad rushing Through the open doorway Left him doubly Pale-face. Then brave Black Wing lifted This one on his shoulders, Bore him to the village, JOHN O' DREAMS 21 Bore him to the wigwam Of the potent Heal Wound. Here they prayed the mighty Manitou to heal him, And there healing found him. 'Twas no incantation Nor medicine man that wrought it; 'Twas the cloud-white fancies, 'Twas the dusk-red yearning Of the lovely White Fawn Brought the Pale-face healing. Woe betide bold Black Wing! Woe betide strange Pale-face ! Woe betide sweet White Fawn ! Black Wing's knife is sharpened, And his anger sharper. But the eyes of White Fawn, Innocent and startled, Search the soul of Black Wing And no knife is sharper. Shame in face and heart-shamed Rushes forth the warrior To the black-souled river, Flings a swirl his black thoughts Perish there forever. Now, the neighboring Iroquois Bloody were and vengeful. Once happed Black Wing 'mong them When a luckless Pale-face Bound with thongs awaited All their rage and vengeance. Soon the flames would kiss him, Never more would White Fawn ! Then leaped forth the warrior In the soul of Black Wing. This not tortured Pale-face, 'Twas the soul of White Fawn, E'er bowed down and speechless 22 JOHN O' DREAMS Would by flames be tortured Till her death-song floated Upward like the smoke wraith. And the soul of White Fawn Was it not close knitted To the soul of Black Wing? "Let him go!" cried Black Wing Leaping in among them, "Loose his thongs and bind me, Me a chief of Huron." 'Mong themselves they whispered : "He hath done a kindness To the mighty Huron. He will pay with life-blood." "Yea, we will unbind him." As the blood was trickling From his thong-bound ankles Black Wing touched the Pale-face : "Go, I beg thee, go thee To the Huron village, Go and comfort White Fawn." The canoe was loosened Once it sped for Black Wing, Now it sped for Pale-face Lapped the waves about it, Lured it to the Hurons; But his heart misgave him, For the frighted air brought Sound of hemlock crackling, Sound of death-song chanted. Fast he sped to White Fawn, She had need of comfort ! Ah, this love was redder Than the flames of hemlock! Ah, this love was whiter Than the blanching ashes! JOHN O' DREAMS 23 The Blind I met my loved one in that unknown land Where foot of flesh goes not, nor heart of flesh, But love can find a way. I'd often gone To search and search in that forbidden place Nights when my body slept. For there my soul Turned always, sun or dark, to search for her. And there one time I found her as she'd been, Her kind glad face. And as she did not know How my bold heart for hungering love of her Forbidden bounds had crossed, I did not say, But smiled on her, so well, who had been sick and old, And all my soul was glad. And we stood close And filled our hearts, death emptied, full of bliss, That we were close and saw each other's smiles. But one thin woman, gaunt with selfishness, Looked slant-eyed on our love, and wished to hurt. "Darling, all's well?" I said, "I knew it so; God does all well; I knew you young and whole." She smiled me, yes. Then that malignant soul Bared skinny lips and sneered, "She yet is blind!" I trembled, "Blind ! I thought death made you whole!" Gently her voice came, "So it does, in time. My eyes will soon be well. I am not blind Though, in a better way. Over here We have small need of seeing with earth's eyes. We see not objects merely, but the hearts of things. You in your world are blind. You see The body only, you cannot see the thoughts, And mind and heart, or better might I say Dimly as the body tries to show them forth. But here we see, real seeing. You are blind. I see this woman, poor and shrunk away, Who would do evil, if your heart was small To take it in and let the evil grow. But your faith, whole, healthy, throws it off And leans on, God is love and love is good. 24 JOHN O' DREAMS I see her and I pity and I love. Her poor shrunk spirit, would that it were whole! The sick have need of us. There's work As well as praise and peace." "And can you see me, too, my faults as plain as hers, And love me?" "Yes." "And love me spite of all?" "Yes, more because of all." "Then this is Heaven. It would not do to see So on our earth, to know what each man thought, His inmost plans. Men are not good enough. Not mothers even, none are good enough. 'Twould take an angel so to see and so to love." "Mayhap it would. Your human earth is blind. But here we learn of Wisdom and of Love." The Body to the Soul My soul came to the windows And glanced forth and seeing me Did not draw back again But stood and looked on me In the clear light of day. Then summoned she her messengers And through the parted portals Sent them forth. Their tread was light as breath ; Their voice deep searching As undisturbed and deathly silence; Their message was a two-edged sword of flame. O, soul, you need not so look on me, Such word send. This fleshy part shall die, But you shall live. And I shall willing die That you may live. JOHN O' DREAMS 25 My soul, I know that such as I Can house not long with you. Twixt you and me is naught in common: You came fron God And you return; And I, who hold you here to do my beck, I am but fashioned earth, My heart is clay. Boulders The boulder rocks Stand gray and old and strong. They look at the meadows Stretched out at their feet And do not understand. Never the meadow's life was theirs With lowing cattle and tree-shielded homes, Amid the grind of every day, Made beautiful with flowers and peace; Never the lark sprang up From nest that hid her store of wealth ; Or bare-footed children played Over the deep black loam, Chancing on treasures rare, Gathered and straight forgot. The boulders know not home nor tenderness. Ever the storms beat on them, And in centuries they grow Less sharp, less steep, but not less strong. Still, here and there on their bosoms They bear one little touch of sunshine and of sky, One little flower they tenderly fold up, And shield, and give their stony best to. And sometimes the opal dawns And twilight amethysts fall on them Like a benediction, like a peace. For Nature knows the strength that lies in them, And knows the wear of centuries would make a soil From which would come a blossom if it could. 26 JOHN O' DREAMS O, God, since thou hast made A stony cliff of me, A boulder rising in the lightning's path, Send me the wear and tear of life, The hardships and the work that make a soil, That I may have my flower dream, My fragile bloom. I am not lava, cooled from some volcanic fire, But only part of that bed-rock Common to all Thy great humanity. Brothers I looked on sin, and felt a great disgust Toward sinful men, they and their guilt confused. Heredity, environment, excused No whit the erring sinner from God's must. But one I loved, detected, self-confessed, Stood foul with sin as they, sin to my hurt. "Pure is the soul of man despite sin's dirt!" I groaned, "This one I love." And so forgave the rest. The Butterfly Only a little butterfly, With dusty, mottled wing, Flitting about in the joyous trees; And the sun on everything. Only a little butterfly, With lifeless, tattered wing, Lying all crushed in the burning sands; And the sun on everything. By the Huron I stood upon the hilltop And caught far down below A glint among the willows: It was the river's flow. JOHN O' DREAMS 27 The terraced slopes beyond it Slept. Hazy blue and gray The hot sky o'er it nodded. I'd been a weary way. A weather-beaten hay-barn From an orchard peeped in view; A plough and horses rested ; Man, I've a home like you! By the Lake Gray and sullen the sea, Sullen and gray the sky. And a sadness comes o'er me As the panting waves lash high. A sadness that things are so Which is not of the sea or sky. Though the breakers seem to know As they strive and fail and die. Sullen above, below, And the foiled waves' endless roar, As they rise for a space, and go Like the mist on the far-off shore. The Call of Northland Waters The waters call me always in the Northland : They call me as they hurry down the steep ; They beckon as they haste among their boulders; They watch from quiet pools with eyes that weep. Their cadence? 'Tis the luring of the Northland; 'Tis the witch spell of the cold inland sea; 'Tis why my heart leaps at wind and pine tree 'Tis the struggling 'gainst the shackles to be free. I have listened well, you waters in the Northland, I have learned what the cities never see, That the shackles that the gods would put upon us Bind us close to Nature's heart and make us free. 28 JOHN O' DREAMS Calm The lake is tired out, It sinks to rest, A placid, mist-hung calm Upon its breast. Too wearied far to care, Past storm-lashed strife. Fast spent the heaving pulse, Fast spent the life. It lies all calm and waits And makes no cry, Gray with the gray of death Beneath the sky. The Challenge Cold winds blow! Gray clouds lower! You've met me in a timely hour; For I am full of fret and fight; My feet would wander far tonight, Would go, and go, and know no rest; So lead me where it seemeth best. "Beyond man's ken?" I take the dare, With mood defiant meet you there. Why should I pale or turn a hair, Or why should I white-livered stare? I've naught to gain, and naught to lose, So what care I what Fate may choose? Once, though, I felt a sickening dread That once was when they were not dead. Christmas Little Babe, on Holy Night, What makes thy mother's halo bright, Is not what extolling angels see, 'Tis human mother love for thee. JOHN O' DREAMS 29 Little Babe, on Holy Night, No wonder star leads us aright; What makes us bend adoring knee, Is thou art human like as we. Confession Confession is good for the soul. And she had done her confessing. She erred, and she gave out the whole, And her shrived soul went with its blessing. But a hot coal burned on my lips, It shrivelled to out, and was searing. 'Twas a coal from the burning pits, But I held it from all men's hearing. 'Twas a thing must be left unsaid ; It would cover me black with pollution, It would strike my fair name dead. It was all sins held in solution. I had trodden my soul in the dust, And all I had hopes of possessing. Confession is good for the soul ; But for me there can be no confessing. A Country Cemetery Over the hills where the heedless wind bloweth, Over the hills where the dull cattle loweth, Over the hills where the rumbling cart goeth, Over the hills there is rest. Where meadows and copper-stained heavens are blending, There where the dried summer grasses are bending, There where the silence and tryst are unending, Over the hills there is rest. 30 JOHN O' DREAMS Unpained by the boor-clod that holds them in keep ing, Untouched by the shadow of hawk-wing a-sweeping, Life's nightmare forgotten, they calmly are sleeping Over the hills there at rest. Covered I've taught my lips And they have not forgot, They tell their lie and smile, But it they tell it not. "Tis false, 'tis false, Tis basely false, untrue!" They'd swear in Heaven's ears Till Heaven believe in you. Cradle Song Sleep, little babe, To thy mother's breast folded, Thy drowsy-weighed eyelids Like rose petals molded. Sleep, sleep, little babe. Sleep, little babe, And thy smile is befitting For the pure in heart know When an angel is flitting. Sleep, sleep, little babe. Sleep, little babe, For One hath us in keeping, And another babe once With his mother lay sleeping. Sleep, sleep, little babe. JOHN O' DREAMS 31 The Crown The first snow fell on the hills, And the hills grew frighted gray. For they had been used to the touch of flowers And the golden summer day. But the snow fell day by day, Fell steadily, coldly down, Till the hills uplifted their foreheads strong, And lo, they wore a crown. The Day is Done The day is done, and things grow large in shadows, And gusts of wind sweep o'er the window-pane. The cold creeps in. The logs lie in the ashes, And neighboring trees stand black and drenched with rain. The day is done. I wait awhile in thinking, And gusts of pain sweep o'er my shrinking heart. The cold creeps in. My hopes lie in the ashes. The day is done that seemed so well at start. Denied (On hearing Schubert's Serenade) I am given strength of spirit, And talents past my due, And all men's approbation My heart wants home and you. And must I die a-hungered For what I never knew, And last be given Heaven, Who wanted home and you ! 32 JOHN O' DREAMS Deserted I know that it was weak to ask for comfort. For years my heart was stout, and should have borne One further thrust, one malice guided arrow, But that I sudden felt me overthrown. And what was years of training in that instant? My heart was pierced and cried from utter pain; Too sorely pressed, 'twas not myself that begged you To come and help me, let your strength sustain. Why did I turn to you? I bow confession It was because I thought that you alone Would in your mantle muffle up my weakness, And feel the sting I bore as 'twas your own. Though dumb and crushed I've since hid in the throng, That day I fought alone and proved me strong. The Difference Slow as a snail the hands crawl 'round Upon the dial plate. I fear if they toil on so slow Your coming will be late. But when you've come, and there's untold The most we had to say, Those same small hands, on wagers bent, March madly on their way. Such conduct is unkind in them. What think you'll make them go As swift as birds when we're apart, And other times move slow? The Divine Right of Kings "The King can do no wrong." I read it and acquiesce, While every drop of my Puritan blood Pulses a bounding, Yes. 'The waters call me always in the Northland" JOHN O' DREAMS 33 We killed King Charles, and George the Third Felt our bullets smart. And the King can do no wrong? But he is the king of my heart! A Dream I kissed you in a dream Was it dreaming? Was it true? For my heart was mad With joyance glad, My heart that starved for you. My soul forgot the worlds Of Real and of Seem. But my poor heart broke When morning woke I had kissed you in a dream. Easter Lilies Prayers of Earth's bruised, The lilies arise. Hope in their garments, And holiness lies; Their fragrance, blest healing From out of his skies. An Easter Thought of Heaven Heaven seems to me a gentle, homelike place Where those I love sit often side by side And speak of me, a smile upon their face, Their heart with me as though they had not died Elfred Elf red was young; his heart beat high, He sought renown and true knight's glory. She was a witch, as young in face As old in evil, old and hoary. 34 JOHN O' DREAMS I loved him well. I loved him more Than fame or life, nor questioned whether He loved as much. It were enough That we were oftentimes together. She'd pledged another one her faith. She met Elfred ; and in her kindled A love for him, a hate for me That grew as plighted troth-love dwindled. She cast her evil eyes on him And charmed him like a helpless sparrow; And won his heart, and broke my own; And fawned upon me on the morrow. I met her on the blasted heath. I strangled her who stole my lover. The hoot-owl shrieked her passing soul. The earth was deep I piled above her. The Emancipated Woman Wait, my baby, wait, We're human in spite of fate. Never the breath of your moistened lips, Never the press of your finger-tips! Never to touch you, and never to know The thrill of your laugh and the joy of your crow! We're human we know too late, Wait, my baby, wait. Wait, my baby, wait, We're human in spite of fate. My arms are aching to hold you fast To a heart you could heal though the whole world passed. You would be the world and heaven to me, For I'm only a woman whatever I be. May God not say, "Too late!" Wait, my baby, wait. JOHN O' DREAMS 35 The Ensemble A leafy path on the hillslope Flecked with shadow and sun ; A stripe-backed chipmunk watching Nervously ready to run; Banks of ferns uncurling In curves of rarest grace; Gnarled old trees grown young again In fairy green and lace; Solomon's seal and bellwort, Spring beauty, anemone, Jack-in-the-pulpit and star-flower And all spring's pageantry; And the glad young bound In the world around Gone to the heart of me. Evening Song Over the hill-tops Falls peace; Stars o'er the tree-tops Increase; The sheep are returning To rest in the hold ; Thy Shepherd doth fold, My heart, cease thy yearning. The Evidence of Things Not Seen From out the black, abysmal night A peace, an understanding and a light Came to me at the dawn. I knew you gone, But waked, I knew I knew not what I knew I knew the peace, the mind, the light, were you; Beyond the reach of death you lived once more As here with us you lived in days of yore ; You were not dead, and your great love for me Had grown to match your immortality. 36 JOHN O' DREAMS Faith I have a faith, sure as a rock-ribbed coast: Where all looks evil, there it trusts him most; It would not spy his mysteries if it could; It knows, whate'er betide, the Lord is good. My heart stood faint when once it looked on death. No word returned from out that awful black; "We die, and shall we live?" came echoed back Since first man yielded up his mortal breath. But God came to my life. He laid his hand Most heavily on me. Scarce could I understand. He took my best; in place he gave to me His gift of gifts: to know his immortality. Fate The continent forever stands rock-ribbed in view. And yet my heart must falter at the ache When to such joy thy voice might bid it wake As all the birds are singing in the blue. My trembling soul's a-shiver but to think Of joyance such as that. It could not be, 'Twould be too blest for this old earth and me; It lives in some rich East beyond life's brink. The Cabots sought it once, and ploughed the main, And futile searched the stern Atlantic strand For path to where the gold Pacific lay. And so I search life's rock-bound coast in vain, And grope to find the way, nor understand God made it so for me there is no way ! Father My father's heart, big as the human race, Had room for men ; his kindly eyes laid bare Their proud distinctions, empty as the air, And judged long-suffering and full of grace JOHN O' DREAMS 37 Who saw God's fatherhood in every face; His saving sense of humor understood How good the bad, and too, how bad the good; For his was that rare nature greatly commonplace. Father and Mother I could not think that they could die ; It seemed past all belief. Yet when the one went forth alone I scarcely sensed my grief, But waited for the blow to fall Iknew it, every breath, If one should go, so must they both, And be at one in death. Fellowship A line of pines on the harbor bar, Of lone, jagged pines on a jagged bar Where the Lake rushed through In November storms. It is not the heavy mass of pines Standing close together to meet the Lake On a hillside firm, that my eyes rest on; No! My heart, alone in a fate-stormed world, Turns with an ache and a fellowship To the lone, jagged line on the jagged bar. First Love The golden light is kissing The brook in glad surprise; There is a light more tender Which leaps into your eyes. A bird-song from the tree-tops Makes all the air rejoice; But there is something sweeter Which trembles in your voice. 38 JOHN O' DREAMS The First Snow The little clover leaves are dead, That had so kindly grown; And whirls of early winter snow Are eddied round her stone. I cannot bear that that one place Should know your long white hours, O, frozen cold ; for in my heart It knows but warmth and showers. A Flirtation She showed a row of pretty teeth And roguish eyes of blue; She'd caught me smiling full at her. A silly thing to do ! She gave her head a pretty toss And looked in scorn at me. But I was glad. Her dimples I do not often see. I said, "I like your ears to flush, That makes you pretty, lass." But she? She only laughed at me, My reflection in the glass. The Flower Girl Roses ! Roses ! See my pretty roses! Sweet they are, fresh they are, Loveliest of posies. Roses ! Roses ! Lady, buy my roses? The sun has set, few feet pass yet, And the long day closes. JOHN O' DREAMS 39 Roses ! Roses ! "What's the price of roses?" No food I've seen since yester e'en. That's the price of roses. Fogs Some days the black fogs hang Heavy as hangs a pall, That covers, and covers not, For our dread sees the stare and all- Heavy and black and thick, It makes our hearts grow sick! Horrible, black the fog. If it were only sleet And wind and lightning stroke To combat with hands and feet! God spare us from fogs that crawl And smother us with a pall. The Footfall It is not the foot that is passing, It's the thousands of feet to pass. And my eyes to meet those staring eyes Of the ashy face in the glass. And never in all the thousands To hear one foot pass by. And yet to live and to listen, And listen and never die ! Found I dreamed of a flower, modest, fair, Of gentle grace. And since that hour I've sought it out In every place; 40 JOHN O' DREAMS In field, in bower, in mead and down; There was no trace. I've found my flower, at last, so fair. It is thy face. A Friend Beyond the sun, into the twilight land Let me go with you, friend, I understand. Your dreams are yours. A tear that dreams they be. I would that love not I Kept step with thee. But since not love but I, then take my hand As you have all my heart. I understand. From Whence Cometh Our Help Let me drink the silence of the woods into my heart; The carolling of birds, the young stream's babble. And I will take me back into the town, and do my part. Let me lean down my head, where clovers lean To look upon the earth where we shall rest us. And I shall come away to live my life sweet breathed and clean. Let me wait out-of-doors till night and rain, When old trees bow, and young limbs are a-tremble. And I'll go back in the thoroughfares and know men's pain. Great, simple Nature, steal into my heart, nor leave there space For shouts and boasts and jostlings of the market. An hour aside, alone with thee in silence, and these give place. JOHN O' DREAMS 41 Gaunt Gray Wolf Old gaunt gray wolf, hie you away, I am not afraid of you when it is day. When it is night-time and bull-frogs croak And screech-owls hoot from out an oak, Then I am afraid of you, gaunt and gray. Old gaunt gray wolf, nights if I hark I can hear your stealthy creep in the dark, Up from the cat-hole where dead punk glows, Each step you take the darkness grows, Big folks, afraid of you, then grow stark. Old gaunt gray wolf, hie you away, I am not afraid of you, now it is day. This is my playtime, the lambkin leaps, The bull-frog blinks, the screech-owl sleeps, You are nothing but a spook, gaunt and gray. The Gleam I sit and think of you, darling, As the twilight falls apace And the last bright gleam of the setting sun Is joyous like your face. The God of All the Earth God is the God of all the earth ! And the brown child He calls, "Mine, 1 As he rubs the nose of an idol, An idol as homely as sin, And wears an amulet for a charm Next his little heathen skin; For He is a God whose geography Has a rather large boundary line. 42 JOHN O' DREAMS He is the God of all the earth ! And the yellow child looks good As he takes a lot of eatable things To his folks who cannot eat, Since they've been dead some decades, And it's rubbish at their feet; But the heart of the yellow child's all right, And so God understood. And the black man's as good as the white man To the God who respecteth not. He doesn't go in for complexion Maybe He's color-blind Anyway things that some folks loathe The good Lord doesn't mind, Though we often think we know who's who And could tell Him what is what. He is the God of all the earth ! And how can a nation pray That God help him kill his neighbor, And get him out of his way, A civilized white neighbor, Who knows the Sabbath day, And not a brown or yellow man, But his own kind of clay. I'm afraid we are stumbling in the dark, So we'd better open our eyes. When we thought our God was a Christian God We hadn't gotten His size. 'Twas bad as the Chosen People Who kept Him in Palestine, And His bigness just spilled over. No, He knows no boundary line, No line of creed, or color, Or form of law, or race. For He is the God of all the earth, And the stars are too his place! JOHN O' DREAMS Golden Light Golden light, only light! Nowhere on sea or sky, Nowhere on earth, on high Find I thee, Golden light. Golden light, only light! Fairer than even star, Fairer than moonlit bar, Fairer than dawnings are, Golden light. Golden light, only light! Deep in my loved one's eyes Shimm'ring the wonder lies; Find I thee, Golden light. Good Death I have not died, but Death I've known, Clasped his hand, Thanked him glad for mercy shown, Begged for him to come. Alone He could help in all the land. Good was death to mine. Leave the world, though far you fare, Do not fear! Whether here or whether there We are always in God's care. What we shall be shall appear. Good is death to us. I will hold your hand this side. Those that wait Know to help, for they have died, Dread not what great death may hide. Good has been this earthly state, Good be death to us. 44 JOHN O' DREAMS 'Twill be going home for me. So long while Here in all humanity Face of mine I never see When I hear them I shall smile, Good is death to me ! The Greatest King Three wise men rode high on camels long ago, And a wonder star revealed the road to keep. They sought the greatest King the world shall know ; And they found a darling baby fast asleep. The Gypsy It sprang without the palings And shut-in garden blows, It clambered where it wished to, A spray of yellow rose. She sprang without the palings. With eyes as black as night And small hands weaving wanton She danced, nor knew the blight. She spied the yellow roses And picked them every one. They rested o'er her little heart. Both had a touch of sun. The Handclasp The little pink feet Are curling and sweet Snug in the clasp of mother's hand. Sullied some day And bleeding, must they Walk the broad main road of grown-up land? The strong must be so! So baby may crow And leap at a clasp he can not understand. JOHN O' DREAMS 45 Heartache My love is a heartache; A rose, dust immersed, The sun on its petals, Dead fainting with thirst. Thirst shrivels the rose-heart, It withers, it dies. A thirst dries my heart up. O, smile with your eyes. Heart's Desire All the world had entered into life In that spring season. Song of bird was rife Mating and nesting. Buds were oping wide To see the springtime fairness on each side With gladly shining eyes, not knowing their own share In all the myriad beauty everywhere. The old earth laughed, for hope had come at dawn Of things new born from all the waste and gone ; And human hearts felt so the stir of things They knew it for the whirring of those wings That watch o'er us to bring us heart's desire, The Shall Be, yet too good, to which we aspire. The spring and dawn fade out as fades our youth, But in mid-season heat we learn the truth, Ploughed lands shall yield if deep the coulter passed 'Spite suns and drouth. His angels watch at last. Though Death went out that glad spring morn And smote the dewy babe but newly born, But left the aged crones, too old for tears, Who helpless sat by door-steps, bowed with years; Though Death went by, and laborers laid down Their busy tools in field and mine and town; Though last year's harvest rotted in the field ; The last year's young fruit blighted ere the yield ; 46 JOHN O' DREAMS Last year our loved ones left our broken heart Still we that mourn may know this better part, How some hearts waiting Here, deep-stirred, hold fast, Our dead are of our Future, not our past. The Heart's Elfland Joy and a song have arisen From childhood in my heart; And the elf birds sing as they listen, And the fairy flower-bells start. But pain and a song is my portion Till oft from the dust I cry; And the poor elfbirds are silent, And the fairy flower-bells die. He Hath Remembered His People Scorched on the upland the fields lie brown In the burned, mid-summer glow. And hearts of men and women are faint As they bend at their labor low; Till they hear their beating human hearts Like muffled sorrows go, That have seen all human joys laid waste; And the measure of human woe Brimmed to the brim; till the human hearts Crept in and out mid the ruined fates, Like sad ghosts to and fro. For human toil is endless long, And human hopes are high. At the scorching noontide the sorrows grow, When all else fareth ill, When naught but the weeds of the fates grow rank On the ribbed and sun-baked hill. 'Tis then the toiler turns his head, He lifts a hope-dewed eye To the promise written overhead, JOHN O' DREAMS 47 But not in the brazen sky, The hot and brazen sky, The promise written by God's own hand Which no toiling can efface The witching spell of a baby's cry, The marvelous hope of its face. And the old world smiles, and the fields seem gay, And the heavy hearts beat wild ; For God has remembered His people's toil, And the hope of the world is the child. Her Look of Love I often see my mother's gentle face Sweeter than angel's, for she was my own; And though to heavenly beauty she has grown I could not have that kindly look give place, That saw my weaknesses, but felt no trace Of lack of faith in me, and in my best That yet would rise and did, at her behest. Her look of love, I'll see again; and Earth's be Hea ven s grace Hid I walked deep in the woods one day, And a heart bled at my feet, A human heart, and it wished to hide Where none could see it beat. A fairy man in the grasses tall Hid the bleeding heart in leaves. They were leaves of books and leaves of song, And he cried, "Now none perceives!" He clapped his hands (he meant so well), "None will see; they will call it art." But I saw the leaves hid not at all The bleeding human heart. 48 JOHN Q' DREAMS The Hills Two travellers met in desert wastes; Scorched feet had walked mid dead men's bones. "Dost know the hills?" the one made haste. "I know." They were not words, but groans. The hills ! A thousand cattle lowed ; A cottage window watched for day. And through the sand that burned and blowed They walked as brothers on their way. His Seal He set His seal upon my face And left me waiting in my place. I could not flinch nor stand aside Whate'er befell, I must abide. At first I quailed and rent my hair When jagged lightning tore the air. I would have shrieked; I would have fled From Him who rules the quick and dead. But something mighty held me there And steeled my weak knees strong to bear. And last, I bow and thank the grace That set His seal upon my face. Home I hope it won't be different, I hope it won't be strange, When I shall come to leaving here To face that mighty change. I don't know how that world will seem, Nor how it all will be; This is enough : my mother's face Will make it a home for me. The Song of the Birch JOHN O' DREAMS 49 The House on the Milky Way MOTHER I'm faint. My limbs are heavy. DAUGHER Yes, we'll stop. We're on the road I called the milky way From its white sand when I was but a child ; And this old house we know best on the road, With barns and orchards of sweet-fruited trees, Except the quince. It teased us with its smell, But it was bitter. All the rest were good. It is a kind old place. It stands here on the hillslope Toward the sun, with hospitable doorways, And open-faced and smiling windows. Full of plenty 'tis, and happiness, And natural, we've known it all our lives. [Turning to the father.] Wait here, and I'll run in; she can lean on you. FATHER [To himself.] Yes, she can lean on me. She's leaned on me These fifty years. Tomorrow where's our strength? And where shall we be fifty years from now? Sis has not thought. The young see not o'er far. DAUGHTER [Enters hall.] I'll not disturb; they did not hear my knock. I'll seat her in the parlor. She must rest. There's plenty time to hunt our neighbor up And tell her we were wearing out her chairs. She'll laugh at that odd speech; she likes our jokes, And we have known each other all our lives. The peacock in the parlor strutting stuffed Who strutted living, he will welcome us. [She opens parlor door and shuts it tight sud denly, her eyes wide.] 50 JOHN O' DREAMS I knocked and came right in; I had not heard, I did not know our neighbors had one dead And waiting burial. Strange we did not hear. Well, she must rest. The guest-room, I'll lead there. [She barely opens guest-room door and shuts it in haste.] I saw it out of the tail of my eye, the sweep of a sheet. One look was enough. Our neighbors must know grief. Well, it's a wide house. There's some place for her. [Door after door she opens and rushes on more and more hurriedly.] It seemed a house so full of happiness, So natural, I'd known it all my life, But every room, the best, the meanest, Those for state occasions, and for work, In the maid's room, the grandmother's room, Those for guests in every room they are, The sheeted dead are everywhere. But there is one room, how could I forget, The little room with children on the walls In quaint, prim frames, at quainter play, Who never run or shout, but roll their hoops So still it made us laugh when we were small. They always had good manners naturally, The only natural thing about them. There In that old play-room, how could I forget, There she can sit her down at peace and rest. She need not know of the sheeted dead, who lie In every room, as she goes by the doors. I'll peep to see if there's a chair for her, And run and bring her up. [She looks and shuts the door.] I'll rush out to the porch; they're waiting there. She shall not enter this whole house is death. [She comes "white-faced upon the porch, where the two are waiting in the sunshine, the mother leaning heavily on the father. She grasps his sleeve and speaks low behind the mother's back.] What can we do? JOHN O' DREAMS 51 FATHER We can stand it! DAUGHTER [To herself.] No, we cannot! His muscles are like iron, naught can dent them; His eyes are full of courage, full of life, And full of light: his heart looks out of them, And nothing can prevail against it. As he took my fingers in his clumsy grasp, The sunshine streamed, the door was hospitable. I could see and bear. FATHER We'll lead her in. DAUGHTER [To herself.] His step goes strong and sure along the halls. [To father.] With us supporting her, she cannot guess Behind those fast-closed doors FATHER A neighbor's house, we've known it all our lives, With plenteous orchards, rich, with kindly fruit. DAUGHTER But there were bitter quinces. FATHER And wind-falls, too, they sold for early fruit And so they were, too early. Queer old place, The one we know best on your milky way. DAUGHTER You make it seem our world you're laughing at, One of the stars along the milky way, And not our neighbor's house, Homey with old association. 52 JOHN O' DREAMS FATHER Who knows? Perhaps it is. DAUGHTER [To herself.] How can he jest or talk in figures so, As he is wont to do. 'Tis his Yankee blood, Saying plain things with mighty meanings. He turns it off, so she'll not understand, Just he and I shall know. My heart aches so. Why should he lead her in? It seems so wrong. 'Tis not our neighbor's house, 'tis not the place Long years familiar as the air we breathe. She cannot rest here in this awful house, With sheeted dead in every room. He leads her up steep stairs they're hard to climb And chooses out a tiny little room From all the house. [She looks over her mother to him as he mounts the last step and enters.] Why here? FATHER They're all alike, the rooms. The difference Is only we ourselves, how we can bear, For we must bear it, and it is not new. The house is just the same it always was. It is not different; it is just the same, A goodly house to dwell in, natural. 'Tis yet. The dead have been in every room But we had not our dead and did not know. [He brushes the tears out of his eyes with the back of his hand.] Tis a good house. MOTHER Lift me up. The way was steep. I'd rest. [He lifts her upon a high, narrow cot to rest.] JOHN O' DREAMS 63 FATHER Tis natural. DAUGHTER Yes, yes, I bear it now. How our neighbors' hearts have ached in their sides. FATHER Yes. DAUGHTER [After a silence.] Perhaps 'twas wrong I sang and laughed Sometimes when I did. Perhaps! I did not know. FATHER No, no, 'twas best. The neighbors need youth's joy. DAUGHTER And you and she knew always, knew this thing, And yet you did not tell. FATHER Yes, you were young; 'Twas better so. We all know in our time. DAUGHTER And you both knew, you when you led her in, She when she leaned on you. And you could bear it! And as our hearts ache, so our neighbors' ache, And we all sit together with our dead. FATHER Yes, yes, we sit so. We bear it. 'Tis natural Here in this house along your milky way. Hushaby Hushaby, hushaby! Winds that are blowing, Hushaby, sigh and sigh. Cattle are lowing. Hushaby, hushaby, The sunshine and summer is going. 54 JOHN O' DREAMS Hushaby, hushaby! Soft shadows creeping, Hushaby, gently lie o'er chilled grasses weeping. Hushaby, hushaby, This summer long some one is sleeping. If a Man Ask for Bread My grief was great; I leaned upon you With heart that trusted much and felt secure. I reached out my hands and cried, "My friend, I suffer," Sure you would heed, and found I could endure. The world might give me burdens past my bearing, A brother's voice might curse and leave me alone, I cried for bread; my friend, I knew, would answer. He did. The cry was heard. He gave a stone. If a Man Dies Shall He Live Again The dawnlight fell on the snow And the snow was rosy grown. The dawnlight fell on thee My poor love, the priest said so, As he read from a book in the dark, Said the dawnlight fell on thee And thou lay with thy hands crossed, silent, And thy pale lips said not if 'twere dawning Or if 'twere eternal night. My tongue was parched and dumb. Up my heart leaped and then went still Like the waters froze to the shore That once mad leaped and strove. Here I stand by my mill and grind And no tears fall on the meal. I watch it. Dry and dusty it is, And my throat as dust is dry. My lips are parched and dry- Parched for thy kisses. JOHN O' DREAMS 55 And the day goes round As the mill goes round. The dawnlight falls on the hills And it flushes the snow to red. I heard Annette whisper so to a lad As he helped her turn the wheel. Poor little Annette, I am sorry for her With the ribbons tied in her hair; And he with the look in his bright black eyes, With the smile that melts in his eyes. Poor little Annette, she is only a child, She has not lived. I knew her once; She played at school with me; We studied our Credos together, And the priest oh, the priest! My love, did the dawnlight fall on thee? Come to me out of that blackness And tell me, art thou yet? Art thou yet? Art thou living? Oh, the meal falls in heaps on the pavement, I am slack with my grinding. I have ground here for infinite ages And for infinite ages more I shall grind. My love, dost thou hear Through the measureless distance? Canst thou hear? Canst thou heed? My love, oh, my love, was it dawnlight That paled thee to marble? Oh, if I knew it were dawnlight If I knew, I would sing at my task; I would set my mill whirring; I would haste, I would shout, I would laugh; I'd outdo poor Annette there in joying; I would joy as a bride at the kirk-bells At the sound of my mill, if I knew, Oh, my love, if I knew it were dawnlight. But the air brings me back but my cry, And the dust of my grinding. 56 JOHN O' DREAMS In April The clouds sail over the hilltops, The sunshine sifts through the trees, And the shadows dance and flitter As the branches move in the breeze. The sky is turquoise above me, And a robin is glad hard by, And up from the springy meadows Comes a lambkin's bleating cry. The buttercups smile by the roadside For the buds are large on the trees, And the wake-robin lifts up her beauty From the violets 'round her knees. And there is a smell in my nostrils That comes from the fresh, damp earth; And something within me is happy, Just happy without any mirth. There is such an exultant feeling Fills everything under the sky; It's enough to-day to be living, We know it, the world and I. The Inevitable I come into my garden, A hop-toad blinks on the ledge, The flox-edged path is like powder, The crickets drone from the hedge. Something is gone from my garden. The clover is crisped and brown, The curled-up corn is dusty, The sunflower's head hangs down. JOHN O' DREAMS 57 A something is gone from my garden, Yet the summer day is hot, And the sun shines bright in heaven, And the evil days are not. We were glad at dew-fall, nor knew it, It is born with the day begun: No garden can hold the summer; No heart can hold the sun. In May The roofs are white in the sun ; The nests of the sparrows are done. It is May, Hearts are gay, For the tide of the year is begun. The violets purple the lea; A clover is laughing at me. Faces show it, Breezes blow it, That hearts are as glad as can be. In Morning Light The while I sit alone in gathering shadow, Stunned by the creeping chill and black of night, My world of questions rolling into blackness, They read his answers in his morning light. Beyond the eventide, beyond the sunset, Beyond the first star faint high in the west, Beyond Earth's night, in God's eternal sunrise There lies my home and those who love me best. In the Autumn The marshland winds a river green Across the fields of brown; The milkweeds by the meadow creek Spread out their wings of down. 58 JOHN O' DREAMS Like wigwams stand the shocks of corn Bright heaps spread at their door. The nuts fall with each gust of wind, The squirrels seek their store. The sumac bushes are aflame, The hickory trees are gold, A fading sunlight falls afield, To-night it will be cold. In the Morning The day at last comes stealing o'er the hills, And all the creeping folk begin to wake. The wraithlike fog is lifting from the pines, And trails its phantom garments o'er the lake. The flower-cups have waited day to come So long time they are heavy with the dew. The little birds are calling to their mates. The day has come. My heart is calling you. In the Universal Language A little bird sang in a wood From out the fulness of his heart; I listened and I understood, 'Twas such transcendent artless art. My little brother sweetly told His secret 'tis not mine to tell Which God had whispered in his ear, Who loves His children passing well. The Keepsakes I treasure the little keepsakes, And give them a tender caress; And a love that tears my heartstrings Smoothes the folds out of your dress. JOHN O' DREAMS 59 For you have discarded the keepsakes ; And I know that I never can see You coming with glad-faced affection, In that dress as you used to be. Lay of Elfwine (Adapted from the Eddie Song) Now when the fight was joined, Gefids and Lombards, Each would not yield to each, One to the other. Elfwine and Thurismund, Sons of the rival kings, Chiefs of the rival hosts, Mightily struggled. Thrust followed sword thrust, Staggered the faithful horse, Spurted the life-blood forth, Heavily fell Thurismund. Then when the leader fell Melted his soldiers' hearts, Melted his men from sight, Vanquished in battle. Black was the field with dead, Black with the Lombards Chasing the fleeing hosts Smiting them fiercely. When all the field was bare, When all the dead were stripped, Laden with spoil they went Back to King Eadwine, Begging that Elfwine, Valorous victor, Sit by his father Comrade at table As by his side he stood Comrade in danger. * 60 JOHN O' DREAMS Then answered Eadwine them: "There is a custom: No prince of ours shall sit Down with his father Having no weapons gained Fighting another, Prince of another folk, Valiant as he is." So went young Elf wine forth, So went forth forty, Unto King Thuriswend, Father of Thurismund, King of the Gefids. They would bring back the sword, Their due by conquest. When they were welcomed, Seated at table, And in the dead son's place Feasted young Elfwine; When all the servants passed Serving at table; Then sighed King Thuriswend, Then broke his grief in words: "Dear is the seat to me, Grief he that sits therein!" Then the king's second son Roused by his father's wrath, Pitched at the Lombards, Stung them with filthy speech, Said they were like to mares, Mares with white stockings. The men wore round their calves White swathings banded. Then cried a Lombard man: "Go out to Asfield. There you can plainly learn How these same mares can kick, JOHN O' DREAMS (U There lie your brother's bones Scattered amidst the field Like unto wretched bones, Bones of a pack-horse." Then were they moved to wrath, Then rose they for the fray. This scoff had bitten each, These taunts had galled them all. Each hand was on the hilt, Each earl had touched his sword. Then sprang the King from meat, Thrust in between them : "Woe him who starts the fight! Woe him who smites his guest!" So they removed their swords, Feasted with gladsome hearts, And the King gave his guest, Gave to Prince Elfwine, Weapons that were his son's, Sped him in safety. Elfwine went back again, Back to his father. Sat as his guest henceforth Eating the dainties; Placed at his father's side, Praised high for valor. The Lesson I lost a friend by death, And then I thought I knew The blackest grief in sorrow's school. O, then I thought I knew. I lost a friend. My faith In all things good and true He trampled on and sinned away. O, then I knew I knew. 62 JOHN O' DREAMS Life O, Life, thou art so fair, With sunshine in thy hair. I'll take thee with me when I go Out in the shadows, wearied, slow. We'll creep out hand in hand Into that other land, Where I may read, without disguise At last, the meaning in thine eyes. Life, an Indeterminate Sentence At best I'm but a prisoner My past and present one, And any day the Governor May speak my sentence done. But I give thee all my present And so I give my past; I cannot give my future For God doth hold it fast. And niggards are his angels For they may dole to me From out my thousand aeons One present day with thee. The Little Boy that Died (In memory of my nephew, Mahlon Dickinson.) The lads go wading in the creek That wanders through the town, To hunt where schools of minnows hide, Their little legs tanned brown. They know when berries should be ripe, And where the gophers hide. He used to know these very things, The little boy that died. JOHN O' DREAMS 63 In fall they scour the woods for nuts, And climb the apple-trees. They sight the rabbit in the brush And laugh because he sees. And then they troop along from school, Their books swung at their side, And shout and run. He did so once, The little boy that died. And as I sit and see them go, This early winter day, It seems another marches there And joins them at their play. He eager learns for coming years, He wins the head with pride. They will be men ; but he will be The little boy that died. The Little Children of the Poor Babes, who know men's labor As they know men's sin, Young only that their life Did just begin. Little Gold Curls He stood in the sunlight, my little Gold Curls, With a light in his laughing face, And a jubilant note in his baby voice, As he said with his childish grace, That the butterflies out by the garden spring, As they came and went in whirls, Had told him that soon he should be a man And not my little Gold Curls. And then, as a shadow fell on my heart At this news from the butterflies, I tried to smile for I saw the clouds Reflected in his eyes. 64 JOHN O' DREAMS But his tiny arms crept round my neck, "I will save my dresses and curls. I will be a big man for a little while, And then your little Gold Curls." Time will be when my little Gold Curls will come To that sweet-breathed garden spring, And will vainly ask of the butterflies With mottled and yellow wing, Some news of the child with his curls and toys And a heart as pure as pearls, For they will not list to his strange, deep voice As they did to my little Gold Curls. The Lost Rose Within an old-time garden Where fairest flowers grew I found a lovely rose-spray Whose leaves were wet with dew. My fingers touched it lightly, I breathed its fragrance rare. My hand drew back, for roses Were growing everywhere. And when, the morning ended, No rose was found so sweet, I came too late, its petals Were scattered at my feet. Lullaby Sleep, little flower, and take thy rest Pillowed securely on mother's breast; Angels to guard thee, and mother to love, Dear little flower from gardens above. Sleep, little flower, thy soft hands pressed Close to the pain in thy mother's breast. May they reach to soothe in the years to be The great world's heart, as they now soothe me. 'I sit here with my river mists Wrapped round about me These hundred aeons And watch your human tide Roll at my feet." Song of the Rocks Page 93 JOHN O' DREAMS 65 Sleep, little flower, thou dost not know, These tender feet must a man's way go. Yet mother can bear it, for God is love, And life shall lead to His gardens above. So sleep, little flower, and be at rest, Pillowed all pure on thy mother's breast. God holds the future, and mother will love, Sleep, little flower, from gardens above. Made Sorrow-Wise Compassed with darkness, heartsore for the dawn, I stumble through this world of wilderness, Alone. My God! I've drunk of emptiness The stale and bitter lees, since she is gone. But I have bought a pearl in Wisdom's mart; Oh, that I might have learned and yet been glad Since Eden each of us has cried thus, mad; I've learned the godlike greatness of the human heart. Man and Inner Man Aeschere is dead, the mighty warrior! So all men held him, and they feared his face And mailed hand that wielded battle-ax. But this small maid of seven summers Whose curls were toyed with once Weeps Aeschere, the gentle father, And this pale woman coins her heart in tears In listing for the gravely gentle tones To soothe her heart across the awful silence, For Aeschere is gone, the tender loved one. And yet that voice once brayed the battle-horn And spit out taunts in thunder on the foeman Till fields ran like the sword, blood hungry. Yes, Aeschere is dead, the mighty warrior! For so the street cries run. 66 JOHN O' DREAMS But Aschere, the gentle, loving, tender, Aeschere, the man, the streets know not. And Aeschere is dead ! The Market-Place The old, the gay, the alien, The crowds of the market-place, We human tide are brothers, God's image in our face, And life is sore for most of us As we pass from place to Place. The uncared for little children, Predestined from the womb For vacant eyes, or cunning, Their fathers' sin their doom, O, Thou, just God, remember Their souls that dwell in gloom. All those who are weighed and found wanting, Whom the rough world casts aside, Who are neither big nor good enough To forgive and let it bide, God, Thou art good, these unkept lives Keep Thou in mercy wide. There are some of the aged who wear life's crown, Who through duty and love found Grace; And the pure in heart who see the Good ; And the sweet babe's flower face; Thy presence through these is still with us And Thou walk'st in the market-place. Marsh Weeds Over the marshlands, Over the waste lands, Stretches the snow. With its crust sun-warmed and turned to ice, 'Round the stalks of its dead weed flowers, JOHN O' DREAMS 67_ The pitiless sun But warms the crust To turn it to ice, Shaded by cold blue silhouettes Of the clumps of the deed weed flowers. Desolate marsh ! It had but weeds Out of its past. At night the wind blows over its wastes Snapping the stalks of its dead weed flowers. Midwinter The woodland stands dead silent Knee-deep in ice and snow, And through the shivering tree-tops The winds of winter blow. From out a blasted tamarack The owl sets up his cry; A frighted rabbit scampers Fleet for the brush hard by. The Miller The giant stones grind on, And the wheels crack as they turn, And the heat and the dust is thick So the eyes can not discern. The plump young grains go in And the crushed, blanched meal comes out. They say that it all goes well, For a miller is hereabout. But we cannot see in the dust, And the wheels make a dizzy sound, Still there must be a God in the world For in time the grist is ground. 68 JOHN O' DREAMS Mother My light of heaven has been a human face, A human heart. My mother bore the trust, And God's decrees like hers seemed meted just Till will in me to will in her gave place; His loving kindness was her tender grace; She was my light of days, my childhood's must; She was God's image kindly stamped in dust That I might see perfection in my race. Mother-Love Only one nest in the apple-tree, Only this one, seek the wide world over, Where the sunbeams come, and the yellow bee, And the air is sweet with the breath of clover. Only one place where the nestlings peep, Only this one for the little mother. And the sight of it makes her glad heart leap For the orchard bloom holds not such another. Only this one. Could the birdlings know! Only this one, they will find no other. When the summer's done, and afar they go They may search the world, there is but one mother. The Mourning Dove When passing through the woodland I heard a mourning dove. His voice drip-full of sorrow Came from the trees above. And I stood still, enchanted, And listened to his song. He poured forth in his moaning What I had pent up long. JOHN O' DREAMS 69 My Grandmother's Kitchen When I'm sitting in the firelight And the shadows wax and wane, And am listening to the music Of the kettle on the crane, Hear it dreaming, hear it singing, See the misty dreamclouds winging Which to me old scenes are bringing Once again, Then I see an airy kitchen With a polished maple floor, With a row of milkpans blinking In the sunshine by the door, With the breath of clover coming, And the sound of bees a-humming, And the kettle cover's tumming O'er and o'er. And I see a sweet-faced woman Like the pictures out of date, With a kerchief, cap, and apron, And a homespun gown sedate By a latticed window bending O'er her work. And comes unending The low song the kettle's sending From the grate. And I see a crude pine table With its homespun linen white, And its blue-decked cups and saucers, And its pewter polished bright. And the iron cover flutters, And the boiling kettle mutters, And it gurgles, and it sputters With delight. And I see a group of children, With the firelight on each face, Curled on stools or lying careless All about the chimney-place. 70 JOHN O' DREAMS Wondrous stories they are telling, And each little heart is welling, And the kettle's song is swelling Keeping pace. But the hazy dream-clouds vanish And the old-time pictures go, And the shadows 'round me deepen, And the kettle's song is low. And my thoughts afar are flying, While the shadows deep are lying, And the kettle's song is dying, Soft and low. My Mother's Hands Poor hands! So thin and worn, But clasped in rest Above a heart, That could it ask one small request, Would ask Those meekly folded hands In tireless love Have toiled for me the years, They plead above. My Ring My ring, my pretty ring of gold, You shut the world out and its cold; You shut his love in close to me, And seal me his eternally. My ring, my pretty ring of gold, Two loves within your band you hold, With one pulse beating, fettered, free, My love for him, his love for me. My ring, my pretty ring is gold. His ring, my arms, I round him fold, Content, pressed next his heart, to be For him alone, and he for me. JOHN O' DREAMS 71 The Mystery The great stars shine in silence, And the mystery no man knows Breathes through the black pine masses, And broods where the river flows. But the earth knows not of the mystery, Nor the great stars far and still ; Tis my soul alone feels it everywhere Since they lie asleep on the hill. The Nest It was perched in the crotch of an old apple-tree, A nest that was staunch and as snug as could be. It had sturdy mud walls and a lining of hair And five pretty eggs rested cosily there. And a plump mother robin sat long on the nest. She felt the blue eggs hidden under her breast, And she looked down upon me, her head on one side, And pitied my lot, while her heart swelled with pride. And her mate from the lilac would sing her his praise. Oh, they were so glad in those long, sunny days. But the skies grew all black, and the wind blew a gale, The sleet struck their house with his gauntlet of mail. It passed on. But five eggs lay all crushed on the ground, And two frightened robins were flying around. Would that I could put back in the old apple-tree The nest and the birdlings that were to be ! Never Mind Me Never mind me, never mind me If I let the hot tears blind me, Since the hard old world has happened to say, No. I am young and I can bear it, You are old and should not share it; You have known your share of trouble; let it go. 72 JOHN O' DREAMS Never mind me, never mind me, If some little sorrow find me, This is hardest that it has to fall on you. Let the world dole sweetmeats chary What of that? I'll play I'm merry, And who knows but playing still will make things true? The New Moon The grapes of life's wine-press are smeared over the blue With a touch of lost blessedness glinting through ; The good old earth with its browned, homely face, The cattle and flocks and the neighbor's place Are blotted out. I stand in the gray Alone, with the moon sunk far away, The new, new moon like a silver rim, And the present things grow blotted dim. 'Tis mid-summer night's oppressive heat, The great black trees, the narrow street, The sky so big it was all that was true, And our little household dead with you ! The struggle, the awe! It could not be Your pulse would come, you would stay with me. But the new, new moon passed with your breath And left me that night face to face with death. Nobody Like You The people smile in the town on me As I am passing through. Their nod and smile is good to see, But nobody smiles like you. The people give me a kindly word, And make a great ado Of passing the time of day they've heard, But nobody speaks like you. JOHN O' DREAMS 73 Such goodly words and smiles we change. I'm sure they mean it, too, The people seem so good. But strange There's nobody seems like you! No Other Way Up o'er the sodden hill-road With ruts cut miry deep, Past clumps of shapeless flowers The black frost held in keep, On o'er the freezing world waste On in the dying day, The traveler went forth alone There was no other way. The chill of even chilled his blood, The landscape blurred in night, The west shut out its last pale glow, And not a star gave light; The sodden hill-road grew more steep, But home not far away The traveler walked brave with Death- There was no other way ! Not in Vain The land was life; and death was the sea: Its slow gray waves lapped eternity. But a few little sands thrown up on shore Thought all for themselves was the rush and roar, To grind them and toss them in wild rebound Until no rest to their souls was found. And they fretted and chafed to be puppets so By the cruel waves tossed to and fro. The stars crept out of abysmal night And their calm eyes saw that all was right Where the bar of sands by the edge of the sea Kept back the waves of eternity. 74 JOHN O' DREAMS November Rain is on the roses, Tears are in my eyes, Sodden leaves lie helpless Under weeping skies. Mute, the wasted garden Lifts its barren stalks; Rain and Death are chatting By the dripping walks. Poor November roses, Drenched, they fall apart. Who can choose his season? Be thou stilled, my heart. The Old School Slate I found it to-day in the attic Where long it had lain from sight With the dust of years upon it And cracks from left to right. Though it's old and cracked and dingy What scenes it can awake, For it brings me back my boyhood That dingy old school slate. There are holes where my sponge was fastened And too, cut deep in the frame In letters out of proportion Boldly appears my name. To try my new knife we cut them, I and my seatmate Joe. How proud I was of his carving ! Was it all years ago? There are scratches of figures on it, Here a six, a four, and eight. Oh, the mass of tedious problems Which glared once from that slate. JOHN O' DREAMS 75 Here are curves of long division, There lines and dots I see Which speak of other puzzles Than roots or rule of three. And there are the faintest of traces Of pictures drawn long ago Of schoolmates' and teachers' faces. That talent caused me woe, For oft I stood in the corner, Recess games in my pate, Disgraced before all the pupils My head bent o'er that slate. And sometimes I wrote upon it In a hand quite light for me A name, just to see it written, Afraid lest Joe should see. One breath and it was lost from sight Just as each friend and mate Have vanished from me whom I loved When I used that old slate. On the Marshes Over a rail-fence Tumbled down, A stretch of marsh Scant green and brown, Shadowed by rain-clouds passing by, Reaches away to the lowery sky. Only sparse herbage, Last year's weeds, Stunted bushes And tangled reeds Over the endless level ground With low thick underbrush around. 76 JOHN O' DREAMS And a lark spreads out Its wings to fly, It wheels and soars Far to the sky. Would I had wings and could fly away From the hampering dullness of every day. Our Parting When people part with strangers They smile them out of sight. But me you kissed with vacant eyes And lips unwholesome white. And strangers bid each other God speed upon the way. But me you reached a hand grown cold And had no word to say. When strangers part they hope to meet, And so, my friend, did I; But souls close knit go silent forth To meet not till they die. And so I smiled, and said good-by, And let tears have their will ; And so you stood as white as death, And kissed me, and was still. Peg Away If the world is hard to meet, Don't expect to find things sweet, Have a smile that can't be beat, And peg away. If you've worked to make it go, And blue ribbons come in slow, Whistle loud as you can blow, And peg away. JOHN O' DREAMS 77 The Piper "Pipe! Pipe!" I piped and the children danced, Their light feet tripped in glee. Not a bird so gay As my pipe this May, And the children, airy free. Their ribbon bands and hair flew wild, Their light feet touched the lea Like fairy things Upborne by wings And the magic minstrelsy. "Pipe! Pipe!" Their elders cried aloud, "He pipes all grief away. 'Tis a blessed thing For one's heart to sing. Pipe! Pipe!" But my heart had died that May. The Plant Give me a place for my roots to grow Down through the rich, thick soil below. Let me feel about me firm and sure A soil that upholds me, that will endure! I am only a poor transplanted thing With my roots chocked up in a nursery-pot, Give me a soil of mine own secure. My gardener, pause in passing by! See, my leaves and buds have found a sky; And my roots would find them a place to hold Firm and strong in the kindly mould. Can I give thee bloom, and my roots unfed, Starving for soil in this nursery- pot? Give me soil ! For my roots are my life, behold ! 78 JOHN O' DREAMS Playmates To the open gates of heaven The baby angels stray, The golden light of setting suns On the wing-folded little ones, And watch upon the twilight earth The other children play. The little brothers of the earth Look young-eyed at the skies, And love the cuddling clouds of gold, The baby angels wings onfold, And know not that their playtime Is lit by angels' eyes. Pluck The woods, as for a festival, In gorgeous gowns are dressed. They smile like queens. Not so they smiled When summer-time caressed. Men see them robed in scarlet, In Eastern silks bedight. But I have wept. Brave woods, I know Your summer fled last night. The Prodigal The frogs are droning, The mill-dam moaning, The fire-flies flaunting their flickering lamp. No star is lighted, The sunset's blighted, And over me falls the evening damp. The stream is sliding Where bats are hiding, Now fades, now flushes a fire in camp. Through life I've wandered, My chances squandered, And drag on chilled by the evening damp: JOHN O' DREAMS The Promise I promised, leaving home, the world before me wide, To know each day you loved and understood, So looked on life and work, and found it good. But oftentimes I cried For you were far, and oh, the world was wide. I promised you, when last we came to part, I'd know your love and prayers were with me yet No matter whitherward your feet were set In vast eternity. But it is vast; so it must sometimes be I cry for you with empty, homesick heart. The Prospector You've heard of the Captain, straight as a string Of body and too of heart, Hearty and hale at seventy-six, A pioneer from the start. He knew Socorro, New Mexico, 'Twas his old stamping ground, The Mogollon mountains. His mines were there, And there his body was found. For the call of the heart is the mountains If once you have known them well, The cold, bare mountains that mount to heaven, And can be cruel as hell. The Captain was old. He had earned his spurs. The Governor honored his name. He was mayor and State legislator And regent. He'd won in the game. He had money and honor and everything good, But he knew where his good came from, And when the Mogollon mountains called He saddled Jerry and Tom, And went to the inaccessible heights, Just as the right man should, With those two horses to carry his pack And make him comrades good. 80 JOHN O' DREAMS The first week out he was lucky, And then his troubles began They found the notes strapped to the saddle horn. Jerry stuck by like a man Starving in grass a-plenty On the heights of Turkey creek, Where his master had perished three months before, And his comrade. A stone loosed. Quick Tom shot down into the canyon And was just a broken heap. But Jerry must wait for the Captain, And nibble and shiver and sleep. So they found the story how he died game Writ out steady and clear, With never a straggle, till the very last page When death had come too near For a man to quite think and write as well As maybe a whole man should. But the Captain looked old death in the eyes And he fought his last fight good. "I tried to get down into Brushy I tried to get out again." That took two days. And the writing And the meaning too was plain. "The horses balked up the canyon, But we made it with half a load. Got to the top with panniers. Went back for the bedding stowed. Lost our trail because Tom was hungry And crashed down the cliff with a shock. So we cut him loose. It was pitch black night, And we made us a bed of rock. There were lots of rocks and bushes. The morning would show us clear, So we slept that night with Tom let loose And Jerry bridled near. "In the morning I fixed the pack up And led Jerry up to the top. A Road by Lake Superior A Wayfarer Page 109 JOHN O' DREAMS 81 But it tuckered me out. I was famished for thirst And so I had to stop. "Next day I started for water, But a precipice made me turn back. There was grass, so I unsaddled Jerry. And then as the night had got black I made me a fire and rested. The horse had been right sure enough When he'd tried to go back. For we'd slept out Within twenty yards of our stuff. "I woke up next day all used up. I tried but I couldn't eat bread. I got some sugar and tried it, Then sucked some tablets instead. I'll try to put the saddle on Jerry, And get back to the trail somewhere near. We must find our way down to get water, I'd hate to have him left here. We'll put in to-night on the mountains Six days we have been without drink In the morning we'll start for the water. God be with me! You scarcely would think How I shouted to-day half my voice out, 'Help! help!' But my throat's pretty dry In some camp I smelt fresh meat on cooking, The smell came but not a reply. "The next day I got down 'twasn't easy And went crash right into a pool. It started to rain. It kept at it Two days and two nights. It grew cool. No place for a bed, and wet matches So no fire. Cold and wet to the core. Heard the bell where Jerry was hobbled The first night. But hear it no more. I'll try to get out in the morning. They're the worst, these two days and nights. "Well, it's morning. The sun is let in. I feel better" 82 JOHN O' DREAMS He writes Just that much and no further He got out the same as he tried, For he heeded the call of the mountains, And there in the mountains he died. The Public School Teacher The city's arc-lights are companions; They shine from the dark outside, And show where gather home-circles So happy, far and wide. Save for them I'm alone in my bedroom And the silence seems a din Of phantom voices calling Who have been or should be my kin. Sweet voices, I hear you calling, But can you not understand That my woman's heart you are breaking Finds her children in this land? Most of my children are aliens, Most of them shy and poor, With hearts that beat high with ambition And courage stout to endure. And some one must love these children In the circles far and wide, Must give them the heart of a woman, Not alien and not untried. For they must grow up to men's stature In this country that needs their best. So voices, I beg you be silent, My children will call me blest. JOHN O' DREAMS 83 The Question A bitter day, Cold and gray, With madcap wind That whips the bay, And lashes the foam. Is it too a heart, barred out from home In the depths of lake, Driven hither and yon on this world of bay On its harried, uncertain, wreck-strewn way, When to me, as I see it reach and crawl, Licking its lips on the seaward wall, It seems the vampire demon of all? There are humans so like it Who can say? The Recompense Why made Thou me immortal? In my pain One only boon I ask, oblivion ! The shackles of my immortality, O God, remove. Let me lie down and die. But calmed by night and stars; by this clear mind That thinks great thoughts for me and shows me Good ; Though bowed with pain, and faint with emptiness, Yet would I thank thee for this deathless boon. For I have been, and am, and yet shall be, And courage have to go my endless way, Nor weakly ask release. I run the risk Of godlike pain to think these godlike thoughts. For what is pain if I may find out Truth? Remembered I found a fair shell on the sandy shore Where 'twas left by the ebbing sea. I took it away from the ocean's roar, And carried it home with me. 84 JOHN O' DREAMS The shell though had hidden within its heart What it heard where the breakers swell. It murmurs this still, though so far apart, This song that it loves so well. Reported Missing Eternal Father, hast Thou taken him And does he wait for me in Paradise, The old dear welcome in his hearty hand, The glad beam in his eyes? He comes to me at morning and at noon, And evenings when I bend me o'er the Book The tears fall down upon the swimming page Before that old-time look. Dear one, where art thou? I would find thee In all this world of change, Bloody with carnage ; In all the heavens, Deafened with shrapnel Deafened to supplication, There would my spirit range ; Speak where thou art. Tell me what happened, O, what did befall thee? Silent, my sobs! You drown if voice there be. Listen, the worst would still be healing. Was it worse, or worse, or worse uncertainty? Baffled I sit. My heart, there is no answer. But love is infinite And love will find him. When burst from mortal bands Then love will touch him with her wings and whisper : JOHN O' DREAMS 85 "Through all the long uncertainty I suffered, I ached for thee, and oft were lashes wet. My life was all a prayer, At last, full answered In finding thee, and knowing all at last." Perhaps the enemy will give him succor, For he made ready friends in days long flown I have drained with you all your cup of anguish Whatever it was. I did not leave you lone. Mind lost and wand'ring? I am still your mourner, I bury you afresh with each new day Perhaps some news will come; he may be living. Perhaps his love at last will find a way. If thou had'st died, then I had bowed me meekly, My grief made calm by thy sweet paradise. But now tell me where art thou, what befallest, Tell me my brain is dazed, my reason flies. God, Thou art good! I beg Thee, Did'st Thou note the sparrow's fall, My sparrow's fall ! Resolve I have not tried And so I have not failed ; But better were it To have tried and failed. To have gone down upon the battle-field With blood warm gushing from my side, The smell of it in my face, Than thus whole-limbed to stand and not have tried. 86 JOHN O' DREAMS But I will try, I will not meekly yield, I'll from the front With dents upon my shield. If I but wrest defeat, no voice shall scoff: "A lady's chamber sort of knight," The truth of it in my blush, My vanquishment costs dear, for I will try. The Robin's Question A robin came over the grass, Alit with the dying day; The spring had come, The rain was done, And his heart was glad with May. Why should one stand so mute? He stopped and a wonder gave. The spring had come, The rain was done. But I stood by a new-made grave. The Robin's Song The robin has a song to sing, A merry song. And though the blust'ring days of March Are very long, He sturdy sits with folded wing Upon the bough, And reasserts, "It will be spring Before long now!" The Rockies Through wasted habitations, Iron shod, The sons of men have found thee. Hills of God! JOHN O' DREAMS 87 And eyes, beholding once, Forget the clod, And steadfast fix upon thee, Hills of God! And hearts that stay on thee As on a rod, Cry out: "Our help ariseth, Hills of God!" Romance I love him so well I am happy, Robin, atilt on the bough, You wove the tale into the measures Swelling your bosom just now. I love him so well, pretty blossoms, Lavishing bloom on the tree, The glory-crown of the gnarled orchard Just that his love is to me. I love him so well I am happy, Dainty clouds floating above; You are gladsome and light in the sunshine, So is my heart in his love. Sated O, little morning line of pines Against a silver sky, Yourselves a blinding, silver mist, Why should we pass you by, But that at dawn so much is fair We never question why. At even you're in ragged black Against an eastern gray That catches up a purple tinge From the blood-red set of day; But we've seen so much of ragged black We turn our eyes away. 88 JOHN O' DREAMS The Scar The scar in my heart has grown together; It once was an ugly wound, With jagged edges. I thought it never Could heal over well and sound. But I carry the scar. All men may see it: The curious question why ; The scarred look away, blind, mute, albeit They forget not their own nor I. The Setting Star The star and the moon went down the sky In the ray less dark where all things die, And I watched how calmly their way they went Their steep dark course in the firmament. I had looked on death. It had entered my soul. It had left its hurt. But the star shone so I knew what mortal scarce dare to know, How His star on its aeon course could roll, And I could go forth and possess my soul. Soldiers All I stood beside my mother's door To watch the troops march by, And gaily waved my hand at him Because I would not cry. He had to go. His heart was lead, He scarcely raised his eye. And so I waved and Bruno barked It had been worse to cry. The news has come : the fight is ours, But few men had to die. And Bruno mutely looks at me What good were it to cry! JOHN O' DREAMS 89 The Song of the Birch The song of the birch ! Its delicate leaves, Its delicate dreamings; Its fair maiden form, Its pure maiden fancies; Its finger-tips white Caressing the breezes. 'Tis lisping its secret, The song of the birch. "Pure white I stand With the dark firs around me. Light on the sand, Light on the sea, Light on the sky, But no light for me. "Here close beside me Grows a dark fir tree. Vibrant his needles Are sighing; and she, A graceful, young balsam, Is deaf to his pleadings. The fir and the balsam I weep, and their pain. Why loved Wemotongwah The brave not again ! "Gay as a bird Singing at dawn, Gay as a boat Skimming the water; Child of a chief, Loved of a brave, Fair Wemotongwah ! "There sped in a boat From far o'er the water A white man with love For the fair Wemotongwah. 90 JOHN O' DREAMS And she gave her heart Lest he fade on denial Like the wraith in the fall Of the quenched forest fires. "Hand clasped in hand, Eyes reading eyes, The lovers would stand For hours in my shadow. Fair as myself Were the hearts of the lovers. He was a man With a face pale as mine, With forehead as white And fancies as fair. Fair as myself The pure-hearted stranger; Dark as the firs The shy Wemotongwah. "But the chief Loved the brave, Loved the dark, moaning fir tree. Gave ear to his plaint; Gave word to the birch, Who loved Wemotongwah : 'Get thee hence Or taste death ! May the Manitou curse thee, Thou treacherous pale-face, Thou fawner, betrayer, Thou robber of red men ! The fawn of our forest Thou draggest away With evil enchantments, The fawn of our forest That slept in my bosom. Get thee hence Ere I slay! The child of my body, JOHN O' DREAMS 91 The son of my choosing, Wilt thou wrong and destroy? May the Manitou curse thee, The Manitou mighty, The God of the red men! His bow-cord draw on thee, His sharp arrows bite thee, His hand be against thee, His mighty heart curse! Thou robber of red men, The Manitou curse thee! Get thee hence To thy death!' "Ah, the chief Loved the brave, Loved the dark, moaning fir tree. Gave ear to his plaint Gave fair Wemotongwah In promise to him, When her soul Clave in love To the pure-hearted stranger. "Then they stood here by me, The man and the maid, The birch and the fir tree, They stood here by me Ah! how can I tell it? Their death-song they chanted No light on the sea! "Dead, dead! Gray and cold the waves, Ashen gray the driftwood On the shore. Gray the froth that laves And cold the cry, 'No more! No more!' 92 JOHN O' DREAMS "Dead, dead! Glad were human hearts, Frighted gray were waves that Closed them o'er. Gray the death-song starts From breasts long cold, 'No more! No more!' "Ah, shy Wemotongwah, The Manitou heard thee. His heart turned with grace To the pure-hearted lover; His heart turned with love To the race of the stranger. "The fir trees are fallen, The birches are standing Alone and encompassed By pitiless waste. The white men have risen The Manitou leads them The red men have perished. Who knoweth their place? The braves are departed, The chief and the council, The wigwams are empty, The campfires are white. The trails are deserted, The strong bows are rotted, The red men forgotten Like dreams of the night. "The wild folk have hidden, The frighted game scattered, The fowl flown afar; The young ferns and wild-flowers Are torn by the ploughshare; The great waves have bowed them ; The stranger race sways. JOHN O' DREAMS "The Manitou wills it! The fir trees are fallen, The birches are standing; Men fade at his bidding, The Manitou bides." Song of the Rocks Poor human thing! You have so short a space to live! I sit here with my river mists Wrapped round about me These hundred aeons And watch your human tide Roll at my feet. Poor human thing! You laugh and gayly go your way Along the sands For just your little hour. And I I sit and think A countless age ; No gladness leaps within mine eyes, For well I know That life is short And solemn as all time, Poor human thing! A Son's Pledge I feel myself honored to bear the name Of honest men as my heritage; I give you my word to keep it from blame And pass it clean to the coming age. Sorrow Dame Sorrow sat at home with me, A gruesome spectre at my side, And clutched my bone with clammy claws, And glared with dead eyes petrified. 94 JOHN O' DREAMS I fled daft Sorrow to the throng. My eyeballs smarted, strained to see, But sight was holden. For there were The eyes of Sorrow fixed on me. The throng was not. I turned my steps, Breathed hot behind her stifling breath, I swung the door to let her in, And cold as ashes, housed with Death. The Soul Set Free There is blood on my hands, and its scent in my face. Take it from me! I faint. Back, I pray you, give place ! Oh ! I see your fangs, and your fetid breath Has a stench like my hands. Back, I cry you, Death! I stumble, I grope. Let me feel about. Can a man walk sure when the lights are out? But the lights are out. Do you tell me? Hark! No lights forever, aye naught but dark? And me to grope through black palled lands, With always the stench of blood on my hands? And what have I done? Great God! I shall scream. There is blood, and the stench. Let me know it a dream. What are men I should care for their blood and their cries? Take the stench from my nostrils, the pall from my eyes ! And the blood? What mean you? "Your hands are white. The stench is your own. Look! You're bathed in light." JOHN O' DREAMS 95 I shall scream till I snap the strings of my voice. Stop that madness of Heaven made Hell by my choice. Great God! Though I rave shall I never be free? Then this horror is Heaven? This Hell it is me? This Hell it is me, and the All-Pure has seen Me as filthy as spew, who thought myself clean. It is me. O, Creator, I grovel, I cry, I have waked to my rot. Let me die, let me die. Stars in the Dark We cannot look upon his face and live; We sit in darkness; we are mortal men. But life and death grasp hold us, now and then, And make us know what one time he shall give. Beyond the bounded walls of this mean room I look into the silence of the night Where God's great stars shine luminously bright. I look and know. I am not left in gloom. The deathlike dark from silences of space Crept to our heart and made us sore afraid. But God remembered us his hand had made And stars came crowding, till the dark gave place. We loved each other, and you fell on sleep. My love yearns to you glad, so hurt below, And feels your love! He gives my soul to know, His dead shall live, the depths of Love are deep ! A Sugar Snow Tweet and tweet! Tweet and tweet ! Snow and slush is on the street, Slush and snow, snow and sleet. Spring is winter. Tweet and tweet. 96 JOHN O' DREAMS Cheer-e-o ! Cheer-e-o ! This is just a sugar snow. Snows like these make full saps flow. Saps make sugar. Cheer-e-o ! Summer is Over The reapers are gone from the hills, The cows stalk by with the drover, The crickets are singing at noon, And summer is over. The birds are leaving the woods, Brown is the buckwheat and clover, A golden haze lies over all, And summer is over. And I stand alone in the fields, I who have been but a rover, And dream of the golden days, Now summer is over! Sunday Morn That Sunday morn when you arose and went Out toward the Dawn, and left behind the dark, And dew-weighed buds, and birds that stopped to hark, Your face alight with measureless content, A benediction fell on us, release From earth, that made us know in part What you knew face to Face, and heart to Heart, For God had passed that way and left His holy peace. Sympathy The night is full of blackness With scarce the faintest star, And here and there a houselight Shows dimly from afar. 'In the deep of Northland winter" The Word Was God JOHN O' DREAMS 97 A heavy mist is settling, A mist as thick as rain, There's something in this darkness That is akin to pain. And in your eyes this morning I saw the shadows lie; This darkness seems so like it, And yet I know not why. A Tale of Clover A flush spread itself o'er the cheek of the clover. "You want to take care," said the breeze passing over. "You're too fragrant a thing. There's a bee on the wing. You beware! You take care! For I know; I'm a rover." The bee whispered low, "He is years and years older; We are young; you are sweet." Then he droned, growing bolder As she hung her fair head, "You're so sweet that I sped To be near, to be here." And she drank all he told her! There Shall be Light (When three of my boys were taken, Hugh Mills, James Calhoun, Ralph French.) Learners are we together in Earth's schoolroom, My boys and girls, no teacher there am I. The problems life and death have set before us I face, as you, with but an aching, Why: Bricks without straw; the bruised reeds roughly broken ; The laborers gone, and fields with harvest white. But this I know: when we reach Heaven's stature Our eyes shall see how everything was right. 98 JOHN O' DREAMS Three Poems The spring was touched by death, All the green, all the sheen, All the sunshine and young flowers, All the evanescent bloom of practical fruit-trees, The pink mist of useful peach sprouts, All was dead. The sun fell to glare, to kill the sight, and blind Not to warm. It fell upon a leveled gravel length On the trampled green sod, The dead gravel length of one dead. And so since her life went out, who gave me life How could her life go out who had life to give to me? And I powerless to lend her one least minute Of my empty years to come! So, since her life went out, the spring went out; And hope, and all the world went out for me. Unto my fartherest days my eyes shall see The waving of that pink bough of apricot Lifted by the warm spring air above her, She in the darkness of death, The flowers in the sun. I liked to feel so little much of sun Touched that that rested o'er her silence. I could n'ot go with her. She had gone all the cold regal way of death alone. Nor signified that I might come. I waited on in some lorn anteroom For no one brought me word This majesty would see me, And I, a poor dumb slave, Knew not their stately ways In dread imperial palaces I knew only my rudely human home, Where this cold majesty, who spoke no word to me, JOHN O' DREAMS 99 Had been my mother's bosom, Her arms about me, and her lips to my tear-wet cheeks, Soothing my so small griefs That my dead heart smiled at them, Babes of a petty kingdon, himself Transfigured kingly like her majesty. And then 'twould serge o'er me That this cold palace and imperial majesty That spoke no word, nor gave no sign to me, Was nothing, as my nervous, twisting hands were nothings And my dead heart, and all my fleshy self. The only real things In this universe of quick and dead, Quick bodies and dead corpses, Were not these same things, bodies, quick or dead, But only she and I, my mother and myself, And our great love our love That loved in life, and loved in death, And knew nor life nor death, but only love. And then I bowed my lips and touched The velvet hap that mantled her about, With lips of blessings. To a Dog Old dog, with the kind brown eyes, Have you a soul? How do you live? What do you know of life and death? And duty? For you do yours! I do not know! I ask, but you cannot tell. A gulf is fixed which we cannot cross To talk about these things Together, God's creatures, you and I. But one thing you tell, so I know you know, And you know that I know it too. We know one thing together We can speak of to each other Love! Old dog, with the kind brown eyes. 100 JOHN O' DREAMS To Each His Burden I loved you so! But I could not keep Your lips from kissing pain: You toiled deep in the valley, You wandered in the rain, You knew life's ache and labor You died as did our neighbor And I, who loved you so, Could only see you stumble Could only see you die. And O, I loved you so! To Mother on My Birthday This was the day your dear eyes shone On a mite of humanity all your own. And I'm thankful today and my whole life through For your gift of life, and God's gift of you. To Mozart Once a bird which had winged from summer-time Was far in the north away, But he merrily sang mid the frost and rime A happy roundelay. And he cheered all hearts with his merry rhyme Of sunshine like strands of gold. And he sang till the love of the summer-time Was known in northlands cold. But the heart of the bird was choked with pain, He loved not the frost and rime. But he sang his loved song o'er and o'er again, The song of summer-time. JOHN O' DREAMS 101 To Mr. Merryman It was a little woodland plant That blossomed from the mould, When every springtime bush was white And hillsides were pure gold. To a heart that loved the woodland things Did that little plant unfold. A little bird in winter sang Amid the deep white cold Some straggling, shy, untutored notes, Which no poet's verses hold. To a heart that loved the woodland things Was the crude bird's story told. Will plant and bird, the woodland things, Know that their friend is gone? And will they know of death the things We humans ponder on? Or will they see with truer eyes That heart and Nature one? For his feet have found the lonesome trail Where all great souls have trod, That leads from out our woodland ways To those high fields of God, Where he may learn the psalm of life From star choir and from clod. All flowers shall bloom, all birds shall sing, And God shall hear each one; And their friend shall listen close to Him From those fields where he is gone, Till his heart shall grow to abounding love So he may serve at Dawn. Too Plain There are secrets the gods would utter, So they whisper them wide as the race; And we stand appalled with a hush in our heart, And a wonder in our face. 102 JOHN O' DREAMS We know that the language is mighty ; We would learn it with infinite pain This hymn of the gods. But we lose it Too simple it is, and plain. The Tool Some gray boats boom as they feel their way Through the fog this morning to harbor or lake. Last night was cold, And the lake feels old For the lives it had to take. For the lake is like the rest of us A tool in the hands of fate. The Tree O, giant tree within the wood, When I was a child you'd stood here long. I lean against you and I feel A something in you big and strong. Have you not seen buds ope to die, And slim young trees half-grown that fell, No fault of theirs the blight or worm Or lightning stroke? Yet, all is well? Have you not seen the fledglings dead When first they tried a flight or song? 'Twas not their fault they perished so. Where lies the right of all this wrong? Among my brothers I have seen What you have known here in this wood, And I have cried aloud to Heaven, While clothed upon with calm you stood, Obeying the law of blight or growth. I would be strong, too, if I could. Old tree, for you are full of years, What wisdom have you that I need, That gives you iron-hearted strength? What perfect-balanced-justice creed? JOHN O' DREAMS 103 I waited long. I pressed my arms About the old tree's rugged bark. It seemed its life pulse reached to mine, It surged a chant in minor. Hark! "I waited in sunshine, I waited in midnight, I waited to know. The stars looked upon me, Young life bloomed about me, Death's mystery touched me Yet why was it so? I waited to know. "Then deep through the stillness Whence time is unscrolled, A silence fell on me, That strook on my heart-strings And Sinii-like rolled : "'Be still and know that I am God, I am the great I Am, Be still and know. Sunshine and winter midnight, Life and death and death shall make you know That God is love. Ye shall be strong and grow, The Earth be yours, The stars, eternity, For God is love, The one great God is love!' "And there in the hush Of perfected creation, With Him passing through, My soul bowed in silence, And stilled. I knew." 104 JOHN O' DREAMS The Two Workers The old man worked with the spade, The young man worked with the pen ; The old man conquered the glebe, The young man conquered men. The old man's face was glad With the dawn-light from on high ; The young man's eyes were dulled With fogs that blurred the sky. For the harrowed glebe will bud ; But he who works with men Must know that man with his will Mars even the great God's plan. Unchanged A thought slipped out of my heart, Just a human thought, I know, But you were so tenderly human When you lived with us below. My heart comes near to breaking In this empty Time and Space; Can it be you sometimes are homesick To look upon my face? Understood Out toward the hills of morning Her certain feet have trod. I cannot sense her vision From those high hills of God. But she has walked my valley, And she can understand Her child's poor human stumbling On through a weary land. JOHN O' DREAMS 105 Uninterpreted The life of man is a mystery, Transcending caste or place, Writ large on the common human heart And the God-stamped human face. Our prophets, our poets, our mothers, Alone since the world began, Have caught some words of the mystic rune, Writ down in the heart of man. But we cannot interpret the mystic word, Though we know we are a part, For His thoughts are beyond our thinking Who wrote on the human heart. The Veil Far in the shadow helm a spirit went, Heavy of foot and heavier of heart, A summoned culprit forth to meet the judge. He stood at length amid a blaze of light Before the mighty god that reads men's souls. He dared not lift his eye, his frighted heart Tugged neath the veil that wrapped him fold on fold In ample garments of apology. When would that voice command and all his veil Fall from him at a breath and leave him bare? And what would hold him if his joints gave way And he fell prone, who had but meant to clutch One last small shred above his heart and cry, "Be merciful! I am but human!" Yet since he could not scape, and he who stands con fessed Best stand condemned, he lifted up his gaze. The great god steadfast looked, while yearning love And sadness swept his face. "Son, keep your veil. I have no need of disillusionment, 106 JOHN O' DREAMS For I have seen men ever as they are. I knew their guilt, but even 'ere they sinned I knew the tempering apology. Ah, now you cast it forth, will none of it. Then keep it yet, my son, I gave it you." The Vigil I am waiting my brave to come. He went away on the track, And the storm and the sleet came on, And he has not yet come back. It was winter and bitterly cold, I was so hungry I cried. So he went away to hunt, With his bow swung at his side. I listened for him in my dreams, For the coming of his feet, Till the bumble-bee roamed afield, And the clover heads hung sweet. I waited as trees grew gold, And maize was hard in the ear; Waited till fields turned brown, And the first snow-flake was here. I have waited so long, so long, That the lake lies frozen and stark, And the pines, in the chilling wind, Wail as they sway in the dark. And sometimes now in the night, When the wind and the moon are out, I see his shadow fall on the snow, And hear his foot about. I creep from my bed to the door, But the shadow glides from sight Down to the forest's edge. Our ghosts shall meet some night ! JOHN O' DREAMS 107 Violets The white clouds go Where the young breezes blow, And the tender blades shiver at my feet; And the violets wither. Blue and sweet, They withered long ago. All my dreams were true When violets were blue; And my heart followed whither dreams had led. But the violets wither. They are dead ; They withered long ago. It must be so! So let the wild gales blow, And the rushing current quiver in the night, And the violets wither. My delight Has withered long ago. The Voice of Many A sound of human sorrow comes to me, My sisters' voices in adversity: A rush of street slang, empty, hiding well ; A laugh as void of joy as church of bell, A hard bravado, hollow, free of mirth, That mocks perchance such hell can be on earth, Or jeers at warned of horrors that shall be When here one has endured such tragedy. The voices know not that they cry to me, The saddest cry in all humanity, The cry of those oppressed by custom's law, Since "men must sin," who fill lust's hungry maw. Wait Upon the Lord Wait upon the Lord ! Grow strong within His presence ! Thy years are in His hand. Draw close and understand His ways, not thy ways; These things thine eyes demand Are of the Earth, His footstool. 108 JOHN O' DREAMS Lift up thine heart! Abide! Yearnings thy soul doth hide, Caused He aforetime, Thou shalt be satisfied, For He is God, Almighty. O, wait upon the Lord ! Grow strong within His presence ! The Water-Wheel The mill is near the portage, Once more I hear the sound Of cold spring water dripping As slow the wheel goes round. The ledges, cool and moss-grown, Reach outward near the sweep. There shadows gather thickest And there the pool is deep. The pond is dank with frogsbit, Its stagnant waters doze; But here the waters drip and drip, Portentous shadows close. Here where for generations The farmers' grists were ground E'en in this country stillness The wheel of Fate drips round. The Way It used to lie beyond the year Of busy days of work in school, A forward beckoning hope for me, The way to you. And now it lies beyond the years, The year on year of work in life, A forward beckoning hope for me, The way to you. JOHN O' DREAMS 109 A Wayfarer Over the highway to you this morning, The long- traveled highway to you. These pains are the ruts, this faintness the dust, This numbness, the crust of the slough. But I shall press on, till my body is left, And my soul finds itself and you. Weary I'd like to stretch in clover bloom And hear the woodlark's treble, Or watch the millpond's gossips spread How I threw in a pebble. I'd hear the twilight whip-poor-will And full contented cricket; And watch the moon's big bonfire glow Beyond the hazel thicket. I'd hear the rockers on the floor, The crooning, "Sleep, my dearie," I'd like to be at home and rest; For the world is wide and weary. Were I a Rose Were I a rose, I would be pressed Upon a little waxen breast, And, angel-guarded, droop to rest, And so depart. Were I a rose, I'd count it good To catch the tear of motherhood, And bear it safely home to God Held in my heart. 110 JOHN O' DREAMS When Day is Dead The day is dead, the light is fled, The sun's at rest. 'Tis twilight deep, long shadows creep Across the west. One lone faint star glows from afar; The night-birds cry. The deep shades grow, vague outlines show Against the sky. Each sound is hushed. Where crimson flushed The sunset skies, There on the night a tinge of light In pity lies. When day is dead, the joy is fled Of other years, Sweet memories rise before our eyes Half blind with tears. The Wife The oxen are home, They are free from the neckyoke; The frogs greet the gloom So incessant it crazes; The cattle are resting, They eat in the stall; When my day's work is ended I rest not at all. For William comes in, And the lamps, they are lighted ; And a gleam like a sin Falls upon me and crushes For William is William It may be the light And he too is another. It gives me a fright! JOHN O' DREAMS HI I clutch to the ring, To the gold ring he gave me. 'Tis an unholy thing, May my bitter tears shrive me For William is husband Before God and men, I am his, I have pledged it. But God knows ! What then ! God knows 'tis a lie. In the long hours of moonlight I start with a cry, For he lies there so silent That my^flesh creeps with terror, He seems like the dead. Is the midnight turned judgment? What's that I have said? For William had lands And bank-notes a-plenty. The church blessed the bands, And I'm sure I consented. No wife is more faithful, And he does not know. My parents had willed it. Oh ! I told Bob to go. For William had lands And bank-notes a-plenty; And Bob had his hands And his love Gracious Heaven! And I swore to forget it I know I'm a wife But my dreams will remember. His love is my life ! I've not seen his face; He is gone, says the village. And I God have grace I have paid William's kisses, 112 JOHN O' DREAMS I wear his gold ring. But when life wears me out Take it dead from my fingers. It would cry my soul false When I stand 'fore the King. The Wife of Waibingen A watchman lived in Waibingen Within an ancient tower; His clock and he watched years go by The while they told the hour. Each day he climbed the narrow stairs, Cramped in their walls of stone, His dulled heart said, "It is not good For man to be alone." So he a buxom maiden brought, Who climbed the stairs with him, And ne'er went down to gad about But kept the tower trim. So years went by in Waibingen As years are sure to go, Till he grew old, and climbed the stairs With heavy step and slow. She would have climbed the narrow stairs Cramped in their walls of stone, And helped her husband, but could not She'd too prodigious grown. So when fate's horologe for him Struck out life's passing hour, He left her where she long had been Safe seated in the tower. Now, when we die, the world goes on ; Men step into our shoes, And get more than they bargained for; Perhaps we gain, they lose. 'The sentinels on the shore" The Wreck of the Benjamin Noble Page 118 JOHN O' DREAMS 113 Howe'er that is, I do not know, 'Tis neither here nor there; A watchman came to Waibingen And climbed that narrow stair. And there he found awaiting him A fortune and a wife. They could not turn their back on him, So he took them both for life. Still faithful to her home and tasks The wife sits in the tower; Though men may come and men may go, The clock still strikes the hour. With a Gift of Flowers The old, old earth had since its birth Been always hard and bare, Till one of the thoughts of God fell down And flowers were everywhere. With a Letter I kissed the letter, dear, I sent. I wonder if the letter knows! My fingers trembled half afraid They'd tell the story ere the close. They did not tell it, did they, dear? They knew I wanted to be good. And yet the story is so sweet I fear the kissed page understood. The Winter Fleet In banks of fog against the dawn of day The ice-bound boats, gray ghosts of commerce, loom ; Shorn Samsons from the Great Lakes' broad highway, By more than brazen fetters, locked in gloom. 114 JOHN O' DREAMS Woman of the Mart God made waxen fingers, God made woman's heart; Man it was made commerce, Pushed her to the mart. She can labor singing, She can do her part; Ever phantom fingers Tug though at her heart. Woman's World Conquest On the hard rough fields, Torn by trench and shot, With his own red blood In a hard browned clot, Lay his mother's son. The stars stared down From the pitiless sky, And he stared back With glazing eye. For hundreds of miles He lay in his blood ; And no hand helped him Out of the mud, Out of the agony Onto a cot Why, it seemed that Even God forgot! No field was won ! No good was done ! For hundreds of miles In the dark he lay And death was the only one Came that way, The only one JOHN O' DREAMS 115 For this mother's son The thousands of him That were seen by day, Young and strong, and shot away From on this earth, That had need of him, Young and strong, And for generations Will cry the wrong Of killing him there For that upturned stare, For that hard browned blood And it did no good, His death to any, It did no good! Oh, when will it be For his mother's son That these ghastly deeds Can not be done? That the young and strong Be not forced to die, And the old and weak To hunger and cry, When will it be For the mother's son? It will be when the last Great field is won, And the mothers who bore them Shall call for peace, Shall demand that murder By nations cease Shall get the vision, That mothers have done, Of a babe that lay On His mother's breast, And brought our old earth Peace and rest, Till He rules mankind, That mother's Son ! 116 JOHN O' DREAMS The Woolly Lamb Just a woolly lamb, my child, Broken at your play. Come and lift your face to mine. Tears, you go away. Just a little woolly lamb Gotten at the store; No one meant to step on it, We can get you more. If they're not the very same, It was but a toy. Who was once so big and brave? Where's our soldier boy? When we grown folks break our lambs We can make no noise, We must close our lips and be Sturdy soldier boys. The Word Absolute Beyond the reach of human hands lies justice; Beyond the trick of human mouths lies truth : And in the wilderness of nations' annals As Sinii thunders, man must list forsooth. The Word Was God In the deep of Northland winter The winds are dry and keen, And great stars blaze in deep blue cold O'er pines that wait in green And lisp a word from the depths of their heart Of the things not known or seen. The nature folk dread no morrow, The word is the law they know : So, sure to the running water The deer fleet-footed go; And the trembling, snow-turned rabbits Leap where the dried stalks blow. JOHN O' DREAMS 117 The muskrat, Egypt's builder, Makes her pyramid arise; And last year's nest of eagles On dead pines sweep the skies; And the little birds carol abroad the word, That all in nature lies. The Working Woman There was no home in the wide world for me. A tender girl, I stood with wide-oped eyes And heart that quite misgave me, as I asked Where was my shelter. Then I did not know I was too young although I half suspected, Felt with woman's instinct what I later knew, There was no home in the wide world for me. The age I lived in was an age of gold, An age of commerce and prosperity, An age that drove her women to the marts, Shutting the door of home upon them, And forced them with the lash to slavish toil If they would keep their virgin innocence. And so I went and toiled and slaved with others. But at first my woman's heart cried out for home, Nor would for long be stilled, but oft cried out For its great primal instincts, babes and home. But being long denied, to save itself, It ceased at last to kick against the pricks, But looked about for woman's tasks to do. And there it found them : tired hearts to soothe ; The broken, bind; the young ones to sustain; To all hearts ever to be gentle, kind. And last my heart had peace, although an instinct cried, A weak, sick voice from night-times unto me, "Daughter, in all the world, thou hast no home." 118 JOHN O' DREAMS The Wreck of the Benjamin Noble Deep in the night the pines were waked, The sentinels on the shore, That watched while the gale its fury spent, The lights of the cities and lighthouses went, And no man said to the waves, "No more!" The pines waked hushed in the deathlike black And the old fell on their face, For the time had come for sons of men, And trees must watch in their place. A frighted whisper, a sob, a sigh, A groan like a man in pain ; They lifted their faces to the sky, They reached in the dark and rain. But the clouds hung pall-thick over the pines, And trees may not stir in their place, But only sob aloud in the night When men perish before their face; When their souls go out from the mad, black waves, Go past on the groaning wind. Their groaning souls on the groaning wind, With the lightning flashes mixed mad blind, The souls and the flash and the groan of them both, To part with the earth and its clouds so loath ; While the great pines tossed and sobbed aloud To see such things as the blackness showed. But they had to stand in their place. And no man knew where the boat went down On our great unsalted sea; And no one wept but a woman in town Who stirred in her sleep as she saw him drown, Miles from the place where he Cried aloud to God and to her, Till in her sleep it made her stir, His cry from eternity. But nobody knew, the people said, And nobody wept the ore-boat's dead As they died in that awful lake. JOHN O' DREAMS 119 But men were mistaken, for high on the shore The sentinel pines were awake, And they moaned aloud to Nature's God, And they moan f orevermore ! Some Flowers from the Gardens of the Minnesingers The following are a few of the famous lyrics of the Middle Ages. The author has attempted to be as liberal as possible in her translation. Of those by Walther von der Vogelweide one is chosen as illustrating the quaint conceits worked in rhyme schemes, and one as showing the desire to go on Crusades, both of which tendencies are characteristic of the times. Four Anonymous Poems Methinks there is naught so lovely, so with praise replete, As the dainty rosebud, and the true love of my sweet. The merry little birds They're singing in the woodland. To many a heart that's dear. But if my lover comes not, I shall have no summer- glories here. Let us tread the dances Now, sweetheart mine; Greet with happy glances May whose mornings shine. The winter caused the heather Long worrying dread ; But he is departed. He's held by merry-hearted Blossoms, white and red. In gladsome colors stands the wold, The songs of birds resounding. The beauties are growing manifold. May crowns with joy abounding 120 JOHN O' DREAMS Longing affection. Who'd be old When spring is all adorning? Sweet May time, you the breezes hold. The winter we are scorning. From a Love Letter Thou art mine, I am thine, Thus always shalt thou be, For thou art fastened Within my bosom, Lost is the little key, So in there thou must ever be. Two Poems by Dietmar von Aist Ah, now there comes to us the time When all the little birdlings sing. The linden broad is growing green, The winter long is vanishing. And flowers fair to look upon We see upon the heather shine. It makes the hearts of many glad: And just these things can comfort mine. There stood a maiden lonely And waited on the heather And waited for her lover. She saw the birds fly over: "I greet thee, falcon, that thou art! Thou flyest where it please thy heart : And thou choosest in the woodland The tree which seemeth goodly. And also I have done like thee: A loved one I have chosen me ; The one my eyes have taken, Why should it rancor waken? The fair maids envy me this one, And I have envied them the lover true of none. JOHN O' DREAMS 121 A Song of the Mystics (Johannes Tauler, 1300) There comes a ship well laden Up to the highest wale, It brings the Son of the Father, Eternal Word. All hail! The little ship is gliding All still the waves atween, It brings us a gift most precious, The blessed, gracious Queen. O, Mary, thou rose exalted, A branch of all that's blest, Thou beautiful narcissus, Free us with sin oppressed. The ship that goes so calmly And bears such precious last, The sail is Love incarnate, The Holy Ghost, the mast. Four Poems by Walther von der Vogelweide The Reed-Measuring With doubting and despondent heart I sat for long and gravely pondered How from her service I would part But comfort came before I wandered. It scarcely may be called a comfort, woe, say I, 'Tis but the littlest comfort, I'll agree, So little that if I should tell it, you'd laugh at me. Yet none's e'er made happy, and knows not why. It was a grass brought joy, indeed, It said she'd favor me in suing. I measured on a little reed As I had seen the children doing. Now hearken and notice if she loves me true : "She does, she does not, she does, she does not, she does." As oft as I did it, always was the end, she loves. That comforts me: it takes faith to believe it too. 122 JOHN O' DREAMS Surfeit of Winter The world was golden, red and gay, Green in the forest and country way ; The little birdies sang all the day. But now the cawing crows inveigh. She now wears other colors? Yea: She's grown all pale and dismal gray. And frowns on many foreheads stay. I sat upon a hillside free, And flowers and clover sprang round me To shut me from the smiling sea. But now the view is lost, where we Picked the blossoms, I and she; Now frost and snow lie on the lea, It makes the birdlings sad I see. The simple wail, "O, dear! O, my!" The poor, "Alas! Alack!" they cry. A weight like lead my spirits lie I have of cares so great supply. But be they e'er so many, I Know all at once away they'd fly If but the summer-time drew nigh. Before I long existed so I'd eat my crawfish raw, I know. Summer, cheer us, be not slow; You make the mead and woodland blow. Then to pick the flowers I'll go, In the sun my heart will glow That the winter hunted low. Like Esau I have lost my due: My hair so soft has grown askew. Lovely summer, where are you? I'd like to have ploughed fields in view. Before I'd be shut up anew In such a trap, as now I rue, I would be a monk at Dobrilu. JOHN O' DREAMS 123 Morning Prayer With blessings would I arise for to-day, Jehovah, in thy protection stay As I ride or go, in what land I tarry. Christ, master, make it shown to me, Thy wondrous power of sanctity, And for thy mother' sake my welfare carry. As o'er thee watched the angels holy And thine, when thou in the crib so lowly, Young as man and old as God, Laidst 'mong the donkeys and the cattle in the stable (And yet with wondrous blessed guiding, Gabriel, the good, abiding Full of love and by thee awed), So care for mine I love, as thou art able, For them I ask Thy grace, O, Lord. Then and Now Ah me! how find I vanished all my years from view! Can I have dreamed my life were thus, can it be it's true? Or have I ever fancied something that was not? And so I have been sleeping having quite forgot. Now I have been wakened, the things are strange I see, That used to be familiar, as my own hand to me. People and places where I from childhood have been living Have grown so unaccustomed, it seems the lie they're living. And those who were my playmates, have grown subdued and old. Ploughed farther is the field, hewn down is the wold: If e'en the water's flowing on, as it used to flow, Indeed it seems to me, that my misfortunes grow. 124 _ JOHN O' DREAMS _ Many hesitate to greet me, who formerly knew me well. The world is filled with troubles more than I can tell. I can but think how many a day wondrous glad and free, Now is wholly lost to me as ripples in the sea, Ever more, ah me ! Ah me! how very doleful all the young folks go! Whose faces lit with pleasure once were shining so, They now know naught but sorrow : why do they so, ah me? Where'er I turn there's no one in the world knows glee; Dancing, aye and singing are wholly changed to No Christian ever saw such years and no relief. Now, notice too the women's garlands in such plight; The haughty knights are dressing as a peasant might. We get unpleasant letters late from Rome directed, Our joys are all forbidden and all our woes pro tected. It hurts my very spirit (we lived in happy years), That I in place of laughter ought to choose for tears. And we complain so much the little birds deplore it : What wonder is it I am gravely doubting o'er it? And what do I, foolish man, o'erwrought by anger say? Who follows this sweet wonder, he has that one lost for aye. Ever more, ah me! Ah me! we cloy of sweets so soon 'tis worth our noting. I can see the gall so bitter within the honey floating: The world is outward lovely, green and red and white, JOHN O' DREAMS 125 And inward sable colored, dark as death and night. And when the world's deceiving, denying him its cheer : He can with easy penance from mighty sins get clear. 'Tis an affair, brave knight, that you should gladly hail : For you wear shining helmet, and heavy coat of mail, The best and firmest buckler, and consecrated blade. Would to God that I but worthy such were made ! So would I, needy man, deserve a rich reward. I do not mean the feudal gifts, neither gold of lord: I'd wear a crown of glory ever and forever: And this a common soldier might win with his endeavor. Might I but make the journey so blest across the sea, Then would I forever sing "All's well" and never more, "Ah me!" UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-Series 4939 PS3507. D5594J A 000 920 286 2 > NOT REMOVE THIS BOOK CARD-! University Research Library