Bf 1 :,'l ^ MERE MELODIES i ROBINSON MERE MELODIES By Edwin Meade Robinson {Ted Robinson) Philadelphia DAVID McKAY, PUBLISHER 604-608 South Washington Square Copyright, 1918, by David McKay THE most of these poems have been printed in The Cleveland Plain Dealer, The Cleveland Leader, The Chi- cago Evening Post, The Indianapolis Sentinel and the Indianapolis Journal. Others have appeared in "Puck" and The Century Magazine. Due acknowl- edgment is made to all these publications for permission to reproduce the poems. 4f^ j'v /. r»^ rs TABLE OF CONTENTS PAGE The Artist 11 "The Young Man's Fancy" 12 Resurrection 13 An April Rhapsody 14 The Imperfect 17 The Last Chance 19 The Princess Pays a Call 21 The Boast of Frangois Villon 31 A Notion 33 A Ballade to Order 34 Conservation 36 The Lonesomest 38 Ballade of Easter Dawn 39 Undaunted 41 Unknown 42 An Abandoned Quarry 43 A Mere Theory 46 A Pagan Love 49 In April 51 A Letter 53 Ballade of the "Awkward Age" 55 Wondering 57 The Supreme Moment 59 Better Faith 64 The Way of Hope 65 Making the Best of It 67 8 TABLE OF CONTENTS PAGE February 23 68 The Magicians 69 June 71 The Interpreters 73 The Lost Estate 74 The Poet 76 Regained 78 Magic 80 A Twilight Fancy 82 A Type 83 A Melody 86 Evanescence 88 A Sonnet of Guinevere, the Queen 89 Clouded 91 The Two Singers 92 Alloy 96 Yesterday 98 The South Wind 99 Shame 102 The Old Things 103 Rebirth 104 Premature 105 Along the Bottoms 107 The Voice 108 Looking a Bit Ahead 109 Midsummer Inland 110 Beauty 113 The Three Wishes 114 Enter — An Immortal 116 TABLE OF CONTENTS 9 PAGE Ideals lis Cause for Mourning 121 Busy Explaining 122 Wild Roses 124 Perhaps 128 "Of Such is the Kingdom" 129 July 131 At the End 132 The Muse Gone Mad 134 Aurea 13' Lux in Tenebris 139 An Amateur 14* In the Monastery 142 A Humid Night 145 An ImpossibiUty 14' A Prisoner 148 In Visionshire 151 Intuition 152 The Nineteenth Psalm 153 Autumnal Automorphism 155 Getting Old 157 The Autumn Imp 158 One Good Dream 160 Ballade A Double Refrain 163 Autumn Afield 165 Ex Minimis 16' Vale! 169 A Bitter Jest 1^1 "The Cave ^' 172 lo TABLE OF CONTENTS PAGE Afterglow 173 A Little Autumn Song 174 Labia Mea Aperies 176 The Meridian 177 Ballade of Autumn 179 In October 181 Miracles 182 Temptation 184 Ballade of Christmas Week 186 Alone 188 A Christmas Melody 189 Dance Macabre 193 A Reflection 195 The Old Vigil 197 The Mighty Atom 199 MERE MELODI E S ii THE ARTIST TT 7ITH words he works, or with the ^ ^ yielding clay, Lays on the colors, draws the facile line ; True to his art he fashions something fine. But is unsatisfied from day to day. What keeps him laboring, as never wrought Or slave, or servant of a grinding Power ? What but the consciousness, with every hour, Of this, the very pinnacle of thought — ''God, who created all things, cannot die; And I, if I can make some lovely thing From nothing, fit for this world's wor- shiping, May somehow share His immortality!" 12 MERE MELODIES "THE YOUNG MAN'S FANCY" WHEN Youth sits down to muse, on nights Uke these, Or even ere the mating robin's song Makes him forget that springtime was so long — Even before the fruit is on the trees, Or ever dusty paths bring memories Of other summers — or the roses throng The lattices, or all the woods are strong With scents that make a memory of a breeze — Even then, through half-drawn windows, the soft skies Show stars that mind him of some woman's eyes — The warm wind holds remembered breaths that hurt His heart. Midsummer dews are tender tears. And in the rustling of the leaves he hears The soft susurrus of a silken skirt. MERE MELODIES 13 RESURRECTION MUSIC, wise words and eloquence are good. But he has learned the most of deeper things Who, fleeing from the noise, has under- stood The wisdom Silence brings. Fair faces, lovely landscapes, pictures, seem Most beautiful to seeing human eyes. But ah! the greater beauty of the dream That in the darkness lies! And so the light and beauty that the spark Of life enkindles, while we have our breath. Perhaps shall be transcended in that dark And silent thing called Death! 14 MERE MELODIES AN APRIL RHAPSODY SOMETHING in this April daytime lies to me and says it's Maytime — Fools me, tells me it is playtime and a time for idle resting; Something beckons me to follow to the hidden woodsy hollow Where the redbird and the swallow and the mockingbird are nesting; Something sets my eyes to glancing, sets my weary feet to dancing, Starts the heavy heart romancing, as it did when it was younger; And the head that's dull and hoary, nods to hear a fairy story — Jaded palates taste the glory of the Spring, and feel its hunger! MERE MELODIES 15 I can feel my lips a-sipping of the sweet- ness that is dripping From the maples, as I'm tripping drunk- enly through field and forest; thou woodland, still thy ringing! O thou April, loose thy clinging Arms, and stop the siren-singing of the melody thou pourest! 1 am one of Fortune's debtors, bound to town with golden fetters, While the squirrels leap — my betters ! — from their treedom to their turf- dom: Only are my nerves too crazy for my languid limbs — so lazy That the distance, dim and hazy, can- not drag me from my serfdom! i6 MERE MELODIES Thus the springtime comes and twitters to a soul it but embitters — Holding up a prize that glitters to an eye that's blurred and blinded — Sending forth the scent of roses to the grindstone-polished noses — Flaming for an eye that closes, speak- ing to the muddle-minded ! E'en the soul that would embrace her is by force a money chaser, And he couldn't but debase her with his lewd, unhallowed kisses — But, on weary knees a-creeping where he's laid his youth a-sleeping Don't you know that he is weeping for the happiness he misses ? MERE MELODIES 17 THE IMPERFECT 1ADY, little lady, God has made you ^ fair- Put His skies within your eyes, His sunshine in your hair; Robbed the lilies for your brow, the roses for your cheek — Made your words of mockingbirds that carol when you speak! Lady, little lady, God has made you sweet — Filled with grace your lovely face, with grace your dainty feet; Almost everything is yours that heaven could impart — So it's odd, I think, that God quite left out your heart! i8 MERE MELODIES Lady — little lady! God left out your soul, — Left just one small thing undone to make a perfect whole ; And, perhaps, His wisdom shows, in this lack in you — You'd be worth too much for earth, were you good and true! MERE MELODIES 19 THE LAST CHANCE (When one's nose itches, it is interpreted as a sign that one is about to kiss a fool.) TT was the jester of a king, ^ Who, on a day, made shift to sing A roundelay, a chanson gay, to please the king his daughter; It was the jester of a king Who could not think of anything But how her eyes were like blue skies reflected in deep water! It was the daughter of the king Who bade the jester not to sing — But to abide close at her side, and read her signs and omens. "I saw the crescent moon,'' she said, "When it was straight above my head; Whose visit is presaged of this — a lover's or a foeman's .?" 20 MERE MELODIES And many a sign he read her, pat, For he was learned in lore like that; But one sure sign could she divine, of how his heart was aching; And, of her grace, she pitied him, Because his eyes with pain were dim. And wished an art to heal his heart, ere it came near to breaking ! "One omen, still, and then no more; My nose," she murmured, "itcheth sore! What may it mean?" and she did lean so near, he trembled sadly. "I know it not," he said. And she Went from his presence, angrily. Oh, twice a fool and thrice a fool was he, to guess so badly! MERE MELODIES 21 THE PRINCESS PAYS A CALL I DOWN through winding ways unholy, Comes a Princess, riding slowly, Braving scandal, scorning censure; In the city's secret places. Side by side with dark disgraces, Peradventure. II Close at rear, a sole attendant, White with lace, with gold resplendent. Hesitatingly advances : Troubled, grave, and unenlightened. All about him, to the right and Left, he glances. Ill Still, to salve his inward chafing. Not a word or glance vouchsafing Rides the princess, slowly — slowly — Slower still, the way she crosses. By a darksome doorway pauses, — Dingy, lowly. 22 MERE MELODIES IV Then she flings her bridle to him And a thrill of pain shoots thro' him, As she slips, with lightning quickness From her horse, and stands surrounded With the tide-marks of unbounded Sin and sickness. V Shrieks the door upon its rusty Hinges, and the rotten, dusty Staircase groans and creaks and mut- ters. Like a swallow, upward always, Thro' the narrow, gloomy hallways, On she flutters. • •«••• VI 'Neath the gables, grim and grimy, 'Neath the dripping eaves and slimy. There's a quaint, half-hidden oriel: Safe from modern innovations. It has outlived generations Immemorial. MERE MELODIES 23 VII Thro' this window one rare pencil Of God's hght has graved a stencil On the bare boards of an attic ; How long have its walls ascetic Witnessed struggles, grim, pathetic, Or dramatic! VIII On a dingy pallet lying In the dark, alone and dying, The dim twilight shows a figure : On the cover shows a blurred hand Gaunt as talon of a bird, and Scarcely bigger. IX Shows a face, in sharp outlining On the pillow, half reclining. Half aroused, with ear that listens For a footfall, and a high-light In his eyes that, thro' the twilight. Gleams and glistens. 24 MERE MELODIES X Gleam and glisten, die and dwindle, As a fire will fade and kindle In its vain, expiring flashes. Ere it flares up, grand in dying — Puff! And here's a heap of flying Dust and ashes! XI Outside, in the narrow entry. One gray rat who's standing sentry Flees his post in sudden terror: There approaches something human- Not the aged, bent char-woman, Someone fairer — XII Someone sweeter, taller, younger — And the rat forgets his hunger. And his jeweled eyeballs glitter, As she begs him who is lying In the dust and darkness — dying! — To admit her. MERE MELODIES 25 XIII There's a rush of silken vesture, Then she taps, with regal gesture, On the creaking door, and standing Still a moment, hesitating. Hears her knock reverberating Down the landing. XIV There she stands, her loud heart throb- bing. Then, in voice all broken, sobbing. Calls a proud patrician surname: Hark! there echoes thro' the stillness A rich voice, subdued by illness, Calling her name! XV Falls the darkness, soft and certain, All around them, like a curtain — "Love 'tis thou!" "O love, I've waited!" " Stay now till the light gives warning, Thro' the window, of the morning Long belated." 26 MERE MELODIES XVI "Stay till day? I stay forever!" "Aye for me, dear one, for never God nor man can take you from me, Till the tide that surges o'er me. And the mists that rise before me Overcome me!" XVII "Nay, the tide shall ebb ere daybreak. And the mists, swept far away, break Like the salt spray on a lee shore !" "Nay, the ebb shall sweep me, rather. Thro' the mists that grow and gather, To God's Sea-shore ! XVIII "Closer, love, stay close beside me — Death has given what life denied me — Let me feel, who cannot see thee : Let me breathe thro' those rich tresses. Let me, from thy lips' caresses. Drink of Lethe 1 MERE MELODIES 27 XIX j '*All my life and all its losses, j All its strivings, all its crosses, j All the work and wishes in it, i All its pain and joy unsated, j All its pleasures were created ; For this minute! ! XX i "Closer— for my sight grows dimmer, i Closer— God ! For one brief glimmer, ^ Just to see if thou art fair yet! : Wind that arm — ah! I had missed it — Here, of old, a dimple kissed it- Is it there yet? i \ XXI ' ''Tell me— does the moon shine brightly, ! As of yore she blessed us nightly, \ In the garden of the palace ? \ And the fountain — Venus, quaffing j Of the drops that trembled laughing j From the chalice? \ 28 MEREMELODIES j XXII "Tell me — do the simple daisies ] Still unveil their haloed faces, Maid-like, on their grassy pillow? And the dove that made her nest there, Comes she still at noon to rest there, , In the willow? XXIII \ "O the lilies tall and slender! i O the roses, and the tender i Beauty of the sweet narcissus! i O the breeze that, soft and fragrant, \ Wafted by — an amorous vagrant ; Throwing kisses! ' XXIV "O the days and nights of beauty, j Ere the hell that men call duty i Light and life together banished. I Duty — ugly, grim, repulsive j Duty! All that filled life full, save i Love, has vanished ! ' MERE MELODIES 29 XXV "Lost! — Love stript of all her raiment- Lost!— And what is gained in payment? Is the kingdom safer, stronger? Is it worth two young lives blasted That the throne and crown have lasted One day longer ? XXVI "Gold of love for tinsel glitter- Nay, 'tis childish to grow bitter In an hour fulfilled with sweetness: Hour of all earth's hours supernal, Merging into Heaven's eternal Glad completeness! xxvii " Sweet, the morning light encroaches, See — how fast the day approaches!" "Nay, dear love, night's fallen newly: Day is scarcely yet o'ershaded!" "Love! — it dawned as twilight faded!" Ay, most truly 30 MERE MELODIES XXVIII Day has come — she cannot share it — Day has dawned in one dark garret! But the leaden, dead night presses On the weeping girl who lingers, Printing on cold lips and fingers Vain caresses! XXIX Darkness cloaks the royal palace, But along the tortuous alleys Seems a blacker night to hover, Where, behind a lowly portal, Lies a maid with all that's mortal Of her lover! XXX Back thro' winding ways unholy. Rides the princess, slowly — slowly; Dead to scorn — too pure for censure. But unseen, a spirit-rider Finds his heaven close beside her, Peradventure ! MERE MELODIES 31 THE BOAST OF FRANgOIS VILLON T, VILLON, Bachelor of Arts, -■- Who rhyme of wine and love and hate, Am king of poets. Knave of Hearts, Light laureate of the fools of Fate! Last night, I drank too deep — I ate Too coarse and sang too loud — what for? In all my moods, at any rate, I never praised the hell called War! I'd stab a cook to steal her tarts, Cozen a king to kiss his mate, Play in one drama many parts My greed for your applause to sate! With song have I burst through the gate Of Murder — battered Gold's barred door — Yet, though of lies and rape I'd prate, I never praised the hell called War! 32 MERE MELODIES My sword from out its scabbard starts To help the small, to balk the great; My bosom burns, my eyelid smarts, When Virtue sinks disconsolate. My Muse will rise in high debate For Love and Lady, barn and store ; Honor I sing, the King, the State — I never praised the hell called War! l'envoi Prince! Though my often-beaten pate Drips sense or nonsense with its gore. Think this of me, at death's drear date — I've never praised the hell called War! MERE MELODIES 33 A NOTION THE things I have lost are the things that have made my Ufe — The joys I have missed and the treas- ures Fve given away — The home I have known not, — the shadowy, ideal wife, And the ghost children climbing my knees at the close of the day; The heights I have longed for, but, crip- pled, have stopped at the base; The battle ungained, and the far, un- attainable goal — The things I have gained are but chattels that laugh in my face, But the things I have lost are the things that have fashioned my soul ! 34 MERE MELODIES A BALLADE TO ORDER A RHYME for you, O lady mine? Why, all my rhymes are done that way; For you I gather flowers, and twine The blooms of June, the buds of May. Each verse I scribble, day by day. Is written with your tastes in view — Each is, or be it grave or gay, A rhyme for you. A rhyme for you ? Why, every line Is yours already — roundelay. Or sonnet sad, or fancy fine. Or jesting jingle's joyous play. Of course, I do these things for pay. But are they less yours if I do .? I sell to others what must stay A rhyme for you. MERE MELODIES 35 A rhyme for you ? Well, maid divine, Since you insist, I must obey. Lo, here I kneel before your shrine, And bask in beauty's brilliant ray! Your eyes of blue — ^what's that you say? Your eyes are gray, and never blue? That's so, but how can one make "gray" A rhyme for "you"? A rhyme for you ? All rhymes convey The selfsame meaning, always true; Three words explain each one. And they Are "I'm for you!" 36 MERE MELODIES CONSERVATION WHEN we have gone the darkened way that everybody must — When you are but a lump of clay, and I a heap of dust; When, after many a century, we two have dreamless slept, Where will the joys I prayed for be — or where the woes you wept? We stew and sweat and struggle on, and waste so many tears. And strain our eyes to see a dawn that only dawns in years; We labor for the thing that we and only we can use — It comes! But for whose good shall be the thing that we must lose ? MERE MELODIES 37 What happens to the effort vast that bears fruit after death? How shall I smell the rose at last, when God has stopped my breath? What is the use of all you do for what must come too late — Unless the Lord shall give it you beyond the darkened gate ? 38 MERE MELODIES THE LONESOMEST THE desert waste is not the loneliest place, Nor the mid-ocean, nor the mountain's crest, — Ay, these are lonely spots for men to face. But not the loneliest. One feels alone amid the bustling crowd Of strangers in strange cities, too — but not So much alone, though Silence shrieks aloud. As in one lonely spot I know of. 'Tis the place youVe visited Once, with a Loved One — sometime, anywhere — And visit once again, when years are fled, And that One is not there! MERE MELODIES 39 BALLADE OF EASTER DAWN THE gaunt trees black and naked stand, And crackle, as the wind sweeps by; Their boles break the horizon, and Their branches arabesque the sky. It is the dark hour. Shivering lie The herds, in silence ominous — Then dawn breaks, and there sounds the cry Of "Resurrexit DominusT Creeps then a soft light o'er the strand. And dawn-birds preen their wings to fly. Across the graying east, a band Of brightness stretches, broad and high. The early breezes cease to sigh — A quiet, holy calm in us Prepares us for the gladsome cry Of "Resurrexit Dominus!" 40 MEREMELODIES ; Then, sunrise! And across the land j Cloud-tints and flower-colors vie; i Earth glows with life at His command — ' The glory of the Lord is nigh ! A new world born before the eye, I Heaven sheds its quickening balm on us, ! And angels' voices chant the cry j Of "Resurrexit Dominus!" i Lord ! In a night our winters die j And spring inspires her psalm in us; j Death yields to immortality — ! "Sic Resurrexit DominusT MERE MELODIES 41 UNDAUNTED I NOTICED how the birds forgot That Nature, but a while ago, Stripped all their leaves away — and what She left she wrapped in shrouds of snow. For they responded, in the Spring, To her first call as eagerly As if her blows of chastening Had ne'er despoiled a single tree! The birds forgot their exile harsh. And hurried to their woods again — The blackbird to his thawing marsh, The redbreast to the haunts of men. O Thou who turned away thy face And drove me forth with winter — Thou Seest, Lord Love, how for thy grace I still return! Spring beckons now! MERE MELODIES UNKNOWN DOST thou love me?" said Death; and I shuddered, and cried, "I do not!" And he smiled and replied, "I shall ask thee that question again. In the day when thy lust after phantoms and toys is forgot In the wonder of what I can give — I shall ask of thee then." And I said, " I have known thee too well to be lover of thine." But he answered, "What word hast thou then from thy friends in my thrall?" I was silent. He whispered again, ''In the day thou art mine Thou shalt love me — they hate me who never have known me at all." MERE MELODIES 43 AN ABANDONED QUARRY HERE was a quiet hillside, once in the days gone by, A wide, green strip from the river's lip to the azure deeps of sky; The ivy covered the boulders, the pines grew tall between. And the moss spread o'er the granite floor with a carpet of softer green. Here came men with their engines — oh, it was long ago — And the hill's attire with ax and fire was stripped to the rock below; They hewed at the very framework, till under the startled stars The hill lay stark with the human mark of ugly and grievous scars. Still they sweated and labored, many and many a day. Blasting and sawing, heaving and draw- ing, riving the rocks away. 44 MERE MELODIES Till they robbed the hill of its treasure, and little was left to gain — There were gaping pits and shattered splits, when man gave up his reign. They left it gaunt and squalid — yes, it was long ago; Then the grass crept back by a secret track, and the trees began to grow, And the vines came back to their labor, to curtain the naked walls. And the hidden spring helped on the thing with a series of waterfalls. Ah, they were wise and tender, the ivy and pines and moss! The crudest tear was a background rare for their brushes to sweep across ; The old-time hill was lovely, but this of the later time Has a rugged grace on its furrowed face that makes it a thing sublime! MERE MELODIES 45 Here is a wondrous hillside, richer by far today Than when man came with his pick and flame and took its riches away! And wrapped in a higher beauty, as hills and hearts still are, A lovelier thing than in that far spring ere ever it bore a scar! 46 MERE MELODIES A MERE THEORY DID spring never come — did the sea- sons Not change, and the winters not pass, Would love have its martyrs and trea- sons ? Would a lad give his life for a lass ? Would hearts break? Would men take damnation In change for a summer of bliss? Would a maid give her sweet soul's sal- vation In fee for a kiss? Did sunsets not glisten, I wonder, Were roses not red, nor skies blue, Would suffering put us asunder. Or loving unite me and you ? Did the Maker of Worlds never fashion Green trees and white blossoms that fall. Would sorrowing move us, or passion Make slaves of us all ? MERE MELODIES 47 I dreamed of a world without color, Where sunrise came never, nor spring; All gray, like a cloud-mist, and duller Than deserts, with no birds to sing. All faces were blank — not despairing. Nor joyful — not happy nor sad — Unlovely, unhoping, uncaring For good fate or bad ! And I prayed, "O God, grant them one flower Whose perfume may rouse them from sleep ! Though it wither and fade in an hour. Perchance they may miss it, and weep; And weeping may bring them to laughter, And day will burst in on their night, Till with grief, and the love that comes after. They win to the Light!" 48 MERE MELODIES And I woke, and was glad of the day- time — Gave thanks for the autumn and spring — For the loves that are born in the May- time And Septembers that teach us to sing. And I said, '*We should lose more, and win less, Though sadness and pain were forgot. In a bleak world, cold, sunless and sinless, Where Beauty is not!" MEREMELODIES 49 ; i A PAGAN LOVE | THE gods were angry with Babette. 1 (With glad Babette — our mad Bab- ! ette!) ; For that each mortal man she met ; Forgot whatever gods he knew! ] Ah ! Easy, easy to forget, j O glad Babette, O mad Babette! i Both maids and gods — and laws that fret, I And just remember you! I The gods were angry with the maid — 1 (The maid they made — the goddess maid) i The gods were angry and afraid j She'd steal their every worshiper; So they took counsel to degrade j The goddess maid themselves had | made — To ask the gifts to be repaid Themselves had given her! 1 50 MERE MELODIES And so the gods, who were to blame, Brought bhght and shame upon her name ; What care the high gods for the fame Of them who make their own fame dim ? They broke her heart to play their game — (In virtue's name they wrought this shame !) And even the Httle love-god came And carried tears with him ! The gods were angry with Babette — (With sad Babette — our bad Babette!) And crushed she lies, and broken — yet I know what I am fain to do; Though on thy ruin they are set, I dare forget, O sad Babette ! - Forswear them all, without regret, And follow only you! MERE MELODIES 51 IN APRIL IN April time, the lazy rhyme Rings clearer, like a church-tower chime. And March's snows with limping prose Are all deserted, for the time. In April time, the slush and slime. The frost and frights, the gloom and grime. The breeze that blows to freeze the nose Are all forgot, in April time ! In April time, when Spring's at prime, We live within some tropic clime — We lie and doze and scorn our foes. And live with friends, in April time! 52 MERE MELODIES In April time, the world's sublime, There's no such thing as sin or crime — The brook that flows sweet peace be- stows And sunshine glows in April time! In April time, my darling, Fm A marionette, a dancing mime — I prink, I pose, I point my toes — And you're a rose — in April time ! MERE MELODIES 53 I A LETTER PLUCKED a violet to-day— The first that I have seen this spring,— And laid it carefully away. Twill be a scentless, withered thing To-morrow — yet it must remain Hidden, till you come home again. Fve found a little restaurant That no one that we know has found. I keep the secret, for I want That place to be our trysting ground. Not even I alone will roam Back to that street— till you come home! Old Smith has lent me, from his shelf, His rarest, most dehcious book; And I have not allowed myself One Uttle surreptitious look Between its covers — lest we lack One mutual joy, when you come back! 54 MERE MELODIES I wrote a song I liked, last night, ! But did not send it as I should; | I'm loath to have it see the light j Till you pronounce it bad or good. \ Ah, love ! Song, spring — ay, life is dumb > And cannot speak until you come! ; MERE MELODIES 55 BALLADE OF THE "AWKWARD AGE" TT 7HEN skirts are lengthened past the ^ ^ knees, And curls are prisoned in a braid- When any close observer sees A coltish length of limb displayed; When needless blushes glow and fade, And heedless laughter ebbs and flows. That is the age girls can't evade — Too old for dolls, too young for beaux! Full of small fears and jealousies, Timid, and easily dismayed; As changeful as an April breeze — Brazenly modest, wildly staid; Pickles and soda, lemonade. Romantic friendships — deathless foes — With such weird toys her games are played, Too old for dolls, too young for beaux! 56 MERE MELODIES With others never at her ease, Alone, her freaks aside are laid. And all her graceless gaucheries Leave her, no longer on parade. What dreams are these of flashing blade And prince and prancing steed — who knows ? What poems conned, what hopes be- trayed — Too old for dolls — too young for beaux? l'envoi Princess uncrowned! Let it be prayed That, as your springtime fancy goes. You find Him worth the vows you've paid — When you're no longer, little maid. Too old for dolls, too young for beaux! MERE MELODIES 57 WONDERING WHEN today goes, May goes — May, with all her freaks and fancies, Wiles and wondrous necromancies; May, that clothed the bare boughs for us. May, that scattered blossoms o'er us To the mating birds' love chorus — May dies, When today dies! As a tune's born, June's born. Like a lazy, swaying measure, June comes, pouring out the treasure And the wealth of her adorning; April was the year-dawn's warning, Maytime was its brilliant morning — June-time Is its noontime! 58 MEREMELODIES I As all things go, Springs go. ) Summers come, and winters kill them; ^ Birds sing, and the snowstorms still them. | Love, that's born of April weather, ! Frosts will slay. I wonder whether '■ Ours will last a year together ^ Springs die — Do all things die? MERE MELODIES 59 THE SUPREME MOMENT COULD I fold up the book of the Present To-night, and steal back through the gloaming, As a dove flutters back to its homing, Wing-weary, wide-wandered and worn ; Could the past open arms to receive me I would go, not to boyhood, believe me. Not to childhood, and not to the pleasant Dream country of young Life-at- Morn; And I know I would not seek the places Where First Love her pure bud un- folded. Nor stay where her blossom was molded To feed the fierce flame of Desire; And I would not return to the fashion Of folly and pleasure and passion, Nor seek to revive the old faces. And kindle anew the old fire. 6o MERE MELODIES All these I would leave far behind me — The pain and the pride and the pleas- ure, The triumphs of life, and the treasure Of love and the heartbeats of youth; I would ask not a moment for laughter, For strife, and the peace that comes after. Nor the wealth of the world that would blind me To the light of the spirit of truth. But oh! I would know, when I found it. The garden I walked in, one morning. Half way between daylight and dawn- ing, In grass that was heavy with dew; (As my eyes had been heavy with weep- ing, Wide open all night, and unsleeping.) A garden with high walls around it And trees where the light sifted through. MERE MELODIES 6i For there as I wandered, unheeding, Unhappy, unthinking and bitter. My dull eyes were caught by a glitter Of light in the heart of a rose ; I marked how the wet petals glistened — Then my ears grew acute, and I listened To a voice that seemed praying and plead- ing— What voice I knew not, but God knows. So I stopped and I looked and I heark- ened. And the sunlight came brighter and brighter, Till it seemed that my spirit grew lighter. And my heart was unburdened of wrong. As a bird-note, a wind-note, a tree-note Combined, and the three struck the keynote Then the world, in an instant undarkened, Burst forth in a triumph of song! 62 MERE MELODIES And I understood, and joined in it, Each pulse beating time to the meter, Each throb growing finer and sweeter, As some new tone leapt into birth; Till the myriad notes all agreed to Strike the one chord that all things are keyed to — And, in that ineffable minute, I was one with the whole of the earth ! And all my life long I have waited, Unmindful of guerdon or laurel. To hear just one strain of that choral. And join in that music once more; I have sung, but the notes were all broken. The depths of the song still unspoken. The longing unheeded, unsated — It will never return as before. MERE MELODIES 63 Just once, ere the clouds rise before me, And the many-oared Galley of Silence Bears me off to the Fortunate Islands- Just once, and no more, I shall pray That the gods give me this for my warning — One glimpse of the joy of that morning; Let the waves of world-music roll o'er me As they did on that wonderful day! 64 MERE MELODIES BETTER FAITH SOME people think that God, my Lord, Comes not until He is invited ; As if Omniscience could afford To stand outside and think he's slighted ! As if my Lord would come not in Like winds and rose-scents, blithe, un- daunted! As if a Saviour could begin To grouch because He wasn't wanted! I did not ask thee, Lord, to place Thy foot across my prideful portal — Yet thou wilt come, if by the grace Of God thou'rt something more than mortal ! MERE MELODIES 65 THE WAY OF HOPE TT TE call the season late, ^ ^ Or complain it comes too soon; But in the spring, the birds still mate, And we see the changing moon. Surprise-days know their reason. Each summer hath its fall — Did you ever know a season That didn't come at all? The dawn of morning waits. The dawn of love delays ; Life with its luring oversates — Death threatens — and betrays! But did you ever know an end Of pleasures that enthrall — Death, winter, or an untrue friend That never came at all ? 66 MERE MELODIES The old world whirls around, The pendulum swings back The thawing glebe, the frozen ground. The harvest, or its lack; But we, who feel hell's hopeless stress, Its wormwood and its gall. Cannot believe our happiness May never come at all! MERE MELODIES 67 MAKING THE BEST OF IT ("I have been half in love with easeful Death.") AS one who, wedded for convenience' ^tl. sake, Must try to make his wayward heart forget The dear desire on which its hope was set ; And, after struggHng with himself to make A virtue of necessity, can take Pleasure in his new part, still the regret, And finally win to a joy that yet He had not dreamed in sleep, or hoped awake — So I who, with a passion overfond. Clung to and loved and lusted after Life, Now getting one clear message from be- yond. That I must shortly take cold Death to wife, Grow used to her, and walking at her side Become enamored of my unsought bride! 68 MERE MELODIES FEBRUARY 23 XT THEN Death shall touch me with ^ ^ his kindly hand, And beckon me to take his wondrous way Through the deep shadows to the larger day,— If he shall ask me where in all that land I choose to tarry, I shall understand That I am free. I know what I shall say; I know how eagerly my soul shall pray To go and seek that spacious realm and grand — That leafy forest of old Arcady, Where nightingales make melody, and where The Hamadryads have their cool re- treats; Where fair Hyperion and Endymion be. And Pan yet lives immortally. And there Enthroned and laureled I shall find John Keats! MERE MELODIES 69 THE MAGICIANS WHAT do we care for sunny or wintry weather, Comrades of mine, fair printed and bound in leather? Tempests may come and thunders may crash and clatter. Snows may descend and cover the flowers — what matter? We make our own fair days when we get together! Answer me, Burns! Does the black frost blight your heather? Answer me, Keats! Does your nightin- gale moult a feather? Winter, forsooth! We speak, and the robins chatter! What do we care ? 70 MERE MELODIES Comrades of mine, whose spirits death could not tether — Ye are as gods, whose power is constant, whether Rains fall or snows! You sing and the storm clouds scatter; One Uttle song, and I hear the June rains patter. You in the upper world, and I in the nether — What do we care ? MERE MELODIES 71 JUNE JUNE! What wonderful thing thou canst be! What a magic is made by thy moon — What a mystery floats on thy sea! How we love thee, yet know thee not — we Who are mazed by thy mystical boon, Explain us thy power, ere thou flee — June! June! It is naught that we hear or we see: It strikes us at midnight or noon, Thy secret, mysterious plea. We bend an idolatrous knee To thy dreamy, ineffable tune, We are witched, we are conjured by thee, June ! 72 MERE MELODIES June! Thou art fragrant and fearless and free ! Thou hummest a lullaby rune And thou takest regret for thy fee! The weird that each lover must dree — It Cometh too soon — ah! too soon! Thou art swift, thou art sweet — what is he, June ? The Princess Fm longing for — she May wait where the nightingales croon. Wilt help, if she's longing for me, June ? MERE MELODIES 73 THE INTERPRETERS I NEVER heard a nightingale Pour forth her music to the dark; I never heard an EngHsh lark Tell to the dawn her blissful tale. I only know the piping quail, The sparrows, chirping in the park, The chattering bluejay's raucous bark. The mimic catbird's drawling wail. And yet, though I have never heard Their notes — now in the winter time I know each golden-throated bird, And all its melody sublime; Hark! Shelley's Lark the song repeats! Answers the Nightingale of Keats! 74 MERE MELODIES THE LOST ESTATE ONCE on a time, ere the summer was ended, All of the colors of sunset were blended Just for my joy; and the dawnlight came glowing Just to delight me — the summer breeze blowing Was my own servant, that loyal attended. Don't you remember, as homeward we wended, (Ere the hearts broke that can never be mended) We dubbed ''our estate" all the green things a-growing, Once on a time ? MERE MELODIES 75 Ours no more now. Some stern god we've offended; Well — it is well; they're no longer so splendid — Crops in the sowing, and little streams flowing, Cattle low lowing and distant cocks crowing, Whisper not, smile not, the tale that they then did. Once on a time! ^e MERE MELODIES THE POET THE world was beautiful before his eyes — It gave him youth and happiness and Spring: And for these generous gifts he tried to sing A song of thankfulness. But, cold and wise, The world was only moved to criticise The boyish errors of his caroling. Then the world gave him love. And for this thing Again he sang — to unresponsive skies. MERE MELODIES ^^ Then spun the earth about and broke his heart, Withdrew her gifts and did him bitter wrong, And ere he died, his poet's soul or- dained One last essay of his rejected art. And, in the anguished sweetness of that song All he had lost the world that crushed him gained! 78 MERE MELODIES REGAINED I DREAMT that I had passed beyond the night, To where the morning gives us back again The things we mourn. There saw I Milton, plain. And Homer, clothed with more than mor- tal sight, Gazing upon each other in the light: Beethoven, listening to the refrain Of joy the stars were singing; freed from pain, The Christ sat in his kingdom, robed in white. MERE MELODIES 79 And each had found his sweetest Yester- day — A woman laughed above her still-born child, That laughed again with living eyes of blue : And eagerly I trod the blessed way To where the very height of heaven smiled — And came upon my wasted youth, and You ! 8o MERE MELODIES MAGIC IS the city full of noise That offends your weary ear? Do you long for quiet joys In a country far from here ? Surely, we can find it, dear — You and I. Shut your eyes, and lo! we go To the pleasant land we know, Underneath our private sky, You and I. Do you shiver with the cold — Shudder with the north wind's tune? Let me have your hand to hold. Closer! Presto — it is June! And this summer afternoon You and I Own alone. Our magic words Conjure bees and buds and birds! Who know Junes that never fly? You and I. MERE MELODIES 8i Is there naught beneath the sun New to hear or new to see? Music stale and art ill done ? Let the others weep — not we ! For we have a grammarye, You and I, That can make the old tunes new And the whole world fair to view — We've what riches cannot buy, You and I. Love's a land inhabited By its two Hege lords alone; Love's a June whose roses red Fade not, though the year has flown. Love's a world that we may own, You and I ; And the music of a heart And the beauty, strange to art. That we know can never die, You and I ! 82 MERE MELODIES A TWILIGHT FANCY IT is the twilight tryst, when Day meets Night, And stops to kiss her, ere he goes his way; The silent world stands breathless at the sight. And tries to hear the words the lovers say. Lo! in that large embrace the two are one — One for an instant, then the Day is gone. Then Night keeps lonely vigil for the sun — She knows that they will meet again, at dawn ! MERE MELODIES 83 A TYPE TTER soul is the soul of a Maltese kit- -■- -'■ ten — A kitten that loves to be petted and fed; That begs a caress till your heart is smitten With tenderness, as you stroke its head; That never will follow you through bad weather — Only in comfort she cuddles and purrs. Soul? We'll ignore such a thing alto- gether — But oh ! That exquisite body of hers ! Her mind is the mind of an innocent savage, Logicless, formless, but full of guile. You argue in vain, for she knows she can ravage The whole of your love with one flash- ing smile, 84 MERE MELODIES But her fancies she states as positive knowledge, And woe be to you if you tell her she errs ! Her learning was gained at her own will's college — But oh ! That wonderful body of hers ! Her heart is the heart of a Geisha, blended With the heart of a cruel child at play; Or you'd say she has none, but it's broken and mended, (As she'll tell you herself) many times a day. Heart of a tiger, heart of a tyrant. That never a noble emotion stirs ; To gain such a mean thing who'd be an aspirant — Except for that maddening body of hers? MERE MELODIES 85 Soul, mind, heart — they are naught, who shall heed them? She has enough and to spare, it seems, Others may miss them — but she doesn't need them — Look on her once, and she'll vex your dreams ! Cavil we not — be our wants more simple; Pagans, we join with the worshipers Of the grand cun^es, joining dimple to dimple, That bound that beautiful body of hers ! 86 MERE MELODIES A MELODY I ALL the dooryard's denizens, ^tJL Chatter here from dawn till night, Twittering wrens and clucking hens, ; Pigeons gurgling soft delight; ; Quiet noises, murmuring tunes, ' Lisping whistlings, whisperings — Then — that special voice of June's Rose-breast Grosbeak sings! \ Robin's song unheeded flows — j Here's his master's melody! I See him pose — the rascal knows | He can sing, it seems to me! Dressed for concert — black-and-white — But original, at that — With his white-and-black, a bright Rosy red cravat ! MERE MELODIES 87 That's his dress, but ah! his song! Who shall ever tell of it? Sweet and strong (but not for long- When the nest is full, he'll quit). This is summer's singing soul, This is music's self on wings; June is June, complete and whole, When the Grosbeak sings! 88 MERE MELODIES EVANESCENCE IB ELI EVE me, never grieve me f When a happy hour is ended — Could I keep it for a Hfetime, I would never feel its worth : Did a sunset last forever, who would think of it as splendid ? Would a lark enjoy his soaring if he never touched the earth? As the bliss of any kiss of Love is sweet because it's fleeting. Oh, be glad your hour must end — that love nor pleasure tarrieth! Oh, rejoice that there is parting to create the joy of meeting — And that Life can gain its glory from the welcome shade of Death ! E MERE MELODIES 89 A SONNET OF GUINEVERE, THE QUEEN XCALIBUR lies eaten up with rust, Arthur and Launcelot are turned to clay; Elaine and Vivien have passed away, And Mordred ne'er will break another trust. Merlin, the Wizard, is a heap of dust — But, as knights fight and lightsome dames betray. While winter sports to spoil the buds of May, Queen Guinevere lives, as she always must! 90 MERE MELODIES For ah ! her hair is golden Hke the sun, And ah! her bosom is more white than milk — And ah! her eyes are like blue skies above ! And we have wandered, each and every- one; We went in sackcloth, as she went in silk— And she has found the Holy Grail of Love! MERE MELODIES 91 CLOUDED THE sun shines and no clouds are in the sky. A bracing quaUty is in the air. The lake, so blue and quiet, over there, Knows now at last that winter has gone by. And gleams with springtime blueness; therefore, I Finding that life is sweet and the world fair, Had felt a song, and started to prepare A merry lilt of mirth and jollity— And then— I heard that you were suffering. Somewhere, apart from me. And then the day Was dull and dreary, and the clouds came creeping Across the sun. And there is naught to sing— I cannot write a witty verse, nor gay. While somewhere in this world you sit a- weeping! 92 MERE MELODIES THE TWO SINGERS I "rpAR away and long ago, once upon a -■- time, Two great poets spent their days doing things in rhyme. One was old and one was young; both won royal praise. Though they wrote and sang their songs in such different ways. II One knew naught of wisdom — no philos- ophy — Had no lesson he would teach, dogma none — not he ! Didn't have a mission — ^wondered what that meant. Never wrote a sermon urging sinners to repent. MERE MELODIES 93 Sang because he had to sing — for each skylark note, Rising from his heart of hearts, crowded in his throat; Sang because the sun was up — sang as sing the birds; Sang the music in his soul, setting it to words. When he felt like singing, poured his blithe strains out. Having but a small idea what 'twas all about. But when he had finished, wrought with- out design, People found a golden truth, hid in every line; Messages of hope and love, faith to heal despair — And the singer thought that someone else must have put them there! 94 MERE MELODIES III Far away and long ago, the other poet wrought Far into the night, to rhyme the jewels of his thought. The wisdom of the ages lay within the singer's ken. Labored he to choose the way to give it unto men. No musician he, but made of stronger, sterner stuff. Hewing from the native rock diamonds in the rough; Had no time to polish them — long past was his youth — Couldn't stop for form because he'd such a load of truth. Yet, when he had finished — wonder now at this — People found sweet melody in every line of his! MERE MELODIES 95 Phrases smooth as lovers' words, verses in such tune As a breath of forest wind redolent of June; Stanzas that went leaping with a wealth of cadences Like a rippling mountain brook among the cedar trees. Far away and long ago, once upon a time, Rhyme made one sing true — and truth taught the other Rhyme! 96 MERE MELODIES ALLOY IF all the birds in all the trees In all the places where it's June Combined their myriad melodies In one triumphal tune — If every bird was glad to sing, And every man was glad to hear — Would not some note of sadness ring In every listener's ear? If all the tears that women weep, And all that men refuse to shed Were made one bitter draught — as deep As graves yawn for their dead ; And if that cup were mine, to drink Its everlasting anguish up, There still would be a taste, I think. Of sweetness in the cup ! MERE MELODIES 97 If you have not discovered this, You have not largely Hved, I fear — That spring may be, with all her bliss, The sorrow of the year ; And love, that tempers heart and brain, Makes every being on this earth A Httle happy for his pain. And sorry for his mirth ! 98 MERE MELODIES YESTERDAY TOMORROW never comes— today is dull, Regrets and fears are all the two can hold; But yesterday — ah, yesterday, how full Of perfect gold ! Nothing can spoil it, now; and every year Adds to its beauty, wipes its tears away, Like the dear dead that death makes doubly dear Is yesterday! God gives today to live as best we can; He gives tomorrow — only not to all. But yesterday's his finished gift to man. Though death befall. Tomorrow looms in gloom; today's events In dragging commonplaceness pass away. Life's conjugation has one Perfect Tense, 'Tis Yesterday! MERE MELODIES 99 THE SOUTH WIND 1 THOUGHT of you this afternoon, sweetheart, O, little sweetheart that I've lost so long ! It was the wind that rent a rose apart And minded me of a forgotten song; Do you remember "'Wind and Roses"? — think! Whatever now you love, you loved it then. And at its simple notes, the rose's pink Leapt to your cheeks; I'll sing it once again! — "The South wind tells his secrets to the rose. She nothing answers, but she nods and smiles; She nothing answers, but content he goes Upon his way across midsummer miles. loo MERE MELODIES He could not stay, and yet upon his wings And mingled with the freshness of his breath, The haunting essence of her sweetness chngs — The memory of her perfume tarrieth! "And all across the happy, sun-loved hills And all along the trodden country ways, And through the crowded cities, where he fills The hearts of men with thoughts of other days ; Each one that feels his breath upon his cheek The tender secret of his fragrance knows, And men will say— although they may not speak — *0 happy South wind — he hath kissed arose!'" MERE MELODIES loi I thought of you this afternoon, sweet- heart — O, Httle sweetheart that I've lost so long! The South wind rent a late wild rose apart, And minded me of a forgotten song. And so I know if any fragrance fine. If any sweetness in my song endures, It is not there by any grace of mine — It is the breath of that last kiss of yours! I02 MERE MELODIES I SHAME KNOW how husband and wife shall meet, When the parting of death is ended; I can dream how a soul finds solace sweet With Love and Eternity blended. I see how a friend shall find his friend, And a foe shall avoid his foe; How useless quarrels and wrongs shall mend. That have parted us fiere below. I can figure the erring son's embrace, And the joy of the wounded mother — But how shall lovers stand face to face Who have lied to one another? MERE MELODIES 103 THE OLD THINGS ONCE I believed in God. And then I doubted him — and later still Threw him away. And foolish men Applauded as I cursed; until With patient search for something lost — (How many the same path have trod!) Through tears and fears, at awful cost, I found another, better God. And yet, sometimes at night, I find The old one running in my mind. Once I believed in You. And then I doubted you — and later still Threw you away. Unknowing men Applauded as I cursed you ; till. With hopeless search for something lost, And pain that you know nothing of, With youth and youthful soul the cost, At last I found another love. (And yet sometimes in dreams I start To find you tugging at my heart!) I04 MERE MELODIES REBIRTH I SAW the river hasten to the sea, The birds fly southward ; and the sun make haste To hide behind the mountains of the west — ^ Apace, apace ! And so it seemed to me ^ That men across Hfe's desolate, stricken i waste Were also hurrying — ^whither, to their , rest? 1 I saw the ocean fill the clouds, and swell J The rivers ; saw the birds come back in spring; And after night the sun arose again. 'Tis well, ye waters! Works of God, 'tis well! Ye go and come upon His laboring, And ye, too, shall return, ye sons of men! MERE MELODIES 105 PREMATURE ^T^HERE'S a brown leaf on the maple, -■- though the summer's just begun ; And rusty is the yellow wheat, and dusty is the clover. The rose has withered all too soon be- neath the Junetime sun. The robin has forgot to sing, though June is scarcely over. The dawn upon the lawn will find the dew no longer pearly. The sunset tints have awful hints of autumn in their hues; God help this laboring world of ours when summer comes too early — And takes from us the joy we can so ill afford to lose ! io6 MERE MELODIES There's a white hair in your head, dear, though your Hfe has just begun; There are Unes upon your forehead — there are scars upon my heart. The things we should be doing now, we have already done. And our splendid journey's ended, ere we should have made a start! God help the soul that blooms too young, the heart that learns too quickly! God pity them when life at noon seems drawing to its gloaming! When the buds that should be bursting are all withered, pale and sickly — And tired doves, ere half their flight, go fluttering to their homing! MERE MELODIES 107 ALONG THE BOTTOMS THE day wanes; now you need not dip an oar. But let the sluggish stream propel your boat Down to its landing place,andasyou float You'll cast a few times toward the reedy shore, But mostly you will idle. Like a floor The bottoms stretch beside you, where you note The red-winged blackbird, "chucking" in his throat. And a kingfisher in the sycamore. And here are small springs, lined with tender cress, Mint, and the trillium's petaled trinity; And see the bittern, booming as he drinks ! Laziness takes you now, and happiness — But hsten,from that scrubby willow tree The liquid ecstacy of bobolinks ! io8 MERE MELODIES THE VOICE AH, how her voice was sweet and rich -^ ^ and low! Even if she called across the room to me, The words were velvet whispers. Silently She stepped and softly spoke, and made me know The strength of calm. Each ripple of the flow Of liquid music somehow seemed to be More eloquent than all the minstrelsy Of all the years. And that was long ago. And now men say her voice is hushed — their ears Being deaf to that which rings so loud in mine ; Loud now, and louder through the drag- ging years, Crying across that clouded boundary line, Until I hear naught else, and wonder how, So low in life, it is so clamorous now ! I/' MERE MELODIES 109 LOOKING A BIT AHEAD BEYOND this little world I know, I cannot think how Hfe may be — A life made up of memory, Where no new flowers grow! I think I do not care to Hve Where all my dreams are of the past, And where my future is the last That life could ever give. Unless another life may ope Beyond the life to dead men given — Unless there be a Super-Heaven, I do not want to hope ! no MERE MELODIES MIDSUMMER INLAND CALLING— calling! Oh, can't you hear it, the call of the sea? Ringing through mountain and valley, and falling And rising and roaring, but calling — still calling Always to me! League on league lies the land between Forest and river and waterless waste; But ever the sea gulls cry, "O haste Over the dusty miles to the green Wide water where we have been!" Somewhere — anywhere, out of all this Dust and drought where I blink and choke ; Out of the riot of noise and smoke — Only to feel the sea wind's kiss, MERE MELODIES iii To taste the salt of the shimmering spray, To join in the words of my mother- speech, And hear what the breakers say To the shingle and shell and the sands of the beach. And the whitecaps shouting, each to each Across the bay! O to be one with the waves this night ! — To join in their long ranks, hand in hand. In a desperate charge on the rocks and the sand. With spears of silvery spume to smite ! 112 MERE MELODIES And to part and meet in the wild re- treat And the shuddering splash of the rush ashore — The dash up the shivering shale, and the roar Through the shelving shallows — then back to the sweet, Deep, shining sea once more ! Calling — calling ! Hark, how it rises, the call of the sea ! Over the distance still rising and fall- ing Loud and soft, low and long, calling — still calling Always to me ! MERE MELODIES 113 BEAUTY "HO keenly looks in eyes of mortals sees Three wonderful and awesome mysteries. w ^ ▼ sees The steady gaze of eyes grown old and fond Of looking at the great unknown Beyond; The tenderness and joy, half-understood, In her young eyes that dreams of mother- hood : The wide, unwinking wonder and surprise And purity in little babies' eyes! 114 MERE MELODIES THE THREE WISHES IN the Fairy country Of Once-Upon-a-Day Lived three lovely maidens, long ago and far away. Came an Old Witch to them, Once upon a time — These things often happen in the land of love and rhyme. " I can grant your wishes " (So the old dame said), — "Only one wish, though, for each. Now, girls, wish ahead!" Then the first made answer — "I have love and health. Only one thing I require; lo! I wish for wealth!" MERE MELODIES 115 Then the second answered — "I have wealth above Power to count, and therefore, if you please, I wish for love!" But the third was weeping In her flower-dish ; "Love and wealth I have — I only wish I had a wish!" ii6 MERE MELODIES ENTER— AN IMMORTAL (Bishop Brown of Bristol, England, threatens to resign unless people desist from bringing cry- ing children to church.) BISHOP Brown of Bristol Town, He's loved by all the widdies. He likes old maids and wealthy blades — But he doesn't care for kiddies! He'll take his tea with a K.C.B. And rave o'er his plate and crystal — But the sight of a child will drive him wild, This Bishop Brown of Bristol. Bishop Brown of Bristol Town Proclaims in all his sermons, We should call brothers all the others (Except, of course, the Germans). And all and each we ought to reach, And cherish and assist all — v Except, perhaps, the baby chaps, Says Bishop Brown of Bristol. MERE MELODIES 117 Bishop Brown of Bristol Town Has aimed at babes — and winged 'em! This text he flees — " Suffer ye these To come into my Kingdom!" The babies cry — ah, let them die By cannon, sword and pistol. But not disturb the speech superb Of Bishop Brown of Bristol! ii8 MERE MELODIES I IDEALS I LOOK to find Perfection; and the mocking stars disclose A soiled spot on the lily and a canker in the rose, A lovely woman burdened with self-con- scious unrepose. II I look for Wisdom ; and I see a preacher, fresh from school, Lay off the way to heaven with a com- pass and a rule; A doctor that's a charlatan — a teacher that's a fool. MERE MELODIES 119 III I look for Virtue; men are flies who lose their souls for honey; The women see their draggled wings, and laugh and think it's funny, And scorn their fallen sisters — and wed a man for money! IV I look for Inspiration; from what cess- pools poets pump it! Why, even Kipling tootles on a penny pewter trumpet. And Homer sang the Trojan war — a struggle for a strumpet! V I look for Honor; stay awhile — ^what hon- est men are these ? A politician out for plums, a lawyer out for fees — Go to! I'll get a lantern and join Dio- genes ! I20 MERE MELODIES VI I look for Gods; I find poor things that make the angels weep — Jehovah kiUing Canaanites and eating slaughtered sheep, And Jove debauching women, and Buddha sound asleep ! VII Perfection, wisdom, virtue, inspiration, honor — puff ! They all go up in smoke — they're made of very fragile stuff — And yet, I'll find them if I keep on look- ing long enough ! MERE MELODIES 121 CAUSE FOR MOURNING I WAS ware of a pair of turtle-doves that sat on the maple branch to woo; That sat on the branch to bill and coo and whisper their gentle loves. O soft their plumage and bright their eyes, their joy the joy of the spring, new-born ! Then why should they mourn, and mourn, and mourn, and breathe out their love in sighs? "Oh, why do you mourn, dear doves?" said I, "when cooing and kissing is all your care?" And side by side on the maple, there, they gurgled their sad reply: "If you had lips that were made of horn, not warm and tender as lips should be, And cooing and kissing were all your glee, say, wouldn't you mourn and mourn?" 122 MERE MELODIES BUSY EXPLAINING TELL me, darling, what thou fearest ? Thou art nearest, thou are dearest; Thou appearest to be queerest when thou lovest me the best! All thy terror is an error — of my life thou art the sharer — Thou art altogether fairer, yea and squarer, than the rest. But you newly act unruly, treating coolly me, yours truly; You're unduly mean and muley — you are stubbornly unfair. Explanations you refuse me ; you'll abuse me till you lose me! Please excuse me, but you use me like a doormat, like a chair! MERE MELODIES 123 Yes, I called the actress "Cutie," "Frutti- tutti," "tutti-frutti"— But I only did my duty when her beauty thrilled me through; She is older, she is bolder, than are you, and she is colder — But I praised her 'cause her shoulder — er — reminded me of you ! 124 MERE MELODIES WILD ROSES I ON a sunny summer morning in the middle of July, When the sun upon the meadows is half- an-hour high ; Walking down the dusty roadway in the country, where you get Whiffs of jimson-weed and rag-weed through the wealth of "Bouncing- Bet." The shimmer of the corn blades makes a picture for the eyes — And the merry dancing crowd of little white-winged butterflies — Then an odor, stronger, sweeter, than the rest usurps your sense — Wild roses in the corners of the stake-and- rider fence! MERE MELODIES 125 II The rails are covered over with the twisted berry-vines And here and there among the leaves a small white blossom shines; The briers catch and hold you as you vault across the bars, And the grasses slash your ankles with their verdant scimitars. What matter? Here's a wonder undis- covered and forlorn, The sweetest little blossom of all blossoms ever born ; Did you doubt that it was summer? Here's a living evidence — Wild roses in the corners of the stake-and- rider fence ! 126 MERE MELODIES III There are many wondrous blossoms bear the lovely name of Rose, The La Frances, and the Beauties, and the haughty Jaqueminots; Each holds a myriad petals close in one great lovely bloom, Each holds its own rare color, and im- parts its own perfume. But here's a little cousin that is sweeter far than all. With a single row of petals — if you touch them they will fall ! — Not all your gold will buy them though they grow without expense, Uncared for, in the corners of the stake- and-rider fence! MERE MELODIES 127 IV O, prototype of modesty — that perfect, subtle charm Whose very frailty keeps it from a wanton touch of harm! You do not need those thorns to keep the vandal hand away; You have no need to hide so shyly by the dusty way: The white may deepen into pink, the pink may shade to red For beauty's sake, but not with blushes for a ravished bed ; You tell your innocence to all with mute, sweet eloquence — Wild roses in the corners of the stake-and- rider fence ! 128 MERE MELODIES PERHAPS SOME place, beyond the sea that rolls In lands beyond our ken, They wait — the myriad of souls That some day must be men. And I suppose they treasure up A hope, and hold it dear — That being born is not a cup So bitter as they fear; Just as we treasure, on this earth, Our lively, human breath. Perhaps they're as afraid of birth As we're afraid of death ! MERE MELODIES 129 "OF SUCH IS THE KINGDOM" ONCE there was a bachelor who moved from flat to flat; Every house had children, and he wouldn't stand for that; Found one where they weren't allowed — then with rage was torn, For in the rooms above, one day, there was a baby born! Moved into another place — then refused to stay. When he noticed children in the house across the way. I30 MERE MELODIES Finally he died, and, as is everybody's fate. Found himself a-knocking at St. Peter's golden gate; "Can't come in? Why not?" he asked. Says the Saint, "Oh, dear! Fm afraid you couldn't stand the way we run things here; Children, children, all about — no, it isn't fair; You go to the other place — you'll find no children there!" MERE MELODIES 131 JULY DOWN in the bayou, where the lilies grow — The pure pond-lilies that are born of mud — The anchored punt rocks idly to and fro, July has stilled the current and the blood ; Energy ebbs apace that was at flood In June, and I would neither swim nor row, But lie and smoke until the sun is low, Reach out at times, and pluck a lily bud, And watch the ford (where cattle move so slow. Knee-deep, and switch the tail and chew the cud, And think of naught) . I dream of long ago. And white thoughts bloom in the still even-glow, Down in the bayou, where the lilies grow — The pure pond-lilies that are born of mud! 132 MERE MELODIES AT THE END I THINK that when the Judgment Day shall dawn, The wicked shall be not so much con- demned For the great sins they did in days long gone, As for the little tides they left un- stemmed, The little kindnesses they left undone. The faults that in their selfish pride they passed Shall overwhelm them, each and every one, More than their great unrighteousness, at last. MERE MELODIES 133 I think when that Great Reckoning has come The righteous shall be blessed, ah! not so much For acts of faith and glorious martyrdom And crowns snatched from the Devil's poisoned clutch — Not for the wound that in the sunlight bleeds And bathes in crimson glory all their lot- But for those little common daily deeds Of kindness that they did — and then forgot ! 134 MERE MELODIES THE MUSE GONE MAD I THOUGHT of a sonnet to you, dear, And I sat down to write it at once; But it wouldn't remain in the rhythm so plain That is used in those dignified stunts. The lines I could use were too few, dear — At fourteen I'd scarcely a start: Where the meter should creep it would gallop and leap. To the jubilant beats of my heart! It wouldn't be quiet, however I'd try it; It wanted to fly — it was bound on a riot Of rhymes that were ever irregular — never Obeying a rule of the classical school. But drunkenly reeling with passionate feeling — The knees of it danced when they should have been kneeling MERE MELODIES 135 Till the heavens above and the planets thereof Seemed echoing, ringing with seraphim, singing The song of my love ! I can't write a sonnet to you, dear, For sonnets are calm and sedate. And that the poor muse cannot do, dear. When her heart's in a turbulent state. For how can I fashion it calm and dis- passionate, Under your eye with that maddening flash in it? No — I must dash in it headlong and furious, Not of the treasure of measure penurious. But all in a meter that's sweeter and fleeter Than carrier doves are — and all filled with curious 136 MERE MELODIES Changes of rhyme-scheme and time scheme — for this Is the way of my dreams and my schemes for the bhss We shall own — we alone — all aroused by your kiss, Or the touch of your hand, or the glance of your eyes, Or your flashing, transcendent bright smile that's resplendent As yon August moon that is hung as a pendant By God on the breast of the skies! MERE MELODIES 137 AUREA THE sunshine playing in her hair Seemed something more than sun- shine, there; For sunshine has one hue, I'm told, And this had all the tints of gold— The dull gold, gleaming in the stone Where it has shone for ages flown; The red gold in the signet rings Of ancient Oriental kings; The virgin gold's bold, tawny tint. The new coin, glittering from the mint, And many another golden hue That golden baubles never knew. For one bright smile she gave to me I could not find a simile ; What lay beneath the tenderness Of those deep eyes, I could not guess. No snow, no ivory, no pearl, Were like the forehead of this girl; 138 MERE MELODIES No art could say what other thing Was Hke the dance bewildering Of cupids, playing hide-and-seek Among the dimples of her cheek. Her form, her grace, but showed how far Inadequate expressions are — Only her hair, I knew, was gold — Only her heart, I found, was cold! MERE MELODIES 139 LUX IN TENEBRIS I SHALL know, when I am old, Of a truth, When my Hfe is growing cold, What is youth. I shall learn its wonder, when I can have it not again. I shall know, when I am blind, What is light ; Of its glories, I shall find Clearer sight. I shall know the golden day When its beauties pass away. Loveless, I shall learn of love, Deaf, shall hear Melodies unfathomed of Lively ear. And despairing, I shall see What the joys of hope may be. I40 MERE MELODIES So, mayhap, when I am dead, And the pain Bows no more my throbbing head, I shall gain With the knowledge Death can give. More of life than you who live ! MERE MELODIES 141 AN AMATEUR 1 PIPED amid the autumn woods, Because I could not come on Pan; The gods were gone, but all their goods Were scattered through the solitudes, And therefore, I, naught but a man, Played on my pipes, as well as mortals can. I piped to call the rabbits and The squirrels to my side; As Marsyas, I would command Where, by the autumn breezes banned, Apollo would not bide; Therefore I piped through all the woodland wide. I piped to call the forest things The wood had made so tame — Squirrels, and birds with timid wings. The hare that limps, the lark that sings — I piped ! And beasts with eyes aflame — Lions and tigers came! 142 MERE MELODIES IN THE MONASTERY I FATHER Remy, Father Remy ! Is the world so very bad ? Is there naught but sin and sorrow, that your brow is worn and sad — That you frown, when past these cloisters sweep their glittering cavalcades — Are they naught but vain delusions — naught but senseless masquerades ? II Father Remy, Father Remy! Yestereve I stood awhile. Watched the pilgrims on the highway (leaning on the abbey stile). Caught a glimpse of drooping lashes, azure eyes, and golden hair! Caught the scent of dewy roses — Father! But the world is fair! MERE MELODIES 143 III Then I said a "Miserere'' for the sins that on us fall; Prayed for grace to Mother Mary (in the chapel, on the wall), But the painter, Father Remy, he had made the Virgin fair — He had given her drooping lashes, azure eyes and golden hair. IV Father Remy, yestereven, when the An- gelus had rung. And I sought my lonely pallet, after Vespers had been sung, Then I dreamt of Holy Angels, flying to- ward me, through the air, But they all had drooping lashes, azure eyes and golden hair! 144 MERE MELODIES V Father Remy, Father Remy! Is the world so bad, outside? Is there naught but lust and murder, evil thoughts and sinful pride? But, Father! Even if sin and sorrow have their habitation there, Are there not the drooping lashes, azure eyes and golden hair? MERE MELODIES 145 A HUMID NIGHT HALF the slow night is past and, still awake, I curse and pray for just one little breeze To stir the lifeless leaves of those thick trees; For those low, heavy clouds at last to break With thunders from their sluggishness, and shake These breathless meadows into raging seas Of tossing green — a blessed storm that frees The tightened pulse and nerves that throb and ache! 10 146 MERE MELODIES Some sound for this curst silence! In the grass The noisiest insect has been drugged to sleep ; The owl is choked as I, his brother, am. Two lonesome sounds but deepen the morass Of stillness — far there bleats a suffering sheep Near, the dull water rumbles at the dam. MERE MELODIES 147 AN IMPOSSIBILITY IDONT believe the story that they told In Hellas ere this age began to be — How Aphrodite issued from the sea, Foam-born, but perfect as the waves that rolled In endless rhythm, musical, but cold Upon the shores of that strange mystery, A world without Love. Ay, it seems to me That dreamers were illogical, of old ! For how could there be shore or sea or land, Or sky or universe, or night or morn, Or man to launch his cockles from the strand. And argosies with gold and wine and corn — How could this mother-wave have kissed the sand. Or anything have been, ere Love was born ? 148 MERE MELODIES A PRISONER ("When looking at the happy autumn fields, And thinking of the days that are no more." — ^Tennyson.) I DO not wish that I could wander through The autumn woodlands, as I used to do; Although the forests call me, call me still, And the trees shout from every flaming hill- Beckon with baring boughs — and the brown fields Speak of the treasure that their stubble yields. The smell of dead leaves calls me, and the haze On the horizon dreams of former days — Talks in its lazy sleep and calls me hence. And strikes a sharp thrill through my in- dolence. MERE MELODIES 149 And yet, I do not wish that I could go — Not as I am. The long years, quick or slow, Have crowded in between these things and me, And bound me — and will never let me free ! For, though I went unheeded, and could take A long week, wandering by stream and lake, I'd still be fettered. Why, each simple joy, Freely accepted by the growing boy. Is taken from the man by everything That holds his life's dull autumn from its spring! I would throw cudgels at a walnut tree And bring the green globes tumbling over me; Rend the wet rinds therefrom, and stain with brown My hands — and gaily brave my mother's frown ! I50 MERE MELODIES I want to do these things — but know full well I cannot. Why it is, I cannot tell, But that the thrill is all in memory — How tasteless the reality would be ! The ripe persimmon, stoned from off the bough, Would be less luscious than stuffed olives now; The pawpaw were a flat and mushy fruit — As nasty as that sweet, delicious root Of sassafras we dug last spring! And all The sights and sounds and odors of the fall Bring keen remembrance. At our very feet A feast is spread — and, lo! we may not eat! Smell the dead leaves! They call to me, but no — My feet are shackled, and I cannot go! MERE MELODIES iji IN VISIONSHIRE IN Visionshire the sky is blue, And all the things I meant to do, And all the joys I might have missed And all the lips I might have kissed Wait for me, ever fresh and new! My unwrit song is sung there, too. And there my dearest dreams come true — Ay, more dreams than my heart has wist In Visionshire! For roses I shall trade my rue, And, wandering those gardens through. Shall find the pathway as I list Where I may keep that old, old tryst That long ago I made with you In Visionshire! 152 MERE MELODIES INTUITION MY heart is a baby that cries for the moon ; My mind is the parent that laughs at its folly, Oh, give it a rattle, a bowl and a spoon, A ring, and a patent-unbreakable-dolly! Feed milk to the heart, Mind, and kiss it and pet it — Perhaps, in a while, it will sleep and for- get it! But, Heart, let me whisper — refuse thou to grow To the Intellect's form of eternal deny- ing; Remain as a child, and at last thou shalt know The Mother of Hearts giveth ear to the crying. And the moon shall be thine through the power of her love. And the waters beneath and the heaven above ! MERE MELODIES 153 THE NINETEENTH PSALM THE heavens declare His glory, The firmament showeth His deeds! Day unto day tells His story — Night writes what another night reads! It needeth not speech for their sermons, The silence is loud with their song — The world's end their message determines, Through aeons long! The home of the sun is amid them. Who bursteth on them from above, From the veils of the night that hath hid them As a lover approaches his love ! Naught lets him, naught flees, naught withstands him — He marketh the day and the hour; And even the Lord, who commands him, Knoweth his power! 154 MERE MELODIES For the law of the Lord is unaltered, His judgment is wise and complete; Tis the law,0 thou soul that hast faltered, That bringeth thee wise to His feet! OGod! We are weak! And in terror We yield us in ignorant awe — Grant thou that through wandering and error We keep thy law! MERE MELODIES 155 AUTUMNAL AUTOMORPHISM THIS time of year, when woods appear Wrapped in a smoky haziness, When more and more our Umbs are sore With Monday morning laziness ; Close to the ground my body's bound, But feeble my resistance is Against the wind that sweeps my mind Across the misty distances. And so, while I in quiet lie. The bonds of sleep unraveling, My spirit, stirred, flees as a bird Beyond the meadows traveling; Pours its new wine before the shrine That duller souls would call a tree, Where dryads wake, and smiling take The fruits of its idolatry! 156 MERE MELODIES Then up and on to meet the dawn, And swifter than a swallow wing To dip in streams where frosty gleams The mist of morn are following; Where floating downs from thistle crowns On journey's wild and windy, go To flutter where the frosts prepare The wild grape's green and indigo. Here where the rills baptize the hills New to all eyes — or here, amid The ancient lands where long-dead hands Built cenotaph and pyramid, My spirit flies! My body lies, A snared bird that has lost her moor All drearily, all wearily, And snuggles in the Ostermoor! MERE MELODIES 157 GETTING OLD GRAY rock, half hidden in the wood, Storm stained and calm and cold, How old are you ? A million years ? That's not so very old! Why, I remember babyhood. With all its storm and strife Of infant dreams and ills and fears — Pray, is not that a life ? I had a boyhood, too — a round Of childish wars to wage ; O, long, long memories of youth! And is not that an age ? I had a love, and bliss profound; And, since she went from me Has not the waiting been, forsooth, A whole eternity? Gray rock, who cares what manifold Millennia you may see ? I am a hundred times as old As you can ever be ! iS8 MERE MELODIES THE AUTUMN IMP THERE'S a tricksy little Pixie, run- ning all about the woods, If you find him, you may bind him, and confiscate his goods; He's a smuggler and a juggler, and he'll devastate the land — He's a meddler, and a peddler — and his goods are contraband! Down the leafy lanes, the thief, he takes his wicked, wanton way. And his brushes paint bright blushes on the greens of yesterday; But beware! His gold is fairy's gold that only lasts a night, Bring it hither — it will wither to dead leaves before your sight! MERE MELODIES 159 Little varlet! All your scarlet is the blood that speaks of death! All your painted frauds are tainted with the poison of your breath, And, October, when you robe her in your flaming frock of flame, YouVe made easy for the breezy nights to strip her to her shame! i6o MERE MELODIES ONE GOOD DREAM 1 DREAMT I went to heaven, and I saw Folk there that I had never thought to see. Ah ! Not the throng of white-robed saints, who pass From innocence to immortaHty, Untouched of sin, unspotted of the world, Whose unshamed radiance makes them colorless ; Not singing schools of souls all satisfied That set me seeking wistfully for friends — But some I knew and loved in human guise. And some I had, reluctant, cast aside For my own reputation's sake, were there; Some I had labored with, to make them see The error of their way — then washed my hands MERE MELODIES i6i Of them, and seen them take the path my mind Told me was evil — they were also there; And some I knew not, but whom, all at once, I loved, because they added warm, bright hues To the dead whiteness of eternity! Oh! there were women whose mistakes had made A greater work for perfect love to do; Whose purity was more than innocence — Innocence lost, but something better gained. Fire-tried and true and holy at the end ! Oh! there were men whose visions had been wrong, But who at least had had a vision — and Their hearts had triumphed where their brains had erred. II i62 MERE MELODIES And I was happy. For I much had feared A heaven peopled with such brilHant souls That, could I by some trick or miracle Win thither, I should be ashamed — and oh. So lonesome ! My surprise was ecstasy To find so many very human folk — Friends, comrades and good fellows! So I knew With sudden understanding, why it was That people called it Heaven — it was so Blessedly human, and so much like home ! MERE MELODIES 163 BALLADE A DOUBLE REFRAIN KEEPER of promises made in spring, Gilder of squalor in lowly cot — Ever true and unwavering — These are the things that Love is not! This is pretty to round the plot Of a play, for the playwright knows he must Tickle our fancies to boil his pot — For Love is a liar we love to trust! Passion immortal that poets sing, Highest of gifts that the gods allot! Healing balm of affliction's sting — These are the things that Love is not. Ay, we would it were so, God wot! Snatch we at apples that turn to dust! Learn we wisdom, then? Not a jot. For Love is a liar we love to trust ! i64 MERE MELODIES Poets and dramatists! Ye who cling Still to the old romantic rot, Though I am telling a bitter thing, These are the things that Love is not! Love is a breeze blowing cold and hot, A young man's fancy — a withering gust Yet, let Love call and we rush to the spot. For Love is a liar we love to trust! l'envoi ! Princess, I love you! I've quite forgot These are the things that Love is not; 'Tis bitter bread, but I beg a crust. For Love is a liar we love to trust! MERE MELODIES 165 AUTUMN AFIELD HOW greener is the maple tree, when half its leaves are red — How keener is its tracery, when half its leaves are shed! How softer is the Autumn path, how sweeter is the aftermath — What dreamy haze through forest ways when Summer days have fled! The winter's Dian sleeping with the moon- light chill above her; The Spring is Psyche creeping to the sleeping Eros of her — The Summer is a Venus fraught with pas- sions hot that come to naught — But Autumn is a human woman, mother, wife and lover! i66 MERE MELODIES Go build your hut, who love the first, on Winter's barren heights; Go dream with Spring, O youths that thirst for immature delights; Let him that loves the Summer sing her kisses and her blossoming — The fruits are mine, the mellow wine, through Autumn days and nights! MERE MELODIES 167 EX MINIMIS HERE, where mine eyes are blinded with the smoke, Here, where mine ears are deafened with the din — Here where the singing voice can only- choke — Here where the wandering soul is shut within ; Here, city-bound, I see the great round dome Of heaven that once, I fancy, arched above The fields I knew that glorified my home — The hills that in my memory I love i68 MERE MELODIES I see one little, lonely bit of blue From where my city casement mocks the day; And blocked by brick and stone from all my view Is all that sky that reaches far away — But from that little patch, I know the sky. And from that breath, I know the boundless air; And from that little thrill within me, I Know there is endless happiness, out there ! MERE MELODIES 169 VALE! IS there any knowing Where September's going? Ah, so fast she foots away through the forests glowing — Glowing where the leaves and grasses To a thousand tints are turning; Where, in gold and scarlet masses, Moses' bush anew is burning. Is there any knowing Whither she is going? Lo! the moon senescent Dwindles to her crescent; In the autumn skies the frosty stars are incandescent Through the woods the winds are crying, On the beach the waves are throbbing — "Summer's dead and autumn's dying!" Winds and waves alike are sobbing — Is there any knowing Where September's going? I70 MERE MELODIES Where the dewdrops writ her Name with gems a-ghtter, Yesterday, to-morrow will be hoar-frost, chill and bitter. She will go, and go forever, Only shall our hearts remember That no future years can ever Bring us back this lost September — And there is no knowing Whither she is going! MERE MELODIES 171 A BITTER JEST TT was all a joke, this youth of mine, -^ It was pure and simple fun; It went to my head like fumes of wine. And I laughed till the joke was done; And still I laughed at the silly strife That wages through endless days — At the follies and practical jokes that Life, The Prince of all Jesters, plays. I laughed at Love, the impudent boy, And at Fate, the insolent clown; The whole world chuckled and grinned with joy. And I laughed till the tears ran down. I laughed till the tears ran hot and fast — And my eyes and my cheeks are wet, The Jest is ended, the laugh has passed. But the tears are flowing yet! 172 MERE MELODIES "THE CAVE" THE giant hand that clove this yawn- ing chasm Ceased from its task an age of years ago ; The winds have carved it, and the rain and snow Channeled its walls since that convulsive spasm. This oak was then primordial protoplasm, Or what forewent it! Here it stands, and lo! Its wild and solemn beauty seems to grow Upon you and your slow enthusiasm. So wonderfully old and calm! The year Has clothed its beetling crags with vines of flame ; A hymn of praise should fill you — but, alas! You curse, or blush ashamed, for even here The picnicker has hacked his silly name. And strewed his egg shells and his broken glass! MERE MELODIES 173 AFTERGLOW AS echoes answer when the voice has -^ ^ ceased To sound ; as, when the storm is spent, the rain Still splashes from the trees; as scents remain Of withered roses; as a ghost released Still haunts the tables of his finished feast, Still seeks the old scenes of his keenest pain ; Or as the sun, sunk 'neath the western plain. Yet leaves his glory in the shining east — So, love, I sing of love, though we have said That love has yielded to a better thing; Though we have kissed and laid him in his bed, Wept over him and parted — yet I bring The same song! Love, my love, though love be dead How can I know it yet, and how not sing! 174 MERE MELODIES A LITTLE AUTUMN SONG THERE'S a keenness in the air, When the sun is low; When the sky is swept and bare, And the night winds blow; When the shadows come and go. Shiver, rise and fall All along the foggy distance, where the night birds call. There's a girl — how summer flies! — Whom I loved of yore. And the light behind her eyes Shineth evermore; So Fm wishing, as before. For the dusk to fall Down across the foggy distance, where the night birds call. M E R E M E L O D I E S 175 j Ah, my love! Can I forget, | As the seasons come, i As they go, that even yet Hearts cannot be dumb ? Some are fast in ice, but some Weep, as shadows fall Down upon the foggy distance, where I the night birds call! 176 MERE MELODIES LABIA MEA APERIES WHEN stars of an autumn night Shine clear till the edge of dawn, And frost, in the darkness white. At a touch of the sun is gone ; When woods, with their flags unrolled. Scarlet and green and gold. Burst on the waking sight, And shout of the treasure they hold — The treasures that gleam and shine Behind the forest's door, The wild grape's purple wine. And the chestnut's bristled store; When the last October days On our heartstrings start to thrum. And the tongue is moved to praise That summer had stricken dumb — When the honey of all the year From its bursted casket drips, O Thou of the woods, give ear — O Lord, open thou my lips ! MERE MELODIES 177 THE MERIDIAN "There is a movement among navigators and astronomers to change the accepted meridian from its present situation, on account of the defective position of the Greenwich observatory. It is pro- posed to adopt generally the meridian of Beth- lehem, in Judea." — Sunday Paper. HO! ye wild mariners, whoVe steered The same old course so long — Answer us — have ye never feared Your reckonings were wrong ? "How far from Greenwich?" Can you plan For a new theorem, And use a new meridian — "How far from Bethlehem?" Ye yachtsmen in the Social Swim, Who fix your weary eyes On London shallows, fogged and dim, As they were Paradise — 12 178 MERE MELODIES What boot these barren shores, how far Or near ye sail to them ? How stand ye with the Ancient Star- How far from Bethlehem ? And ye who drive your slavers out, Or golden galleys in — Ye modern pirates, stanch and stout, Respectable in sin — A tempest rises in the west, A tide ye may not stem! Ah, fools ! How vain your rainbow quest. How far from Bethlehem! O Science, groping for the light. With faith thrown overboard ! O Students! Are your figures right — Are all your books explored ? O Dogma, sailing by a creed — Ere ye our hopes condemn. Are chart and compass all ye need? How far from Bethlehem? MERE MELODIES 179 BALLADE OF AUTUMN 7\ND Autumn comes — not as the -^^ Spring, With song of birds and breath of cheer; No pageants to its passing bring The dying year. No shout of triumph fills the ear. No cry of sorrow, even, to lend A note of change — but dull and drear Our Summers end ! And Autumn comes with whispering. So softly that we cannot hear The voiceless dirge she seems to sing By Summer's bier. And if the leaves to-day are sere. Were yesterday's much greener.^ Mend Your phrase! When have you seen appear "Our Summer's end?" i8o MERE MELODIES And Autumn comes, not with the sting Of sharp regret, or sudden veer Of winds — a soft, disguised thing That sheds no tear. She's finished half of her career Ere we begin to comprehend That she has come, and brought us near Our Summer's end! l'envoi And Autumn comes! But we, my dear. Care not, for she has been our friend And taught us we need never fear Our Summer's end! MERE MELODIES i8i IN OCTOBER A LEAFLESS tree is not a cheerless thing, Nor frozen ground, nor biting cold, nor snow; Winter is good to look at, all men know, As summer is, or even as the spring. But be the tree half-bare, with leaves that cling Uneasily, sport of the winds that blow, How dreary is the picture ! All our woe Is in the passing — not the burying. Life is a wondrous pleasure ; and in death There is no sorrow, for no pain is there — But oh! the dying one we weep above ! Love blesses all who feel his tender breath. Who lack love, know it not, and cannot care — But oh ! the drear October of a love ! i82 MERE MELODIES MIRACLES EVEN in winter time, the whole of the world Appears so full of life — indeed, Seems made of life — the blossom and the seed, The thistledown, wind-whirled. The crackling branches, and the snowy ground ; The street crowds, full of rush and sound — That it seems strange to me that men Should count the thing a miracle. Unheard of and impossible. That any dead should ever live again. That is not strange — look at this constant strife. The fallen things that rise, the restless ocean Of things that are, in everlasting motion; Creation's either naught at all, or — Life. MERE MELODIES 183 And if the dead live not again, in what Hid, loathsome spot — What noisome dust heap, fouling endless space. Does all this vain material lie and rot — Say, has infinity a room for such a place ? Not thus could He that lives in all things blunder. That life should find its own once more, That is no greater cause for wonder, Than that day follows night that goes before. But this would be the miracle, Inexplicable and unnatural — To find that, anywhere beneath the sky. What lives could ever die ! i84 MERE MELODIES TEMPTATION 1KN0W a covered alley with a gutter down the middle, And a torrent in the gutter it would sicken you to think of; And I know a little canyon with a rill that is a riddle In its origin and ending — that a dainty elf might drink of! And the one I tread by daytime, and the other when I'm dreaming — Oh, the stench that fills the alley! Oh, the canyon's jeweled gleaming! I know a fairy country, past the blue hills 'way out yonder. Where Life's a lovely vision and where Death can never enter; And I know an ugly city where my weary feet will wander With the other messy maggots strug- gling toward a festering center; MERE MELODIES 185 I know them both — and here amid the sUmy slough I linger While every willow beckons with its dew- cleansed pointing finger! The ugly things are keeping me from what is merely pretty; The Lord above is Father, but the dirt is still my Mother; And God is in the country, but Mankind is in the city, And God is only Father, after all — but Man is Brother! The brooks, the canyons, call to me with words no tongue can utter. But how shall I be washed while one is lying in the gutter? i86 MERE MELODIES BALLADE OF CHRISTMAS WEEK THOU shalt not, in the coming week, From poverty withhold thine hand ; Ten thousand children's voices speak To mind thee of the Lord's command. Poor babes! How can they understand Why cold should bite and hunger gnaw? (O Lord, have mercy on us, and Incline our hearts to keep this law!) Thou shalt remember, when the meek Christ's birth is hailed throughout the land. How as a child He came to seek This wide-eyed, hopeful, helpless band. Not for thyself this day was planned, But these, that feel the purer awe — (O Lord, have mercy on us, and Incline our hearts to keep this law!) MERE MELODIES 187 Thou shalt search out where dwelhngs bleak Make revenue for dwelKngs grand — Where noisome courts and alleys reek And stamp us with greed's shameful brand ; Childhood is there! Whose woe has spanned The years since He lay in the straw — (O Lord, have mercy on us, and Incline our hearts to keep this law!) Thou, who with equal eye hast scanned Both plutocrat and pariah, O, Lord ! Have mercy on us, and Incline our hearts to keep Thy law! i88 MERE MELODIES ALONE I HE stood alone in Nazareth, He walked alone by Galilee; ; Alone He crossed the unknown sea ; We darkly know as Death. Whatever path those others trod, They had Him ever at their side; ! Alone He had no human guide — j Alone, He trusted God ! | Ah! We would seek a martyr's throne ! But that we know what it would mean, ! Pain we might bear, however keen, ' But dare not be alone! j MERE MELODIES 189 A CHRISTMAS MELODY THERE are tales that lose their mean- ing with the changing of the times And become at last the curious burden of forgotten rhymes: While the world's demand for deeds grows large and larger every day, And we turn our backs on fabled lore, and cast our myths away. But no matter how new problems fill the circle of our earth — No matter how old tales are lost as things of little worth, There is one legend that each wintertide makes doubly dear — The story of the Christ-child waxes sweeter year by year. I90 MERE MELODIES Ah, louder still and louder grows the song the angels sang, And clearer sound the seraph's notes across the fields that rang: And dearer seems the message that the shepherds thought so sweet, And brighter shines the star that led them to a Baby's feet! Not the centuries of darkness o'er the nations born and dead Can dim the aureole that gleams about the Mother's head; For still the Kings and Wise Men of the world bow down to Her Whose memory still is fragrant of the Frankincense and Myrrh! MERE MELODIES 191 Living truth or lovely fable, there's a deeper meaning lies Close around that lowly stable, as each year grows old and dies: And each mother knows the secret as no priest or prophet could. Of the glory of the holiness that lives in babyhood. Wherever smiles a new-born child, haps the same wondrous thing — Godhood and manhood meet again to crown a future king; Wherever mother clasps her babe, that bright Star shines on them — Wherever rocks a cradle is another Beth- lehem! 192 MERE MELODIES O mystery of Motherhood ! O miracle of \ birth! I O magic of the Childhood song that her- i aids peace on earth! i Lean low, celestial choristers, and sweep j the clouds away, j And chant a grander anthem still to I greet this Christmas Day! ; A new song to the children, at whose | feet, just as of old, ; The wise men and the kings lay gifts of j incense and of gold, \ Sing loud — and yet to us will be, while I life, while love endures. The laughter of these little ones a sweeter j song than yours! j M E R E M E L O D I E S 193 i ~ \ i DANSE MACABRE I CHOOSE your partners! Take your places! , 'Tis the wildest dance — the last! I Now again unmask your faces — \ Tear therefrom the flesh's cast! Hark, the hautboy's eerie blast ; Echoes from the sexton's hut; j Up ! The night is nearly past — j Here's a dance you cannot cut! Now, with hideous grimaces, ' Death, the old Iconoclast, Puts the party through its paces, ■ Sets the tempo sharp and fast; • Gleam the eyeballs, sick and glassed, i Blares the brass and shrieks the gut — ^ To it, friend! Why stand aghast? \ Here's a dance you cannot cut! ' \ I i 13 1 194 MERE MELODIES Ho, thou beau with airs and graces, Show us now what steps thou hast! Soon thou'lt whirl through endless spaces — Hell's broad ballroom's chill and vast! Here the gibbering crowd is massed, Where the graveyard gates are shut; Trip it, old enthusiast — Here's a dance you cannot cut! Prince! Your grave is filled and grassed; Hasten, ere the last worm glut On your last lone bioplast — Here's a dance you cannot cut! MERE MELODIES 195 A REFLECTION SEARED by the years, and disillu- sioned by The disappointments that arrive each day Just as expected, yet each year I try At Christmas time, when I am fain to say, "Would it were over!" something of the joy And something of the eagerness to bor- row That plucks the heart strings of my little boy, Who asks, each evening, "Will it be tomorrow?" Shame on the aging nerves that grudge the strain! Shame on the hardening heart that beats so slow! What sort of business makes the sluggish brain 196 MERE MELODIES A mere machine that grumbles to and fro? A pity that the future is too near — A pity that the past should be too far —Oh So far too far! — to understand the sheer, Dumb yearning of that "Will it be to- morrow?" He has no calendar, that little lad — To him, some random power pricks the date On which his straining spirit shall be glad; In trusting blindness he can only wait! Just as, O Father, who dost hold the key That shall unlock the gates of earthly sorrow. We children in our ignorance ask of thee Of the last rapture, *'Will it be to- morrow ?" MERE MELODIES 197 THE OLD VIGIL WAITING for Spring! Why, we begin to wait Before the frosts have killed the au- tumn leaves; Before the housetops bear their earliest freight Of snow that melts and overflovv^s the eaves. Waiting for Spring! The birds that stay with us, And those that leave us, on reluctant wing, Ay, all look forward to the Winter thus — A cold room where we sit and wait for Spring! 198 MERE MELODIES Waiting for Spring! Somehow, a man begins Soon as the Maytime of his Hfe's at end, To wait another. And if wanhope wins, God teach him what he cannot compre- hend ! God, who hast sent the Springtime's song and psalm. Open our eyes to this so wondrous thing — Grant us to sit In faith's unshaken calm. Through Kfe's December, waiting for the Spring! MERE MELODIES 199 THE MIGHTY ATOM HE walks along the crowded street, from home unto his work, One of the multitudes that meet and pass and creep and lurk — One of the dreary many, bound from sor- didness to care. Not more nor less than any, found here, there or anywhere. An ant in scores of anthills — cog in a million wheels — He thinks and moves and feels, but not more than another feels; He loves, he hopes — each does the same, but who is he or they Apart from the gigantic game that all the world must play ? 200 MERE MELODIES He walks along the dirty street he never went beyond, One of the crowd that he may meet, bound to them with a bond ; And yet — he thinks of Socrates, he specu- lates of Mars — He who has never planted trees wanders among the stars! He who is born to leaden days lives in the golden years. Slinks through an alley's noisome ways — for Heloise sheds tears! An atom, man? A mere unknown, un- knowing part of things ? Time and eternity are his — love, space, and angels' wings! 470156 ."• ^r. UNIVERSITY OF CAUFORNlA LIBRARY it:i!i!