PS 3521 K615D Depths and Shallows by Sally Bruce Kinsolving The NORMAN, REMINGTON CO. I 9 z I UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES DEPTHS and SHALLOWS DEPTHS and SHALLOWS to SALLY BRUCE KINSOLVING BALTIMORE THE NORMAN, REMINGTON CO. MDCCCCXXI COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY THE NORMAN, REMINGTON CO. Printed in the Jjmtfetf. fcifateabf America To A. B. K. 4C2G42 CONTENTS PAGE PHAROS . . . . . .1 I HAVE KNOWN LOVE ... 2 SHELL-SHOCK . . . . .3 WAKING .... . 4 I OFTEN THINK OF HELEN . . .5 A SINGLE STAR .... 6 A CATACOMB . . . . .7 DAY AND NIGHT .... 9 SILK STOCKINGS . . . .10 INTROSPECTION . . . . n A PLEA . . ... 12 EXPERIENCE .... 13 APRIL I . . . . . .14 II 15 III 16 You NEVER KNEW ... 17 NIGHT AND MORNING . . . .18 REQUIEM . . . . . 19 TWILIGHT . . . . .21 1791-1921 ..... 22 EVENING . . . . 23 REGRET ..... 24 LUCINDA LEE . . . . . 25 DAY DREAMS . . . . . 26 MY HEART Is STEEPED IN BEAUTY . 28 WHILE OTHERS WAKED . . .29 MY CITY . . . . .30 Contents PAGE SIMILITUDE . . . . . 31 LOVE ASKS NAUGHT . . 32 ENCHANTMENT . 33 FROM MY WINDOW . . . -34 MEETING ..... 35 NOCTURNE _ . . . . 36 WORDS .... ^ 37 DUSK . . .* . ^ -38 THE QUEST ..... 39 PAN-PlPES . . . . 4! WAITING . . . . . 42 CAPRICE . . . . . -43 MOONLIGHT ..... 44 ON THE DOCK . . . . -45 SURGE ..... 47 REVERIE . . . . . 48 SONG . . . . . 49 THE MIDNIGHT MOON . . ; -5 UNTRAMMELLED . . . . 51 ESCAPE . . . . . .52 A MOOD . . 53 A PROTEST . . . -54 IMPRESSION . 55 SPIRIT WINDS . . . . -57 ToJ. L. W.,J R . . . .58 WHEN You ARE TIRED OF THE DAY . 59 BEYOND THE CITY LIGHTS 60 Contents PAGE UNDERTOW . . . . .61 THE WHITE LILAC .... 63 RETROSPECT . . . 64 WINTER NIGHT .... 65 COMPENSATION . ... 66 BEAUTY . . . 67 PHAROS AX7HETHER a waning moon In the quiet night, Offering up Her golden cup Of beauty in the hushed, warm dark To the rhythm of waves breaking, And small voices In low grasses Softly whispering; Or a deed of pity In a squalid city Street at noon Moments of insight Born of these Are harbingers of safety and of peace: As unto mariners who embark At length to sail Through mist and fog, through storm and gale, Over unfamiliar seas, To lands far-off, unknown, . . . Lights that flash suddenly And are gone. I HAVE KNOWN LOVE T HAVE known love In all its depth and height, Its quick surprise at morning, Its wonder in the night. I have felt beauty since I was a child In dawn-steeped gardens Or in woodlands deep and wild. I have sought truth And found it on my way; Truth, beauty, love, these cannot end with day. SHELL-SHOCK T TPON a narrow cot we found him lying And suddenly we knew that he was dying. "There are men all round about me here," he 'said, "Who plot and strive and seek to have me dead. "Be still and I will whisper now to one And you will hear him whistle back to me." Outside we heard the shrieking March wind groan. His eyes flashed triumph: "Listen, that is he." 3 I WAKING out of deep sleep, In the dark I am aware Of life, it seems to stare Me in the face With a horrible grimace, And envelope me With enshrouding mystery: But when I quickly Lift my spirit up in prayer, As if a child should seek its mother, there Within her arms To be quieted of vague alarms, I am enfolded in such peace As rests upon the sea When the winds cease. u I OFTEN THINK OF HELEN T OFTEN think of Helen, Iseult and Guinevere, Of Francesca and of Heloise And others dead and fair. Did love, too, make them tremble. And did it make them wise, And did their cup Of love spring up With willing sacrifice? A SINGLE STAR A SINGLE star of pallid ray Alone appearing to our sight In isolated beauty, may Infuse into the soul with sudden might The wonder of the new resplendent day, The manifold wide mystery of night. 6| A CATACOMB /^\UT of the noonday sunlit air Groped a weary traveller Led by monk in garb of brown, With uncertain steps adown A lengthy, winding stair Into subterranean halls. A candle near the old monk's hood Sputtered, while beside them stood Upright, caved, entombing walls, Of gruesome aspect which appalls, Yet with mystery enthralls A tired wanderer. Laid in dust on caved shelf With no bone left stark to stare, Gleaming like a miser's pelf Under the flickering candle, there Shone a woman's auburn hair .... She was young, and was she fair? Was she tall and iris-white In the soft Italian night? Had she hyacinthine eyes, Thoughtful, deep, madonna-wise 7l A Catacomb Like those framed in churches where Tapers on high altars flare? What was the destiny that flung Her in that ageless, open tomb, Imprisoned in such narrow gloom? Was she from proud nobles sprung? Did imperious, pagan emperor, Caught by glint of auburn tress Loose upon her Roman dress, Strive to foist his will upon her, While within her there uprose A mystic flame all lambent white In the soft Italian night; And insistent, then she chose The bold arena, gaping wide, That forever she might be The bride Of endless purity? DAY AND NIGHT V\/'HEN into depths of clear, translucent blue, At noon we gaze, The sun seems made to shine for you And me through never-ending days. But when in star-strewn night I stand alone With eager, searching, upturned face, I am an atom by the swift winds blown Through vast, illimitable space. SILK STOCKINGS J WAS a child of five And sitting on a bed On a sleepy afternoon When I first heard of the dead. I was putting on my stockings, Which were silken, gold and red. They had come from California, My colored mammy said. Then she whispered to me softly, "Child, your grandmother is dead." She had given me the stockings W 7 hich were silken, gold and red. 10 INTROSPECTION VX7HENCE this poignant keen unrest Is it soul of the east or urge of the west ? Is it heaven or is it hell? I do not know, I cannot tell. A withering torch or a beckoning flame? A demon's thrall in battle strife Or the call of a saint in God's own name A curse of death or a voice of life? A PLEA CjOME love best long, leafy lanes, thick Overhead, and dewy grass bedecked with strawberries; Others, roses, like lovers climbing To the windows of sweet girls. . . . But give me instead, O April, Sloping hills spotted with dandelions, And orchards laden With pale, blossoming beauty; Red maple buds against the wide sky, Tawny and grey leaflets throbbing into life, The sudden green of the willow, A patch of emerald wheat, Forsythias in a blaze of glory, And strong winds blowing white clouds Athwart great gaps of blue. EXPERIENCE had reached The topmost stair Of life. Yet, as she looked around, So lightly poised in air, She had no otherwhere Togo, And she knew She must descend unto The ground. There, To her astonishment, she found Beneath her feet All things that she held most sweet; For guarded safely on the earth Are treasures of the greatest worth, That to every woman are Far dearer Than the glitter Of a star. APRIL I A I H HE lamps of spring are shining On every windy hill; Her troth is newly plighted In gold of daffodil. To deck her for her bridal The orchards spread their bloom; With gifts of shimmering silver The mountain brooklets come. And when her lover hastens To greet her with delight, He will find her veiled in moonbeams Some witching April night. II /^ OLD and green is April's dress As forth she fares in loveliness Across the meads of spring. Scarfs of silver mist she trails, Sombre boughs in gauze she veils, Over hills and deep in dales Violets loosely scattering. Ill miserly and old, His priceless treasure guards within the hold Of hidden coffers; But with what sudden largess Does the spring To wanton airs Her golden bounty fling ! 16 YOU NEVER KNEW 'VTDU never knew my heart Was crying out with pain Like a curlew calling In the cold, spring rain. You never knew my soul, Like a wild sea bird, Went roaming with the winds That the bell buoy heard. You never knew my spirit From pain first felt surcease, When crushed within your arms At last I found peace. NIGHT AND MORNING V\7"HEN night with certain tread her way is making, She brings to us her old attendant care, But there's a sorrow with the morning's waking That is akin to utter, stark despair. 18 REQUIEM pJYACINTHS and daffodils Fringing the grass Round the white crosses As we pass. Red buds and willow trees Painting the sky Where the thin cloud veils Float on high. Song-birds twittering In their delight, Drooping black figures Draped like night: While men lower Into red clay Fragile pale beauty At close of dav. Requiem But hearken, Christian, Do not weep; Those we are leaving Are robed in sleep. See the earth waken Spring after spring The dead will arise For Christ is King. 20 j TWILIGHT T HAVE left the woods behind me With all their silver song And rain-wet Fragrance. The evening bells Are pealing low along My way. Reluctantly I turn my face toward the city's roar, For soon I shall forget That peace dwells At her door. 1791-1921 ' I H HE house I live in once stood near A leafy, winding, shady lane, Where lilacs and sea-scented air Were woven into April rain: Though now within a city street Determined trolleys pass its door, And motors with insistent beat Stride blatantly with shriek or roar: Where gay attire applauds the spring And May is marked by berry criers, While gas wells noxious odors fling In air begrimed by factory fires. f 22 EVENING T71OLET boles of beeches In the late sunlight, Shadows lengthening across The golden hill; Little birds softly fluting Their songs of night, Leaves forbearing to whisper, Breathless, still; Deep is the draught of beauty, Drink, oh drink at your will. REGRET ' I H HE beauty I have left unsung Comes back to sting me now with pain, As if pearls too lightly strung Had slipped into the sea again. O life, could you but give to me The blossoms of forgotten springs, And all delight I've burned to see Long borne away on swallows' wings. [24 LUCINDA LEE TLTER eyes are like grape hyacinths The market woman sells, Her lips are threads of coral That grow among sea-shells. Her moods are as the colors That flit upon the sea, Her mind with depths and shallows Is compact of poetry. But when her little white arms Around my neck entwine, I know it is her love That makes her only mine. I'S DAY DREAMS V\7HEN on a city street, and listening To the English sparrows squawk Their drab and carking care, My spirit runs away To the succulent May Meadows, where Musical birds are singing, Delirious with joy. There I strive to tell Whether it is wild-rose, grape or honeysuckle That stabs me With indefinable fragrances .... And when Again in the city, I look up at telegraph poles, I shut my eyes and see Tall trees waving their branches Oaks and beeches and lindens And hear them whispering Secrets of old time, When Indian maidens, lithe and supple As the arrows their lovers sped Day Dreams At the wild game, found Tryst where bracken, moss and fern are spread In the warm and passionate beauty Of the May days .... And then, When the dust in city byways Chokes me, and its grime Besoils my ringers, I hear the sound Of waters trickling From streams that startle The still rocks of deep glens, And run away mockingly, Refusing to be Caught or held or bound. 27 MY HEART IS STEEPED IN BEAUTY MY heart is steeped in beauty, For I have known pain, And cypress trees and moonlight are Attendant in her train. I watch the children dancing Upon a sunlit hill, But they cannot feel beauty Approaching them until Their heads are bowed with weeping Like lilies in the rain .... My heart is steeped in beauty, For I have known pain. 28 WHILE OTHERS WAKED others waked I slept, Now while they sleep I sing Alone in the night To my heart's comforting. I sing of men in cities And lonely ships at sea, With only white waves To bear them company. I sing of moonlit gardens And silent fields of dew, But oh, by night as in the day, I chiefly sing of you. 29 MY CITY T NEVER dreamed that I could sing Until I came to live in you; What was it that could sharply sting My silence into shape and hue? I thought that I had found content In love and laughter, work and play; But April after April went, And left me brick-bound day by day. But you are girdled with the spring, And over your roofs on summer nights, Beauty, while her censers swing, Blends her perfumes with your lights. SIMILITUDE T THINK Of a poet As of a reed by a river's brink, Shaken with each wind that blows, Sharing the secret Of wild iris or of meadow rose, Trembling to the singing of a bird When before dawn but one alone has stirred; Startled to see The shrunken yellow moon Rising above the near Rim Of the world, in the clear Blue night; Or the first stripe Of red Staining the dim, Drab east before the morning's light, . . . Saturate with beauty, Then vibrant with music, As a shepherd's pipe. LOVE ASKS NAUGHT T OVE asks naught when it is love But the flame of its own fire, All content itself to prove, . . . Hurt with infinite desire: Thus the rainbow to the sea, Mirrored in a depth of blue, Burning with an endless beauty In its irridescent hue. ENCHANTMENT TSLAND of mystery And dreams, Set in a western sea, My spirit leaps too sluggardly To catch the sudden gleams Of your swift moods, that flee With all the winds that blow; For but an hour ago You were a place of light, With tangled blooms of blackberry Spreading their veils of white .... And now the fog drifts quickly Across the fields of night, While myriad golden fireflies, Darting their eerie beams, Give to me the fancy That you are a haunt of fay, Until I hear in rise And fall the dashing of the spray. 33 FROM MY WINDOW A GENTLE rustle " That I hear, Tells me lightly Trees are near; Not as in a forest, Tall And stately, But familiar, small, Where a bird May sit sedately, Snugly hidden in her nest, While outside with painted wings, Boldly her little lover sings Unto her a madrigal. Then I, too, keep Early vigil While others still Are fast asleep, And sing, unheard, a roundelay, To the fair returning day. 34 MEETING SOME meet within walled gardens And others on a lea; But you and I within the mind Discover unity. I would not have you touch my hand, Or faithless be To any loyalty. I am content to find you where The morning sunlight paints the sea, Or high up in the evening air The new moon lifts her purity. 35 NOCTURNE ' I H HE moon pours out a silver stream Across my quiet room to-night; Ah, would that I could ever dream Within her chambers of delight. Never to see the sun again, Or gaudy color night defies, But to walk in gardens where In the fragrant, moonlit air White blossoms shed their secrecies. And though no nightingale might tell Her old-world passion or her pain, I know that in my heart would swell The minor chords of symphonies, Making the argent air resound With miracle of silver sound In long-remembered ecstasies. 36] WORDS COMETIMES, like the wind In the trees, With such a sudden gust The words come, that I must Hasten to write them down, Lest they Be blown away. Again leisurely, half tauntingly, They come and go, As a ball Tossed to and fro Lightly on a summer's day . . . . And then Not a sound I hear, And suddenly I fear That I may Never again, Even falteringly, Say the things I long to say. 37 DUSK A TIMID little silver moon Was sailing forth abreast The broken waves of fleecy cloud Upon the purple west; While you and I within A fragile skiff afloat, Were listening to the music The water-spirits made, With their lapping, lapping, lapping On the surface of our boat, And our feathered oars were dripping As we drifted, and they played. But soon the artist night Had stained the sky with black, And turned the moon from silver into gold; Yet slowly moving homeward Upon her gleaming track We were loath to leave the seas, And the quiet, dreamy music The water-spirits made, With their lapping, lapping, lapping, For behind the inky trees The golden moon was slipping, And in the dusky shallows still the water- spirits played. [38] THE QUEST S~\ SILENT, white, high-masted ship, How quietly you lie At anchor, with your limp sails hung Against the soft grey sky; And lightly as the fall Of a long forgotten snow, Returning to the mind in dream. Calm, immovable you seem, And can it be That you again Will heavily Heave to and fro Storm-tossed upon a distant sea? And will you touch at ports where Tempting fruits hang low, Within the bronze-hued grasp of indolent men, While in the moist, scented air, Brilliant birds fluant their plumes Amid the hot, red Tropic blooms That stain the dark of forest glooms, Thick-tangled overhead? Then you will fill your hold, Empty, clean-gutted, lean, With luscious freight of shining gold, And coffees, and rare spices, [39] Whose aromatic smell The northern sense entices; While through the masts of swaying ships Come beckoning tones from vermeil lips Of the dark-eyed girls who dwell Where southern seas still cast their spell . . . But lo, what happens as I speak The light wind fills your sails again, Now hurry fore and aft your men; Your anchors lift, your taut ropes creak, Your unleashed prow strains forth with zest, Driven by the compelling west; While you once more unfettered, free, Proudly ride the welcoming sea, And round the cape, with sails full-blown, To new adventure you are gone. 40 PAN-PIPES T HAVE sometimes felt in forests When the dank earth strong with mould Seized my spirit like a lover, And gripped me with its hold, I would gladly lay my body In the warm, sweet-scented ground, To be wrapped around with fern fronds And with tangled violets bound. [41] WAITING , the agony Of women Living near the sea, Watching at home For those who do not come, With only Mystery And silence To bear them company. CAPRICE a wanton thing your heart is, fleeing Love and his swift shadow, Like a sunbeam in a meadow, While soft clouds are blowing. But someday you will turn demurely, When he commands you, And like a white flower limp with dew, Within his hold will rest securely. 43 MOONLIGHT V\/'HAT magical mystery of light is here, Touching every leaf and blade With silver, save where The blackened shade Paints the deep glade? It can change All That is familiar, Even commonplace, Into what is beautiful and strange. The bare, white face Of the town hall Now wears a semblance As of marble made, And one may fancy That one sees A staid And stately Chateau rising between tall trees, Within a land of fleur-de-lys .... Then it washes out the heavens With such glory, That only stars of ancient rhyme or story Dare to shine within its presence, And now meekly They surrender All their sovereignty To unwonted splendor. [44] ON THE DOCK ^ I A HE noonday water -- Like green and slippery Serpents, lay coiled around The high-piled dock. Within the dingy Warehouse there Was not a sound Of human voice, but stacks Of dirty, printed sacks Of winter food For island cattle Now grazing sleepily Upon velvet downs. Outside were orange-painted kegs Emptied of melliflous frozen cream, Walled like tropic fruit In gaudy color Against the sea. Three men nearby were lounging Lazily Upon a coal barge, blowing Their rings of smoke Toward the sun. Small boys with dangling Feet were sitting On the dock and poking fun At daring gulls, that 45 On the Dock With sudden swerve And avid leap, were plunging Downward, dragging Little fish into The upper air; Or watching silently Until some home returning ship Should boldly rip The wrinkled satin Of the harbor sea. [46] SURGE TNCOMING waves now stripe the sea Along the gently sloping beach; I watch them as they melt away, Each quickly overtaking each. Thus with the years of human life, That in such quick succession send A little froth, tumult and strife, Love, sorrow, peace, . . . and then the end. 47 REVERIE "V/fY purple hills, do you Still sharply cut the pale goldskies At evening into The jagged line of amaranth hue That I once loved? And are the quiet lakes yet Nestled at your feet, While in the darkened forest, fir trees rise, Where rapturous thrushes pour from silver bells Unrivalled sound, with wild anguish sweet, Into the deep wet Fragrance of fern dells ? 48 SONG A S the foam is to the sea "^ Breaking forth exultantly; As the morning star to dawn Over some dusk-scented lawn, . . . You are to me. Life and duty round me close While the dull time comes and goes- You are then its poetry. As the red that burns the west, Leaps to flame within my breast, You are but an ecstasy. 49 THE MIDNIGHT MOON away are the stars, But the watchful moon Sees the hills sloping down to the dusky bay, While the young waves sing and clap their hands In the shining pools of the quiet sands, Adorned in feathery spray. She listens alone To the orchestras Through the dark forever at play; She guards the silent, white ships that pass On their lingering, coastwise way, Till folded in harbors of sleeping towns Like sheep that are gathered from fragrant downs, Like sheep at the end of day; And only at intervals now and then Is her watch espied by mortal men. UNTRAMMELLED 1 I H HE children laugh and play and sing Upon the beach at noon, While careful nurses wait to bring Them home from play too soon : But there is one small elfin maid Who, when the rest are gone, Still ever boldly unafraid In careless mirth plays on. She steps into the shallow pools Throughout the shining day, And startles little fish in schools That circle in their play; Free as the wind that crests the wave, Or any lone sea bird That haunts the cliffs wild waters lave, Remote from human word. Oh, happy child, so blithely free While trammelled hosts are gone, Alone with earth and sky and sea In careless mirth play on. ESCAPE T AM tired of their chatter *- And their talk of things, things, And I seek alone the salt wave Where the day springs. While the morning sea is breaking On the clean, washed sand, And the pied flowers are making A garden of the land. And there I lie and dream With the sunlight on my brow, While I wonder if you too Are dreaming now. A MOOD CULTRY and hot was the night, Dimly and pale shone the moon Through the soft heat haze, When suddenly, as hounds from the leash, Sprang the winds As if from the four corners of heaven. Howling and moaning they came, Lashing the sea into foam, Sweeping the glens with their might. Like witches they seemed, at a feast; Distorted, mis-shapen, malign, evil fore boding. "In spite of September's flower-wreathed face," I heard them say, "Summer is gone, winter now is at hand, Bringing her friends, Hunger and cold, disease and death." 53 A PROTEST TN the dust of my travel * I think of the bay With its immaculate waters, And flowers and sedge, Like the purple And gold of heather and furze Staining the brown Of the hills sloping down To its edge. And I wonder if you too Rebel When you see The grime and dirt Brought by those who dwell In cities, careless and inert Of smirch and soil, . . . Eager alone in their toil For wealth, Forgetting man's true self And his unquenchable Thirst for beauty. 54 IMPRESSION T IKE a shaft of light upon a prism sundered, Falling on the pages of my open book In a shower of rays, scintillating, darting, Suddenly there breaks your well-remembered look. First in quiet depths, like autumn pools at evening, It dares to plumb the mystery of life and death; Then it sparkles like the snow in Alpine sunlight gleaming, With the early morning's opalescent breath. It is attuned to magic woodland ways and whispers, It dances with the light and dark of silvery beechen shade, It softens with the droning of bees in scented clovers On the sloping hillside or in open glade. It wakens the echo of the measured cadence Across the moonlit hollows of the salt, far-sound ing sea, Beating endless muic into listening caverns Of old-world sorrows and others yet to be. 55 Impression Not foreign to its steady, slowly burning fires, The thought of incense-laden, languorous tropic nights, Yet dominant in expression, it is mystical, in tangible, Like flaming altar candles or far-off northern lights. SPIRIT WINDS SPIRIT winds blow over me And they are not unkind, . Yet they make a strange place Of my mind. I have waked this morning To find it swept and bare Of every ardent feeling I have known there. Autumn's varied pageant, Or spring's first timid flower, Brings to me no color In this hour. Even when I think of you I am cold still, As the glittering crust of snow On a lone hill. 57 TO J. L. W., JR. recently You passed before us on the prow Of your frail Boat, with sail Outstretched behind you, returning Home upon a summer sea, The morning sunlight resting On your brow, And burnishing Your hair to gold, Who could have then foretold Your passing now? And yet, All clothed in shining white, Your body like a thing of light Seemed charged with strange, unearthl) purity, When, indelible as an impress set Upon an ancient Grecian urn, Age-long youth and beauty met In your return. 158J WHEN YOU ARE TIRED OF THE DAY WHEN you are tired of the day And all its dull, grey commonplace, I like to feel in dreams you may Sometimes see my face; And think of me with poetry, Or evening light upon the hills, With morning breaking on the sea And all that in your soul instils A deeper, livelier feeling .... That thus amid your hurrying stress, I may, with radiance o'er you stealing, Dispel your weariness. 59 BEYOND THE CITY LIGHTS T>EYOND the city lights -*-* The stars are dimly shining, Like unhappy ghosts Alone and repining. I think of island fields Grey-green with moonbeams, And of midnight waters breaking On the shores of my dreams. But far off as the stars Oh, farther than the sea In my loneliness of spirit You seem now to be. 60 UNDERTOW 1" TPON the dim, veiled threshold of my life I listened to a nocturne, while without In darkness, over wild, out-jutting cliffs, The passionate, strong waves beat ceaselessly. I felt entranced by witchery of sound, For in the music's rapturous cadences Were strange, sweet whisperings of joys un dreamed, And yet, recurrent, haunting notes of pain And sorrow, wailed through plaintive minor chords Like sad, tumultuous, pealing echoes from The ever sobbing, human-hearted sea. . . . Many years are gone, and once again I listen to the nocturne, now beside The blue and copper of a wood fire's burning; And while I dream, the music's harmonies In my own life all seem fulfilled, with here And there an undertone of sadness, but Ever uppermost the joy. And yet, While restless waves of northern seas are far Away, my thoughts fly forward to the Ocean of eternity. But still, with such A calm as that which broods on cool, grey sands At evening, when gleaming jewels shine And sparkle through the ever-curling spray, As if some casket from the fabled east 61] Undertow Had lent its splendor to the alluring sea, And distant sails high-colored from the west Lie strewn in paths of light, in confidence I rest in that great Power Who rules the mighty waters at His will. 62] THE WHITE LILAC T GAZED upon a shower of wet, White bloom, Against a wall Of living Green, And felt the thrill Of silent growing things that spring From out the sheer depths of unseen Eternal beauty: Yet An artist's room, Grey with December's chill, Approaching night, My vision bound. The rapture that en thralled me Rose from master strokes of life and light Irradiating all The twilight's gloom. RETROSPECT "V7"OU came to me so young and strong, So bold and free, You swept the tides of youth along As the west wind sweeps the sea. Together we have met life fearlessly, Much have we dared; Whatever yet may be, Gladly we have fared. 64 WINTER NIGHT OOLDLY astride the winter night Stands Orion, armed and bright, As of old in Syrian skies, Watched by Job with wondering eyes. COMPENSATION V\/'HEN I think of the verse I have left unsaid, And the many books I have not read, I am seized with dismay, For so much of life has burned away. But when I recall* the moment after? The merry lips and happy laughter That have flamed each day, I am glad of life's insistent way. 66 BEAUTY OEAUTY, you are inviolate, . . . I cannot clasp you as my own; I am content to consecrate My soul to you, unknown. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY This book is DUE on the last date stamped below ID URL lECTD LO-URl Y is JN 5 19 000 925 681 9 DO NOT REMOVE THIS BOOK CARD University Research Library