THE 
 RAINBOW CHASER 
 
 -NRLF 
 
 B 3 33T flSS 
 
 ENNETH RAND 
 
Sattthmu 
 
 r 
 
 BY 
 KENNETH RAND 
 
 Author of "The Dirge of 
 the Sea-Children," etc. 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY 
 1914 
 

 COPYRIGHT, 1914 
 SHERMAN, FRENCH 6 COMPANY 
 
TO 
 
 3C. A. <. 
 
 346461 
 
AUTHOR S NOTE 
 
 Of the following poems, " The Rainbow Chaser " 
 first appeared in The Smart Set; " The Dream 
 Minstrel" in Lippincott s; "The Half-Poet/ 
 "The Lonely Road/ "The Sun- Worshipper/ 
 "Out on the Paths of Wonder/ "A Pagan s 
 Creed " and " The Liar " in The Yale Literary 
 Magazine; " The Blind Gypsy " in The Bellman. 
 Thanks are due the editors of these publications 
 for permission to reprint. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE RAINBOW CHASER 1 
 
 A PAGAN S CREED 3 
 
 THE LIAR 5 
 
 THE SUN-WORSHIPPER 7 
 
 THE LONELY ROAD 9 
 
 THE BLIND GYPSY 10 
 
 "OUT ON THE PATHS OF WONDER" . . .11 
 
 THE SEER 14 
 
 THE DREAM MINSTREL 15 
 
 REACTION 17 
 
 THE BALLAD OF THE RED FOOL . . . . 18 
 
 JACK o VISIONS 21 
 
 FAUNUS AT THE CROSS 23 
 
 A HARBOR SONG 26 
 
 A WAYSIDE PARABLE 28 
 
 THE SORROW-EATER 29 
 
 VESPER SONG ON THE OPEN ROAD ... 30 
 
 ATHEISM 32 
 
 A FINANCIAL TRANSACTION 33 
 
 THE OLD LOVERS 34 
 
 A WESTERN OCEAN LYRIC 35 
 
 THE SATIRIST 36 
 
 IN A CONVENT GARDEN 38 
 
 THE DEGENERATE SPEAKS 40 
 
 PSYCHE KARDIOU 42 
 
 A VAGABOND S PRAYER TO LIFE .... 43 
 
 THE PENCIL PEDDLER 45 
 
 THE OLD VOYAGERS 46 
 
 ENNUYE . 48 
 
PAGE 
 
 THE EXILE 49 
 
 OUTCAST 50 
 
 A YOUNG MAN S PRAYER 52 
 
 DUST 53 
 
 THE CABIN-BOYS 54 
 
 THE MISANTHROPE 57 
 
 THE DEPARTURE 59 
 
 PROPEMPTIKON 61 
 
 DOSTA! 63 
 
 To A HALF-BRED MARE THAT DIED ... 64 
 
 THE PENALTIES 66 
 
 THE TRUE MAGIC 67 
 
 THE CHILDREN S FLEETS 68 
 
 THE SMOKE-FLAG 70 
 
 SONNET 71 
 
 THE PHILANDERER 72 
 
 RODRIPE/N 73 
 
 To A POET WHO DIED YOUNG 75 
 
 LYRICS FROM THE SCHERIAN 
 
 I THE OUTLANDER S SONG .... 79 
 
 II THE SONG OP THE HARBOR-MAIDENS 80 
 
 III SERENADE 81 
 
 IV ECHO SONG 82 
 
PRELUDE 
 THE HALF-POET 
 
 BECAUSE a Palm is laid across my lips 
 
 When most the phrases clamor to be sung, 
 
 I may not ape the ready love that slips 
 
 Like beggar s patter from a smoother tongue; 
 
 I blame, who envy: yet, beneath the Hand, 
 
 The silence speaks to those that understand. 
 
 Gold of the sun, and wonder of the days! 
 
 Murrain on life, to lend but half a voice! 
 How may I bear the rapture and amaze 
 
 Of loving, while the very clods rejoice? 
 Yet may I speak my part, when planets see 
 The dim Hand leave my dumb lips spirit-free. 
 
THE RAINBOW CHASER 
 
 I VE followed my restless heart 
 
 To the uttermost ends of earth 
 New stars arise in alien skies, 
 
 Yet what is my roving worth? 
 Have I wasted my wealth of years 
 
 In a profitless wayside mart, 
 And garnered a crop of rue and tears 
 
 From heritage-seeds of dearth? 
 Aye, the way is over-long, 
 
 And the road is ever new 
 It may be right or it may be wrong 
 
 And my love be false or true 
 So long as the rainbow hold, 
 
 And its glittering arch extend, 
 I m off for the pot of fairy gold 
 
 On a road without an end ! 
 
 On a road without an end 
 
 Though Fate be harsh or kind 
 
 Ah, Lore may sleep and eyes may weep, 
 But we ve left the world behind! 
 
 I ve followed my fleeting love 
 
 From the east to the luring west, 
 
 And north and south through flood and drouth 
 I ve carried my soul s unrest. 
 
 Have I bartered my house and home, 
 And my hopes of Heaven above, 
 
For a castle built of fairy foam 
 
 And a maiden s merry jest? 
 Aye, my palace of a dream 
 
 May be over far away 
 Ye know, who follow the rainbow-gleam, 
 
 How dear is the price ye pay ! 
 Ye know, and yet ever bold, 
 
 Wherever the trail may trend, 
 Ye re off for the pot of fairy gold 
 
 On a road without an end ! 
 
 On a road without an end 
 With never a goal to -find 
 
 Ah, Love may die and so may 7, 
 But we ve left the world behind! 
 
 [2] 
 
A PAGAN S CREED 
 
 A FLOW of golden shadows, love and laughter, 
 
 And gleam of summer tears; 
 Bright spectres born of sunlight and then 
 after 
 
 Come the dead years. 
 
 For what is life without the loss and winning 
 
 The lure of lidded glance, 
 The ecstasy of joyous-hearted sinning, 
 
 The shadow-dance 
 
 By moonlight down an ilex-hidden hollow 
 
 Of mountain solitudes, 
 
 Where the dear ghosts of dead Bacchantes fol 
 low 
 
 Through haunted woods? 
 
 Life is a pagan, dancing in the glamour 
 
 Of ruddy sunset-light, 
 Who scorns the sequel to the revel s clamor 
 
 Tears in the night. 
 
 So, though the years bring dearth of easy par 
 don, 
 
 And wealth of barren ground, 
 Still let the torchlight waver down the garden, 
 
 The cymbals sound 
 
 [3] 
 
Till, through the panting, bare-limbed festal 
 madness, 
 
 With the red morning-glow 
 Comes at the last the clear-eyed, cynic sadness 
 
 The wise Gods know. 
 
 [4] 
 
THE LIAR 
 
 I WROUGHT me a lyric of fire and fear, 
 And called on the world to heed 
 
 Till strong men blenched at my haggard face 
 And shuddered, but would not read. 
 
 So I stole me the gold of the mines of Joy 
 
 And fashioned a conscious lie 
 And they gave me the wreath of the kings of 
 Song 
 
 And prayed that I might not die ! 
 
 (For the lie that I wrought was as old as the 
 world 
 
 And dear as the vision of Heaven 
 Of the crimson lure of a maiden s lips 
 
 And the myth of a sin forgiven !) 
 
 But my heart was sick, and my soul grew less, 
 With the light of my failing days, 
 
 Because I had lied to my Knowledge-God 
 For the pottage of human praise. 
 
 O I clung to the rim of the cliffs of Hell 
 
 And called on an empty Name 
 Till there dropped the tears of a weeping Truth 
 
 And saved my soul from the flame. 
 
 [5] 
 
So I hid my soul in a maiden s hair, 
 And climbed to a clearer view 
 
 And I found I had lied to a lying God, 
 And the myth I had sung was true! 
 
 [6] 
 
THE SUN-WORSHIPPER 
 
 O PASSING gods of passing creeds 
 
 That droop and die with mortal men ! 
 
 Their ages-long procession leads 
 
 Through darkness to the Sun again - 
 
 Poor sorry ghosts that wheel and flee 
 
 Like shadows on a wind-swept sea. 
 
 For since we bear the yoke of Faith 
 And cringe to feel the goad of Doubt, 
 
 Our tortured Reason weaves a Wraith 
 Of Godhead we would die without 
 
 A painted dream of carven plinths 
 
 And ghosts in man-wrought labyrinths. 
 
 Toys of a thought! The fortune-wheel 
 
 Of myriad vague existences ! 
 Yet hear we not Thy challenge peal 
 
 Across the blue-lit distances? 
 The bannered shout at morn that stirred 
 Our oldest fathers with Thy word. 
 
 For art Thou not the Primal God 
 The Sun that watched the youth of Man 
 
 That touched the earth his children trod, 
 And bade it live, ere gods began ? 
 
 The fertile ploughland laughs that sees 
 
 The births and deaths of deities ! 
 
 [7] 
 
Thy fingers bless the swelling bud, 
 Thy feet are gold across the hill 
 
 I find Thy shrine in deepest wood, 
 Thy magic in each leaping rill ; 
 
 And death itself Thy pantomime 
 
 A scene-shift on the stage of Time. 
 
 So bow ye then to nameless lords 
 Ye may not feel, or see, or hear 
 
 And bind the Soul in precept-cords 
 For sacrifice to curtained Fear ! 
 
 Brother, thy creed is strong to save? 
 
 I cry thee comfort in thy grave! 
 
 [8] 
 
THE LONELY ROAD 
 
 I THINK thou waitest, Love, beyond the Gate 
 Eager, with wind-stirred ripples in thy hair; 
 
 I have not found thee, and the hour is late, 
 And harsh the weight I bear. 
 
 Far have I sought, and flung my wealth of years 
 Like a young traveler, gay at careless inns 
 
 See how the wine-stain whitens neath the tears 
 My burden wins ! 
 
 And wilt thou know me, Love, with bended back, 
 Or wilt thou scorn me, in so drear a guise ? 
 
 I have a wealth of sorrows in my pack, 
 One lonely prize 
 
 Thy dream and dross of sin. ... 0, dim the 
 fields 
 
 I may not find thee in so dark a land 
 Yet I await what hope the turning yields 
 
 And beg with empty hand. 
 
 [9] 
 
THE BLIND GYPSY 
 
 MY world is girt with a rampart of wonder and 
 
 shadow, 
 Sunless I wander, forlorn, on the barrens of 
 
 Time and Space 
 With only the scent of the sun on the heather, 
 
 the song o er the meadow, 
 The dust of the highway warm on my feet, 
 and the wind in my face. 
 
 The roads that I knew are the paths of an in 
 finite terror, 
 Treacherous, threading morasses of peril, 
 
 abysses of night ; 
 And only the feel of the wind and the heat, in 
 
 my mazes of error, 
 
 To whisper of dawn or of noon, and the dear 
 lost rapture of light. 
 
 Yet, with the sun and the breeze and the dust 
 
 on the highway, 
 Only, O Lord, to feel ! and I cling to Thy 
 
 garment s fold - 
 And the snapping of fires that I may not see, 
 
 by the hedge in the byway, 
 Is the crackle of flame-new stars, and the 
 clangor of gates of gold. 
 
 [10] 
 
" OUT ON THE PATHS OF WONDER " 
 
 OUT on the paths of wonder, 
 Where the mountains sit with their feet in the 
 
 white sea-foam, 
 
 And the wayward lightnings roam 
 In their curtained caves of fire, 
 Till the wings of the Hags of Night are riven 
 
 asunder 
 And the sea is pale as the rags of a tattered 
 
 shroud 
 
 Under the star-split dome of driven cloud 
 I walk with my dead desire. 
 
 In the deeps of the blue-lit spaces, 
 Where the Master of Shadow is lord, and the 
 
 Silence nods, 
 The glow of thine eyes, O love, is a flame of 
 
 rapture, 
 And the sound of thy whisper the music of 
 
 heavenly places, 
 And the net of thy tresses a silken snare to 
 
 capture 
 The hearts of the careless gods. 
 
 Thy feet are light on the ramparts of earth 
 
 and heaven, 
 Thy limbs are wet with the spray of the Seas 
 
 of Years, 
 
 EH] 
 
Thy cheeks are gay with the flush of the Rose 
 
 love-given, 
 
 And salt with the wine of tears. 
 Thy lips are warm and sweet with thy long 
 
 bereaving, 
 And thy breast is soft with the pain of thy 
 
 love and grieving. 
 
 Over the lift and the send 
 Of the sea, till we win to the innermost heart of 
 
 the maze 
 Of the web of the Years and the Days ! 
 
 Till the riddle of Time 
 
 Shall ravel and fade and dissolve to the utter 
 most end, 
 
 And the heights that we climb, 
 The wind-pitted mountains of Air, 
 Shall flame with the crown and the splendor and 
 triumph eternal 
 
 Of death, till I cover my face with the mesh of 
 
 thy hair, 
 
 At the glory supernal ! 
 For the Word of the Lord of the Gloom shall 
 
 be drowned in singing, 
 
 And the shores of the Ocean of Terror re 
 sound with voices, 
 And the vaults and the arches of bottomless 
 
 Shadow be ringing 
 
 With the song of an infinite gladness, 
 [12] 
 
Till the lowliest depth of the shambles of Sin 
 
 rejoices 
 
 In the grip of thy great love-madness. 
 And the mightiest Gods of the Shadow shall flee 
 
 at the light of thine eyes, 
 Beloved, who saith: 
 
 // ye wander with Love in the gardens of Para 
 dise, 
 Shall ye -flinch at the -fingers of Death? 
 
 Out on the paths of wonder, 
 Where the Master of Shadow is throned on the 
 
 sea, and the Silence nods, 
 I walk with my dead desire in the caves of the 
 
 sleeping thunder, 
 And mock at the grim-eyed gods. 
 
 [13] 
 
THE SEER 
 
 I MAY not tread the kindly ways 
 Where trudge the feet of men, 
 
 Nor know the pride of honest praise 
 Or flush of shame again ; 
 
 My hearth-fire is the fairy blaze 
 That flits above the fen. 
 
 In that the gift is mine to see 
 A hand s-breadth i the gloom, 
 
 And glimpse through curtained mystery 
 The dim To-morrow loom, 
 
 I walk the woods of fantasie 
 Where fairy flowers bloom. 
 
 O I have wept when all were gay, 
 And Youth and Love were wed, 
 
 For I have seen the death-sark sway 
 Above the bridegroom s head 
 
 The dead-hole gape across the way 
 His eager feet must tread. 
 
 Then what the gift (as mortals tell) 
 
 To walk the racing tide, 
 Or with the ghosts at Olaf s Well 
 
 On Lammas-floods to ride, 
 When I have heard the shadow-knell 
 
 And living men have died? 
 
 [14] 
 
THE DREAM MINSTREL 
 
 ACROSS the world from Fairyland the winds 
 
 have blown a song to me 
 (Harper, wake your magic in the old grey 
 
 hall) 
 And the sunlight on the flagging is a patch of 
 
 tattered blazonry, 
 
 Shred o fading glory on the dull drab wall. 
 Turn again turn again see the weave un 
 ravelling 
 (Harper, set you back again the grey Fates 
 
 loom) 
 Till the fields are gay with April and the heart 
 
 has ceased a-sorrowing 
 (Lovers in the orchard, with the apple-trees 
 in bloom !) 
 
 Across the world from Fairyland the little 
 
 winds have flung to me 
 Petals of the wild rose, riotous and red, 
 And the scent of summer woodland where the 
 
 sun-embroidered tracery 
 Gilds the moldy carpet of the old year s 
 
 dead ; 
 Scent of happy valleys, and the treasure of the 
 
 marigold, 
 
 (Happy, sunny valleys in the Provinces of 
 Dream) 
 
 [15] 
 
Hark the whisper, lilting, " Love, my heart is 
 
 ever thine to hold 
 Ever and forever, till the last star s gleam! " 
 
 " Ever and forever " but the wind is o er the 
 
 hills to me, 
 (The blue hills o Faerie, O harper in the 
 
 hall) 
 Luring on to follow down the shadow-lane of 
 
 memory, 
 
 Memory as faded as the sunlight on the wall. 
 Turn again weave again set the loom 
 
 ahead again 
 
 Summer-gold is darkening to hot, blood red; 
 " Ever and forever forever " Ah, the love 
 
 o men ! 
 
 (Harper, still your magic, ere my heart 
 droop dead !) 
 
 [16] 
 
REACTION 
 
 LAST night methinks our madness won to 
 
 Truth - 
 
 There in the starlit temple of the sky 
 Stripped for the nonce our cynic robes of 
 
 Youth, 
 
 Let slip our creeds, and left but You and Me 
 Stark on the land s-end of philosophy. 
 
 To-day we meet with faces wrung and wry 
 Poor harlequins in masks of sanity ! 
 
 [17] 
 
THE BALLAD OF THE RED FOOL 
 
 THE Jester laughed at the castle gate 
 (The stone was grey, and the iron cold) 
 
 And sang of a monarch good and great 
 Who flung a Jester a purse of gold. 
 (Mighty the king, and wise, and bold!) 
 
 The Baron sat at his window high 
 
 (0 his hair was white, but the month was 
 
 May) 
 And marked a hawk in the empty sky, 
 
 And a budding tree, and a lamb at play. 
 
 (Ragged the Fool, but the song was gay.) 
 
 The Jester shifted his scarlet cloak 
 
 (The robe was torn, but the cloth was red) 
 
 And rattled his battered staff of oak 
 
 On the barred portcullis above his head ; 
 And " Ho ! " cried he. " Are ye drunk or 
 dead ? 
 
 " For the gate is wide, and the yeomen sleep " 
 (O the lord was -free with his beef and beer) 
 
 " And only the rooks are guarding the keep, 
 With all Romance at the portal here ; 
 Is the knight so great, that he scorns his 
 gear? " 
 
 [18] 
 
The yeomen snored in the sunlit court, 
 
 And the Baron dreamed at his window high, 
 
 As the Jester crept through a sally-port 
 And cast about with a searching eye. 
 (Drowsy the wind from the sapphire sky!) 
 
 He filled him full with the Baron s wine 
 
 (The grapes are plump on the Spanish hills) 
 
 And crowned the yeomen with columbine 
 And wreathed a vine in the window-grills. 
 (The wine-cup spattered in purple rills.) 
 
 He found him pens and a horn of ink 
 
 And parchment fallow for tithe and tax, 
 
 And wrote him a song to the goblet s clink, 
 While the lizards crept from the pavement 
 
 cracks 
 (The sun was bright on an idle axe.) 
 
 He wrote him a song of a stalwart knight 
 (0 a knight is sad for the want of a maid) 
 
 Who followed the lure of a gay love-light 
 Over the wide world, unafraid. 
 (0 merry the carol of shield and blade!) 
 
 He weighted the scroll with an empty cup, 
 And left it plain on the Penman s board 
 
 Where the flagons at hand held never a sup. 
 (Heavy the book that the Penman pored, 
 And heady the wine that Barons afford!) 
 
 [19] 
 
The Jester reeled in a tipsy dance 
 
 And hummed a tune of a knight and lass ; 
 
 Quoth he, " For the wine I have paid Romance, 
 And a stave to carol at Michaelmas ! " 
 (0 the Spanish wine in the crystal glass!) 
 
 So he laughed away through the portal s gloom 
 (Tlie sun was gold and the sky was blue) 
 
 While the Baron dreamed in his tower room 
 Of a joust, and a lady fair and true. 
 (The love was old, but the dream was new.) 
 
 Then the Penman yawned and blinked and 
 
 stirred 
 
 (O flagons of wine and a hunch of bread!) 
 And his thought was slow as a wounded bird, 
 And he dreamed he had written the song that 
 
 he read, 
 By the grace of God and a muddled head ! 
 
 They gave him a wreath and a purse of gold 
 (0 songs of jousts and a lady fair!) 
 
 And a velvet mantle to turn the cold, 
 And he sat at meat in a carven chair, 
 With the laurel twined in his scanty hair. 
 
 The Jester slept in the ditch below 
 
 (0 wme of Spam, with its fire and pride!) 
 
 And what ever came of him none may know 
 But the Penman sat at the Baron s side. 
 (Smg hey, Romance and the world so wide!) 
 [20] 
 
JACK VISIONS 
 
 JACK o Visions, dreaming in the firelight, 
 What s the picture in the embers glow? 
 
 Tis but the flame of wasted summers, fading, 
 To die in winter snow. 
 
 And what care you for summer and its wasting, 
 Grey-headed Jack, who hugs the dulling fire? 
 
 Tis but that Youth is such a sorry spendthrift, 
 And dreams are his desire. 
 
 And may they not be worthy of the spending, 
 O cynic Jack, the dreams he never won? 
 
 They are not worth one magic day in April 
 A-lilt with wind and sun. 
 
 Ah, Jack, but see them, how they flutter gleam 
 ing 
 
 Like tropic birds that sailors trade for gold ! 
 / faith, they be as fleet and hard to capture, 
 
 And droop in autumn cold. 
 
 Then say what Youth may buy with all his 
 
 riches, 
 
 His Ophir-horde of newly-minted years ! 
 Why, let him purchase Love and War and 
 
 Laughter, 
 And wine of honest tears. 
 
 [21] 
 
What say you? Tis a dole we hold in com 
 mon 
 
 The draught of Life we do not need to buy. 
 Alas, yet there be many who go thirsting, 
 
 Nor prize it till they die. 
 
FAUNUS AT THE CROSS 
 
 As I followed the feet of the sun on the wind 
 swept hills, 
 When the light-flung gold of the spring was 
 
 gay on the grass, 
 
 I caught through the careless laughter of loos 
 ened rills 
 
 From the church in the valley the drone of 
 the priests at Mass. 
 
 And I looked at the dun grey House, and the 
 
 heavens above, 
 While I stood with the wind in my face and 
 
 the sun on my head, 
 And learned of the passion of Christ (but I 
 
 dreamed of Love) 
 
 And the bright-lipped wounds (were they red 
 as the rose was red?) 
 
 Then my heart leaped up like a stag at the 
 
 shadow of fear, 
 For I glimpsed in a vision the loom of the 
 
 Altar of Pain 
 And the flare of its terror was torture to blast 
 
 and sear, 
 
 Yet fair was the snow-white brow with its 
 crimson stain ! 
 
 [S3] 
 
So I plucked me a red, red wreath where the 
 
 sunbeams slept 
 
 " Let Beauty to Beauty be brought as a gar 
 land," I cried, 
 And I covered the Thorns with a chaplet of 
 
 roses, and wept 
 
 For the grace of the blood-stained limbs that 
 had drooped and died 
 
 When sudden the folds of the Vision were sun 
 dered, and there 
 At the shrine of the Pale-Browed God in my 
 
 terror I stood, 
 And the satin-skinned petals fell slow through 
 
 the spice-drugged air, 
 
 And redder they lay on the stones than the 
 painted blood. 
 
 O I shrank from the grim-mouthed priests and 
 
 their harrying spell, 
 Till the curses ran out from the Cross and 
 
 pursued as I fled ; 
 But I bent to the rose-wreathed Christ in a last 
 
 farewell, 
 
 And the pure lips flashed to a smile and were 
 soft and red 
 
 While a whisper as light as the whorls of the 
 
 censers smoke 
 
 Wrapped me in wonder and crept to the 
 doors of my ears 
 [24] 
 
Fear not! Be it grace of the Rose, or the 
 strength of the Oak, 
 
 Through both is my heart, when ye bow be 
 fore Beauty with tears! " 
 
 [25] 
 
A HARBOR SONG 
 
 THEKE S a schooner in the, offing, with the sun 
 set in her sails 
 
 She s black as death across the west where slow 
 the splendour fails ; 
 
 There s an evil wind from out the east that 
 backs against the day, 
 
 But she s shaking out her headsails for the 
 saunter down the bay. 
 
 There s a trail of ruddy cloth-of-gold that runs 
 
 to meet the Sun 
 The path is plain before her, but her road is 
 
 never done; 
 She may not stay for prize or pay, for love or 
 
 law or hire, 
 When she harks to old Ulysses in his Islands of 
 
 Desire ! 
 
 O the hills that fade behind her know the touch 
 of fairy feet, 
 
 The pipes of Pan are lilting clear from field to 
 village street; 
 
 And Spring is in the orchard-row, though sad 
 dened hearts may break 
 
 But she s dropping down the harbor with her 
 shadow on her wake. 
 
 [26] 
 
So it s hide away your hope, my love, and lay 
 away your fears ; 
 
 Your dreams are all behind you, with the rap 
 ture and the tears ; 
 
 Tis a sorry trick of tops ls to catch the sun 
 set so 
 
 When dying Love-iwll-keep-him turns to Love- 
 has-bade-him-go ! 
 
 O, it s roll her down to westward, for the prom 
 ise of the Sun ! 
 
 Can lure of woman hold the hearts the mother 
 sea has won? 
 
 They may not stay for prize or pay, for love 
 or law or hire, 
 
 When they hark to old Ulysses in his Islands of 
 Desire ! 
 
 [27] 
 
A WAYSIDE PARABLE 
 
 A WIND ran over the western hill 
 
 And the dust of the road was gay, 
 But the little smoke of the wayside fire 
 
 Was lost in the twilight-grey. 
 Said the Dust, " There is hope for the morn," 
 
 Said the Fire, " Ere the morn, I die," 
 And its ghost rose up to the vaulted roof 
 
 Of the temple-hall of the sky. 
 
 The wind slipped over the purpling crest 
 
 With a mantle of trailing cloud, 
 And spread the Dust on the sleeping earth 
 
 In a great grey tattered shroud. 
 And the hill was lost in a veil 
 
 Of the dark wet hair of the rain, 
 Till the spark of a Fire hailed the quickening 
 east 
 
 And the dim smoke curled again. 
 
 The wind strode in with the lifting sun 
 
 And the smoke of the fire was gay 
 But the Dust was dead in the silver pools 
 
 That laughed with the laughing day. 
 Sang the wind, " Did ye fear, ere ye drooped 
 and died 
 
 Did ye doubt what the Prophets said? " 
 And the new Fire snapped on its chrysalis-ash, 
 
 " Not I ! But when was / dead? " 
 [f8] 
 
THE SORROW-EATER 
 
 WHY dost thou play tis thy dead love s heart 
 That beats in the gloom beside thee? 
 
 Surely thou learnest the minstrel s art, 
 So close in thy dream to hide thee ! 
 
 Why dost thou play tis thy dead love s hair 
 That nets with its silk thy shoulder? 
 
 (Tricks of a harlot not overly fair 
 Ah, brother, thy heart grows colder!) 
 
 Why dost thou play tis thy dead love s kiss 
 So fresh on thy lips and burning? 
 
 Peace! I have tasted the flame-hot bliss 
 That comes with a griefs returning. 
 
 [39] 
 
VESPER SONG ON THE OPEN ROAD 
 
 As a ribbon of raw red copper the road runs 
 
 into the west, 
 Looping the flanks of the mountain-ranks like 
 
 a chain on a maiden s breast 
 The road that swerves and dips and curves till 
 
 it drops to the far sea-rim, 
 
 Where the trampling feet of the breakers beat 
 in a marching battle-hymn. 
 For it s my love, 
 Let tlie stars above 
 That burn on tlie bier of Day, 
 
 Blazon our path through the Chaos- 
 wrath, 
 Ten million worlds away! 
 
 The rim of the Shield of the Master sinks, but 
 
 His helmet-plumes are high 
 Flaunting in crimson and taunting the shadows 
 
 that creep to the zenith-sky ; 
 The road is a ribbon of Romany red in the hair 
 
 of the gypsy earth, 
 
 And the trembling seas on a loom of breeze are 
 veiling her heart s unworth. 
 For it s my love, 
 When the stars above 
 Are witching our feet astray, 
 
 Fear ye to wend to the Cosmos-End, 
 Ten million worlds away? 
 [30] 
 
The silver spear of the horned moon is spurring 
 
 the steeds of Night, 
 And it s haste, ah, haste, ere the sun-gold waste 
 
 and wane in her altar-light! 
 For though love-shod through the paths untrod 
 
 of the valley of Death we run, 
 Yet hand-in-hand we may breathless stand, and 
 weep that the road be done ! 
 For it s my love, 
 Let the stars above 
 That burn on the bier of Day, 
 
 Lead us to meet at the Master s feet, 
 Ten million worlds away! 
 
 [31] 
 
ATHEISM 
 
 I DREAMED one night that I was lost among 
 The sounding mazes of an endless vault, 
 Deep-wrought from living stone, where spirits 
 
 halt 
 
 Their fearful flitting, and where grinning hung 
 Dry, monstrous skeletons, and corpses clung 
 To crosses for some unforgotten fault 
 While dumb lips prayed that hidden Gods . 
 
 exalt 
 
 Accursed souls long since from Heaven 
 flung. . . . 
 
 But lo, deep in the shambles midmost cell 
 
 There shone a lamp, and by it, stern and 
 
 stark, 
 
 Amidst a sea of books, a figure sat 
 That scorned the light and faced the empty 
 
 dark 
 
 That seemed a God itself yet could not tell 
 What in the shadows it was staring at. 
 
 [32] 
 
A FINANCIAL TRANSACTION 
 
 "I M in horrible want," quoth the shivering 
 bard. 
 
 " Can t I manage to raise a loan? 
 I ve some property left, though to risk it is 
 hard, 
 
 For tis all I can call my own. 
 But hey, for the red of the wine and the rose ! 
 
 I ll give you an ample gain 
 If I don t pay up, you may straight foreclose 
 
 On my wonderful Castle in Spain ! " 
 
 So the Usurer World gave him treasure o 
 dreams 
 
 On the pledge of his mortgaged towers ; 
 But he couldn t pay up, for he squandered, it 
 seems, 
 
 Every ducat on wine and flowers. 
 Yet the grim old Broker, with never a tear, 
 
 Charged an interest-rate of Pain 
 Evicted the Poet, and then (as I hear) 
 
 Moved into the Castle in Spain! 
 
 [33] 
 
THE OLD LOVERS 
 
 WE meet in a sorrowful land 
 
 That is hard by the gates of death 
 A smile, and a touch of the hand, 
 As the sunset s flaming brand 
 Flickers and fails in the west 
 
 With the day-wind s dying breath 
 Tis the most we may dare, and best. 
 
 They say that the passion is cold 
 
 That the flame is dead in the heart ; 
 " Good friends, that have loved of old, 
 Once more, in the sunset-gold, 
 Meet with a clasp of the hand, 
 
 Nod and dream and depart " 
 Ah, love, tis a sorrowful land! 
 
 I that have walked in a cloud, 
 
 You that have wept in the sun 
 
 Wrinkled and wearied and bowed, 
 
 Cover the wound! Be proud! 
 
 Laugh be it Hell the while - 
 
 That the world, ere the Hell be done, 
 
 May watch with a kindly smile. 
 
 [34] 
 
A WESTERN OCEAN LYRIC 
 
 THERE S a wind that treads the water 
 
 With tramp of sullen feet, 
 And grim and gray the westers play 
 
 With knives of driven sleet; 
 Our bows are shod with silver, 
 
 But purple-dark and cold 
 The shadows fly across the sky 
 
 To dim the sunset-gold. 
 
 cursed be all the breezes 
 
 That hedge the west in cloud, 
 And twice and thrice, the crusted ice 
 
 That clings to stay and shroud! 
 Against the light the foremast 
 
 Is bright with frozen mail 
 The decks are gray with flying spray 
 
 And rough with spattered hail. 
 
 There s a fog that numbs the ocean 
 
 To smoky deeps where hide 
 The noisy hosts of hooting ghosts 
 
 That warn from overside ; 
 O cursed be all the shadows 
 
 Of bank and shoal and bar, 
 And send us clear the silver spear 
 
 That arms an honest star! 
 
 [35] 
 
THE SATIRIST 
 
 I TOOK a snatch of sun-wrack, and a whiff 
 Of south-wind laden with the drone of surf 
 That booms on golden shores, where palm-roots 
 
 run 
 
 In tangled webs to taste the milk-warm wave : 
 (So keeps the Sea her children-isles of dream, 
 And calls her exiled dreamers home again.) 
 Of these I wove a song and all the years 
 Fled ghost-like, vanished, dropped me swift to 
 
 youth, 
 
 And gave me back Hesperides. Ay, Love, 
 That left me, laughing, aeons past, and hid 
 (Bare, sun-kissed shoulders glinting through 
 
 the maze 
 Of rat a twining mid the tree- trunks!) 
 
 seemed 
 
 To loose for me the dark flood of her hair 
 And drown me in it. ... When I strove to 
 
 sing 
 
 My song to other men, and let the world 
 Share but a fraction of my joy and pain, 
 What said they? " Lo, the song is old and 
 
 sad 
 
 Why more of it? Twas well sung long ago, 
 To smoother music." So I took a bar 
 Of blood-wrought steel, and spun it into thread 
 Bright, cold, and sharp as dust of diamonds. 
 
 Then 
 
 [36] 
 
I wove it on a loom of artifice, 
 
 Lent it a gargoyle s grin, called it a song, 
 
 And turned it loose. And all the world cried 
 
 " Hail! 
 Here sings a bard whose voice will never die! " 
 
 [37] 
 
IN A CONVENT GARDEN 
 
 YOUNG love, strong love, meeting mid the 
 
 roses ! 
 Dare ye think of loving, where the plaster Mary 
 
 poses ? 
 
 Better Pan should roister 
 In the shade of hallowed cloister ! - 
 Idle droops the rosary what paganry dis 
 closes ! 
 
 True love, new love, dancing down the ages - 
 Mocking at the precepts and the parables of 
 
 sages ! 
 
 Balance they the blisses 
 Of a hundred stolen kisses 
 
 Snatched while Mother Beatrice was nodding 
 o er the pages ? 
 
 Old love, bold love, weary with its madness ! 
 Mock ye, then, at April with its glamour and 
 
 its gladness? 
 
 Since ye know the sorrows 
 Of a hundred spent To-morrows, 
 Dream ye that your day is done, and fading 
 into sadness? 
 
 [38] 
 
Sad love, mad love! Leap ye, then, to waking? 
 Light ye bear the burden of the grieving and 
 
 forsaking ! 
 
 Lips that sip of laughter 
 Learn the tang of sorrow after 
 Learn, and drink in silence, while the gayer 
 hearts are breaking! 
 
 [39] 
 
THE DEGENERATE SPEAKS 
 
 I SEE you pass like a wayward god in a robe of 
 
 wonder, 
 Prince of the realms of Youth, with the flame 
 
 in your eyes 
 Shoulders that jostle the hats of the mob, till 
 
 it wavers asunder, 
 
 Splitting in torrents of hurrying faces, drab 
 as the skies. 
 
 The clouds are low where the clanging streets 
 
 of the demon-city 
 Raise to the heavens the reek of their grooved 
 
 ravines, 
 And you come like a sprite of the sun, with a 
 
 present of pity 
 
 Pity that stings like a helot s lash, in our 
 hell-demesnes ! 
 
 Ay, saw you me too ? with the leaden stare 
 
 and the drooping shoulder 
 Furtive, mean, with the brand of the Rat in 
 
 my face? 
 Weary with years ? By the years, it is you 
 
 are the older 
 
 You, with the youth-hot passionate eyes, and 
 the dancer s grace! 
 
 [40] 
 
The chance was mine, and the fault was mine, 
 
 and the sorrow and sighing, 
 But I was weary, too weary to grieve, from 
 
 the first ; 
 Ay, and the gateway of Peace and Forgetting, 
 
 that comforts the dying, 
 Careless the Gods left wide I was mothered 
 accurst. 
 
 O eyes that follow the cycle of life in eternal 
 
 revolving ! 
 Pity, my gay Greek god, the slave on the 
 
 treadmill of Time! 
 Mad?, I am mad with the direst of sanities! 
 
 This the absolving 
 
 That I should dance in the revel of Youth 
 like a painted mime. 
 
 The trailing folds of the curtain of Birth are in 
 
 tatters 
 See how the torrents of Time unveil how 
 
 the lives are massed ! 
 What you would help me? O blindness of 
 
 life! As if Charity matters 
 Matters to me, with my youth a century 
 deep in the past ! 
 
 [41] 
 
PSYCHE KARDIOU 
 
 THERE is a ghost that arms the hearts of men 
 Till Death the victor fails, allied with Fear 
 Till Sorrow stoops to comfort, and each tear 
 
 Glints like a dewdrop touched by morn again ; 
 
 Some name it Faith, that lights the darksome 
 
 fen 
 
 Of worldly doubt; some call it Insight clear; 
 Some Love ; some Reason stark in robes aus 
 tere, 
 
 Or crash of battle down a hostile glen. 
 
 Yet for the war what arms I bear I owe 
 To a dim ghost-soul that I may not free, 
 That feels the stir of wind, the beat of sea, 
 
 And neither Faith nor Reason, dares to know! 
 
 What would I be without my spectre? Lo! 
 A craven, clutching at Eternity ! 
 
 [42] 
 
A VAGABOND S PRAYER TO LIFE 
 
 LIFE, for the span of a day, 
 
 For a morn, for an hour, 
 Ere I am weary and old 
 
 Give me power to pay 
 Pay with the red sun-gold 
 
 And the dew on the flower, 
 Debts that I owe to the gods 
 
 Of the lonely way. 
 
 In that I dared it alone 
 
 Through the sun and the shadow, 
 Deeming the House of the Skies 
 
 But the roof of mine own, 
 Give me at length to surprise 
 
 With the lark o er the meadow 
 Themes of the songs of the gods 
 
 By the winds new-blown. 
 
 This and my father, the Sun, 
 
 For a friend, for a neighbor 
 Lending the world for the field 
 
 Of a gay fight won 
 Lo, with the dawning revealed 
 
 Lie the goals of my labor ! 
 Roads that are marked by the gods 
 
 Ere my strength be done. 
 
 [43] 
 
Yet, when I wake to the day 
 
 That shall dawn on my garden, 
 In that I journeyed alone 
 
 Give me friends, to repay ! 
 Friends with the sins to atone 
 
 That shall win me their pardon 
 Debtors with me to the gods 
 
 Of the lonely way ! 
 
 [44] 
 
THE PENCIL PEDDLER 
 
 EARTH and its glory, the rain and the sunlight 
 
 on oceans unsounded, 
 Life and its magic, the pain and the pleasure, 
 
 the rapture unbounded, 
 
 Love and its scented abysses of torture rose- 
 hidden 
 
 All except Death have I known, that alone 
 was forbidden. 
 
 Passers that brush me, nor heed me, the cripple 
 
 that squats in the gutter, 
 
 Would ye could read, neath the lip s ready pat 
 ter, the curses I mutter! 
 Once was I also a Man, in the flush of my 
 
 passion ; 
 
 Hated, loved, even as you pitied, too, in 
 my fashion ! 
 
 Even as you, O my brothers in masking ! And 
 
 this the finale 
 Limping so slowly on leather-shod stumps, may 
 
 I win to the Valley? 
 
 Fling me a copper my blessing, that for 
 tune should fall so ; 
 
 Spurn me and mind not my curses, for 
 thus was I, also. 
 
 [45] 
 
THE OLD VOYAGERS 
 
 THERE S a trumpet-call at twilight, when the 
 
 world is grey with sorrow 
 Monotones of sorrow where the dimming 
 
 ocean lies 
 And our pallid dead romances are the promise 
 
 of a morrow 
 Far and fading into shadow where the last 
 
 flame dies ; 
 Far and fading can ye see it can ye feel it 
 
 can ye hear it 
 
 It is lost beyond the limit of the lost horizon- 
 rim; 
 In our day we lived on darkness ! Now the 
 
 light has come to clear it, 
 And we brought the light, who loved it 
 would to God we d left it dim ! 
 
 Would to God we d left the blankness and the 
 
 mystery and luring 
 Of the empty places whispering of Ophir and 
 
 Cathay, 
 Of the open, shoreless ocean, with its triumphs 
 
 of enduring, 
 And the dawning and the sunset on the lone 
 
 sea-way ! 
 Of the magic islands lifting, hiding dim Cibola- 
 
 cities, 
 
 [46] 
 
Dim and hidden, dream-embattled, golden- 
 
 streeted, silver-walled 
 But we proved them and we lost them lend 
 
 us mercy, Lord of Pities ! - 
 For it seemed the Earth was endless could 
 
 we help it we were called. 
 
 There s a trumpet-call at twilight, but our 
 
 blades are dull and rusted, 
 And the caravels are rotting at the Quay of 
 
 Missing Ships, 
 And the fever-ridden harbors where we drank 
 
 and died and lusted, 
 
 Lo, they glimmer into nothings with the chan 
 teys on our lips ! 
 We are spectres of adventure, but we haunt ye 
 
 till ye need us, 
 Though the world is planned and plotted by 
 
 the torment of our wars ; 
 We are waiting in the Shadow till our kinsmen 
 
 hear and heed us 
 
 Till they stamp the Earth beneath them and 
 are gay amid the stars! 
 
 [47] 
 
ENNUYE 
 
 O, ONCE I played at passion well, 
 
 Till all the world believed ; 
 And hearts were jealous when I loved, 
 
 And sorrowed when I grieved. 
 But deep within me grinned a Self 
 
 That would not be deceived. 
 
 " O, tis a jest," the Spirit laughed, 
 " The human trick to steal ! 
 
 Where got you courage for the play? 
 I know you cannot feel. 
 
 Oho ! Tis such a roaring farce, 
 I weep it is not real ! 
 
 " My friend, how won you right to sing, 
 Or passion s harp to strum? 
 
 Yet lips had never sung so true 
 Had not the heart been dumb ; 
 
 Your fingers never found the chords 
 Aye, what had you become? 
 
 " An infant, babbling silly woes ! 
 So play the mimic through ! 
 
 Be brave ! " But I had lost my mask, 
 And could not find a new ; 
 
 And twas at best a weary play - 
 I wept it had been true. 
 
 [48] 
 
THE EXILE 
 
 I HAVE known the joy of the upland, the peaks 
 
 and the buttress-hills, 
 The rock-sown windy barrens, new-ploughed 
 
 by the shares of God ; 
 The drone of the harp o the tempest, and the 
 
 small, clear song of the rills, 
 And the crest flame-tipped in the dawning, at 
 the touch of an angel s rod 
 
 I have known the wrath of the upland, the tem 
 pled courts of the clouds, 
 The threat of the storm-flung robes of snow 
 
 that drop from the mountain s breast, 
 But my heart is sick for the harvest wind, for 
 
 the fields in their tawny shrouds, 
 For a lamplit pane, and a plainsman s hearth, 
 and rest. 
 
 O a man can pray in the upland, in the vaulted 
 
 church of the sky, 
 And walk with Jove where the Titans raged, 
 
 at the wrath of His face ; 
 But I, who am bred to the arch of the stars, I 
 
 will go to the plains to die, 
 And tune my heart to the hymn of the storm 
 on the floors of space. 
 
 [49] 
 
OUTCAST 
 
 LOVE that was light as a breeze at dawn 
 
 How should we stoop to fearing? 
 Cowards that pander and slaves that fawn 
 Hounds that snuff at the trail we trod 
 We, that are safe on the knees of God, 
 Heed we their ill-hid sneering, 
 Love that was pure as the dawn? 
 
 Do the will-o -the-wisp and the witch-fire heed 
 What the dull world thinks of the paths they 
 lead? 
 
 Nay let us say 
 
 That the wings of day 
 Are ours to wander a world away, 
 And not that, driven and shamed and blind, 
 We left the sheltering Pale behind ! 
 
 Ah, let us live 
 
 With the bee on the flower 
 
 Forget and forgive 
 
 With the hurrying hour ! 
 Till a love miscalled and a jest misread, 
 Till a pampered lie and a truth unsaid, 
 Die with the sting of a burnt-out scorn 
 Love that was pure as an April morn ! 
 
 Twas a half-meant kiss 
 
 And a head on a shoulder 
 
 At the first but this 
 Yet, suddenly older, 
 [50] 
 
We stood guilt-marked in the world-old Court, 
 Where a pious grey rake held the judge s 
 
 chair, 
 
 And were tried for a " crime of the baser sort " 
 That the "good" may envy, but scarcely 
 
 dare. . . . 
 O heart of my heart, 
 
 Shall the lying creed 
 In our world apart 
 
 Bid us hide, or heed? 
 Let us laugh, though our motley be beggars 
 
 tatters ; 
 True love, true love, is there aught else matters ? 
 
 Since we have won to the knees of God, 
 
 Why should the world be jealous? 
 That there s no return by the road we trod 
 
 Need we the world to tell us? 
 Laugh and be gay ! Do the witch-fires heed 
 What the dull world thinks of the paths they 
 
 lead? 
 We have won unsmirched through the sneers 
 
 and scorn 
 
 Out into Life from a land forlorn, 
 Out from the Dark to the blaze of the sun 
 Would you wish, at the ending, the deed undone, 
 Love that is pure as an April morn? 
 
 [51] 
 
A YOUNG MAN S PRAYER 
 
 LET me not live, O Time, to be old and weary 
 Thou, who art God of all Gods, and King of 
 
 all Kings 
 Let me not walk like a ghost in the sun, and 
 
 dreary 
 
 Harken with ears long-dead when the wood- 
 thrush sings 
 
 Let me not wake on a day when the pennoned 
 
 morning 
 Brightens on eyes unheeding, and cheeks un- 
 
 flushed ; 
 Let me not darken the world with my misery, 
 
 scorning 
 
 Joy of the birds, and whisper of wind dawn- 
 hushed 
 
 But let me die with my heart still gay with the 
 
 tourney, 
 Facing the Dark with a song on my lips, and 
 
 my feet 
 Light on the threshold that calls to the last long 
 
 j ourney 
 
 Over the far blue hills where the highways 
 meet! 
 
 [52] 
 
DUST 
 
 ACROSS the ridge the barren earth runs down 
 
 Gay, vagrant dust that shifts with every 
 breeze 
 
 Over the hill-crest weaving mysteries, 
 Against the sun s face wreathing thee a crown ! 
 Jester of ages, robed in grey and brown, 
 
 See how it wraps thee, Love, with fantasies ! 
 
 Till like a priestess, gold-bathed to the knees, 
 Thou standest shimmering in thy saffron gown. 
 
 Dust that is swift to hide or blind or dim, 
 Yet that is rose-haze in the sunset-glow! 
 
 Sweeping across autumnal fields, to skim 
 
 Like wrack o dreams along each barren row. 
 
 Dare we despise it? Look ye, down the sky 
 
 Drop with the moon the star-dust nebulae. 
 
 [53] 
 
THE CABIN-BOYS 
 
 IN the days when old New England was the 
 
 half of all the nation, 
 
 And the Injuns and Virginnys made the bal 
 ance of the land, 
 We were starting life as farmers and we 
 
 worked to beat creation 
 
 Tilling barren-gutted valleys, clearing boul 
 ders, ploughing sand. 
 We were humble sons of farmers, 
 Simple, slaving sons of farmers, 
 Sons of heavy-handed farmers, who were hon 
 est as could be 
 But we heard a tale of pirates 
 (Good old brazen-hearted pirates!) 
 And we wanted to be pirates, so we ran away 
 to sea! 
 
 Aye, we heard a tale of islands ringed with pearl 
 
 on seas of beryl, 
 Where the dawning leaped to meet you, like 
 
 a lover, from the night, 
 And of golden-streeted cities hid in jungles gay 
 
 with peril, 
 Where the rivers lured to follow with the 
 
 word of new delight ; 
 Aye, we heard a tale of cities, 
 Hundred-gated wonder-cities, 
 
Mystic, lost, Cibola-cities, tales as true as 
 
 true could be 
 
 All the yarns of bright adventure, 
 (Ever-new-and-old Adventure!) 
 And the whisper of its wonder drew us seek 
 ing out to sea, 
 
 So we tramped away to Marblehead, to Salem 
 
 and to Glo ster 
 (O, just to sniff the tar and see the rocking 
 
 riding-lights !) 
 But Fortuna ran before us till we followed, 
 
 found, and lost her 
 Like a vision in the doldrums of forbidden 
 
 island-heights ! 
 
 Aye, we dropped away to seaward - 
 Wing-and-wing we swept to seaward - 
 And the mate, lie was a pirate, just as plain 
 
 as plain could be ; 
 But we never found an ingot 
 Not a single, blessed ingot ! 
 Though they glittered through our fancy like 
 the sunrise on the sea. 
 
 Now the wind is fair from south ard, and the 
 
 schooners in the offing 
 Are breaking out their tops ls for the venture 
 
 down the bay, 
 
 And the brass-bejewelled liners in their elegance 
 are scoffing 
 
 [55] 
 
At our lurid old sea-visions of the Indies and 
 
 Cathay. 
 
 " They are ghosts of dead romances," 
 Hoot the sirens " dead romances 
 Ghosts of obsolete romances, that are doubt 
 ful as can be 
 
 Just the dreams of drunken sailors 
 Paunchy, roaring, grog-shop sailors! - 
 Yet their pamted slut Adventure, did she lure 
 ye out to sea? " 
 
 [56] 
 
THE MISANTHROPE 
 
 MY feet are set on lonely roads that shun the 
 
 weary towns, 
 I fence my rugged pastures on the freeland of 
 
 the downs ; 
 
 The wind that treads the barren sweep of des 
 erts and of seas 
 Is my servant at the sowing, and my confidant 
 
 at ease. 
 Comes a whisper in the gloaming comes a 
 
 shouting at the morn 
 " Brother, sleep," or " Brother, waken ! " lest 
 
 his brother be forlorn ; 
 And I hear him through the Babel of the human 
 
 monkey-clan 
 " O the Gods were surely weary when they 
 
 stooped to make a Man ! " 
 
 And yet I may not laugh away the sordidness 
 and sham, 
 
 Or join the clever cynics with a poisoned epi 
 gram ; 
 
 6 The howling of the tempest drowns the yap 
 ping of the mob " 
 
 If ye drop a jewelled dagger, does the tinkle 
 drown a sob? 
 
 O ye " masters of creation," with your " towers 
 to the stars " 
 
 [57] 
 
See ye not the grinning terror neath the tinsel 
 
 of your wars? 
 But the whisper ! " Brother brother! 
 
 Ape YOU, too, the monkey-clan? 
 Pity for the Gods were weary when they 
 
 stooped to make a Man! " 
 
 [58] 
 
THE DEPARTURE 
 
 (Typhoon Weather) 
 
 IN the west is a funeral-flame, 
 
 In the east is a festal flare, 
 Where the skies rejoice at the rise of the moon 
 
 And grieve at the sun s despair 
 Titans in pride and shame, 
 
 Red targe to blood-red targe 
 The sea lies thralled by a devil s rune 
 
 Silent from marge to marge. 
 
 A ship s black bulk between, 
 
 And the smoke-flag drifting low - 
 For the air droops dead as a love-sigh breathed 
 
 A thousand years ago. 
 The bare masts lifting lean 
 
 Nod to a slate-drab sky, 
 And the dull stars peer like eyes mist-wreathed 
 
 Watching an old love die. 
 
 Out to the gloom of the sea ! 
 
 The wash of the wake breaks white, 
 And the shore-boats lift on a ribbon of fire 
 
 That slashes the robe of night. 
 Ah, Heart, may we yet win free, 
 
 Till the hearse-plume palm-fringe fades, 
 And drown our dream of a lost desire 
 
 In the wind-whipped blue of the Trades ? 
 
 [59] 
 
Heart, may we yet win free 
 From the spell of the sunlit sea, 
 From the lure of the long delights 
 Of our dear dead island-nights, 
 From the sea-fire s sorcery-flare, 
 And the bold limbs flashing bare, 
 From the full breast s sobbing heave, 
 And the dark hair s tangled weave 
 From the magic and mystery 
 Of our island-dream of the sea - 
 Heart, may we yet win free? 
 
 [60] 
 
PROPEMPTIKON 
 
 OUT by the rim of the sea, on the grey sand- 
 reaches, 
 
 The wind plays a desolate dirge on the harp of 
 the beaches ; 
 
 The crests of the wind-bitten dunes are stream 
 ing to leeward, 
 
 Aping the smoulder of spindrift whirling from 
 seaward ; 
 
 The blades 1 of the sere beach-grass are alive with 
 the patter 
 
 Of myriad air-driven feet of the sands as they 
 scatter, 
 
 And far on the steely horizon a topsail is gleam 
 ing, 
 
 Fading to southward to skylands of drifting 
 and dreaming. 
 
 Topsails that flicker and falter, then, suddenly 
 bolder, 
 
 Droop in the sea, and are hid by the loom of her 
 shoulder, 
 
 Leaving me sad mid the ashes and embers of 
 passion 
 
 That mock with their drabness the Dawn-Wiz 
 ard leaping to fashion 
 
 Flame-towered, pennanted glories whose fin 
 gers bedizen 
 
 [61] 
 
With masquerade-tatters of splendour the vir 
 gin horizon, 
 
 Till lo comes the King of the Masque and 
 with Puritan scorning 
 
 Homeward I go like a ghost in the blaze of the 
 morning. 
 
 [62] 
 
DOSTA! 
 
 (Gypsy Song) 
 
 WITH the sun in the sky 
 
 And the wind in the grasses, 
 
 The flash of an eye 
 
 And the laughter of lasses, 
 
 With dawn on the road 
 
 And a light shoulder-load 
 
 Though, the going be smooth or the go 
 ing be rough, 
 
 Dost a! It is enough ! 
 
 With a star and a moon 
 
 And a luck with the weather, 
 
 The lilt of a tune 
 
 And the dew on the heather, 
 
 With wine and a friend 
 
 At the gay journey s end - 
 
 Though the going be smooth or the go 
 ing be rough, 
 
 Dost a! It is enough ! 
 
 [63] 
 
TO A HALF-BRED MARE THAT DIED 
 
 FEET in the dark that are more than human, 
 
 Following light on the night-hid trail 
 Grace that passeth the grace of woman, 
 
 Ears alert for the master s hail 
 Have you forgotten me, then, in the Shadow, 
 
 O dear bay mare with the mane flung free? 
 Or say, does a neigh from the pasture-meadow 
 
 Cry, " Mount, and over the hills with me"? 
 
 There s a loss that is dire as the loss of brother 
 
 That the world has ordered may scarce be 
 
 wept, 
 For grief for a horse is a grief to smother, 
 
 To slay with a jest, if your face be kept ! 
 O pass untroubled that empty bridle 
 
 That hangs like a corpse on the stable wall 
 Though the road be dull and the heart beat idle, 
 
 Twas a horse let that be the end of it 
 all. . . . 
 
 There s a trail that follows the sun-rich valleys, 
 
 Looping the hills to a haunted sea 
 There s a beat of a hoof where the woodland 
 alleys 
 
 Stretch to an Arcady far and free ; 
 And the lilting of long-dead song and banter 
 
 Drifts to my ears with an old surprise 
 O mare, have you sorrow for life, who canter, 
 
 A shade, on the pastures of Paradise? 
 [64] 
 
Dawns that we greeted on cloud-hung highlands, 
 
 (Dizzy the ways, but your feet were sure) 
 Hills that lifted like fog-wrapped islands, 
 
 Snaring the heart with their distant lure 
 May I forget them ? Or find them, lonely, 
 
 All for the brush of a wind-whipped mane? 
 Peace ! For a mare is a mare, that only 
 
 Dead, can ye saddle or sit her again? 
 
 Only a horse . . . but my heart s convictions 
 
 Ever have whispered of kindly Fates, 
 And I hear, in the face of the priest s predic 
 tions, 
 
 The ghost-mare stamp at the darksome Gates. 
 A rattle of hooves, and as lane and byway 
 
 Tempted us once, let the trackless stars ! 
 Till the Tollman Peter, who guards the high 
 way, 
 
 Hark to a whinny, and loosen the bars ! 
 
 Feet in the dark that are more than human, 
 
 Following light on the night-hid trail 
 Grace that passeth the grace of woman, 
 
 Ears alert for the master s hail 
 Is it a vision, the shape in the meadow, 
 
 O dear bay mare with the mane flung free 
 Or say, does a ghost from the After-Shadow 
 
 Cry, " Mount, and over the Dark with me "? 
 
 [65] 
 
THE PENALTIES 
 
 A FOOL once danced with Fate on Sorrow s bier, 
 And found Remorse beside him, led by Fear: 
 The jester, pallid, cried " Excuse excuse 
 I was a Fool, because I might not choose ! 
 Yet I repent. Forgive me ! See, I pray 
 Lo, I have sinned, but Ye have shown the Way." 
 
 Still, though he clasped their knees, and prayed 
 
 to Sorrow, 
 Remorse gave Yesterday, and Fear To-morrow. 
 
 A brother Fool dragged Sorrow from his 
 
 hearse 
 Cast out the grim corpse like an emptied 
 
 purse 
 
 " Lo, I have drawn my wage, and spent it well," 
 He cried " Now let me weep, and win my Hell. 
 For I would grieve." He laughed, and stooped 
 
 to hear 
 What words the blind Remorse should speak for 
 
 Fear: 
 
 Remorse turned groping; dumb Fear followed 
 after, 
 
 Leaving the Fool alone with scourgeman Laugh 
 ter. 
 
 [66] 
 
THE TRUE MAGIC 
 
 THE beauty that men seek is half a dream 
 Where er we wander, yet it lies afar ; 
 It touches with its wand a setting star, 
 
 It stirs the ripple of an ebbing stream. 
 
 And though we run beyond the dawning-gleam, 
 Or kneel to worship at an altar bright, 
 We may not know the soul of its delight, 
 
 Or more than marvel at its palest beam. 
 
 And yet in visions men have lived to see 
 
 Aye, dared the stunning glories of its face 
 And from their wonder wrung the skill to 
 trace 
 
 In flaming glyphs a dream of majesty - 
 To strike a stone to rapture, or to grace 
 
 A sorrow with a robe of melody. 
 
 [67] 
 
THE CHILDREN S FLEETS 
 
 BENEATH a kindly sun 
 
 There winks a mighty sea ; 
 Across the waters run 
 
 Our fleets of fantasy 
 The frigates grim and tall, 
 
 The schooners low and black 
 From trireme out of Gaul 
 
 To skiff of Sarawak. 
 
 The lily-pads that drift 
 
 Beneath the summer breeze, 
 Are magic isles that lift 
 
 Their peaks on tropic seas. 
 The scum that roofs the pond 
 
 With flaunt of filmy seed 
 Is spelled by fairy wand 
 
 To thick Sargasso weed. 
 
 Ye say the lofty ships, 
 
 Our barks and pirate-brigs, 
 Are naught but whittled chips 
 
 And stripped and riven twigs ? 
 From reefed sea-battered isle 
 
 To harbor-city spires, 
 The fancies that beguile 
 
 Our hungry dream-desires? 
 
 [68] 
 
Ye dare not tell us so ! 
 
 We may not halt to hear, 
 While crowd the keels below 
 
 Our thronged and bannered pier. 
 Ah, pitiful ! to wake 
 
 With shadow-ridden eyes 
 Nor know the dawns that break 
 
 On shores of Paradise ! 
 
 [69] 
 
THE SMOKE-FLAG 
 
 (Engine Choral) 
 
 DISTANT, dim, on the earth s far rim where the 
 breezes shout to the fulmar free, 
 
 Black I creep o er the roadless deep on my long 
 adventure from quay to quay - 
 
 Flaunt my cloak of the bannered smoke to the 
 windy vaults of an empty sea. 
 
 South or North ye may fling me forth, O Man, 
 my lord, who is still my slave 
 
 Slave who feeds me, and lord who leads me, and 
 god that laughs to a nameless grave 
 
 East or West as your heart s unrest shall 
 scourge ye craven or lure ye brave. 
 
 Flag o dreams when the red sun gleams and 
 the foremast black like a furnace-bar 
 
 Cuts its face as the swift keels race to the sun 
 set-land of the evening star ; 
 
 Flag o Fate when the blind sea s hate shall 
 have haled ye down from a hopeless war ! 
 
 [70] 
 
SONNET * 
 
 TO TIMOTHY DWIGHT 
 (President of Yale University 1886-1899) 
 
 THERE is a splendor in the wheeling years 
 
 That lights the soul with myriad sanctities 
 
 There is a magic in old memories, 
 
 And a dear joy in half- forgotten tears ; 
 
 So, when the long light trails adown the skies 
 And lends new glories to the garden s flowers, 
 Come with the years the golden-footed hours, 
 And the fresh insight of unclouded eyes. 
 
 Youth, I would sing ye sermons on your pride ! 
 His is the Youth-in-Age that lives forever; 
 An holier strength than yours, that wavers 
 
 never, 
 
 That has known Life, yet stoops not to deride. 
 Hark to the lesson, novice! Learn the 
 
 truth - 
 Age ye as he, and win to deeper youth. 
 
 * Reprinted from the 1914 Class Book. 
 [71] 
 
THE PHILANDERER 
 
 THE moon was a gypsy s penny 
 
 Meshed in the hair of Night, 
 The road was a scarf of silver 
 
 And the river a robe of light 
 And was it the dream while waiting, 
 
 Or was it She when she came, 
 That turned the thought to a rapture 
 
 And the blood to a pulsing flame? 
 
 Twas She, ye say but ye weary, 
 
 Be the maiden never so fair! 
 Tis but in the dream ye re constant, 
 
 And ye may not clasp her there. 
 So haste ye not the fulfilling, 
 
 Lest the gold of the dream be dross 
 Lest heads be bowed with the sorrow 
 
 And hearts be dead with the loss. 
 
 And shall ye turn from the meeting 
 
 In the flare of the white moon-flood, 
 And shall ye flee from the kisses 
 
 Of the soft lips red as blood? 
 Ah, shame ! Do ye fear for the morrow ? 
 
 Love, love, while the dream be new 
 On the chance that ye win to a trysti/ng 
 
 When ye find that your dream is true! 
 
 [72] 
 
RODRIPEN 
 
 THE QUEST 
 
 From the Romany 
 
 I SOUGHT my love mid the haze of the highway 
 
 dust, 
 
 Where the tilted van crept slow in the noon 
 day sun 
 
 For a ringlet stirred at the touch of the zeph 
 yr s gust, 
 And I dreamed that my heart was won. 
 
 I sought my love where the hillside broke to the 
 
 bay, 
 (O long sea-road to the land of my heart s 
 
 desire!) 
 For her eyes were bright with the morn, and her 
 
 cheeks were gay, 
 And the dawn was her altar-fire. 
 
 O the roads are marked with the print of her 
 
 dancing feet, 
 And I find her smile on the lips of a hundred 
 
 maids, 
 But she hides afar where the stars and the 
 
 mountains meet 
 And laughs at the slow decades 
 
Till the world is sown with the ash of my scat 
 tered camps 
 And my heart is chill with the breath of the 
 
 sunset blast 
 Yet still in the Dark is the flare of the fairy 
 
 lamps 
 That shall call me to Love at last. 
 
 [74] 
 
TO A POET WHO DIED YOUNG 
 
 THOUGH thy life seem as the day, 
 
 And thy death the gloaming-grey, 
 
 Though thy spirit loose its hold 
 
 With the fading sunset-gold, 
 
 Ere thy song be half begun 
 
 Or thy fairy cities won 
 
 Or thy web of vision spun 
 
 Never weep. 
 
 Where thou sowest, thou wilt reap, 
 
 In the Land beyond the Sleep. 
 
 Thou wilt find a fresher tongue 
 
 For thy lyrics yet unsung, 
 
 And thy hand a wiser pen, 
 
 Till thy music sweep again 
 
 Flaming through the lives of men ! 
 
 Never sigh; 
 
 Thinkest Those behind the sky 
 
 Made a Poet but to die? 
 
 [75] 
 
LYRICS FROM THE SCHERIAN 
 
I 
 
 THE OUTLANDER S SONG 
 
 YE who dwell in Fairyland, 
 
 Half a world away, 
 Know ye sting of night s tears 
 
 Drying with the day? 
 Though the draught of Pleasure 
 
 Be ever yours to drain, 
 Children of the Dawn-glow, 
 
 Learn the bliss of Pain ! 
 
 Ye who dwell in Fairyland, 
 
 Know ye naught but joys? 
 Press ye from your vine s wealth 
 
 Wine that never cloys? 
 Win, O win to Sorrow 
 
 With the fading leaf 
 Children of the wise Gods, 
 
 Pray the gift of Grief ! 
 
 Ye who dwell in Fairyland. 
 
 Dancing in the sun, 
 Lift ye now my rue-cup 
 
 When the wine is done ! 
 Idle falls the laughter, 
 
 Closer clings the hand 
 Children of the April, 
 
 O weep and understand! 
 [79] 
 
II 
 
 THE SONG OF THE HARBOR-MAIDENS 
 
 LILT the music ne er so featly 
 
 From the throbbing lyre, 
 Drop the veiling lid discreetly 
 
 On the glances fire ! 
 Heed the grey wife and her warning, 
 Daughters of the jewelled morning, 
 Though the love-word linger sweetly 
 
 On the lips of young desire ! 
 
 Lo, the gaunt sea-battered galleys 
 
 Fresh from Scylla s den ! 
 Hark ye, down the woodland alleys 
 
 Rings the mirth of men ! 
 Till the parted leaves discover 
 Youth and maiden, maid and lover, 
 And the fading color rallies, 
 
 Dims and rallies, pales again ! 
 
 Tresses black as plume of raven, 
 
 Lips as red as flame, 
 Heed ye how ye seek the haven, 
 
 Lest ye win to shame ! 
 Ah, but glimpsed ye neath the arbor 
 Painted headsails in the harbor? 
 Age is but a sorry craven, 
 
 And is laughing Love to blame? 
 
 [80] 
 
Ill , ,. .. . 
 
 SERENADE 
 
 LOVE, I have furrowed far my shifting trails 
 By witches isles that swim in haunted seas, 
 
 And glimpsed the silver of thy galley s sails 
 Rounding the capes of drowsy Cyclades 
 
 Followed and found thee, mirage-born of dream, 
 Wrought of the flame of dawn and wine of 
 dew 
 
 Waking the world to wonder with thy gleam, 
 Soothing with petal-hands to dream anew. 
 
 Hail the Releaser! Lo, enchanted shores 
 Rise at the tilting of His flagon-rims, 
 
 Till I am mazed as foam-thresh from my oars, 
 Drunk with the marble lyric of thy limbs ! 
 
 [81] 
 
-V * o 
 
 IV 
 
 ECHO SONG 
 
 MAIDEN with the sunny eyes, 
 
 And the south-wind in thy tresses, 
 Though the glades of Paradise 
 With their haunted wildernesses 
 Lure to follow, 
 Never heed! 
 
 Shun the lilting syrinx-reed ! 
 Only sorrow 
 Cometh after 
 
 All its flood of joyous laughter, 
 And though dear the call may be, 
 Maiden, yet be free ! 
 
 Little Mistress Never-Care, 
 
 Weaving in thy fairy dances, 
 Hast thou yet the will to dare 
 All our ages-old romances ? 
 But the calling 
 Must thou go 
 
 Where the faun-note flutters low? 
 Wait the falling 
 Echo after 
 
 " Love is more than joy and laughter, 
 And though dear the call may be, 
 Maiden, yet be free! " 
 
 [82] 
 
ENVOY 
 
 FOR gift of ruddy sunset-light on sea and barren 
 
 strand, 
 For rapture of the summer dawn, and heart to 
 
 understand, 
 For freedom of the gracious Earth, for life and 
 
 its reward 
 To whomsoever Thou mayst be, my gratitude, O 
 
 Lord! 
 
 And if there be a Journey s-end more joyous than 
 
 the way, 
 And if there be an Afterglow more splendid than 
 
 the day, 
 
 A canvas of Eternity when human colors dim 
 Whatever Artist-God there be, my gratitude to 
 
 Him! 
 
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 346461 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY