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 DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 By 
 Richard Burton 
 
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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2007 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/dumbinjunerichOOburtrich 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
Richard Burton's Books 
 
 Message and Melody 
 
 $j.oo, net 
 
 Literary Likings 
 
 A Book of Essays $i-SO 
 
 Memorial Day 
 
 $I.OO 
 
 Lyrics of Brotherhood 
 
 $I.OO 
 
 Dumb in June 
 
 $0.75 
 
 Lothrop Publishing Company 
 Boston 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 RICHARD BURTON 
 
 LOTHROP PUBLISHING 
 COMPANY BOSTON 
 
 OF THf 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF 
 
COPYRIGHT, 1896, BY COPELAND AND DAY. 
 
 I397f 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 
 Apology 
 
 Dumb in June 
 
 The City 
 
 Across the Fields to Anne 
 
 Page I 
 
 7 
 9 
 
 Of One Afflicted with Deafness 
 
 1 1 
 
 If We Had the Time 
 
 12 
 
 Saint Cecilia 
 
 14 
 
 In a City Park 
 Values 
 
 15 
 16 
 
 Day Laborers 
 A Potion 
 
 17 
 18 
 
 Two Mountains 
 
 19 
 
 The Awakening 
 The River 
 
 20 
 23 
 
 The Passing of the Birds 
 October 
 
 24 
 ^5 
 
 The Vanished Voice 
 
 27 
 
 Yesterday 
 
 Compensation 
 
 Day and Night 
 
 Schoolboys 
 
 In the Shadows 
 
 29 
 
 31 
 
 32 
 32 
 33 
 
 Sea-Pictures 
 
 34 
 
 Song and Singer 
 March Days 
 
 36 
 
 37 
 
 211013 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 
 In Delirmm 
 
 Page 38 
 
 Unafraid 
 
 41 
 
 The Comfort of the Stars 
 
 42 
 
 From the Garden 
 
 
 A Spring Thought 
 
 47 
 
 Still Days and Stormy 
 
 48 
 
 Two Roses 
 
 49 
 
 A Meadow Fancy 
 
 50 
 
 God's Garden 
 
 51 
 
 The Flower of Seven Changes 
 
 51 
 
 A Group of Songs 
 
 
 The First Song 
 
 57 
 
 Song in Absence 
 
 58 
 
 A Song of Meeting 
 
 59 
 
 Song of the Sea 
 
 60 
 
 Hearth Song 
 
 62 
 
 Daybreak Song 
 
 63 
 
 A Song of Life 
 
 64 
 
 Sonnets 
 
 
 The Spirit 
 
 69 
 
 An Unpraised Picture 
 
 70 
 
 Wood Witchery 
 
 71 
 
 Deserted Farms 
 
 72 
 
 Realists 
 
 73 
 
 Blank Verse 
 
 
 In Sleep 
 
 77 
 
 The Lost Atlantis 
 
 77 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Spirits of Summer Page 79 
 
 Mortis Dignitas 80 
 
 Voices 8 1 
 
 Masks 8 3 
 
 The Bleak o' the Year 85 
 
 Early Winter 86 
 
 The Inappreciable Years 87 
 The Ultimate 
 
THE LYRIC POET'S APOLOGY 
 
 I strive to probe to other hearts, and find 
 I do but fret the phantom of mine own ; 
 
 I strain to paint great Nature, and my mind 
 But images itself in every zone. 
 
 The lesson learned, I sing Life's vs'oven lay 
 
 In syllables of Self, and can no other way. 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 AND OTHER 
 
 POEMS 
 
 DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 Ah, the thought hurts at my heart, 
 
 Ah, the thought is death to singing, " 
 Dumb in June! to lack the art, 
 
 The divine deep impulse bringing 
 Power and passion in their train j 
 To perceive the subtile wane 
 
 Of the waters erstwhile springing 
 Buoyant, brimful on the shore j 
 
 Ebb-tide now for evermore! 
 Song-tide o'er, no mounting moon 
 With her white lures to the sea 
 Surging once from depths of me, 
 
 Till the earth and sky seemed ringing 
 With the wild waves' melody, 
 With their large, unfettered tune 5 
 Dumb in June! 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 II 
 
 Yet by sea and by land, 
 In the water-wooed marshes or meadows 
 
 wide-reaching and bland, 
 The summer is regal and rich, the summer 
 
 on every hand 
 Spills largesses splendid to mortals, to 
 
 women and men. 
 
 For when 
 Is the breeze sweeter fratught with the 
 
 breath of the hay. 
 Is the thrush-note more calm or the robin's 
 
 loud lay 
 More blithe, or the rose more the queen 
 
 of the day ? 
 
 Now say. 
 What month is more bounteous in beauties, 
 
 in balms. 
 
 In lyrics, in psalms. 
 In gold-heart fair fancies of sunset, and 
 
 calms 
 Of twilight, or after-glows wondrously 
 
 clear ? 
 
 One may hear 
 The booming of bees and the brook' s lulled 
 
 refrain. 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 The stream's liquid epic, the grasshopper's 
 
 plain, 
 The frog's bass reiterant languor at night. 
 The day-long and dark-long sound-woof, 
 
 interplight 
 With dreamings and memories somber or 
 
 bright. 
 
 And yet. 
 Oh, regret, 
 Oh, pain that is death doubly keen. 
 The Goddess of Song will not stead me, 
 
 al-be she hath seen 
 My anguish, my voiceless despair i' the 
 
 midst of the green 
 And glorious season that shimmers and 
 
 sparkles and blows ; 
 
 Will not grant me the boon 
 Of a single brief air that is born as the 
 
 violet grows 
 In the woods, shy-withdrawn from the outer 
 
 world's welter and woes. 
 To the sound of the treetops' dim croon. 
 I am dumb, be it morning or noontide or 
 
 eve ; 
 'Tis a thought that must haunt me and bid 
 
 me to grieve. 
 
 Dumb in June ! 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 III 
 
 A very miracle, 
 I saw a moment gone : 
 A honeysuckle, vine and bloom. 
 Lustrous green and coral red, 
 I glimpsed above my head 
 Shedding a rapt perfume. 
 And then this marvel fell 
 
 That I would dwell upon : 
 A bird — nay, rather say an airy sprite 
 
 Compact of color, light, 
 And a most ravishing power of flight. 
 Darted from nowhere, somewhere, 
 
 And alighted there. 
 And sat at gaze a moment or twain. 
 And then was off again. 
 Not Wordsworth's cuckoo were a dearer 
 guest 
 
 Unto my quest, 
 So insubstantial, spirit small 
 And fleetsome in his call j 
 
 Ah, ye know well 
 It was the humming-bird whereof I tell. 
 But there I drowsed, nor might with song 
 commune. 
 
 Dumb to this visitant frolicsome. 
 Dumb in June ! 
 4 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 IV 
 
 This mother-month of Summer holds her 
 place 
 
 Not only by the grace 
 Attending on her many winsome ways, — 
 Her flower-gifts, her bird-lays. 
 Her bridal form and face, — 
 But by what went before and cometh after ; 
 April tears. May blooms and laughter, 
 September's blazonry, and then October 
 Frult-ripe and hushed and most Imperially 
 
 sober 
 }• With sense of harvest dignity and worth. 
 ^ Thus, memory and expectation. 
 
 Spring-gleams, fruitions of the fall, 
 Encircle June and give unto her station 
 A reverend look, a light historical j 
 Child, maiden, matron, she Is each and all : 
 A poet must do her homage — but alas ! 
 The good days come and pass. 
 Therewith the knowledge they are over 
 
 soon. 
 Yet from my pipe the vibrancy Is fled, 
 
 I may not music wed. 
 
 But fain must lie grief-stricken In the grass. 
 
 Dumb, dumb In June. 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 Now cease the querulous lament 
 Of weakling discontent ! 
 All things must by their living learn to 
 know 
 
 The blight of silence, dearth and snow 
 That covers up the goodship of the flowers. 
 
 Our mortal hours 
 Are shapen so 5 perchance when trees are 
 
 bare 
 And ice-tipped daggers hurtle through the 
 air 
 
 And death is everywhere, 
 My lips shall be loosened for song, and the 
 
 lyre 
 Soft-touched with ethereal fire 
 Shall quiver, suspire 
 Sweet harmonies, motions ecstatic and 
 
 higher 
 Than any the loftiest pitch of my hope ; 
 Perchance neither snow-time nor rose-time 
 
 gives scope 
 To the music pent in me, in each seeking 
 soul 5 
 
 May be that our goal. 
 Our altar for singing lies elsewhere, afar. 
 
THE CITY 
 
 In a dream, in a star, 
 And the slow-working leaven 
 Of years shall make mortal immortally 
 strong 
 
 For song, 
 For full hymning in Heaven ! 
 
 May it be, 
 May the summers be strewn 
 With hints and foretokens for heartening 
 
 of me 
 And hosts of my brothers, who yearn for 
 the voice 
 
 Wherewith to rejoice. 
 Yet nathless remain 
 Year through and life through and ever again 
 Song numb, song dumb. 
 Dumb in June ! 
 
 THE CITY 
 
 They do neither plight nor wed 
 
 In the city of the dead. 
 
 In the city where they sleep away the hours j 
 
 But they lie, while o'er them range 
 
 Winter-blight and summer change, 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 And a hundred happy whisperings of 
 
 flowers. 
 No, they neither wed nor plight, 
 And the day is like the night. 
 For their vision is of other kind than ours. 
 
 They do neither sing nor sigh, 
 
 In that burgh of by and by 
 
 Where the streets have grasses growing 
 
 cool and long j 
 But they rest within their bed, 
 Leaving all their thoughts unsaid, 
 Deeming silence better far than sob or song. 
 No, they neither sigh nor sing. 
 Though the robin be a-wing. 
 Though the leaves of autumn march a 
 
 million strong. 
 
 There is only rest and peace 
 
 In the City of Surcease 
 
 From the failings and the wailings 'neath 
 
 the sun. 
 And the wings of the swift years 
 Beat but gently o'er the biers. 
 Making music to the sleepers every one. 
 There Is only peace and rest j 
 
ACROSS THE FIELDS TO ANNE 
 
 But to them it seemeth best, 
 For they lie at ease and know that life is 
 done. 
 
 ACROSS THE FIELDS TO ANNE 
 
 From Stratford-on-Avon a lane runs westward 
 through the fields a mile to the little village of Shot- 
 tery, in which is the cottage of Anne Hathaway, 
 Shakspere's sweetheart and wife. 
 
 How often in the summer-tide, 
 
 His graver business set aside, 
 
 Has stripling Will, the thoughtful-eyed, 
 
 As to the pipe of Pan 
 
 Stepped blithesomely with lover's pride 
 
 Across the fields to Anne ! 
 
 It must have been a merry mile, 
 
 This summer stroll by hedge and stile. 
 
 With sweet foreknowledge all the while 
 
 How sure the pathway ran 
 
 To dear delights of kiss and smile. 
 
 Across the fields to Anne. 
 
 The silly sheep that graze to-day, 
 I wot, they let him go his way. 
 Nor once looked up, as who should say : 
 
 9 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 **It is a seemly man." 
 
 For many lads went wooing aye 
 
 Across the fields to Anne. 
 
 The oaks, they have a wiser look ; 
 Mayhap they whispered to the brook : 
 ** The world by him shall yet be shook. 
 It is in nature's plan 5 
 Though now he fleets like any rook 
 Across the fields to Anne.''' 
 
 And I am sure, that on some hour 
 Coquetting soft 'twixt sun and shower. 
 He stooped and broke a daisy-flower 
 With heart of tiny span. 
 And bore it as a lover's dower 
 Across the fields to Anne. 
 
 While from het* cottage garden-bed 
 She plucked a jasmine's goodlihede. 
 To scent his jerkin's brown instead ; 
 Now since that love began. 
 What luckier swain than he who sped 
 Across the fields to Anne ? 
 
 The winding path whereon I pace, 
 
 The hedgerows green, the summer's grace, 
 
 10 
 
OF ONE AFFLICTED 
 
 Are still before me face to face ; 
 Methinks I almost can 
 Turn poet and join the singing race 
 Across the fields to Anne ! 
 
 OF ONE AFFLICTED WITH 
 DEAFNESS 
 
 She moves about the house with meek con- 
 tent, 
 
 Her face is like a psalm from other years j 
 She only guesses half of what is meant, 
 
 But hides her impotence, her natural tears. 
 
 Whenso we gather close for jest or tale 
 She shuns the circle, lest it fret our mood 
 
 To raise our voices till our joyance fail j 
 She sits apart in patient quietude. 
 
 And though we try to make her lot more 
 bright. 
 To set her in our midst and show her 
 love 
 (For she is lovesome), yet few glimpse 
 aright 
 Her desolation and the cross thereof. 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 Dear God, may recompense be hers from 
 Thee 5 
 May melodies from days gone by come 
 back 
 To fill her silence, and a symphony 
 
 Played soft, of angels, soothe her sorry 
 lack, 
 
 That, while she sits and makes no least 
 demur, 
 
 Left much to loneliness and forced apart. 
 She have companionship to comfort her, 
 
 And hear a constant singing in her heart. 
 
 IF WE HAD THE TIME 
 
 If I had the time to find a place 
 And sit me down full face to face 
 
 With my better self, that cannot show 
 In my daily life that rushes so : 
 It might be then I would see my soul 
 Was stumbling still toward the shining 
 goal, 
 
 I might be nerved by the thought sub- 
 lime, — 
 
 If I had the time ! 
 
IF WE HAD THE TIME 
 
 If I had the time to let my heart 
 Speak out and take In my b'fe a part, 
 
 To look about and to stretch a hand 
 To a comrade quartered in no-luck 
 land 5 
 Ah, God ! If I might but just sit still 
 And hear the note of the whip-poor-will, 
 
 I think that my wish with God's 
 would rhyme — 
 
 If I had the time ! 
 
 If I had the time to learn from you 
 How much for comfort my word could do ; 
 And I told you then of my sudden 
 
 will 
 To kiss your feet when I did you ill ; 
 If the tears aback of the coldness feigned 
 Could flow, and the wrong be quite ex- 
 plained, — 
 
 Brothers, the souls of us all would 
 chime. 
 
 If we had the time ! 
 
 13 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 SAINT CECILIA 
 
 A woman with a charmed hand 
 
 To wake sweet music, — yea, a saint 
 
 Whose home is in the mystic land 
 Where poets sing and painters paint. 
 
 She wears a soft and Old-World grace, 
 Her eyes are large with re very 5 
 
 Her solemn organ fills the place 
 
 With sounds that set the spirit free. 
 
 The lily is her flower, and meek 
 Her look is, as the flower's own 5 
 
 She hath no color in her cheek, 
 One thinks of her as oft alone. 
 
 Rubens once wrought her, playing there. 
 And made her beautiful, yet missed 
 
 The holiness, the pensive air 
 
 Of one whose face high heaven has kissed. 
 
 And Carlo Dolci tried, nor failed : 
 Cecilia sits and plays, and seems 
 
 A saint whose soul is unassailed. 
 
 And yet the woman of our dreams ! 
 
 14 
 
IN A CITY PARK 
 
 IN A CITY PARK 
 
 A stretch of lawn as smooth as happiness, 
 And tender green withal, and dappled 
 o'er 
 With shadows that the birches throw, 
 unless 
 A maple here and there throws shadows 
 more. 
 Beyond, the houses, spires, toilings, din. 
 And all that makes a cityful of sin. 
 
 And yet the sun's ashine, and, somehow, 
 
 from 
 Uhis common scene, that's trying to be 
 
 fair, 
 There's something rises in the city's hum. 
 There's somethii]g brooding o'er the 
 
 smoke and blare. 
 That makes the place and time and people 
 
 seem 
 A beauty, and a promise, and a dream. 
 
 15 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 VALUES 
 
 I make apprlsal of the maiden moon 
 
 For what she is to me : 
 Not a great globe of cheerless stone 
 That hangs in awful space alone, 
 
 And ever so to be } 
 But just the rarest orb. 
 The very fairest orb, 
 The star most lovely-wise 
 In all the dear night-skies ! 
 
 So thou to me, O jestful girl of June ! 
 
 I have no will to hear 
 Cold calculations of thy worth 
 Summed up in beauty, brain, and birth : 
 
 Such coldly strike mine ear. 
 Thou art the rarest one. 
 The very fairest one. 
 The soul most lovely-wise 
 That ever looked through eyes ! 
 
 i6 
 
DAY LABORERS 
 
 DAY LABORERS 
 
 They straggle down the street j the morn- 
 ing light 
 Is on their shiftless steps, their shoulders 
 bent 5 
 They work with sinews lame — a grievous 
 sight 
 Of waning strength, of hope and courage 
 spent. 
 
 It seems sardonic thus to set them here, 
 Old men and weary, in the day's fresh 
 hour. 
 What solace can be theirs, what sense of 
 cheer. 
 What puissant thought, what dream of 
 transient power ? 
 
 Few sadder things on earth than toilsome 
 age 
 Without its dignities, its honored hairs ; 
 A time of vacant mind and vassalage 
 
 Before the last grim change from mortal 
 cares. 
 
 17 
 
 0N»VER8,TY 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 And yet one benison the pilgrims know: 
 For mother-church receives them, makes 
 them glad 
 With pomps and promises, yea, sets aglow 
 These human hearts the sorry week-long 
 sad. 
 
 And I can bless her reverend ways and wise 
 (Although in other symbols I am bred). 
 
 Since she doth wipe the tears from piteous 
 eyes 
 And leaveth not the poor uncomforted. 
 
 A POTION 
 
 How brew the brave drink Life ? 
 
 Take of the herb hight morning-joy. 
 Take of the herb hight evening-rest. 
 
 Pour in pain lest bliss should cloy, 
 Shake in sin to give it zest 5 
 Brew them all in the heat of noon. 
 Cool the broth beneath the moon ; 
 Then down with the brave drink Life 1 
 
 18 
 
TWO MOUNTAINS 
 
 TWO MOUNTAINS 
 
 Monadnock looms against the pale blue 
 
 dome 
 Of sky, a monarch crowned with cloud 
 
 and sun 5 
 Massive the moods of this rock-ribbed 
 
 one 
 In ways of God that seemeth most at 
 
 home ; 
 An archetypal art those contours made, 
 An elemental brush the colors laid. 
 
 Type of New England, creature of her 
 
 womb. 
 Rugged yet beautiful, thy fearless front 
 Preaches old freedom, and her sturdy wont 
 And purity and faith and living-room 5 
 Fore-elder, thou, of simpler, saner days 
 When God meant prayer and Fatherland 
 
 meant praise. 
 
 So Emerson, whose land w^as made to thee 
 In words of bardic wonder, was a peak 
 Sprung from the same dear soil, and fain to 
 speaik 
 
 19 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 Faced skyward towards the heavens' clarity 5 
 The same New England gave him goodly 
 
 birth, 
 The same large mood, the same untired 
 
 earth. 
 
 Anak of hills that take the questing eye. 
 Great dominant thing in all this landscape 
 
 wide, 
 'Twas meet that thou shouldst thus be 
 
 magnified 
 By him, that strength to strength should 
 
 make reply : 
 Monadnock, moveless, whatsoe'er the wind. 
 Like Emerson midst shifts of humankind. 
 
 THE AWAKENING 
 
 The beauties of the world do master me : 
 They put my soul in such a heavy swoon 
 
 I may not sing of half the love I see 
 
 Beneath the sun, beneath the lady moon. 
 
 Love, wake me from this languor deep, 
 that I 
 
 May truly sing of beauty ere I die. 
 
THE AWAKENING 
 
 Wake me by bending down thy dreamful 
 face 
 And touching lips to mine swoon- 
 bounden 5 then 
 My soul shall leap and quiver in its place, 
 And I shall turn the mightiest of men, 
 A master there, with Earth and Sky my 
 
 slave. 
 Because of that one kiss my mistress gave. 
 
 Day's sweetest flower shall witness to me 
 
 make. 
 Night's boldest star send messages of fire, 
 And all the birds that be, for love's sole 
 
 sake. 
 Shall quicken wing to come at my desire 5 
 While hearts of humankind hot-beating, 
 
 cold. 
 Draw nigh and house with me till days are 
 
 old. 
 
 The morning's challenge in the changeful 
 east — 
 
 A challenge to the heart to Hve anew — 
 Shall steal into whatever words the least 
 
 My song shall fashion tenderly and true. 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 The wonder of the sundown in the west 
 Shall shine again, and so be twice expressed. 
 
 The sweetest sounds of music shall unite 
 
 My dreams to sister-dreams, as rosaries 
 Of carven beads are set and strung aright 
 Upon some silken cord sad nuns to 
 please : 
 Each lovesome thought shall find a liquid 
 
 sound. 
 And Love be doubly Love so set around. 
 
 The open fields shall offer honest cheer. 
 The woods, wind-shaken, sing a wel- 
 come-song. 
 And every wight who haunts the wood- 
 lands dear 
 Shall rate me as a mate to shield from 
 wrong. 
 The sea the secret of his monotone, 
 An age-old thing, to me will tell alone. 
 
 Such powers shall be mine because you 
 came 
 And kissed me once ; whereat the deep- 
 est bliss 
 
THE RIVER 
 
 That ever mortal knew ran swift aflame 
 Straight to my soul, and taught me only 
 this : 
 To step into the very deep of Love 
 And make my nest and sing the joy thereof. 
 
 THE RIVER 
 
 There was a mighty river that I knew 
 
 In time long-by 5 it made me hold my 
 
 breath 
 
 To watch its wondrous ways — so wide it 
 
 grew, 
 
 So plain the darker eddies spoke of death, 
 
 The lads that dared to swim it were so few ! 
 
 Man grown, to-day I muse the stream 
 beside. 
 And smile, remembering — for 'tis a 
 span 
 And nothing more to reach across its tide, 
 While in the blackest pools your eye may 
 scan 
 The bottom, where the minnows hunt and 
 hide. 
 
 ^3 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 Mayhap the rivers will not shrink to streams, 
 In that dim land that lies beyond our dreams. 
 
 THE PASSING OF THE BIRDS 
 
 From out the heart of an autumnal day 
 A sound unwonted took the listening ear j 
 
 At first dim in the sky and far away, 
 But ever waxing louder and more clear. 
 
 And then a mighty shadow seemed to come 
 
 Between the sun and me, and all the air 
 Shook vibrantly, gave forth a grave, great 
 hum. 
 Till heaven became a populous thorough- 
 fare 
 
 Of strenuous wings that beat the blue in 
 time j 
 Birds numberless, yet one in joy of flight 
 And the desire to make a warmer clime 
 Wherein to mate and nest and have 
 delight. 
 
 A hundred wind-harps played in unison 
 Their passing was, a sight of buoyancy 
 
 24 
 
OCTOBER 
 
 Beyond us earthlings ; of my memories, one 
 Most fraught with sense of fetterless 
 grace and glee. 
 
 OCTOBER 
 
 Now is the world a-muse, and earth and sky 
 
 Are in a pact of uttermost content 5 
 Pan's mood is pensive, Beauty passes by 
 With steps loath-lingering and all be- 
 sprent 
 With colors o'er her garments of Delight, 
 Along the stream and up the mountain 
 height. 
 
 The shocks of corn stand ghostly gray a-row, 
 Weird Indian chiefs who brood on tribal 
 wrongs 
 And ultimate requital j all aglow 
 
 Is every swamp with maples, and the 
 songs 
 Of crickets blend in most harmonious wise 
 Into the azure landscape's dreams and dyes. 
 
 The yellowing birches and the elms do 
 make 
 
 ^5 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 The road a slumbrous way through 
 wonderland j 
 The sumach startles you to wide-awake, 
 
 So vivid is her crimson j nigh at hand 
 Or far afield the dog-wood burns, and fills 
 With witchery of garnet wolds and hills. 
 
 Like fire the huckleberry vines across 
 
 The meadows run 5 soft sleep the gray 
 old stones. 
 The fences in their eld of time and moss, 
 Save when all-blazoned by the clambering 
 zones 
 Of woodbine, magical for shaded reds : 
 Hard by the asters lift their bloomy heads. 
 
 Beside bronzed oaks the fruity chestnuts 
 drop 
 Their glossy burthens down, a sylvan 
 scene j 
 Granges innumerable groan as crop 
 
 On crop is gathered in ; the air is keen 
 With scent of smoke, the pied leaves fall 
 
 to earth 
 In ruddy troops, for burial and rebirth. 
 
 26 
 
THE VANISHED VOICE 
 
 O splendid beauty of the day ! O eve 
 
 Made luminous by the punctual harvest 
 moon, 
 The sun's close comrade ! weave and inter- 
 weave 
 Your changes, for the season shifts o'er- 
 soon. 
 Evanishing while still we deem it here ; 
 Such transient loveliness is twofold dear. 
 
 Now is the year's recessional j for though 
 Her robes are richer- wrought than in the 
 spring 
 What time the proud procession paced slow 
 Up the vast church of Nature's fashion- 
 ing, 
 Soon moans — these pulsing pomps left far 
 
 behind — 
 Down unillumined aisles the requiem wind. 
 
 THE VANISHED VOICE 
 
 There stood a tree beside his boyhood's 
 
 door 
 That faced the west, and often, just before 
 
 27 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 The sundown, seemed transfigured with 
 
 the light 
 That flooded in, and keen upon his sight 
 Burned images of flame. And from the 
 
 tree 
 Fluted a nameless bird so goldenly 
 He seemed part of the sunset and the sky. 
 
 The listener has listened for that cry 
 Of love and longing many a weary time 
 And heard it never, nor can mortal rhyme 
 Encompass all its sweetness : could the 
 
 place, 
 The homely homestead and the subtle grace 
 Of youth return, the magic moment when 
 The western sun shows heaven to earth- 
 doomed men, 
 But transiently, perchance the chanting 
 
 bird 
 Would be there too, perchance his voice 
 were heard. 
 
 The listener listens vainly ; song is rife 
 Still in the world, still love illumines life j 
 But he would give the all of after years, 
 Its triumphs, wisdoms, and revealing tears. 
 
 28 
 
YESTERDAY 
 
 To list that little bird-soul from its nest 
 Leap into lyric rapture, sink to rest, 
 Youth in the air and sunset in the west. 
 
 YESTERDAY 
 
 My friend, he spoke of a woman face ; 
 
 It puzzled me, and I paused to think. 
 He told of her eyes and mouth, the trace 
 
 Of prayer on her brow, and quick as 
 wink 
 I said : ** Oh yes, but you wrong her years. 
 She's only a child, with faiths and fears 
 
 That childhood fit. I tell thee nay ; 
 
 She was a girl just yesterday.'"* 
 
 <' The years are swift and sure, I trow "" 
 (Quoth he). <<You speak of the long 
 ago." 
 
 Once I strolled in a garden spot. 
 And every flower upraised a head 
 
 (So it seemed), for they, I wot. 
 
 Were mates of mine 5 each bloom and 
 bed, 
 
 Their hours for sleep, their merry mood, 
 
 29 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 The lives and deaths of the whole sweet 
 brood, 
 Were known to me j it was my way 
 To visit them but yesterday. 
 
 Spake one red rose, in a language low : 
 *« We saw you last in the long ago." 
 
 Entering under the lintel wide, 
 
 I saw the room j 'twas all the same : 
 The oaken press and the shelves aside. 
 
 The window small for the sunset flame, 
 The book I loved on the table large j 
 I opeM, and lo ! in the yellow marge 
 
 The leaf I placed was shrunk and gray. 
 
 I swear it was green but yesterday ! 
 
 Then a voice stole out of the sunset glow : 
 *' You lived here, man, in the long ago." 
 
 'Tis the same old tale, though it comes to 
 
 me 
 By a hundred paths of pain and glee. 
 Till I guess the truth at last, and know 
 That Yesterday is the Long Ago. 
 
 30 
 
COMPENSATION 
 
 COMPENSATION 
 
 Within the desert, cowled and vigil-worn, 
 The eremite in prayer and fasting bides ; 
 
 All world-delights his holy thinkings scorn : 
 The Book, the crucifix, his only guides. 
 
 But on a morn when flamed the rising sun 
 And scared the panther from the open 
 plain. 
 The eremite, his night-time watching done. 
 Broke bread, and would his missal con 
 again. 
 
 Then came a thought and slunk into his 
 mind. 
 Compounded half of lust and half of 
 hate j 
 And for an hour his soul was sick and 
 blind, 
 And he a worldling moaning at his fate. 
 
 While In a city's most unholy place, 
 
 There came unto a knave, a tippling clod, 
 
 A thought as tender as a child's small face. 
 And white as Is the vestlture of God. 
 
 31 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 DAY AND NIGHT 
 
 The day is a fair young hind, 
 
 Gracile, with life athrill ; 
 She comes on feet of the wind 
 
 When the light leaps over the hill. 
 
 The night is a huge black hound 
 As foul as the hind is fair, 
 
 And he hunts her beauty to ground 
 Till the morning sun cries Ware I 
 
 SCHOOLBOYS 
 
 I could wish that death might come 
 Like the respite to a task,. 
 
 Or a holiday hard-won. 
 
 Life's long schooling burdensome 
 Over now, so we may bask 
 
 In a sense of duty done 5 
 
 In a sense of freedom wide 
 
 Opening out on every side 
 
 Like to lads, who count the days 
 To the glad vacation time. 
 
 32 
 
IN THE SHADOWS 
 
 While their hearts go truanting ; 
 Though they walk appointed ways 
 Duteously, the home-bells chime 
 In their ears, the home-birds sing. 
 And they hear their cronies call 
 To some game or festival. 
 
 IN THE SHADOWS 
 
 As the shadows filled the room with peace, 
 We spoke of our absent friends : 
 
 How some were dead and some were sped 
 To the far-away earth ends. 
 
 And by some magic of yearning hearts, 
 The lost seemed warm and near ; 
 
 Yea, loved so much we could almost touch 
 Their hands and feel them here. 
 
 And when the lamps were lit, and speech 
 
 Waxed merrier, yet the place 
 Felt strangely bare, and each one there 
 
 Missed some beloved face. 
 
 33 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 SEA-PICTURES 
 
 FAR NIENTE 
 
 Soft languors on the bosom of the deep, 
 A blissful swoon that takes the sense In 
 thrall 5 
 
 My hopes are dead, my memory is asleep, 
 I only lie and watch the waters fall 
 
 And lift, and let my tired spirit steep 
 In sun and sea, as happy as a hound 
 That lazes on a plot of grassy ground ; 
 
 Until the dim night shadows come and 
 creep 
 Between the day and me, and end it all. 
 
 NIGHT NOISES 
 
 No voice of crickets wearing through the 
 night 
 From skeins of dew in scented summer 
 
 fields 5 
 No sleep-time chirp of birds, no tree that 
 yields 
 A solemn sigh when touched by breezes 
 
 light. 
 Instead, a throb of engines in their might, 
 
 3 + 
 
SEA-PICTURES 
 
 The scurrying seamen with their weird 
 Yo-ho ! 
 The creak of ropes, the lapping of sad 
 
 waves, 
 That seem to grieve above forgotten graves, 
 And gossip on lost ships' of long ago. 
 
 OFF THE HAVEN 
 
 Up Stole a fog, a chill and ghastly thing. 
 That gloomed the sea and hid her face 
 from me ; 
 My soul was like a bird with broken wing ; 
 A dismal bell warned homing barks 
 away. 
 
 Then shot a sun-shaft ; like a phantom 
 host. 
 Born of the night and mailed in sullen 
 white. 
 The riven mists drew off, and lo ! the coast 
 Lay green and glad beyond the waters 
 gray. 
 
 35 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 SONG AND SINGER 
 
 I saw him once, the while he sat and 
 
 played — 
 A stripling with a shock of yellow hair — 
 His own rare songs, in mirth or sorrow 
 
 made, 
 
 But tender all, and fair. 
 
 And as the years rolled by I saw him not. 
 But still his songs full many a time I sung. 
 And thought of him as one who has the lot 
 To be forever young. 
 
 Until at last he stood before mine eyes 
 
 An age-bent man, who trembled o'er his 
 
 staff j 
 My sight rebelled to see him in such guise. 
 Ripe for his epitaph. 
 
 I grieved with grief that to a death belongs ; 
 How Time is stern I had forgot, in truth. 
 And how that men wax old, whereas their 
 songs 
 
 Keep an immortal youth. 
 
 36 
 
MARCH DAYS 
 
 MARCH DAYS 
 
 I 
 
 The world to-day is a nun In gray, 
 And the wind is her walling prayer 
 
 To God, to give her a soul like May, 
 Flower-sweet, white, and fair. 
 
 II 
 
 Still as a lake at even is the air ; 
 
 The heavens are hid j I mark not any- 
 where 
 A hopeful sign hung out by plain or hill ; 
 Only the etched brown trees and barren 
 fields are there. 
 
 How like a madman's dream the thought 
 of June ! 
 Shall this warped pipe e'er swell with 
 some soft tune 
 That calls for liquid stops and languorous 
 skill, 
 The piper lying prone beneath a summer 
 moon ? 
 
 37 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 III 
 
 The mystery 
 And magic of the spring ! 
 It seizes on this bleak and sullen thing 
 
 Called March, and see ! 
 Bland skies, faint odors as of slumbering 
 flowers. 
 
 Faint bird songs in the bowers, 
 A soft south wind, and, cradled in the 
 wood, 
 
 As sweet as womanhood. 
 As shy as any maiden lured by love, 
 The dimly flushed arbutus bloom above 
 The harsh earth soon will peer. 
 And April airs be here ! 
 
 IN DELIRIUM 
 
 Lying in delirium. 
 Fancies strange do flockwise come ; 
 Happy thoughts and bitter some. 
 
 Now I rest on azure seas 
 
 Bathed in light, and hear the wail 
 
 38 
 
IN DELIRIUM 
 
 Of the waves, and seem to feel 
 Languid lappings at the keel 
 Of my boat, the while a breeze 
 Pushes gently at the sail. 
 
 Now I grope through rayless mines 
 Searching for a gem whose beam 
 I may use to guide me fair 
 To the upper world of air j 
 Search in vain for any signs 
 Of its heart of fiery gleam. 
 
 Now, again, I toss among 
 
 Clouds that are with thunders charged ; 
 There amid the elements 
 All my soul and all my sense 
 Seems heroic grown, my tongue 
 
 Touched with fire, my life enlarged. 
 
 I am borne unto a place 
 Like a paradise for flowers, 
 Shade and sun, to hear aloft 
 Dreamy songs and snatches soft, 
 While below, a mystic bass 
 
 Chants with measured beat the hours. 
 
 39 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 I am In the daylit street 
 Of a city, and my hand 
 
 Suddenly is grasped by one 
 On whose grave the snow and sun 
 Years and years have blown and beat 
 Since he sought the Silent Land. 
 
 But to one strange spot I must 
 E'er return, and ever find 
 
 What must always bring to me 
 Lack of ease, and agony, 
 Till the day that I am dust, 
 All my anguish left behind. 
 
 This it is : I see my love 
 
 Holding forth beseeching arms, 
 'Tired in white, and near as wan 
 As the robe she rests upon j 
 See a fearful storm above 
 
 Swooping swift, and big with harms. 
 
 Yet I may not move, nor go 
 One sweet step to comfort her ; 
 Chains are on me, till I cry : 
 Let me free or let me die I 
 
 40 
 

 UNAFRAID 
 
 God, the white face begging so ! 
 God, my limbs that may not stir ! 
 
 Lying in delirium, 
 Fancies strange do flockwise come 5 
 Happy thoughts and bitter some. 
 
 UNAFRAID 
 
 A dialect beyond our ken, 
 
 The accents of an unknown tongue. 
 Life speaks, — this world of passing men 
 That is incomparably old 
 And sad with sinning manifold. 
 
 Yet, with each morning, sweet and 
 young. 
 
 Yea, sweet and young it is, and plain 
 Its meaning, — for a girl's light breath 
 
 Outwits the wisdom that has lain 
 
 Long centuries stored in reverend books. 
 
 They doubt and dream ; she^ by her looks, 
 Laughs down the lie of churlish death. 
 
 41 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 THE COMFORT OF THE STARS 
 
 When I am overmatched by petty cares 
 And things of earth loom large, and 
 
 look to be 
 Of moment, how it soothes and comforts 
 me 
 To step into the night and feel the airs 
 
 Of heaven fan my cheek 5 and, best of all. 
 Gaze up into those all-uncharted seas 
 Where swim the stately planets : such as 
 these 
 
 Make mortal fret seem light and temporal. 
 
 I muse on what of Life may stir among 
 Those spaces knowing naught of metes 
 
 nor bars ; 
 Undreamed-of dramas played in outmost 
 stars. 
 And lyrics by archangels grandly sung. 
 
 I grow familiar with the solar runes 
 
 And comprehend of worlds the mystic 
 birth : 
 
 42 
 
THE COMFORT OF THE STARS 
 
 Ringed Saturn, Mars, whose fashion apes 
 the earth. 
 And Jupiter, the giant, with his moons. 
 
 Then, dizzy with the unspeakable sights 
 above. 
 Rebuked by Vast on Vast, my puny 
 
 heart 
 Is greatened for its transitory part. 
 My trouble merged in wonder and in love. 
 
 43 
 
FROM THE GARDEN 
 
I 
 
 A SPRING THOUGHT 
 
 In the spring I have leaned me full close to 
 
 the bark of a tree, 
 To know if its heart were athrob with spring 
 
 passion and glee, 
 And found that its longing was like to the 
 
 longing in me. 
 
 In the spring I have bent to the odorous lips 
 
 of a rose, 
 Await for the summer her virginal heart to 
 
 unclose. 
 And found her full fain of the spring-tide 
 
 that blossoms and blows. 
 
 In the spring I have harked to the bounti- 
 ful song of a bird 
 
 Outbreathing his joyance as plainly as ever 
 man heard. 
 
 Albeit his bliss be not caught in a crystal- 
 line word. 
 
 And so, when they tell me the bird-song, 
 the rose, and the beat 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 In the turbulent heart of the tree are sense- 
 less though sweet 
 
 Revealments of nature, spring-stirred by the 
 spirit of heat, 
 
 I laugh in my heart as one laugheth who 
 
 knoweth the best 5 
 And never I trust to such testaments cold, 
 
 but I rest 
 In the secrets the bird and the rose and the 
 
 tree have confessed. 
 
 II 
 STILL DAYS AND STORMY 
 
 Yesterday the wind blew 
 Down the garden walks : 
 
 Marigolds, the day through. 
 Trembled on their stalks. 
 
 But to-day the wind's dead, 
 
 Marigolds are still : 
 Miss they what the wind said ? 
 
 Do they take it ill ? 
 
 48 
 
TWO ROSES 
 
 Yesterday my love stood 
 Hearkening to me ; 
 
 Fair flower of womanhood, 
 All a-tremble she. 
 
 But to-day she's sad, still, 
 Makes no true-love sign : 
 
 Is her lover to her will ? 
 Is she yet mine ? 
 
 Ill 
 
 TWO ROSES 
 
 A wild rose spake to a city rose : 
 
 ** How sad is your lot, your life ! 
 You miss the kiss of the wind that blows 
 In the open field, where the glad stream 
 flows. 
 And the days with summer rife.'" 
 
 The city flower softly smiled. 
 
 For she knew what things are best : 
 
 49 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 ** How little you dream of love, poor 
 
 child ! 
 What time you are out in the tempest 
 
 wild, 
 I sleep on my lady's breast."" 
 
 IV 
 A MEADOW FANCY 
 
 In the meadows yonder the winged wind 
 Makes billows along the grain ; 
 
 With their sequence swift they bring to 
 mind 
 The swash of the open main. 
 
 Till I smell the pungent brine, and hear — 
 Mine eyes grown dim — the cry 
 
 Of the sailor lads, and feel vague fear 
 Of the storm- wrack in the sky. 
 
 50 
 
GOD'S GARDEN 
 
 V 
 
 GOD'S GARDEN 
 
 The years are flowers and bloom within 
 
 Eternity's wide garden 5 
 The rose for joy, the thorn for sin, 
 
 The gardener God, to pardon 
 All wilding growths, to prune, reclaim. 
 And make them rose-like in His name. 
 
 VI 
 
 THE FLOWER OF SEVEN 
 CHANGES 
 
 (The hydrangea is so called by the Japanese.) 
 
 At first, in early days 
 Of summer-time, a blossoming of blooms 
 Rich-tinted, delicate-dyed, as if the looms 
 
 That wove it whirled in chambers dim 
 with haze. 
 In secretest fair rooms 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 Of wonder and delight and rare designs, 
 Wrought marvelous in hues and lovely- 
 lines. 
 
 And then bland hours, wherein 
 The pink grows into purple, fades to flame 
 Likest to fire, yet never twice the same 5 
 
 Some petals white as love, some swart as 
 sin, 
 Subtle, inconstant, luring human eyes 
 By soft evanishment and slow surprise. 
 
 Thereto a somber mood 
 Of duns and smoke-touched textures, 
 
 dreamy glints. 
 With here and there for memory, warmer 
 hints 
 Of rose, or sunset yellow's quietude. 
 This is her season of most calm release 
 From mid-June passion j it is large with 
 peace. 
 
 Follows thereon a spell 
 Of wraith-like flowers, aspen-thin and pale. 
 Inwove with autumn reveries, the wail 
 
 Of wind in leafless boughs a fitting knell 
 
 5^ 
 
THE FLOWER OF CHANGES 
 
 Above her sometime splendor ; yet a sight 
 Ineffably harmonious, vaguely bright. 
 
 And last, a death so still 
 And all unviolent, you scarcewise miss 
 The presence by the door, nor reckon this 
 
 A perished beauty and a thwarted will. 
 Nor is it : with the spring, behold her here, 
 Protean, vital in the vernal year ! 
 
 53 
 
A GROUP OF SONGS 
 
THE FIRST SONG 
 
 A poet writ a song of May 
 
 That checked his breath awhile ; 
 
 He kept it for a summer day, 
 Then spake with half a smile : 
 
 <' Oh, little song of purity. 
 
 Of mystic to-and-fro. 
 You are so much a part of me 
 I dare not let you go." 
 
 And so he made a sister-song 
 With more of cunning art 5 
 
 But held the first his whole life long 
 Deep hidden in his heart. 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 II 
 
 SONG IN ABSENCE 
 
 As a poet's rhyme-word looks and loving 
 leans 
 To the sister rhyme-word, set in the line 
 below. 
 My heart, in the late sun's blaze, in her 
 yellow sheens. 
 To you would leaping go. 
 
 As a miner delves in the cool and dew- 
 drained earth 
 For the gold to grace his lady's loveliness. 
 My dreamings delve thy soul to know its 
 worth 
 And doubt the angels less. 
 
 As a sea-bird, stayed by hindering hands 
 ashore. 
 Droops wing, her head yet holden toward 
 the sea. 
 Sore-sick to burst her bonds and waveward 
 soar. 
 So yearns my soul to thee. 
 
A SONG OF MEETING 
 
 If so that thou but me-ward turn as well, 
 Love-longing like to mine within thy 
 heart, 
 There's neither peace of heaven, nor pain 
 of hell 
 Shall keep us twain apart. 
 
 Ill 
 A SONG OF MEETING 
 
 In the dales of a distant valley. 
 
 Where never a word is said. 
 Where never a wind makes sally. 
 
 And memory e'en is dead j 
 
 At a time when the light is breaking 
 Over the dawn-touched deep. 
 
 At a time when the dreams of waking 
 Are mixed with the dreams of sleep j 
 
 With the face and the old behavior 
 
 I loved in the long ago, 
 When you were my soul and savior. 
 
 With the face and the form I know — 
 
 59 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 'Tis thus, dear heart, I would greet you. 
 Through tears of a joy divine j 
 
 'Tis thus, dear heart, I would meet you. 
 And make you forever mine ! 
 
 IV 
 
 SONG OF THE SEA 
 
 The song of the sea was an ancient song 
 In the days when the earth was young ; 
 The waves were gossiping loud and long 
 Ere mortals had found a tongue ; 
 The heart of the waves with wrath was wrung 
 Or soothed to a siren strain, 
 As they tossed the primitive isles among 
 Or slept in the open main. 
 Such was the song and its changes free. 
 Such was the song of the sea. 
 
 The song of the sea took a human tone 
 
 In the days of the coming of man ; 
 
 A mournfuller meaning swelled her moan. 
 
 And fiercer her riots ran 5 
 
 Because that her stately voice began 
 
 To speak of our human woes ; 
 
 60 
 
SONG OF THE SEA 
 
 With music mighty to grasp and span 
 Life's tale and its passion-throes. 
 Such was the song as it grew to be. 
 Such was the song of the sea. 
 
 The song of the sea was a hungry sound 
 
 As the human years unrolled ; 
 
 For the notes were hoarse with the doomed 
 
 and drowned, 
 Or choked with a shipwreck's gold : 
 Till it seemed no dirge above the mould 
 So sorry a story said 
 As the midnight cry of the waters old 
 Calling above their dead. 
 Such is the song and its threnody. 
 Such is the song of the sea. 
 
 The song of the sea is a wondrous lay, 
 
 For it mirrors human life ; 
 
 It is grave and great as the judgment day, 
 
 It is torn with the thought of strife ; 
 
 Yet under the stars it is smooth and rife 
 
 With love-lights everywhere, 
 
 When the sky has taken the deep to wife 
 
 And their wedding-day is fair — 
 
 Such is the ocean's mystery. 
 
 Such is the song of the sea. 
 
 6i 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 HEARTH SONG 
 
 Before the hearth I dream of many things. 
 
 The red-eyed embers glow, dull down, 
 expire ; 
 An evanescent life in each, that brings 
 
 Sad omens for the Life that men desire. 
 
 Will it not end in ashes, like the fire ? 
 
 Not death is here, but change ! Each spark 
 that gleams 
 Is pent-up sunlight, and the back-log's 
 tune 
 Repeats the music of the woods and 
 streams. 
 Bend low and listen ; it is Nature's rune. 
 Singing of summer, chanting soft of June. 
 
 6z 
 
DAYBREAK SONG 
 
 VI 
 DAYBREAK SONG 
 
 Full sweet is the night locust-haunted, 
 
 moon-kist, 
 The noontide, strong creature and 
 
 splendid j 
 But dawn has a loveliness blended 
 Of health and keen hope and a puissant 
 
 delight 
 In living, that shameth the languor of night 
 Or stress of the noon with its urgence and 
 
 plight. 
 
 And so, when I list. 
 
 Shaking slumber and sleep from mine 
 eyes, 
 Soft somnolence scorning, 
 I love to be under the skies, 
 I long to be up and away, 
 I lust to be out with the day 
 At light's first forewarning. 
 When the winds are all whist 
 And the magic of mist 
 Is over the shine of the morning ! 
 
 63 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 VII 
 
 A SONG OF LIFE 
 
 A song, boys, a song ! 
 Life is young yet, 
 Love has tongue yet 5 
 Why should Life and Love go v^^rong ? 
 Come, boys, a song ! 
 
 A song, boys, a song ! 
 Life's at flush still. 
 Love's ablush still ; 
 What though cares and curses throng ? 
 Come, boys, a song ! 
 
 A song, boys, a song ! 
 Life is gray now. 
 Love's away now, 
 We are left to limp along 5 
 Still, boys, a song ! 
 
 64 
 
A SONG OF LIFE 
 
 A song, boys, a song! 
 Death is here soon. 
 Death will cheer soon, 
 Death is nigh, and Love is strong ; 
 So, boys, a song ! 
 
 65 
 
SONNETS 
 
THE SPIRIT 
 
 If so there were a spirit, poised in peace 
 Above all wind-gusts in the heavens high, 
 And he might mark us mortals laugh or 
 
 cry, 
 According as the gloomed clouds increase 
 Or suns beguile them into golden fleece ; 
 Methinks he would be like to smile, to sigh 
 (So placid he, so far within the sky. 
 And knowing God's great love can never 
 
 cease). 
 That we the puny yet the prideful race 
 Must change as skies change ; be like babes 
 
 that fret 
 Whenso their yearning mother moves her 
 
 breast 
 To ease her mothering, or turns her face 
 Aside a moment, reaching out to get 
 Some wrapping soft to lull their limbs to 
 
 rest. 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 AN UNPRAISED PICTURE 
 
 I saw a picture once by Angelo. 
 
 "Unfinished," said the critic j ** done 
 
 in youth 5 ' ' 
 And that was all, no thought of praise, 
 forsooth ! 
 He was informed, and doubtless it was so. 
 And yet, I let an hour of dreaming go 
 The way of all time, touched to tears and 
 
 ruth. 
 Passion and joy, the prick of conscience' 
 tooth. 
 Before that careworn Christ's divine, soft 
 glow. 
 The painter's yearning with an unsure 
 hand 
 Had moved me more than might his mas- 
 ter days 5 
 He seemed to speak like one whose Mec- 
 ca-land 
 Is first beheld, though faint and far the 
 ways ; 
 Who may not then his shaken voice com- 
 mand. 
 Yet trembles forth a word of prayer and 
 praise. 
 
 70 
 
WOOD WITCHERY 
 
 WOOD WITCHERY 
 
 The way ran under boughs of checkered 
 
 green 
 Where live things stirred, and sweet lights 
 
 glinted through, 
 And airs were cool and scented j well I 
 
 knew 
 It was New England, but this fresh 
 
 demesne 
 Was full of fabled folk no eye hath seen, 
 Yet every poet's heart must take for true : 
 Dryads and hamadryads, satyrs too. 
 And fountain-nymphs, and trolls of freakish 
 
 mien. 
 Then, like a flash, the oneness of the world 
 Broke on me 5 mythland was not here or 
 
 there. 
 But wheresoever shy Fancy had unfurled 
 Her wings, perceiving Nature young and 
 
 fair ; 
 New England spelt but Arcady, the same 
 Unaging beauty by another name. 
 
 71 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 DESERTED FARMS 
 
 Aforetime, fruitfulness and tilth were here. 
 
 Snug granges held the harvests, acres broad 
 
 Were rich in grass and grain 5 the good- 
 man's board 
 
 Groaned with its plenty, and a rustic cheer 
 
 Sat in the homesteads sprinkled far and near. 
 
 To-day, prosperity no more is lord ; 
 
 Choked wells, roofs fallen, weed-grown 
 ways afford 
 
 A vision desolate and a memory drear. 
 
 Sons of New England, your ingratitude. 
 
 Like that once shown to tragic Lear, is 
 base ! 
 
 For now ye scorn the teeming mother- 
 breast 
 
 That gave you strength, and in a vagrant 
 mood 
 
 Will turn to alien meadows of the West, 
 
 Or toward the peopled cities set your face. 
 
 72 
 
REALISTS 
 
 REALISTS 
 
 They peer at life with analytic eyes, 
 And paint so patiently each several scene, 
 You vow that naught is wrong, each shade 
 
 and sheen 
 Set on the canvas in full faithful wise. 
 And yet it looks amiss, the picture lies — 
 You hardly know wherein or how, I ween. 
 For skies are blue, the summer grass is 
 
 green. 
 The men and women walk of proper size. 
 
 Once I beheld a group of sorrowing men 
 Who bent above the death-mask of a maid. 
 The lines of the loved face were doubtless 
 
 there. 
 But as each looked he started back again 
 As from a stranger, chilled and half afraid. 
 Her features lacked the soul had made them 
 
 fair. 
 
 73 
 
BLANK VERSE 
 
IN SLEEP 
 
 Not drowsihood and dreams and mere 
 
 idless, 
 Nor yet the blessedness of strength regained, 
 Alone are in what men call sleep. The 
 
 past, 
 My unsuspected soul, my parents' voice. 
 The generations of my forebears, yea. 
 The very will of God himself are there 
 And potent-working : so that many a doubt 
 Is wiped away at daylight, many a soil 
 Washed cleanlier, many a puzzle riddled 
 
 plain. 
 Strong, silent forces push my puny self 
 Towards unguessed issues, and the waking 
 
 man 
 Rises a Greatheart where a Slave lay down. 
 
 THE LOST ATLANTIS 
 
 Deep in our soul-seas there are sunken 
 
 hopes 
 That once gleamed marble-white, pure 
 
 shafts of stone 
 With carvings thereupon of cryptic joy 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 Long, long forgotten ; streets submerged, 
 
 that erst 
 Were brave with every sign of festal life ; 
 And scented groves that stand for dreams ; 
 
 and near, 
 Great towers stately builded, palaces 
 For pleasure-making when the time was 
 
 May ; 
 All dim in tangles of mermaiden's hair. 
 The traffic of a world of elder time 
 Choked potently by water, and engirt 
 With grewsome shapes and growths 
 
 beneath the brine. 
 
 Deep in our soul-seas, drowned 5 while 
 
 present waves 
 Glide smoothly o'er the lost Atlantis, once 
 So regnant in our Past 5 and summer sails 
 Fleet onward toward new Western isles, 
 
 since man 
 Must ever gear him for new quests, and 
 
 leave 
 The mute memorials of the lapsed years. 
 
 78 
 
SPIRITS OF SUMMER 
 
 SPIRITS OF SUMMER 
 
 Three creatures of the summer are to me 
 Of spirit import. First, the milkweed dun, 
 Diaphanous, most insubstantial wight 
 Of plantkind — satin seeds in silken sheaths 
 The winter long, a memory, not a flower 
 That reckons bloom and fragrance as its 
 
 due. 
 Then the white birch, a ghost amongst its 
 
 mates 
 I' the forest, glimmering-boled and phan- 
 tom-tall. 
 Crowned with a largess of most glossy- 
 leaves. 
 And last, the thrush, wood-hid, aloof and 
 
 Ipne, 
 A disembodied voice, a phantasy. 
 That shapes the plastic soul to higher 
 
 things. 
 Three summer creatures good to know and 
 love. 
 
 79 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 MORTIS DIGNITAS 
 
 Here lies a common man. His horny hands, 
 Crossed meekly as a maid's upon his breast, 
 Show marks of toil, and by his general 
 
 dress 
 You judge him to have been an artisan. 
 Doubtless, could all his life be written out. 
 The story would not thrill nor start a tear j 
 He worked, laughed, loved, and suffered in 
 
 his time. 
 And now rests peacefully, with upturned 
 
 face 
 Whose look belies all struggle in the past. 
 A homely tale : yet, trust me, I have seen 
 The greatest of the earth go stately by. 
 While shouting multitudes beset the way. 
 With less of awe. The gap between a king 
 And me, a nameless gazer in the crowd, 
 Seemed not so wide as that which stretches 
 
 now 
 Betwixt us two, this dead one and myself. 
 Untitled, dumb, and deedless, yet he is 
 Transfigured by a touch from out the skies 
 Until he wears, with all-unconscious grace. 
 The strange and sudden Dignity of Death. 
 
 80 
 
VOICES 
 
 VOICES 
 
 A man died yesternight. To-day the town 
 Makes mention of his taking-ofF, and sums 
 His virtues and his failings. On the street. 
 Midst many barterings and lures of trade, 
 In homes where he was known, in busy 
 
 marts, 
 Or public places where the commonweal 
 Gathers the town-folk : up and down his 
 
 name 
 Is spoke of, in as various ways of speech 
 As are the voices various sounding it : 
 Gruff-throated bass, shrill treble of old age, 
 Soft sibilancy of a woman's tongue. 
 Or reed-like utterance of a little child. 
 Thus one, his mate in business : *< Ah ! a 
 
 shrewd 
 Dry head was that 5 much loss to us, much 
 
 loss. 
 And as for heart ' ' — wise shrug of shoul- 
 ders now — 
 **Well, 'tis but little quoted here on 
 
 'change.'' 
 Another, who had summered with him once 
 In leisure-time : *< A right good fellow gone ! 
 
 81 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 'TIs true, he liked his ease j but who does 
 
 not? 
 For me, give me the man that Horace loved. 
 Who deemed it wise to fool when season- 
 able." 
 A tiny one who oft had found great store 
 Of sweetmeats in his hand, and, prized far 
 
 less. 
 Great store of tenderness within his heart : 
 *< Oh, won't he come and see us any more ? '' 
 His surpliced pastor, bound to save his soul. 
 Balanced a bit by inconsistencies 
 He thought he saw, in private to his wife : 
 *« Alas, poor soul ! if only he had grasped 
 That matter of the creed, and made us sure ! 
 But then — his heart was right, and God is 
 
 good.'' 
 And one, a woman who had found his arms 
 An all-protecting shelter through long 
 
 years. 
 Said naught, but kissed the tokens he had 
 
 left, 
 And dreamt of heaven for his sake alone. 
 Meanwhile, what was this man, and what 
 
 his place ? 
 You ask, confused by all this Babel talk 
 Of here and yonder, from his fellow-men. 
 
 82 
 
MASKS 
 
 I am as ignorant as any one 
 
 Whose speech you heard, and yet I loved 
 
 him well. 
 Nay, ask me not : ask only God. He 
 
 knows. 
 
 MASKS 
 
 A certain friend of mine, whose daily praise 
 Was in the mouths of men, once startled 
 
 me 
 By what he said when I, like all the rest, 
 Cried up his virtues and his blameless life. 
 In this wise speaking : " Stop ! you mad- 
 den me. 
 You and the crowd but look to what I do, 
 And when you find me righteous and the 
 
 law 
 Ne'er broken, why, you make a loud ac- 
 claim. 
 Holding me guiltless and a perfect man. 
 But tell me, friend, whether of two is best : 
 To let a spite eat slowly to the heart. 
 Making no outward sign, rebelling not. 
 Or, by an honest spurt of wrathy blood, 
 To mass the hate of many brooding years 
 Into one right-arm blow, and so be quits ? 
 
 83 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 To speak in terms immaculate and nice, 
 Yet curse in speechless thoughts, to clean 
 
 forswear 
 All lewdness, yet go lusting secretly ? 
 To render weight for weight, yet grudge 
 
 the coin 
 Flung to a beggar-lad — in brief, to find 
 My soul the nesting-place for divers sins. 
 And still walk on in smug and seemly 
 
 guise ? 
 I tell thee, there are times I hear a voice 
 Say very clear, though softly, in myself : 
 ' ' Twere better if you sinned right openly 
 Than let the vileness stew within your mind 
 And pass your properness upon the world. 
 Knowing the while the arch hypocrisy 
 That takes the name of angel where, in- 
 stead. 
 Devil hits nearer to the truth.' Ah me ! " 
 Here, staying words, he sighed a heavy 
 
 sigh 5 
 And, musing, on I strolled, debating how 
 Mere masking tricks us all, and somewhat 
 
 sad 
 To learn the inner history of one 
 Whose common title with the world was 
 
 saint, 
 
 84 
 
THE BLEAK O* THE YEAR 
 
 THE BLEAK O' THE YEAR 
 
 There is a time of subtle browns, and grayb 
 That run to silverings, and tremulous greens. 
 And russet tints, and ash-pale pools of 
 
 leaves j 
 Of ghostly mosses and elusive grass 
 That's neither lush nor dead; of naked trees 
 Ineifably harmonious w^ith the sky 
 That stretches vast and neutral, tone on 
 
 tone, 
 Not to be called a color, but a thought. 
 To some this is a barren time, a sleep 
 Between the winter and the spell of spring ; 
 To me it is the heart's own time and tide, 
 Being hidden from the heedless eye that 
 
 lusts 
 For flaring lights and sunset dyes, yet 
 
 charged 
 With secrets rare, and blendings into 
 
 dreams. 
 And ecstasies divine that shadow forth 
 A mystery, the Selah of the Soul. 
 
 8s 
 
DUMB IN JUNE 
 
 EARLY WINTER 
 
 Brown grass, picked out with red of bushes, 
 
 tones 
 Of silver on the fences ; russet, bronze. 
 The leaves of oaks and beeches 5 mystic 
 
 black 
 Where pools of water lie, and edged there- 
 round 
 The ghostly glamour of the shallow ice. 
 Above, a gray-white monody of sky. 
 And all between the heaven and earth a 
 
 mist 
 Of line, fast-falling snow that makes a veil 
 Wherethrough you see a mystery, a blend 
 Of winter colors to a perfect whole 
 That lifts the heart with beauty, does atone 
 For long-withholden loveliness of June. 
 
 86 
 
THE INAPPRECIABLE YEARS* 
 
 THE INAPPRECIABLE YEARS 
 
 Like snow that falls on water seem the 
 
 years. 
 The Inappreciable years that melt away 
 Into Time's welter — yet, unseen, the tide 
 Is swelled thereby, and haply some good 
 
 ship 
 Floated across the sand-bars into port 
 That means smooth haven and a sight of 
 
 home. 
 
 87 
 
THE ULTIMATE 
 
 When, of old, a chief died in the North, 
 Then they wrapt him close in fighting dress. 
 Laid his life-worn weapons him beside. 
 And, with stern and silent tenderness. 
 In a boat wide-bosomed on the tide, 
 Placed his death-cold body, pushed him 
 
 forth 
 Thence to drift at will of wind and fate. 
 Till at last he found the Ultimate. 
 
 Amply weaponed so, with courage grim, 
 Prone along my death-boat, like to him 
 I would day-long rock and roam and wait 
 For a subtle turn of tide and sea. 
 For a gust o' wind to break and blow 
 Love and land and life away from me 5 
 Favoring, until I glide and go 
 Past each bourn and billow-boundary 
 To the waters lying round my fate. 
 To the windless, unoared Ultimate. 
 
 ^ Of THE 
 
 UWIVERSITY 
 
 
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 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 YC151091