You have found an item located in the Kentuckiana Digital Library.
Cup of Comus : fact and fancy / Madion Julius Cawein. Cawein, Madison Julius, 1865-1914. 400dpi TIFF G4 page images University of Kentucky, Electronic Information Access & Management Center Lexington, Kentucky 2002 b92-187-30608381 Electronic reproduction. 2002. (Beyond the shelf, serving historic Kentuckiana through virtual access (IMLS LG-03-02-0012-02) ; These pages may be freely searched and displayed. Permission must be received for subsequent distribution in print or electronically. Cup of Comus : fact and fancy / Madion Julius Cawein. Cawein, Madison Julius, 1865-1914. Cameo Press, New York : 1915. 96 p. ; 21 cm. Coleman "This edition is limited to five hundred copies of which this is number 325." Purchased from Gilman, Crompond, N.Y. BAL 3048. Microfilm. Atlanta, Ga. : SOLINET, 1994. 1 microfilm reel ; 35 mm. (SOLINET/ASERL Cooperative Microfilming Project (NEH PS-20317) ; SOL MN04381.13 KUK) Printing Master B92-187. IMLS This electronic text file was created by Optical Character Recognition (OCR). No corrections have been made to the OCR-ed text and no editing has been done to the content of the original document. Encoding has been done through an automated process using the recommendations for Level 1 of the TEI in Libraries Guidelines. Digital page images are linked to the text file. THE CUP OF COMUS T Madison Cawein A A..=_ w- 1 1 This page in the original text is blank. This page in the original text is blank. This page in the original text is blank. THE CUJP OF COMUS FACT AND FANCY BY MADISON CAWEIN MEMBER OF THE NATIONAL INSTITUTE OF ARTS AND LETTERS THE CAME( NEW Y( 1915 T" TV -VC, 3RK -1 Copyright, 1915, by ROSE DE VAUX-ROYER This edition is limited to Five Hundred Copies of which this is Number For permission to reprint most of the poems in this vol- ume thanks are made to the various magazines and periodi- cals in which they first appeared. VAIL-.eALLOU COMPANY wINQHI'N TAO A1.W YORK TO MY GOOD FRIEND W T. H. HOWE Friend, for the sake of loves we hold in common, The love of books, of paintings, rhyme and fiction; And for the sake of that divine affliction, The love of art, passing the love of woman;- By which all life's made nobler, superhuman, Lifting the soul above, and, without friction Of Time, that puts failure in his prediction,- Works to some end through hearts that dreams illumine: To you I pour this Cup of Dreams - a striver, And dreamer too in this sad world,- unwitting Of that you do, the help that still assureth,- Lifts up the heart, struck down by that dark driver, Despair, who, on Life's pack-horse - effort - sitting, Rides down Ambition through whom Art endureth. THRENODY IN MAY (In memory of Madison Cawein.) Again the earth, mirnculous with May, Unfolds its vernal arras. Yes- teryear We strolled together 'neath the greening tre!es, And heard the robin tune its flute note clear, And watched above the white cloud squadrons veer, And saw their shifting shadows drift away Adown the Hudson, as ships seek the se as. The scene is still the same. The violet Unlids its virgin eye; its amber ore The dandelion show3, and yet, and yet, He comes no more, no more, He of the open and the generous heart, The soul that ser.sed all flowerful loveliness, The nature as the nature of a child; Who found some rapture in the wind's caress, Beauty in humble weed and mint and cress, Andsang,with his incomparable art, The magic wonder of the wood and wild. The little people of the reeds and grass Murmur their blithe, comipalion- able lore, The rills renew .heir minstrelsy. Alas, He comes no more, no morel And yet it seems as though he needs must come, Albeit he has cast off mortality, Such was his passion for the bourgeoning time, Such to his spirit was the ecstasy The hills and valleys chorus when set free, No music mute, no lyric instinct dumb, But keyed to utterance of im- mortal rhyme. Ah, haply in some other fairer spring He sees bright tides sweep over slope and shore, But here how vain is a11 my vision- ing! He comes no more, no more! Poet and friend, wherever you may fare Enswrapt in dreams, I love to think of you Wandering amid the meads of asphodel, Holding high converse with the exalted few Who sought and found below the elusive clue To beauty, and in that diviner air Bowing in worship still to its sweet spell. Why sorrow, then, though fate un- kindly lays Upon our questioning hearts this burden sore, And though through all our length of hastening days He comes no more, no more! CLINTON SCOLLARD. FOREWORD It is with a sense of sadness and regret that this book, written by one who universally has endeared himself to lovers of nature through his revelation of her mysteries, must be prefaced as containing the last songs of this ex- quisite singer of the South. Whren the final word is spoken it is fitting that it be by one of authority. William Dean Howells, in the pages of The North American Review, offers this tribute: "I had read his poetry and loved it from the beginning, and in each successive expression of it, I had delighted in its expanding and maturing beauty. Between the earliest and the latest thing there may have been a hundred differ- ent things in the swan-like life of a singer . . . but we take the latest as if it summed him up in motive and range and tendency. . . . Not one of his lovely landscapes but thrilled with a human presence penetrating to it from his most sensitive and subtle spirit until it was all but painfully alive with memories, with regrets, with longings, with hopes, with all that from time to time mutably constitutes us men and women, and yet keeps us children. He has the gift, in a measure, that I do not think surpassed in any poet, of touching some commonest thing in nature, and making it live, from the manifold associations in which we have our being, and glow thereafter with an indistinguishable beauty. . . . No other poet can outword this poet when it comes to choosing some epithet fresh from the earth and air, and with the morning sun and light upon it, for an emo- tion or an experience in which the race renews its youth from generation to generation. . . . His touch leaves every- thing that was dull to the sense before glowing in the light of joyful recognition." With a tone of conviction Edwin Markham says: 5 " No other poet of the later American choir offers so large a collection of verse as Mr. Cawein does, and no other American minstrel has so unvarying a devotion to nature. And none other, perhaps, has so keen an eye, so sure a word for nature's magic of mood, her trick of color, her change of form. He iF not so wild and far-flying as Bliss Carmen, nor so large and elemental as Joaquin Miller; but he is often as delicate and e rie as Aldrich, and sometimes as warm and rich as Keats in the Apiil affluence of ' Endymion.' " "M r. Caweirt's landscape is not the sea, nor the desert, nor the mountain, but the lovely inland levels of his Ken- tucky. His work is almost wholly objective. A dash more of human import mixed into the beauty and melody of his poetry would rank him with Lowell and the other great lvrists of our elder choir." Some of the new poems portray a high moral passion, potent with the belief of life beyond, where his delicacy of vision penetrates the shadow and seems to have sighted the shore that has given his soul greeting " somewhere yon- der in a world uncharted." Clear, sure, and strong is the vocal loveliness and in- evitable word wit d which this poet endears the little forms of life in the field of Faery. The " Song of Songs " (1913) could be characterized as prophecy, by one in whom seemed inherent the fatal instinct of the predestined. He sought for " Song to lead her way above the crags of wrong," and he gave "Such music as a bird Gives of its soul when dying Unconscious if it's heard! " And so he went, singing, to his " Islands of Infinity." ROSE DE VAUX-ROYER. This edition is called the Friendship Edition, as it car- ries in its significance a testimonial of love and admiration for the author, extended by those who wish his last collected poems preserved for futuzity. Acknowledgment is due W. D. Howells, The North American Reviev,, The Macmillan Co., Clinton Scollard and Edwin Markham for their courtesy. 6 BROKEN MUSIC (IN MEMORIAM) There it lies broken, as a shard,- What breathed swveet music yesterday; The source, all mute, has passed awuay With its masked meaniingys still unmnarred. But melody will never cease.! Above the va-st cerulean sea Of heaveni, created harmonrll Rings and re-echoes its release! So, this dumb instrumnent that 1i s All ptou erlesss,-[ with spirit flown, Beyond the veil of the Unkniotwn To chant its lov e-hymned litanies,-] Though it may thrill us here no more With cadenced strain,-ini other spheres Will rise above the vanquished years And breathe its music as before! [Louisville Times] Written December 7th, 1914. Rose de Vaoux-Royer. The spirit of Madison Cawein passed at midnight from this world of inti- mate beauty "To stand a handsbreadth nearer Heajen and what is God!" lMADISON CAWEIN (1865-1914) rj HE wind makes moan, the water runneth chill; T I hear the nymphs go crying through the brake; And roaming mournf lly from hill to hill The maenads all are silent for his sake! He loved thy pipe, 0 wreathed and piping Pan! So play'st thou sadly, lone within thine hollow; He was thy blood, if ever mortal man, Therefore thou wec-pest-even thou, Apollo! But 0, the grieving of the Little Things, Above the pipe and lyre, throughout the woods! The beating of a thousand airy wings, The cry of all the fragile multitudes! The moth flits desolate, the tree-toad calls, Telling the sorrow of the elf and fay; The cricket, little harper of the walls, Puts up his harp - hath quite forgot to play! And risen or these winter paths anew, The wildirg blossoms make a tender sound; The purple weed, the morning-glory blue, And all the timid darlings of the ground! Here, here thE; pain is sharpest! For he walked As one of these - and they knew naught of fear, But told him daily happenings and talked Their love;v secrets in his list'ning ear! Yet we do bid them grieve, and tell their grief; Else were they thankless, else were all untrue; 0 wind and st:ream, 0 bee and bird and leaf, Mlourn for your po t, with a long adieu! MARGARET STEELE ANDERSON. Louisville Post', Decenber 12th, 1914. 8 CONTENTS TIIE CuP OF COMIUS . TIIE INTRUDER . A GHOST OF YESTERDAY LORDS OF THE VISIONARY EYE TIIE CREAKING DOOR AT TIIE END OF TILE ROAD . TIIE TROUBADOUR OF TREBIZEI GHOSTS THE LONELY LAND . TI-hE WIND WITCH. OLD GHOSTS. TIIE NAME ON THE TREE THE HAUNTED GARDEN . THE CLOSED DOOR THE LONG ROOM . IN PEARL AND GOLD . MOON FAIRIES. HAEC OLIM MEMINISSE THE ]MAGIC PURSE TILE CIIILD AT THE GATE THE LOST DREAM . WITCHCRAFT. TRANSPOSED SEASONS . TIIE OLD DREAMER . A LAST WORD . THE SHADOW . ON THE ROAD . . . PAGE 11 13 15 16 . 18 2 () 21 3 27 . . . . . . . . 0 28 31 34 35 37 4 0 4 1 42 46 47 .50 PAGE RECONCILIATION . . . . . . . . . . . 53 PORTENTS . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.5 THE IRON CRAGS . . . . . . . . . . . 57 TlrE IRON CROSS. . . . . . . . . . . 58 TIIE WANDFRER . . . . . . . . . . . 60 TIIE END CF SUMfMER . . . . . . . . . 62 TILE LUST OF THE VORLD . . . . . . . .6 CHANT BEFORE BATTLE . . . . . . . . .61 NEARING CHRISTMIAS. . . . . . . . . . 6 5 A BELGIAN CIIRISTMAS . . . . . . . . . 67 THE FESTIVAL OF 'IIHE AISsNE. . . . . . . 69 THE CRY or EARTH. .. . . . . . . . 70 CHILD AND FAThER . . . . . . . . . . 71 THE RISING OF TILE MOON. . . . . . . . 72 WHERE THE BATTLE PASSED3. . . . . . . . 73 THE IRON .AGE . . . . . . . . . . . 74 THE BATTL . . . . . . . . . . . . . 75 ON RE-READ NG CERTAIN GERMAN POETS .. . . 76 ON OPENING AN OLD SCHOOL VOIUME OF IIORACE . 77 LAUS DEO . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78 THE NEW YORK SKYSCRAPER . . . . . . . 79 ROBERT BRO WNING . . . . . . . . . . 80 RILEY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 81 DON QUIXOTE . . . . . . . . . . . . 82 THE WOMAN . . . . . . . . . . . . 83 THE SONG OF SONGS . . . . . . . . . . 84 OGLETHORPE . . . . . . . . . . . . 510 A POET'S EIITAPII . . . . . . . . . . 96 THE CUP OF COJMUS PROEM TIHE Nights of sOlg and story, T Witlh breath of frost and rain, Whose locks are wild and hoary, Whose fingers tap the pane Witth leaves, are come again. The Nights of ol0( October, That laig the hearth and tell, To child and grandsire sober, Tales of what long befell Of witch and warlock spell. Nights. that, like gnome and faery, Go, lost in mist and moon, And speak in legendary Thoulghts or a mystic rune, Mfuch like the owlet's croon. Or whirling on like witches, Amid the brush and broom, Call from t-he Earth its riches, Of leaves and wild perfume, And strew them through the gloom. Till death, in all his starkness, Assumes a form of fear, And somewhere in the darkness Seems slowly drawing near In raiment torn and sere. 11 And with him comes November, VXho drips outside the door, And wails what men remember Of things believed no more, Of superstitious lore. Old tales -f elf and daemon, Of Kobola and of Troll, And of the goblin woman Who robs man of his soul To make her own soul whole. And all such tales, that glamoured Th'e child-heart once with fright, That aged lips have stammered Fcr many a child's delight, Shall speak again to-night. Tc-night, of moonlight minted, That is a cup divine, Whence Death, all opal-tinted,- Wreathed red with leaf and vine,- Shall drink a magic wine. A wonder-cup of Cormus, That with enchantment streams, In which thre heart of Momus,- That, mooa-like, glooms and gleams, Is dirowned with all its dreams. 12 THE INTRUDER THERE is a smell of roses in the room Tea-roses, dead of bloom; An invalid, she sits there in the gloom, And contemplates her doom. The pattern of the paper, and the grain Of carpet, with its stain, H-Jave stamped themselves, like fever, on her brain, And grown a part of pain. It has been long, so long, since that one died, Or sat there by her side; She felt so lonely, lost, she would have cried,- But all her tears were dried. A knock came on the door: she hardly heard; And then -a whispered word, And someone entered; at whvhiclh, like a bird, Her caged heart cried and stirred. And then - she heard a voice; she was not wrong: His voice, alive and strong: She listened, while the silence filled with song -- Oh, she had waited long! She d(are(l not turn to see; she dared not look; But slowly closed her book, And waite(l for his kiss ; could scarcely brook The weary time he tool. 13 There wa3 no one remembered her -no one! But him, beneath the sun.- Who the'. had entered entered but to shun Her whose long work was done. She raised her eyes, and - no one ! - Yet she felt A presence near, that smelt Like faded roses; and that seemed to melt Into her soul that knelt. She could not sece but knew that he was there, Smoothing her hands and hair; Filling with scents of roses all the air, Standing beside her chair. And so they fourd her, sitting quietly, Her book upon her knee, Staring before her, as if she could see- What was it - Death or he 14 A GHOST OF YESTERDAY THERE is a house beside a way, Where dwells a ghost of Yesterday: The old face of a beauty, faded, Looks from its garden: and the shaded Long walks of locust-trees, that seem Forevermore to sigh and dream, Keep whispering low a word that's true, Of sh apes that haunt its avenue, Clad as in days of belle and beau, Who come and go Around its ancient portico. At first, in stock and leaver-hat, With flitting of the moth and bat, An old man, leaning on a cane, Comes slowly down the locust lane; Looks at the hlouse; then, groping, goes Into the garden where the rose Still keeps sweet tryst with moth and moon; And, humming to himself a tune, -" Lorena " or " Ben Bolt " we'll say,- Waits, bent and gray, For some fair ghost of Yesterday. The Yesterday that holds his all - More real to him than is the wall Of mossy stone near whichli he stands, Still reaching out for her his hands- 15 For her, the girl, who waits him there, A lace-gowned phantom, dark of hair, Whose loveliness still keeps those walks, And with whose Memory he talks; Uporn his heart her happy head,- So it is said,- The girl, now half a century dead. LORDS OF: THE VISIONARY EYE I CAME upon a pool that shone, Clear, emerald-like, among the hills, That seemed old wizards round a stone Of mragic that a vision thrills. And as I leaned and looked, it seemed Vague shadows gathered there and here- A dream, perhaps the water dreamed Of some will past, some long-dead year. A temple of a race unblessed Rose huge within a hollow land, Where, on an altar, bare of breast, One lay, a man, bound foot and hand. A priest, whio served some hideous god, Stood near him on the altar stair, Clothed on with gold; and at his nod A multitude seemed gathered there. 16 I saw a sword descend; and then The priest before the altar turned; He was not formed like mortal man, But like a beast whose eyeballs burned. Amorphous, strangely old, he glared Above the victim lhe had slain, Who lay with bleeding bosom bared, From which dripped slow a crimson rain. Then turned to me a face of stone And mocked above the murdered dead, That fixed its cold eyes on his own And cursed him with a look of dread. And then, it seemed, I knew the place, And how this sacrifice befell: I knew the god, the priest's wild face, I knew the dead man - knew him well. And as I stooped again to look, I heard the dark hills sigh and laugh, And in the pool the water shook As if one stirred it with a staff. And all was still again and clear: The pool lay crystal as before, Temple and priest were gone; the mere Had closed again its magic door. 17 A facc was there; it seemed to shine As round it died the sunset's flame - The v-ictim's face -or was it mine - They were to me the very same. And yet, and yet - could this thing be - And in my soul I seemed to know, At once, this was a memory Of sonme past life, lived long ago. Recorded by some secret sense, In forms that we as dreams retain; Some moment, as experience, Projects in pictures on the brain. THE CRIE,' KING DOOR OMIE in, old Ghost of all that used to be!- X ou find me old, And love grown cold, And fortune fled to younger company: Departed, as the glory of the day, W\ith friends !- And you, it seems, have come to stay.-- 'T is time to pray. Come; sit with me, here at All comfortless.-- Think, nay! then, guess, Life's creaking door, 18 What was the one thing, eh that made me poor- The love of beauty, that I could not bind MNy dream of truth or faith in humankind- But, never mind! All are departed now, with love and youth, Whose stay was brief; And left but grief And gray regret -two jades, who tell the truth; Whose children - memories of things to be, And things that failed,- within my heart, ah me! Cry constantly. None can turn time back, and no man delay Death when he knocks.- What good are clocks, Or human hearts, to stay for us that day When at Life's creaking door we see his smile,- Death's! at the door of this old House of Trial- Old Ghost, let's wait awhile. 19 AT THE END OF THE ROAD THIS is the truth' as I see it, my dear, 'Out in the wind and the rain: They who have nothing have little to fear,- Nothing to lose or to gain. Here by the roEud at the end o' the year, Let us sit down and drink o' our beer, Happy-GTo-Lucky and her cavalier, Out in the wind and the rain. Now we are old, oh isn't it fine Out in the wind and the rain Now we have nothing why snivel and whine- What would it bring us again - When I was young I took you like wine, Held you and kissed you and thought you divine- Happy-Go-Luc.y, the habit's still mine, Out in the wind and the rain. Oh, my old Het rt, what a life we have led, Out in the wil'd and the rain! How we have drunken and how we have fed! Nothing to lose or to gain! - Cover the fire ncw; get we to bed. Long was the journey and far has it led: Come, let us sleep, lass, sleep like the dead, Out in the wird and the rain. 20 THE TROUBADOUR OF TREBIZEND NIGHT, they say, is no man's friend: N And at night he met his end In the woods of Trebizend. Hate crouched near him as he strode Through the blackness of the road, Where my Lord seemed some huge toad. Eyes of murder glared and burned At each bend of road he turned, And where wild the torrent churned. And with Death we stood and stared From the bush as by he fared,- But he never looked or cared. He went singing; and a rose Lay upon his heart's repose - With what thought of her - who knows He had done no other wrong Save to sing a simple song, " I hate loved you - loved you long." And my lady smiled and sighed; Gave a rose and looked moist eyed, And forgot she was a bride. 21 My sweet lady, Jehan de Grace, With the pale Madonna face, He had brought to his embrace. And my Lord saw: gave commands: I was of his bandit bands.- Love should perish at our hands. Young the Knight was. He should sing Nevermore of love or spring, Or of any gentle thing. Wher. he stole at midnight's hour, To my Lady's forest bower, We were hidden near the tower. In the woods of Trebizend There he met an evil end.- Night, you know, is no man's friend. He has fought in fort and field; Borne for years a stainles's shield, And in strength to none would yield. But we seized him unaware, Bound and hung him; stripped him bare, Left him to the wild boars there. Never has my Lady known.- But she often sits alone, Weeping when my Lord is gone. . .. 22 Night, they say, is no man's friend.- In the woods of Trebizend There he met an evil end. Now my old Lord sleeps in peace, While my Lady - each one sees - Waits, and keeps her memories. GHOSTS L OW, weed-climbed cliffs, o'er which at noon The sea-mists swoon: Wind-twisted pines, through which the crow Goes winging slow: Dim fields, the sower never sows, Or reaps or nmows: And near the sea a ghostly house of stone Where all is old and lone. A garden, falling in decay, Where statues gray Peer, broken, out of tangled weed And thorny seed: Satyr and Nymph, that once made love By walk and grove: And, near a fountain, shattered, green with mold, A sundial, lichen-old. Like some sad life bereft, To musing left, The house stands: love and youth Both g!)ne, in sooth: But still i, sits arAl dreams: And round it seems Some memory of the past, still young and fair, Haunting each crumbling stair. And suddenly one dimly sees, Come through the trees, A woman, like a wild moss-rose: A man, who go s Softly: and by the dial They kiss a while: Then drowsily the mists blow round them, wan, And thcy, like ghosts, are gone. THE LONELY LAND ARRIVER binds the lonely land, A river like a silver band, To cragys and shores of yellow sand. It is a place where kildees cry, And endless mar; hes eastward lie, Whereon looks down a ghostly sky. A house stands gray and all alone Upon a hill, as dim of tone, And lonely, as a lonely stone. 24 There are no signs of life about: No barnyard bustle, cry and shout Of children who run laughing out. No crow of cocks, no low of cows, No sheep-bell tinkling under boughs Of beech, or song in garth or house. Only the curlew's mournful call, Circling the sky at evenfall, And loon lamenting over all. A garden, where the sunflower dies And lily on the pathway lies, Looks blindly at the blinder skies. And round the place a lone wind blows, As when the Autumn grieving goes, Tattered and dripping, to its close. And on decaying shrubs and vines The moon's thin crescent, dwindling shines, Caught in the claws of sombre pines. And then a pale girl, like a flower, Enters the garden: for an hour She waits beside a wild-rose bower. There is no other one around; No sound, except the cricket's sound And far-off baying of a hound. 25 There is no tire or candle-light To flash its message through the night Of welcome from some casement bright. Only the mo n, that thinly throws A shadow ou the girl and rose, As to its setting slow it goes. And when 'tCs gone, from shore and stream There steals a mist, that turns to dream That place where all things merely seem. And through the mist there goes a cry, Not of the earth nor of the sky, But of the years that have passed by. And with the cry there comes the rain, Whis.pering of all that was in vain At every door and window-pane. And she, who waits beside the rose, Hears, with hzer heart, a hoof that goes, Galloping afar to where none knows. And then she bows her head and weeps . . . And suddenly a shadow sweeps Around, and in its darkening deeps. The house, the girl, the cliffs and stream Are gone.- And they, and all things seem But phantoms, merely, in a dream. 26 THE WIND WITCH THIE wind that met her in the park, T Came hurrying to my side- It ran to me, it leapt to me, And nowhere would abide. It whispered in my ear a word, So sweet a word, I swear, It smelt of honey and the kiss It'd stolen from her hair. Then shouted me the flowery way Whereon she walked with dreams, And bade me wait and watch her pass Among the glooms and gleams. It ran to meet her as she came And clasped her to its breast; It kissed her throat, her chin, her mouth, And laughed its merriest. Then to my side it leapt again, And took me by surprise: The kiss it'd stolen from her lips It blew into my eyes. Since then, it seems, I have grown blind To every face but hers: It haunts me sleeping or awake, And is become my curse. 27 The spell, that kiss has laid on me, Shall hold my eyes the same, Until I give it back again To lips from which it came. OLD GHOSTS CLOVE-SPICY pinks and phlox that fill the sense With drow sy indolence; And in the evening skies Interior splendor, pregnant with surprise, As if in some new wise The full moon soon would rise. Hung with the crimson aigrets of its seeds The purple monkshood bleeds; The dewy crickets chirr, And everywhere are lights of lavender; And scents of musk and myrrh To guide the foot of her. She passes like a mnisty glimmer on To where the rose blooms wan,- A twilight moth in flight,- As in the west its streak of chrysolite The dusk erases quite, And ushers in tie night. 28 And now another shadow passes slow, With firefly light a-glow: The scent of a cigar, And two who kiss beneath the evening-star, Where, in a moonbeam bar, A whippoorwill cries afar. Again the tale is told, that has been told So often here of old: Ghosts of dead lovers they Or memories only of some perished day- Old ghosts, no time shall lay, That haunt the place alway. THE NAME ON TIlE TREE SAW a name carved on a tree - Julia A simpler name there could not be Julia: But seeing it I seemed to see A Devon garden,- pleasantly About a parsonage,- the bee Made drowsy-sweet; where rosemary And pink and phlox and peony Bowed down to one Whom Herrick made to bloom in Poetry. A moment there I saw her stand,- Julia; A gillyflower in her hand,- Julia: And then, kind-faced and big and bland, As raised by some magician's wand, Herrick himself passed by, sun-tanned, And smiling; and the quiet land Seemed to take on and understand A dream long dreamed, And for the lives of two some gladness planned. And then I seemed to hear a sigh,- " Julia! And someone softly walking nigh,- Julia: The leaves shook; and a butterfly Trailed past; and through the sleepy sky A bird flew, crying strange its cry- Then suddenly before my eye Two lovers strolled - They knew not why I looked amazed,- But I had seen old ghosts of long dead loves go by. 30 THE HAUNTED GARDEN THERE a tattered marigold And dead asters manifold, Showed him where the garden old Of time bloomed: Briar and thistle overgrew Corners where the rose once blew, Where the phlox of every hue Lay entombed. Here a coreopsis flower Pushed its disc above a bower, Where once poured a starry shower, Bronze and gold: And a twisted hollyhock, And the remnant of a stock, Struggled up, 'mid burr and dock, Through the mold. Flower-pots, with mossy cloak, Strewed a place beneath an oak, Where the garden-bench lay broke By the tree: And he thought of her, who here Sat with him but yesteryear; Her, whose presence now seemed near Stealthily. 31 And the garden seemed to look For her coming. Petals shook On the spot where, with her book, Oft -he sat.- Suddenly there blew a wind: And across the garden blind, Like a black thought in a mind, Stole a cat. Lean as hunger; like the shade Of a dream; a ghost unlaid; Through the weeds its way it made, Gau!1t and old: Once 't was hers. He looked to see If she followed to the tree.- Then recalled how long since she Had been mold. 32 THE CLOSED DOOR SHUT it out of the heart - this grief, 0 Love, with the years grown old and hoary! And let in joy that life is brief, And give God thanks for the end of the story. The bond of the flesh is transitory, And beauty goes with the lapse of years- The brow's white rose and the hair's dark glory- God be thanked for the severing shears! -Over the past, Heart, waste no tears! Over the past and all its madness, Its wine and wormwood, hopes and fears, That never were worth a moment's sadness. Here she lies who was part o' its gladness, Wife and mistress, and shared its woe, The good of life as well as its badness,- Look on her face and see if you know. Is this the face -yea, ask it slow! - The hair, the form, that we used to cherish- Where is the glory of long-ago The beauty we said would never perish.- Like a dream we dream, or a thought we nourish, Nothing of earth immortal is: This is the end however we flourish - All that is fair must come to this. 33 THE LONG ROOM HE found the long room as it was of old, H Glimmering with sunset's gold; That made the tapestries seem full of eyes Strange with a wrild surmise: Glaring upon a Psyche where she shone Carven o. stainless stone, Holding a crystal heart where many a sun Seemed starrily bound in one: And near her, grim in rigid metal, stood An old knight in a wood, Groping his way: the bony wreck, that was His steed, at weary pause. And over these a canvas - one mad mesh Of Chrysoprase tints of flesh And breasts - Bqhemian cups, whose glory gleamed For one who, brutish, seemed A hideous Troll. unto whose lustful arms She yielded glad her charms. Then he remembered all her shame; and knew The thing that he must do: These were but records of his life: the whole Portrayed to hin his soul.- So, drawing forth the slim Bithynian phial, He drained it with a smile. And 'twixt the tKnight and Psyche fell and died; The arras, evil-eyed, 34 Glared grimly at him where all night he lay, And where a stealthy ray Pointed her to him. - her, that nymph above, Who gave the Troll her love. IN PEAJRL AND GOLD W LIEN pearl and gold, o'er deeps of musk, The moon curves, silvering the dusk,- As in a garden, dreaming, A lily slips its dewy husk A firefly in its gleaming,- I of my garden am a guest; Mly garden, that, in beauty dressed Of simple shrubs and oldtime flowers, Chats with me of the perished hours, When she companioned me in life, Living remote from care and strife. It says to me: " I-low sad and slow The hours of daylight come and go, Until the Night walks here again With moon and starlight in her train, And she and I with perfumed words Of winds and waters, dreaming birds, And flowers and cric kets and the moon, For hour on hour, in soul commune.- And you, and you, Sit here and listen in the dew 35 For her, thb love, you used to know, Who often walked here, long ago, Lcng ago; The young, sweet love you used to know Long ago Whom oft I watched with violet eye, Or eye of dew, as she passed by: As she passed by. And I reply. with half a sigh: - " You knew her too as well as I, That young sweet love of long-ago! That young sweet love, who walked here slow.- Oh, speak no more of the days gone by, Dear days gone by, Lest i lay me down on your heart and die!" 36 MOON FAIRIES THE inoon, a circle of gold, O'er the crowded housetops rolled, And peeped in an attic, where, 'Mid sordid things and bare, A sick child lay and gazed At a road to the far-away, A road he followed, mazed, That grew from a moonbeam-ray, A road of light that led From the foot of his garret-bed Out of that room of hate, Where Poverty slept by his mate, Sickness -out of the street, Into a wonderland, Where a voice called, far and sweet, " Come, follow our Fairy band!" A purple shadow, sprinkled With golden star-dust, twinkled Suddenly into the room Out of the winter gloom: And it wore a face to him Of a dream he'd dreamed: a form Of Joy, whose face was dim, Yet bright with a magic charm. 37 And the shadow seemed to trail, Sounds that were green and frail: Dew-dripples; notes that fell Like drops in a ferny dell; A whispered lisp and stir, Like winds among the leaves, Blent with a cricket-chirr, And coc. of a dove that grieves. And the Elfin bore on its back A little faery pack Of forest scents: of loam And mossy sounds of foam; And of its contents breathed As might a clod of ground Feeling a bud unsheathed There in its womb profound. And the shadow smiled and gazed At the child; then softly raised Its arms and seemed to grow To a tree in the attic low: And frcin its glimmering hands Shook emerald seeds of dreams, From which grew fairy bands, Like firefly motes and gleams. 'The child had seen them before in his dreams of Fairy lore: 38 The Elves, each with a light To guide his feet a-right, Out of this world to a world Where Magic built him towers, And Fable old, unfurled, Flags like wonderful flowers. And the child, who knew this, smiled, And rose, a different child: No more he knew of pain, Or fear of heart and brain.- At Poverty there that slept He never even glanced, But into the moon-road stept, And out of the garret danced. Out of the earthly gloom, Out of the sordid room, Out, on a moonbeam ray!- Now at last to play There with comrades found! Children of the moon, There on faery ground, Where none would find him soon! HAEC OLIMI MEMINISSE F EBRILE perfumes as of faded roses In the old house speak of love to-day, Love lorg past; and where the soft day closes, Down the west gleams, golden-red, a ray. Pointing where departed splendor perished, And the path that night shall walk, and hang, On blue boughs of heaven, gold, long cherished- Fruit Jiesperian,- that the ancients sang. And to him, who sits there dreaming, musing, At the window in the twilight wan, Like old scent of roses interfusing, Comes a vision of a day that's gone. And he sees Yout-h, walking brave but dimly 'Mid the roses, in the afterglow; And beside him, like a star seen slimly, Love, who used to meet him long-ago. And again he seems to hear the flowers Whispering faiatly of what no one knows - Of the dreams they dreamed there for long hours, Youth and Love, between their hearts a rose. Youth is dead; and Love, oh, where departed! Like the last streak of the dying day, Somewhere yonder, in a world uncharted, Calling him, with memories, away. 40 THE MAGIC PURSE W HAT is the gold of mortal-kind VV To that men find Deep in the poet's mind!- That magic purse Of Dreams from which. God builds His universe! That makes life rich With many a vision; Taking the soul from out its prison Of facts with the precision A wildflower dons When Spring conies knocking at the door Of Earth across the windy lawns; Calling to Joy to rise and dance before Her happy feet: Or with the beat And bright exactness of a star, Hanging its punctual point afar, When Night comes tripping over Heaven's floor, Leaving a gate ajar. That leads the Heart from all its aching Far above where dav is breaking; Out of the doubts, the agonies, The strife and sin, to join with these- Hope and Beauty and Joy that build Their golden walls Of sunset where, with spirits filled, A Presence calls, 41 And points a land Where Love walks, silent; hand in hand With the Spirit of God, and leads LMan right OLt of th2 darkness into the light. THE CHILD AT THE GATE THE sunset was a sleepy gold, And stars were in the skies When down a weedy lane he strolled In v2.gue and thoughtless wise. And then he saw it, near a wood, An od housc, gabled brown, Like some old woman, in a hood, Looking toward the town. A child stood a. its broken gate, Singing a childish song, And weeping softly as if Fate Had done he.,- child's heart wrong. He spoke to her: -" Now tell me, dear, Why Jo you sing and weep "- But she - she did not seem to hear, But stared as if asleep. 42 Then suddenly she turned and fled As if with soul of fear. Ile followed; but the house looked dead, And empty many a year. The light was wan: the dying day Grew ghostly suddenly: And from the house he turned away, Wrapped in its mystery. They told him no one dwelt there now: It was a haunted place.- And then it came to him, somehow, The memory of a face. That child's -like hers, whose name was Joy- For whom his heart was fain: The face of her whom, when a boy, Ile played with in that lane. 43 THIE LOST DREAM THE black night showed its hungry teeth, T And gnawed with sleet at roof and pane; Beneath the door I heard it breathe- A beast that growled in vain. The hunter wind stalked up and down, And crashed his ice-spears through each tree; Before his rage, in tattered gown, I saw the maid moon flee. There stole a footstep to my door; A voice cried in my room and - there! A shadow cowled and gaunt and hoar, Death, leaned above my chair. He beckoned me; he bade me rise, And c-ollow through the madman night; Into my heart's core pierced his eyes, And lifted me with might. I rose; I made no more delay; And followed where his eyes compelled; And through the darkness, far away, They -it me and enspelled. Until lie reached an ancient wood, That flung its twisted arms around, As if in anguish that it stood On dark, unhallowed ground. 44 And then I saw it -cold and blind - The dream, that had my heart to share, That fell, before its feet could find Its home, and perished there. WITCHCRAFT T HIS world is made a witchcraft place T Aith gazing on a woman's face. Now 'tis her smile, whose sorcery Turns all my thoughts to melody. Now 'tis her frown, that comes and goes, That makes my day a page of prose. And now her laugh, or but a word, That in my heart frees wild a bird. Some day, perhaps, a kiss of hers, Will lift from my dumb life the curse Of longing, inarticulate, That keeps me sad and celibate. 45 TRANSPOSED SEASONS 7 IHE gentian and the bluebell so It Can change my calendar, I know not how the year may go, (Jr what the seasons are: The months, in some mysterious wise, Take their expression from her eyes. The gentian speaks to memory Of autumns long since gone, When her blue eyes smiled up at me, And heaven was flushed with dawn: 'T was autumn then and leaves were sere, But in my ieart 't was spring o' the year. The bluebelR says a message too Of springs long passed away, When in m;y eyes her eyes of blue Gazed and 't was close of day: Spring spread around her fragrant chart, But it was autumn in my heart. 46 THE OLD DREAMER C OME, let's climb into our attic, In our house that's old and gray! Life, you're old and I'm rheumatic, And -it's close of day. Lay aside your rags and tatters, Shirt and shoes so soiled with clay! They're no use now. -Notlhing matters- It is close of day. Let's to bed. It's cold. No fire. And no lamp to make a rav.- Where's our servant, Young Desire- Gone at close of day. Oft she served us with fine glances, Helped us out at work antd play: She is gone now; better chances; Annd it's close of day. Where is Hope, who flaunted scarlet Hope, who led us oft astray Has she proved herself a harlot At the close of day WVhat's become of Dream and Vision Friends we thought were here to stay Has life clapped the two in prison At the close of day 47 They are gone; and how we miss them! They who made our garret gay. How we used to hug and kiss them !- But -'tis close of day. Where's friend Love now - Who supposes- Has he flung himself away Left us for a wreath of roses At the close of day And where's Song the soul elected- Has he quit us too for aye- W\as it poverty he suspected Near the close of day How our attic 7ang their laughter! How it echoed 3augh and lay! None may take their place hereafter- It is close of day. We have done the best we could do. Let us kneel awhile and pray. Now, no matter what we would do, It is close of dav. Let's to bed then! It's December. Long enough since it was May!- Let's fo.get it, and remember Now 'tiE. close of day. 48 A LAST WORD OH, for some cup of consummating might, 0 Filled with life's kind conclusion, lost in night! A wine of darkness, that with death shall cure This sickness called existence! - Oh to find Surcease of sorrow! quiet for the mind, An end of thought in something dark and sure! 'Mandrake and hellebore, or poison pure! Some drug of death, wherein there are no dreams !- No more, no more, with patience, to endure The wrongs of life, the hate of men, it seems; Or wealth's authority, tyranny of time, And lamentations and the boasts of man! To Lear no more the wild complaints of toil, And struggling mierit, that, unknown, must starve: To see no more life's disregard for Art! Oh God! to know no longer anything! Nor good, nor evil, or what either means! Nor hear the changing tides of customs roll On the dark shores of Time! No more to hear The stream of Life that furies on the shoals Of hard necessity! No more to see The unavailing battle waged of Need Against adversity! - Merely to lie, at last, Pulseless and still, at peace beneath the sod! To think and dream no more! no more to hope! At rest at last! at last at peace and rest, Clasped by some kind tree's gnarled arm of root Bearing me upward in its large embrace 49 To gentler things and fairer - clouds and winds, And stars and sun and moon! To undergo The change the great trees know when Spring comes in With shoutings and rejoicings of the rain, To swiftly rise an atom in a host, The myriad army of the leaves; and stand A hands oreadth nearer Heaven and what is God! To pulse in sap that beats unfevered in The life we call inanimate-the heart Of some great tree. And so, unconsciously, As sleeps a child, clasped in its mother's arm, Be taken back, in amplitudes of grace, To Nature's heart, and so be lost in her. THE SHADOW A SHADOW glided down the way 1A1 Where sunset groped among the trees, And all the woodland bower, asway With trouble of the evening breeze. A shape, it noved with head held down; I knew it not, yet seemed to know Its form, its carriage of a clown, Its raiment of the long-ago. It never turned or spoke a word, But fixed its gaze on something far, 50 As if within its heart it heard The summons of the evening star. I turned to it and tried to speak; To ask it of the thing it saw, Or heard, beyond Earth's outmost peak- The dream, the splendor, and the awe. What beauty or what terror there Still bade its purpose to ascend Above the sunset's sombre glare, The twilight and the long day's end. It looked at me but said no word: Then suddenly I saw the truth: - This was the call that once I heard And failed to follow in my youth. Now well I saw that this was I- My own dead self who walked with me, Who died in that dark hour gone by With all the dreams that used to be. 51 ON THE ROAD LET us bid the world good-by, L Now while sun and cloud's above us, While we'e nothing to deny, Nothing but our selves to love us: Let us fanri'y, I and you, All the dreams we dreamed came true. We have gone but half the road, Rugged read of root and bowider; Made the best of Life's dark load, Cares, thai helped us to grow older: We, my dear, have done our best- Let us stowa awhile and rest. Let us, by this halfway stile, Put away the world's desire, And sit down, a little while, With our hearts, and light a fire: Sing the songs that once we sung In the days when we were young. Haply they will bring again, From the Lands of Song and Story, To our sides the elfin train Of the dreams we dreamed of glory, That are cne now with the crew Of the deeds we did not do. 52 Here upon the road of Life Let us rest us; take our pleasure: Free from care and safe from strife, Count again our only treasure - Love, that helped us on our way, Our companion night and day. RECONCILIA TION L ISTEN, dearest! you must love me more, LMore than you did before! - Hark, what a beating here of wings! Never at rest, Dear, in your breast! Is it your heart with its flutterings, Making a music, love, for us both Or merely a moth, a velvet-winged moth, Which out of the garden's fragrance swings, Weaving a spell, That holds the rose and the moon in thrall- I love you more than I can tell; And no recall How long ago Our quarrel and all!- You say, you know, A perfect pearl grows out of - well, A little friction; tiny grain Of sand or shell - So love grew out of that moment's pain, 53 The heart's disdain - Since then I have thought of no one but you, And how your heart would beat on mine, Like light on dew. And I thought how foolish to fret and pine! Better to claim the fault all mine! To go to you a-Id tell you that: And how stale -nd flat All life without you was, and vain! And when I came, you turned and smiled, Like a darling child, And I knew from your look that, in your heart, You had followed the self-same train Of thought that made me yours again.- Dearest! no more! - We shall never part! - So. Turn your face as you did before.- I smooth your brow And kiss you.- Now . . . Tell me true - Did you miss me, dear, as I missed you 54 PORTENTS ABOV E the world a glare Of sunset- guns and spears; An army, no one hears, Of mist and air: Long lines of bronze and gold, Huge helmets, each a cloud; And then a fortress old There in the night that phantoms seem to crowd. A face of flame; a hand Of crimson alchemy Is waved: and, solemnly, At its command, Opens a fiery well, A burning hole, From which a stream of bell, A river of blood, in frenzy, seems to roll. And there, upon a throne, Like some vast precipice, Above that River of Dis, Behold a KinD! alone! Around whom shapes of blood Take form: each one the peer Of those, who, in the wood Of Dante's Hell froze up the heart with fear. Then shapes, that breast to breast Gallop to face a foe: And through the crimson glow Th' imperial crest Of him whose banner flies Above a world that burns, A raven in the skies, And as it flies into a Death's-Head turns. The wild trees writhe and twist Their gaunt lmbs, wrung with fear: And now into my ear A word seems hissed; A message, filled with dread, A dark, foreboding word,- " Behold! we are the dead, Who here on Earth lived only by the sword!" 56 THE IRON CRAGS TPON the iron crags of War I heard his terrible daughters In battle speak while at their feet, In gulfs of human waters, A voice, intoning, " Where is God " in ceaseless sorrow beat: And to my heart, in doubt, I said, " God - God's above the storm! 0 heart, be brave, be comforted, And keep your hearth-stone warm For her who breasts the storm- God's Peace, the fair of form." I heard the Battle Angels cry above the slain's red mountains, While from their wings the lightnings hurled Of Death's destroying fountains, And thunder of their revels rolled around the ruined world: Still to my heart, in fear, I cried, "God--God is watching there! AMy heart,- oh, keep the doorway wide Here in your House of Care, For her who wanders there, God's Peace, with happy hair." The darkness and the battle passed: and rushing on wild pinions The hosts of Havoc shrieked their hate 57 And fled to Hell's dominions,- And, lo! I heard, out in the night, a knocking at the gate: And onm, who cried aloud to me:- "The night and storm are gone! Oh, open wide the door and see Who waiits here in the dawn! - Peace, with God's splendor on Back to the sad world drawn! " THE IRONT CROSS T11EY pass, with heavy eyes and hair, Before the Christ upon the Cross, The Nations, stricken with their loss, And lifting Maces of despair. What is the prayer they pray to Him, Christ Jesus on the Iron Cross The Christ, neglected, dark with moss, Whose hands are pierced, whose face is grim. Is it 'orgive.aess for great sin They plead before the Iron Cross Or for some gift of gold or dross Or battle lost, that they would win 58 With eyes where hate and horror meet, They pass before the Iron Cross, The Cross, that ancient words emboss, Where hangs the Christ with nail-pierced feet. His hair is fallen on his face. His head hangs sidewise from the Cross- The Crucified, who knows all loss, And had on Earth no resting place. " 0 world of men," he seems to say, "Behold me on your Iron Cross! To me why kneel and tell your loss Why kneel to me and weep and pray " Have I not taught you to forgive And bade you from my Iron Cross Believe, and bear your grief and loss, That after death you too may live " You have not followed at my call! You keep me on this Iron Cross, And pray me keep you from all loss, And save and comfort you withal.- " You ask for love, and hate the more ! You keep me on this Iron Cross!- Restore to me my greater loss, The brotherhood of rich and poor." 59 They pass, with weary eyes and hair, Before the Christ upon the Cross- The2 Nations, wailing of their loss, And lifting faces of despair. THE WANDERER BETWEEN the death of day and birth of night, B By War's red light, I met with one in trailing sorrows clad, Whose features had The loo. of Him who died to set men right. Around him many horrors, like great worms, Terrific forms, Crawled, helmed like hippogriff and rosmarine,- Gaunt and obscene, Urged on to battle with a thousand arms. Columns of steel, and iron belching flame, Before them came: And cities crumbled; and amid them trod Havoc, their god, With Desolatiou that no tongue may name. And out ef Heaven came a burning breath, And on it Death, Riding: before him, huge and bellowing herds Of beasts, like birds, Bat-winged and demon, nothing conquereth. 60 Hag-lights went by, and Fear that shrieks and dies; And mouths, with cries Of famine; and the madness of Despair; And everywhere Curses, like kings, with ever-burning eyes. And, lo! the shadow shook and cried a name, That grew a flame Above the world, and said, " Give heed! give heed! See how they bleed! My wounds! my wounds! -Was it for this I came "Where is the love for which I shed my blood And where the good I preached and died for - Lo! ye have denied And crucified Mfe here again, who swore me brotherhood!" Then overhead the vault of night was rent: The firmament Winged thunder over of aerial craft; And Battle laughed Titanic laughter as its way it went. 61 THE END OF SUMMER THE rose, that wrote its message on the noon's Bright manuscript, has turned her perfumed face Towards Fall, and waits, heart-heavy, for the moon's Pale flower to take her place. With e yes distraught, and dark disheveled hair, The Season dons a tattered cloak of storm And waits with Night that, darkly, seems to share Her trouble and alarm. It is the close of summer. In the sky The sunset lit E. fire of drift and sat Watching the last Day, robed in empire, die Upon the burning ghat. The first leaf crimsons and the last rose falls, And Night goes stalking on, her cloak of rain Dripping, and followed through her haunted halls By ail Death's phantom train. The sorrow of 'he Earth and all that dies, And all that suffers, in her breast she bears; Outside the House of Life she stops and cries The burden of her cares. Then on the window knocks with crooked hands, Her tree-like arms to Heaven wildly-hurled: Love hears her crying, " Who then understands- Has God forgot the world" 62 THE LUST OF THE WORLD SINCE Man first lifted up his eyes to hers K And saw her vampire beauty, which is lust, All else is dust Within the compass of the universe. With heart of Jael and with face of Ruth She sits upon the tomb of Time and quaffs Heart's blood and laughs At all Life calls most noble and the truth. The fire of conquest and the wine of dreams Are in her veins; and in her eyes the lure Of things unsure, Urging the world forever to extremes. Without her, Life would stagnate in a while.- Her touch it is puts pleasure even in pain.- So Life attain 11cr end, she cares not if the means be vile. She knows no pity, mercy, or remorse.- Hers is to build and then exterminate: To slay, create, And twixt the two maintain an equal course. 63 C'HANT BEFORE BATTLE E VER since man was man a Fiend has stood Outside his House of Good,- War, w th his terrible toys, that win men's hearts To follow murderous arts. His spurs, death-won, are but of little use, Except as old refuse Of Life; to hang and testify with rust Of deeds, long one with dust. A rotting fungus on a log, a tree, A toiling worm, or bee, Serve, God's high purpose here on Earth to build More than VWar's maimed and killed. The Hebetude of asses, following still Some Emperor's will to kill, Is that of men who give their lives - for what- The privilege to be shot! Grant men more vision, Lord! to read thy words, That are not guns and swords, But trees and flowers, lovely forms of Earth, And all fair things of worth. So he may rise above the brute and snake, And of his reason make A world befitting, as thou hast designed, His greater s-oul and mind! 6.1 So he may rid himself of worm and beast, And sit with Love at feast, And make him worthy to be named thy son, As He, thy Holy One! Amen. NEARING CIIRIST3IAS T TIE season of the rose and peace is past: It could not last. There's heartbreak in the hills and stormy sighs Of sorrow in the rain-lashed plains and skies, While Earth regards, aghast, The last red leaf that flies. The world is cringing in the darkness where War left his lair, And everything takes on a lupine look, Baring gaunt teeth at every peaceful nook, And shaking torrent hair At every little brook. Cancers of ulcerous flame his eyes, and - lark! There in the dark The ponderous stir of metal, iron feet; And with it, heard around the world, the beat Of Battle; sounds that mark His heart's advance, retreat. 65 With shrapnel pipes he goes his monstrous ways; And, screech ng, plays The hell-born music Havoc dances to; And, following with his skeleton-headed crew Of ravening Nights and Days, Horror invades the blue. Against the Heaven he lifts a mailed fist And writes a list Of beautiful cities on the ghastly sky: And underneath them, with no reason why, In blood and tears and mist, The postscript, " These must die! Change is the portion and chief heritage Of every Age. The spirit of God still waits its time.- And War May bOlur Hi, message for a while, and mar The writing ,n His page, To tiis our sorrowful star. But tiere above the conflict, orbed in rays, Is drawn the face Of Pcace; at iast who comes into her own; Peace, from whose tomb the world shall roll the stone, And give her highest place In the human heart alone. 66 A BELGIAN CHRISTMAS The " happy year " of 1914 AN hour from dawn: The snow sweeps on As it swept with sleet last night: The Earth around Breathes never a sound, Wrapped in its shroud of white. A waked cock crows Under the snows; Then silence.- After while The sky grows blue, And a star looks through With a kind o' bitter smile. A whining dog; An axe on a log, And a muffled voice that calls: A cow's long low; Then footsteps slow Stamping into the stalls. A bed of straw Where the wind blows raw Through cracks of the stable door: A child's small cry, A voice nearby, That says, " One mouth the more." 67 A different note In a man's rough throat As he turns at an entering tread- Satyrs! see! " AMy woman - she Was brought last night to bed!" A cry of "Halt!"- " Ach! ich bin kalt! " A spy!"-" Noo."-" That is clear! There's a good shake-down I' the jail in town - For her "- And then, "MNly orders here." A shot, sharp-rolled As the clouds unfold: A scream; and a cry forlorn . . . Clothed red with fire, Like the Heart's Desire, Look down the Christmas Morn. The babe with light Is haloed bright, And it is Christmas Day: A cry of woe; Then footsteps slow, And the wild guns, far away. 68 THE FESTIVAL OF THE AISNE I MPERIAL Madness, will of hand, Builds vast an altar here, and rears Before the world, on godly land, A Moloch form of blood and tears. And far as eye can see, behold, Priests plunge into its brazen arms Men, that its iron maw of mold MIangles, returning horrible forms. Its Priests are armies, moving slow, And crowned like kings, in human-guise: And theirs -t is to make it flow - The crimson stream of sacrifice. 69 THE CRY OF EARTH THEIE Season speaks this year of life Confusing words of strife, Suggesting weeds instead of fruits and flowers In all Earth's bowers. With heart of Jael, face of Ruth, She goes her way uncouth Through hills and fields, where fog and sunset seem Wild smoke and steam. Arounc her, spotted as a leopard skin, She draws her cloak of whin, And through the dark hills sweeps dusk's last red glare Wild on her hair. Her hands drip leaves, like blood, and burn With frost; her moony urn She lifts, where Death, 'mid driving stress and storm, Rears bis gaunt form. And all night long she seems to say " Come forth, rmly Winds, and slay! - And everywhere is heard the wailing cry Of dreams that die. 70 CHILD AND FA1 THIER ALITTLE child, one night, awoke and cried, A" Oh, help me, father! there is something wild Before me! help me! " Hurrying to his side I answered, " I am here. You dreamed, my child." " A dream -" he questioned. " Oh, I could not see! It w as so dark! - Take me into your bed!" And 1, who loved him, held him soothingly, And smiling on his terror, comforted. I-le nestled in my arms. I held him fast; And spoke to him and calmed his childish fears, Until he smiled again, asleep at last, Upon his lashes still a trace of tears. How like a child the world! who, in this night Of strife, beholds strange monsters threatening And with black fear, having so little light, Cries to its Father, God, for comforting. And well for it, if, answering the call, The Father hear and soothe its dread asleep!- How many though, whom thoughts and dreams appall, Must lie awake and in the darkness weep. 71 THE RISING OF THE MOON T HE Day brims high its ewer Of blue with starry light, And crowns as King that hewer Of clouds (which take their flight Across the sky) old Night. And Tempest there, who houses Witl in them, like a cave, Lies down and dreams and drowses Upor. the Earth's huge grave, With wandering wind and wave. The storm moves on; and winging Fromr out the east - a bird, The moon drifts, calmly bringing A message and a word Of peace, in Heaven it heard. Of peace and times called golden, Whose beauty makes it glow With love, like that of olden, Which mortals used to know There in the long-ago. 72 WHERE THE BATTLE PASSED ONE blossoming rose-tree, like a beautiful thought 0 Nursed in a broken mind, that waits and schemes, Survives, though shattered, and about it caught, The strangling dodder streams. Gaunt weeds: and here a bayonet or pouch, Rusty and rotting where men fought and slew: Bald, trampled paths that seem with fear to crouch, Feeling a bloody dew. Here nothing that was beauty's once remains. War left the garden to its dead alone: And Life and Love, who toiled here, for their pains Have nothing once their own. Death leans upon the battered door, at gaze- The house is silent where there once was stir Of husbandry, that led laborious days, With Love for comforter. Now in Love's place, Death, old and halt and blind, Gropes, searching everywhere for what may live.- War left it empty as his vacant mind; It has no more to give. THlE IROAT AGE A ND these are Christians! -God! the horror of A it!-- How long, 0 Lord ' how long, 0 Lord! how long Wilt Thou endure this crime and there, above it, Look down on Earth nor sweep away the wrong ! Are these Thy teachings - Where is then that pity, Which bade the w' arv, suffering come to Thee- War takes its toll of life in field and City, And Thou must see! - 0 Christianity! And then the children! - Oh, Thou art another! Not God! tout Fiend, whoir God has given release!- Will prayer avail naught tears of father, mother To give at last the weary world surcease From butchery that back again bath brought her Into that age barbarian that priced Hate above Love; and, shod with steel and slaughter, Stamped on the Cross and on the face of Christ. 74, THE BATTLE B LACK clouds hung low and heavy, Above the sunset glare; And in the garden dimly We wandered here and there. So full of strife, of trouble The night was dark, afraid, Like our own love, so merely For tears and sighings made. That when it came to parting, And I must mount and go, With all my soul I wished it- Thlat God would lay me low. ON RE-READING CERTAIN GERMAN POETS TILEY hold their own, they have no peers in glooim- and glow, in hopes and fears, In love and terror, hovering round The lore of that enchanted ground!- That mystic region, where one hears, By bandit towers, the hunt that nears Wild through the Hartz; the demon cheers Of Jiackebberg; his horn and hound- They hold their own. Dark Wallenstein; and, down the years, The -Lorelei; and, creased with sneers, Faust, Margaret; - the Sabboth sound, Witch-whirling, of the Brocken, drowned In storm, through which Mephisto leers,- They hold their own. 76 ON OPENING AN OLD SCHOOL VOLUME OF HORACE I HAD forgot how, in my day The Sabine fields around me lay In amaranth and asphodel, With many a cold Bandusian well Bright-bubbling by the mountain-way. In forest dells of Faun and Fay How, lounging in the fountain's spray, I talked with Horace; felt his spell, I had forgot. With Pyrrha and with Lydia How oft I sat, while Lalaga Sang, and the fine Falerian fell, Sparkling, and heard the poet tell Of loves whose beauty lasts for aye, I had forgot. 77 LA US DEO IN her vast church of glimmering blue, Gray-stoled from feet to chin, Her dark locks beaded with the dew, The nun-like dawn comes in: At once the hills put on their spencers Of purple, swinging streaming censers Of mist before the God of Day Who goes with p-omp his way. With sapphire draperies of light Is hung the sombre pines; Filling each valley, every height With sacerdotal lines - Shrines, where, like priests with worship vestured, The forests bow and, heavenly gestured, Lift high the chalice of the sun, Intoning, " Nigh' is done! " 78 THE NEW YORK SKYSCRAPER The IWoolworth Building E NORMOUSLY it lifts Its tower against the splendor of the west; Like some wild dream that drifts Before the mind, and at the will's behest,- Enchantment-based, gigantic steel and stone,- Is given permanence; A concrete fact, Complete, alone, Glorious, immense, Such as no nation here on Earth has known: Epitomizing all That is American, that stands for youth, And strength and truth; That's individual, And beautiful and free.- Resistless strength and tireless energy. Even as a cataract, Its superb fact Suggests vast forces Nature builds with -Joy, And Power and Thought, She to her aid has brought For cons past, will bring for eons yet to be, Shaping the world to her desire: the three Her counsellors constantly, 79 Her architects, through whom her dreams come true,- Her workmen, bringing forth, With toil that shall not cease, Mountains and plains and seas, That make the Earth The glory that it is: And, one with these, Such works of man as this, This building, towering into the blue, A beacon, round which like an ocean wide, Circles and flows the restless human tide. ROBERT BROWNING MASTER of human harmonies, where gong And harp and violin and flute accord; Each instrument confessing you its lord, Within the deathless orchestra of Song. Albeit at times your music may sound wrong To our dulled senses, and its meaning barred To Ear.-h's slow understanding, never marred Your message brave: clear, and of trumpet tongue. Poet-rev-ealer, who, both soon and late, Within an age of doubt kept clean your faith, Crying your cry of "With the world all's well!" How shall we greet you from our low estate, Keys in the keyboard that is life and death, The organ whence we hear your music swell 80 RILEY His Birthday, October the 7th, 191,2 RILEY, whose pen has made the world your debtor, RI'-Whose Art has kept you young through sixty years, Brimming our hearts with laughter and with tears, Holding her faith pure to the very letter: We come to you today, both man and woman, And happy little children, girl and boy,- To laurel you with all our love and joy, And crown you for the dreams your pen made human: For Orphant Annie and for Old Aunt Mary, The Raggedty 'Man, who never will grow older, And all the kindly folks from Griggsby's Station, Immortal throngs, with Spirk and Wunk and Faery, Who swarm behind you, peering o'er your shoulder, Sharing with you the blessings of a Nation. 81 I)ON QUIXOTE On receivng a bottle of Sherry Wine of the same name W HAT " blushing Hippocrene " is here! what fire Of the "warm South" with magic of old Spairi!- Through which again I seem to view the train Of all Cervantes' dreams, his heart's desire: The melanicholy Knight, in gaunt attire Of steel rides by upon the windmill-plain With Sancho Panza by his side again, While, heard afar, a swineherd from a byre Winds a hoarse horn. And all at once I see The glory of that soul who rode upon Impossible quests,- following a deathless dream Of righted wrongs, that never were to be,- Like many another champion who has gone Questing a cause that perished like a dream. 82 THE WOMAN W ITH her fair face she made my heaven, Beneath whose stars and mooIn and sun I worshiped, praying, having striven, For wealth through which she might be won. And yet she had no soul: A woman As fair and cruel as a god; Who played with hearts as nothing human, And tossed them by and on them trod. She killed a soul; she did it nightly; Luring it forth from peace and prayer, To strangle it, and laughing lightly, Cast it into the gutter there. And yet, not for a purer vision Would I exchange; or Paradise Possess instead of Hell, my prison, Where burns the passion of her eyes. 83 THL' SONG OF SONGS Read November 141th, 1913, before the Ameri- can Academy and National Institute of Arts and Letters in' joint session at Chicago, Ill. I HEARD a spirit singing as, beyond the morning winging, Its radiant form went swinging like a star: In its song prophetic voices mixed their sounds with trunr pet-noises, As when, loud, tle World rejoices after war. And it said: Hear me! Above the roar of cities, The clamor and conflict of trade, The frenzy and fury of commercialism, Is heard my voice, chanting, intoning.- Down the long corridors of time it comes, Bearing mny message, bidding the soul of man arise To the realizaticn of his dream. Now and then discords seem to intrude, And tones that are false and feeble - Beginnings of the perfect chord From which is evolved the ideal, the unattainable. Hear me! 84 Ever and ever, Above the tumult of the years, The blatant cacophonies of war, The wrangling of politics, Demons and spirits of unrest, My song persists, Addressing the soul With the urge of an astral something, Supernal, Elemental, Promethean, Instinct with an everlasting fire. Hear me! I am the expression of the subconscious, The utterance of the intellect, The voice of mind, That stands for civilization. Out of my singing sprang, Minerva-like, Full-armed and fearless, Liberty, Subduer of tyrants, who feed on the strength of Na- tions. Out of my chanting arose, As Aphrodite arose from the foam of the ocean, The Dream of Spiritual Desire, Mother of Knowledge, Victor o'er Hate and Oppression,- Ancient and elemental daemons, Who, with Ignorance and Evil, their consorts, Have ruled for eons of years. Hear me! Should my chanting cease, My music utterly fail you, Behold! Out of the hoary Past, most swiftly, surely, Would gather the Evils of Earth, The Hydrfs and Harpies, forgotten, And buried in daikness: Amorphous of form, Tyrannies and Superstitions Torturing body and soul: And with them, Gargoyls of dreams that groaned in the Middle Ages- Aspects of darkness and death and hollow eidolons, Cruel, inhuman, Wearing the faces and forms of all the wrongs of the world. Barbarian hordes whose shapes make hideous The cycles of error and crime: Grendels of darkness, Devouring the marhood of Nations: Demogorgo-.s of War and Misrule, Blackening the world with blood and the lust of de- struction. Hear me! -- Out of my song have grown 86 Beauty and joy, And with them The triumph of Reason; The confirmation of Hope, Of Faith and Endeavor: The Dream that's immortal, To whose creation Thought gives concrete form, And of which Vision makes permanent substance. IV Fragmentary, Out of the Past, Down the long aisles of the Centuries, Uncertain at first and uneasy, Hesitant, harsh of expression, My song was heard, Stammering, appealing, A murmur merely: Coherent then, Singing into form, Assertive, Ecstatic, Louder, lovelier, and more insistent, Sonorous, proclaiming; Clearer and surer and stronger, Attaining expression, evermore truer and clearer: Masterful, mighty at last, Committed to conquest, And with Beauty coeval; Part of the wonder of life, 87 The triumph of light over darkness: Taking the form of Art - Art, that is voice and vision of the soul of man.- Hear me! Confident ever, One with i-he Loveliness song shall evolve, Mly voice is become as an army of banners, Marching irresistib ly forward, With the roll of the drums of attainment, The blare of the bugles of fame: Tramping, tramping, evermore advancing, Till the last redoubt of prejudice is down, And the Eagles and Fasces of Learning Make glorious the van o' the world. v They who are dear to my singing, Who disregard me.-- Let them beware lest the splendor escape them, The glory cf light that is back o' the darkness of life, And with it - The blindness of spirit o'erwhelm them.- They who rej ect mne, Reject the gleam That goes to the making of Beauty; And put away The loftier impulses of heart and of mind. They shall not possess the dream, the ideal, Of ultimate worlds, 88 That is part of the soul that aspires; That sits with the Spirit of Thought, The radiant presence who weaves, Directed of Destiny, There in the Universe, At its infinite pattern of stars. They shall not know, Not they, The exaltations that make endurable here on the Earth The ponderable curtain of flesh. Not they! Not they'! VI Hear me! I control, and direct; I wound and heal, Elevate and subdue The vaulting energies of 'Man. I am part of the cosmic strain o' the Universe: I captain the thoughts that grow to deeds, Material and spiritual facts, Pointing the world to greater and nobler things.- H-ear me ! Mvy dT-dal expression peoples the Past and Present With forms of ethereal thought That symbolize Beauty: The Beauty expressing itself now, As Poetry, As Philosophy: 89 As Truth and Religion now, And now, As science and Law, Vaunt couriers cf Civilization. OGLETHORPE An Ode to be read on the laying of the foundation sterte of -he new Oglethorpe University, January, 1915, at Atlanta, Georgia I AS when with oldtime passion for this Land Here once she stood, and in her pride, sent forth Workmen on every hand, Sowing the seed of knowledge South and North, More gracious now than ever, let her rise, The spler.dor of a new dawn in her eyes; Grave, youngest sister of that company, That smiling wear Laurel and pine And wild Magnolias in their flowing hair; The sis :ers Academe, With thoughts divine, Standing with eyes a-dream, Gazing beyond the world, into the sea, Where lie the Islhnds of Infinity. 90 II Now in these stormy days of stress and strain, When Gospel seems in vain, And Christianity a dream we've lost, That once we made our boast; Now when all life is brought Face tb grim face with naught, And a condition speaking, trumpet-lipped, Of works material, leaving Beauty out Of God's economy; while, horror-dipped, Lies our buried faith, full near to perish, 'Mid the high things we cherish, In these tempestuous days when, to and fro The serpent, Evil, goes and strews his way With dragon's teeth that play Their part as once they did in Jason's day; And War, with menace loud, And footsteps, metal-slow, And eyes a crimson hot, Is seen, against the Heaven a burning blot Of blood and tears and woe: Now when no mortal living seems to know Whither to turn for hope, we turn to thee, And such as thou art, asking " What's to be" And that thou point the path Above Earth's hate and wrath, And Madness, stalking with his torch aglow Amid the ruins of the Nations slow Crumbling to ashes with Old Empire there In Europe's tiger lair. 91 m A temple may'st thou be, A temple by the everlasting sea, For the high goddess, Ideality, Set lilhe a star, Above the peaks of dark reality: Shininng afar Above the deeds of War, Within the shrine of Love, whose face men mar With Militarism, That i, the prism Through which ',hey gaze with eyes obscured of Greed, At the white light of God's Eternity, The com'Lort of the world, the soul's great need, That l eacons Earth indeed, Breaking its light intense With turmoil and suspense And failing human Sense. rv From thee a higher Creed Shall be evolved. The broken lights resolved Into one light again, of glorious light, Between us and the Everlasting, that is God.- The all-cenfusing fragments, that are night, Lift up thy rod Of knowledge and from Truth's eyeballs strip The darkness, and in armor of the Right, 92 Bear high the standard of imperishable light! Cry out, "Awake! -I slept awhile !-Awake! Again I take Mly burden up of Truth for Jesus' sake, And stand for what he stood for, Peace and Thought, And all that's Beauty-wrought Through doubt and dread and ache, By which the world to good at last is brought! " V No more with silence burdened, when the Land Was stricken by the hand Of war, she rises, and assumes her stand For the Enduring; setting firm her feet On what is blind and brute: Still holding fast With honor to the past, Speaking a trumpet word, Which shall be heard As an authority, no longer mute. VI Again, yea, she shall stand For what Truth means to Man For science and for Art and all that can Make life superior to the things that weight The soul down, things of hate Instead of love, for which the world was planned; May she demand 93 Faith anCd inspire it; Song to lead her way Above the crags of Wrong Into the broader day; And may she stand For poets still; poets that now the Land Needs as it nevee needed; such an one As he, large Nature's Son Lanier, who with firm hand Held uF her magic wand Directing deep in music such as none las ever heard Such music as a bird Gives of its soul, when dying, And unconscious if it's heard. VII So let her rise, mother of greatness still, Above all temporal ill; Invested with all -.d nobility, Teaching the Sou-h decision, self control And strength of mind and soul; Achieving ends that shall embrace the whole Through deeds of heart and mind; And thereby bind Its effort to an end And reach its goal. 94 VIII So shall she win A wrestler with sil, Supremely to a place above the years, And help men rise To what is wise And true beyond their mortal finite scan- The purblind gaze of man; Aiuing with introspective eyes His soul to see a higher plan Of life beyond this life; above the gyves Of circumstance that bind him in his place Of doubt and keep away his face From what alone survives; And what assures Immortal life to that within, that gives Of its own self, And through its giving, lives, And evermore endures. 95 A POET'S EPITAPH L IFE was unkind to him; All things went wrong: Fortune assigned to him Merely a song. Ever a mystery Here to his heart; In his life's history Love played no part. Carve on the granite, There at the end, Where all may scan it, Death was his friend. Gizvng him all he missed Here upon Earth - Love and the call he missed All that was worth. 96