You have found an item located in the Kentuckiana Digital Library.
Minions of the moon : a little book of song and story / by Madison Cawein. Cawein, Madison Julius, 1865-1914. 400dpi TIFF G4 page images University of Kentucky, Electronic Information Access & Management Center Lexington, Kentucky 2002 b92-188-30608525 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. Minions of the moon : a little book of song and story / by Madison Cawein. Cawein, Madison Julius, 1865-1914. Stewart & Kidd, Cincinnati : [c1913] 131 p.,  leaf of plates : ill. ; 21 cm. Coleman Reprinted in part from various periodicals. Microfilm. Atlanta, Ga. : SOLINET, 1994. 1 microfilm reel ; 35 mm. (SOLINET/ASERL Cooperative Microfilming Project (NEH PS-20317) ; SOL MN04382.05 KUK) Printing Master B92-188. 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. Minions of the Moon Minions of the Moon A Little Book of Song and Story By MADISON CAWEIN Author of - The Republic," etc. Illustrated STEWART KIDD COMPANY PUBLISHERS - - - CINCINNATI - COPYRIGHTED. 1913. BY STEWART M KIDD COMPANY All Rights Reserved. Copyright in England. TO ALL CHILDREN, BIG AND LITTLE, WHO HAVE EVER BELIEVED, OR STILL BELIEVE IN, FAERIES, I DEDICATE THIS LITTLE BOOK, THAT ATTEMPTS TO SET FORTH IN WORDS ALL THAT SUCH A BELIEF MAY MEAN TO THE SOUL OF MAN. F OR permission to reprint certain of the poems here- with presented thanks are due to "The Century Magazine." "Scribner's," "Youth's Com- panion,"'' "The Bookman,'' "The Forum," "Outlook," "Independent," " Interna- tional," "The Yale Review," " Harper's Weekly," "The Poetry Journal," " Poetry," and to "The Poetry Review," of London, England. TABLE OF CONTENTS MINIONS OF THE MOON Prologue, Wood Dreams, - - - - Minions of the Moon, The Moon in the Wood, - The Moon Spirit, - - Loveliness, The Night-Rain, The Dream Child, - Romance, The Wood God, - - - - The Woodland Waterfall, The Dead Dream, The Sea Faery, My Lady of the Beeches, - - The Wood Anemone, Pixy Wood, The Gray Sisters, The Faery Pipe,- - - - The Forest of Old Enchantment, The House of Moss, Rose and Redbird, - - - - The Dance of Summer, A Forest Flute, Bubbles, Love and the Wind, - - - - The Dream in the Wood, 7 Page I I 1 5 - 22 25 27 28 29 331 - - 33 36 - 39 41 - 42 44 - 46 49 - 51 53 - 55 57 - 59 62 - 64 65 - 66 67 The Forest of Fear, There are Faires, - SONG AND STORY The Vikings, - - - - Treasure Trove, - - - - Service, At the Fall of Dew, Unmasked, - - The Heart's Own Day, - - - The Ribbon, - - - The Plough Boy, - The Dittany, - - "The Old Remain," - The Old Home, - - - - A Summer Day, - - - The Old Garden, The Yellow Puccoon, - - The Old Creek, - - - The Close of Summer, - - - The Hunter's Moon, - - The Grasshopper, - - - The Coward, Shadows on the Shore, - - - Wasteland, The Old House in the Wood, One Who Died Young, Failure, The New God, - - - Dies Illa, - - - - - Epilogue, - - - - - 8 77 - - - 82 - 86 88 -90 93 - 95 98 - 99 100 - - - - - 102 105 - 107 109 113 - 115 116 - 117 - - 120 - - - - - 122 124 - - - - 127 - - 128 - 129 130 - 131 Page - 68 71 ILLUSTRATIONS Minions of the Moon, Wood Dreams, "Revels the Moon did light," - Rose and Redbird, - - - There are Fairies, "Lift the Mushroom's rosy chin," Unmasked, - - - - - "While EJfland beats a beetle Drum au fiddle tunes," - - - - - Frontispiece Page - - 19 - - 48 - - 59 - - 71 - - 72 -- 90 Ad cricket - - 112 This page in the original text is blank. PROLOGUE W HAT loveliness the years contrive To rob us of! what exquisite Beliefs, in which thought chanced to hit On truths that with the world survive ! Dream-truths, that still attend their flocks On the high hills of heart and mind, Peopling the streams, the woods and rocks With Beauty running like the wind. They are not dead; but year by year Still hold us through the inner eye Of thought, and so can never die As long as there's one heart to hear Nature addressing words of love, (As once she spoke to Rome and Greece,)- Unto the soul, whose faith shall prove The dream will last though all else cease. I1 This page in the original text is blank. MINIONS OF THE MOON This page in the original text is blank. WOOD DREAMS A BOUT the time when bluebells swing A Their elfin belfries for the bee And in the fragrant House of Spring Wild Music moves; and Fantasy Sits weaving webs of witchery: And Beauty's self in silence leans Above the brook and through her hair Beholds her face reflected there, And wonders what the vision means- About the time when bluebells swing, I found a path of glooms and gleams, A way that Childhood oft has gone, That leads into the Wood of Dreams, Where, as of old, dwell Fay and Faun, And FaErie dances until dawn; And Elfland calls from her blue cave, Or, starbright, on her snow-white steed, Rides blowing on a silver reed That Magic follows like a slave I found a path of glooms and gleams. And in that Wood I came again On old enchantments.-There, behold, I saw them pass, a kingly train, Fable and Legend, wise and old, In garb of glimmering green and gold: 15 While far away forgotten bells And horns of Faerie made faint sound; And all the anxious heaven around And earth grew gossamered with spells, And whirled with ouphen feet again. And, lo, I saw the ancient Hall Of Story rise, where Dreams conspire With Words and Music to enthrall The Yearning of the soul's desire, Holding it fast with charmed fire: Where Glamour bows in servitude; And, Lord of Ecstasy and Awe, Song, with his henchmen, Lore and Law, Sits 'mid the mighty Brotherhood Of Beauty in that twilight Hall. Then far away the forest rang With something more than bugle calls: A voice, a summons wild that sang, As if Adventure in his halls Awoke; or Daring on the walls Shouted to Youth to take his stand Before the wizard-guarded tower Where Love, within her secret bower, Beckons him on with moon-white hand- Why was it that the forest rang And then I knew: It was my Sprite, My Witch, whose spells had led me far: Who held me with the old delight, And drew my soul beyond the bar Of all the real, like a star. 16 How long ago, how far that day, Since first I met her in the wild! And on my face her white face smiled, And my child fears she soothed away! Ay! ay! 'twas she-my airy Sprite! And on my heart again the hour Flashed as when first she gazed at me; Her loveliness clothed on with power And joy and godlike mystery, A portion of Earth's ecstasy: Again I felt, in ways unknown, Down in my soul a memory waken Of some far kiss once given and taken, That made me hers, her very own, Once every year for one brief hour. A Dryad laughed among the trees; A Naiad flashed with limbs a-spark; A Satyr reached rough arms to seize; A Faun foot danced adown the dark To music of rude pipes of bark: Earth crowded all its shapes around, Myths, bare and beautiful of breast, 'Mid whom pursuing passion pressed, Wild, Pan-like, leaping from the ground.- A Dryad laughed among the trees. Then Elfdom, in a starlike rain, To right and left rose blossom-slim; And urged its Joy in twinkling train Down many a flower and rainbow rim Of moonbeam. Fancy sat with Whim: 17 2 And from the ferns gleamed glowworm eyes, Where Faerie held its Court; and, green, An impish spirit ran between, With Puck-like laughter of surprise, And firefly flickerings, wild as rain. Then suddenly a light that grew, And in the light-my Witch! who stood, As crystal-evident as dew, Weaving a spell that made the wood Take on a dream's similitude:- And, lo, through radiance and pertume I saw Romance, crowned with a crown, And Chivalry come riding down, On two great steeds, all gold and gloom, Round whom the splendor grew and grew.. And of the Dream the forest dreams Again my soul becomes a part: Again my magic armor gleams; Again beneath its steel my heart Throbs all impatient for the start. Again the towers of Time and Chance Loom grimly, where, forever fair, Wrapped in the glory of her hair, Beauty lies bound by Necromance, The Beauty that we know in dreams. And, as before, again I smile, Delaying still to break the spell, Facing the gateway of old Guile, Where hangs the slug-horn that shall knell Defiance to the Courts of Hell.- 18 " Then Elfdom, in a starlike rain, To right and left rose blossom-slim." "I e I pI What though around me, torch on torch, The eyes of Danger, glowering, wait! What though Death heaves a sword of hate Beneath the gate's enchanted arch!- I raise the horn again and smile. What now, 0 Night, shall make me pause- I face the darkness of the tomb, That stirs with clank of iron claws, And threatenings of gigantic doom, The monster in the granite gloom. And then full in the face of Night I hurl my challenge, blast on blast- The drawbridge thunders; and the vast Echoes with batlike wings in flight.- There is no thing to give me pause. My heart sings, bounding to its quest. I mount the stairs to where she sleeps, A rose upon her brow and breast, And in her long hair's golden deeps The glory of the youth she keeps.- I kneel again; I clasp her there; I kiss her mouth; but, lo, behold! Her beauty crumbles into mold, And all the castle goes in air, And with it all my heart's high quest. . . And in the wood I wake again. The Dream is gone as is the child, Who followed far in rapture's train, And by a vision was beguiled,- The Witch, the Presence undefiled, 20 Whose call still sounds o'er holt and hollow, An elfin bugle, in the morn; And in the eve a faery horn, Bidding the dreaming heart to follow,-- The child in man that hears again. For what we dream is never lost.- Dreams mold the soul within the clay. The rapture and the Pentecost Of beauty shape our lives some way: They are the beam, the guiding ray, That Nature dowers us with at birth,- And, like the light upon the crown Of some dark hill, that towers down, Point us to Heaven, not to Earth, Above the world where dreams are lost. 21 MINIONS OF THE MOON I PIROUGH leafy windows of the trees The full moon shows a wrinkled face, And, trailing dim her draperies Of mist from place to place, The Twilight leads the breeze. And now, far-off, beside a pool, Dusk blows a reed, a guttural note; Then sows the air around her full Of twinkling disc and mote, And moth-shapes soft as wool. And from a glen, where lights glow by, Through hollowed hands she sends a call, And Solitude, with owlet cry, Answers: and Evenfall Steps swiftly from the sky. And Mystery, in hodden gray, Steals forth to meet her: and the Dark Before him slowly makes to sway A jack-o'-lantern spark To light him on his way. The grasshopper its violin Tunes up, the katydid its fife; 22 The beetle drums; the grig makes din, Informing Elfin life Night's revels now begin. And from each side along the way Old Witchcraft waves a batlike hand, And summons forth the toadstool gray To point the path to Faeryland, Where all man's longings stray. II The snail puts forth two staring horns And down the toadstool slides; The wind sits whispering in the thorns Of one unseen who hides: Of him, the Sprite, With glowworm light, Who watchmans secrets of the Night. The bee sleeps in the berry-bloom; The bird dreams on its nest; The moon-moth swoons through drowsed per- fume Upon a fragrant quest: It seeks for him, The Pixy slim, Who tags with wet each wildflower's rim. The milkwort leans an ear of pink And listens for the dew; The fireflies in the wildrose wink That seems to listen too: 23 For her, the Fay, With sword-like ray, Who opens buds at close of day. The moon, that dares not come too near, Keeps to the highest hill; The little brook it seems, for fear Of something strange, is still: The Mystery, It well may be, That talks to it of Faerie. 24 THE MOON IN THE WOOD I FROM hill and hollow, side by side, The shadows came, like dreams, to sit And watch, mysterious, sunset-eyed, The wool-winged moths and bats aflit, And the lone owl that cried and cried. And'then the forest rang a gong, Hoarse, toadlike; and from out the gate Of darkness came a sound of song, As of a gnome that called his mate, Who answered in his own strange tongue. And all the forest leaned to hear, And saw, from forth the entangling trees, A naked spirit drawing near, A glimmering presence, whom the breeze Kept whispering,-"Forward! Have no fear." II The woodland, seeming at a loss, Afraid to breathe, or make a sound, Poured, where her silvery feet should cross, A dripping pathway on the ground, And hedged it in with ferns and moss. 25 And then the silence sharply shook A cricket tambourine; and Night From out her musky bosom took A whippoorwill flute, and, lost to sight Sat piping to a wildwood brook. Until from out the shadows came A furtive foot, a gleam, a glow; And with a lamp of crystal flame The spirit stole, as white as snow, And put the firmament to shame. III Then up and down vague movements went, As if the faeries sought an herb; And here and there a bush was bent, A wildflower raised: the wood-pool's curb Was circled with a scarf of scent. And deep within her house of weeds Old Mystery hung a glowworm lamp, And decked her hair with firefly beads, And sate herself 'mid dew and damp, And crooned a love-song to the reeds. Then through the gates of solitude, Where Witchery her shuttle plied, The Spirit entered, white and nude- And where she went, on every side, Dreams followed through the solitude. 26 THE MOON SPIRIT ONE night I lingered in the wood And saw a spirit-form that stood Among the wildflowers. Like the dew It twinkled; partly wind and scent; Then down a moonbeam there it blew, And like a gleam of water went. Or was it but a dream that grew Out of the wind and dew and scent. Could I have seized it, made it mine, As poets have the thought divine Of Nature, then I too might know,-- (Like them who once wild magic bound Into their rhymes of long-ago),- Such ecstasy of earth around As never yet held heart before Or language for its beauty found. 27 LOVELINESS HOW good it is, when overwrought, To seek the woods and find a thought, That to the soul's attentive sense Delivers much in evidence Of truths for which man long has sought- Truths, which no vulture years contrive To rob the heart of, holding it To all the glory infinite Of beauty that shall aye survive. Still shall it lure us. Year by year Addressing now the spirit ear With thoughts, and now the spirit eye With visions that like gods go by, Filling the mind with bliss and fear- In spite of modern man who mocks The Loveliness of old, nor minds The ancient myths, gone with the winds, And dreams that people woods and rocks. 28 THE NIGHT-RAIN TATTERED, in ragged raiment of the rain, The Night arrives.-Outside the window there He stands and, streaming, taps upon the pane; Or, crouching down beside the cellar-stair, Letting his hat-brim drain, Mutters, black-gazing through his trickling hair. Then on. the roof with cautious feet he treads, Whispering a word into the windy flues; And all the house, huddling its flowerbeds, Looks, dark of face, as if it heard strange news, Hugging the musky heads Of all its roses to its sides of ooze. Now in the garden, with a glowworm lamp, Night searches, letting his black mantle pour; Treading the poppies down with heavy tramp, Thudding the apple, sodden to its core, Into the dripping damp, From boughs the wet loads, dragging more and more. Then at the barn he fumbles, gropes his way, Through splashing pools; and, seeping, enters in The stalls and creeps among the bedding hay, Burying him moistly to his clammy chin, While near him, brown and gray, The dozing cattle make a drowsy din. 29 The martin-box, poled high above the gate, He pushes till the fluttering fledglings wake, Wondering what bird it is that comes so late: Then to the henhouse door he gives a shake; Or, like a thief await, Leans listening softly with black heart aquake. Then with his ragged cloak flung back he goes, With flickering lantern, where the stream o'er- flowed, Breathing wet scents of wayside weed and rose, And guttural music of the frog and toad; A firefly-light, that glows, Green in his hand to guide him on his road. And doffing then, upon the wooded hill, His hat of cloud, a little while he stands, Hearkening in silence to the leaping rill; Then, stooping low, he lifts in azure hands A great gold daffodil- The moon-and pins it in his cloak's blown bands. 30 THE DREAM CHILD THERE is a place (I know it well) Where beech trees crowd into a gloom, And where a twinkling woodland well Flings from a rock a rippling plume, And, like a Faun beneath a spell, The silence breathes of beam and bloom. And here it was I met with her, The child I never hoped to see, Who long had been heart's-comforter, And soul's-companion unto me, Telling me oft of myths that were, And of far faerylands to-be. She stood there smiling by the pool, The cascade made below the rocks; Innocent, naked, beautiful, The frail gerardia in her locks, A flower, elfin-sweet and cool, Freckled as faery four-o'-clocks. Her eyes were rain-bright; and her hair An amber gleam like that which tips The golden leaves when Fall comes fair; And twin red berries were her lips; Her beauty, pure and young and bare, Shone like a star from breasts to hips. 31 Oft had I seen her thus, of old, In dreams, where she played many parts: A form, possessing in its mold The high perfection of all Arts, With all the hopes to which men hold, And loves for which they break their hearts. And she was mine. Within her face I read her soul. . . . Then, while she smiled, A sudden wind swept through the place And-she was gone. My heart beat wild; The leaves shook and, behold, no trace Was there of her, the faery child. Only a ray of gold that hung Above the water; and a bough, Rain-bright and berried, low that swung: Yet, in my heart of hearts, somehow, I felt (I need not search among The trees) that she was hiding now. 32 ROMANCE OH, go not to the lonely hill, That from its heart pours one clear well! There is a witch who haunts it still, Who would undo you with her spell.- Oh, go not to the lonely hill. There was a youth who, with his book, Wopld dream for hours and hours alone Beneath the boughs, beside the brook, Seated upon a mossy stone, His gaze upon his wonder-book. The scent of lilies there is cool, Hanging in many a wild raceme Around a glimmering woodland pool, From whence flows down a shadowy stream.- The scent of lilies there is cool. . Between his eyes and unturned page He saw her bright face, smiling, nod: And knew her of another Age, A pagan Age that mocked at God.- She seemed to rise from out the page, Clothed on with dreams and forest scent, And light and wind, that breathed and blew; A water-gleam, that came and went, She seemed, who round her presence drew A portion of the light and scent. 3 33 With eyes of crystal gray she smiled Into his eyes and murmured words Of love that made his pulse beat wild,- His heart to flutter like a bird's The fowler snares while slow she smiled. And then she kissed him; smoothed his hair; And bade him come. And he was fain To follow her, yea, anywhere, And as her slave for aye remain, When she had kissed his mouth and hair. And he arose and took her hand, And followed as one does in dreams: And, lo, they came to Faeryland, And danced an hour by its streams, And sat an hour, hand in hand. When he returned to Earth, no place Remembered him that once had known: Save for the memory of her face Here in the world he walked alone, His mortal heart held by that place. And so he sits where all may see, And tells his tale, that none believes, Like you, who now depart from me, Who leave me with a soul that grieves For her my eyes no more shall see. 34 Nay; go not to that hill, lest you Should fall beneath that Faery's spell, Like me, and evermore pursue A dream of beauty, loved too well, That holds you and escapes from you. 35 THE WOOD GOD I HEARD his step upon the moss; I glimpsed his shadow in the stream; And thrice I saw the brambles toss Wherein he vanished like a dream. A great beech aimed a giant stroke At my bent head, in mad alarm; And then a chestnut and an oak Struck at me with a knotted arm. The brambles clutched at me; and fear For one swift instant held me fast- Just long enough to let me hear His windlike footsteps vanish past. The brushwood made itself more dense, And looped my feet with green delay; And, threatening every violence, The rocks and thorns opposed my way. But still I followed; strove and strained In spite of all the wood devised To hold me back, and on him gained- The deity I had surprised. The genius of the wood, whose flute Had led me far; at first, to see The imprint of his form and foot Upon the moss beneath the tree. 36 A bird piped warning and he fled: I saw a gleam of gold and green: The woodland held its breath for dread That its great godhead would be seen. Could I but speak him face to face, And for a while his joy behold, What visions there might then take place, What myst'ries of the woods be told!- And well I knew that he was near By that soft sound the water made Upon its rock; and by the fear The wind unto the leaves betrayed. And by the sign bough made to bough, The secret signal, brusque and brief, That said, "On guard! He's looking now!" And pointed at me every leaf. Then suddenly the way lay wide; The brambles ceased to clutch and tear; And even the grim trees shrunk aside, And motioned me,-"He's there! he's there!" A ruse! I knew it for a ruse, To thwart my search at last.-But I Had been a fool to follow clues, And let the god himself pass by. 37 And then the wood in mighty mirth Laughed at me, all its bulk a-swing; It roared and bent its giant girth As if it'd done a clever thing. But I,-on whom its scorn was spent, Said not a word, but turned away: To me this truth was evident- No man may see the gods to-day. 38 THE WOODLAND WATERFALL R OCK and root and fern and flower-- They had led him for an hour To the inmost forest, where, In a hollow, green with moss, That the deep ferns trailed across, Fell a fall, a presence fair, Syllabling to the air, charming with cool sounds the bower. It was she he used to know In some land of Long Ago, Some far land of Yesterday, Where he listened to her words, And she lured him, like the birds, To her lips; and in his way Danced a bubble or rainbow-ray, Or a minnow's silvery bow. Round him now her arms she flung, And, as dripping there she clung, In her gaze of green and gold He beheld a beauty gleam, And the shadow of a dream, That to no man hath been told,-- Like a Faery tale of old, Rise up glimmering, ever young. 39 As his form to hers she drew In his soul, it seemed, he knew She was daughter of a king, Hate-transformed into a fall By a witch; long-held in thrall, And condemned to sigh and sing Till some mortal find the ring, Charm, that would the spell undo. In a pool of spray and foam, With a crystal-bubble dome, Suddenly he saw the charm: Newt-like, coiling, there it lay- Could he seize it he would stay, Master all! and, white and warm, Clasp the princess in his arm, Lead her to her palace home! He would free her; share her crown.- So he thought; and, bare and brown, Clove the water at a blow. But, behold, a mottled form, Like a newt's, stretched out an arm, Crimson-freckled, from below; And before his heart could know, With wild laughter drew him down. 40 THE DEAD DREAM BETWEEN the darkness and the day As, lost in doubt, I went my way, I met a shape, as faint as fair, With star-like blossoms in its hair: Its body, which the moon shone through, Was partly cloud and partly dew: I ts eyes were bright as if with tears, Anti held the look of long-gone years; Its mouth was piteous, sweet yet dread, As if with kisses of the dead: And in its hand it bore a flower, In memory of some haunted hour. I knew it for the Dream I'd had In days when life was young and glad. Why had it come with love and woe Out of the happy Long-Ago Upon my brow I felt its breath, Heard ancient words of faith and death, Sweet with the immortality Of many a fragrant memory: And to my heart again I took Its joy and sorrow in a look, And kissed its eyes and held it fast, And bore it home from out the past- My Dream of Beauty and of Truth, 1 dreamed had perished with my Youth. 41 THE SEA FAERY SHE was strange as the orchids that blossom kJ And glimmer and shower their balm And bloom on the tropical ocean, That crystals round islands of palm: And she sang to and beckoned and bound me With beauty immortal and calm. She was wild as the spirits that banner, Auroral, the ends of the Earth, With polar processions, that battle With Darkness; or, breathing, give birth To Silence; and herd from the mountains The icebergs, gigantic of girth. She was silver as sylphids who blend with The morning the pearl of their cheeks: And rosy as spirits whose tresses Trail golden the sunset with streaks: An opaline presence that beckoned And spake as the sea-rapture speaks:- "Come with me! come down in the ocean!- Yea, leave this dark region with me!- Come! leave it! forget it in thunder And roll of the infinite sea! Come with me!- No mortal bliss equals The bliss I shall give unto thee." . . 42 And so it was then that she bound me With witchcraft no mortal divines, While softly with kisses she drew me, As the moon draws a dream from the pines, Down, down to her cavern of coral, Where ever the sea-serpent twines. And ever the creatures, whose shadows Bulk huge as an isle on the sight, Swim cloud-like and vast, without number, Around her who leans, like a light, Arid smiles at me sleeping, pale-sleeping, Wrapped deep in her mermaiden might. 43 MY LADY OF THE BEECHES H ERE among the beeches Winds and wild perfume, That the twilight pleaches Into gleam and gloom, Build for her a room. Her whose Beauty cometh, Misty as the morn, When the wild-bee hummeth, At its honey-horn, In the wayside thorn. As the wood grows dimmer, With the drowsy night, Like a moonbeam glimmer Here she walks in white, With a firefly light. Moths around her flitting, Like a moth she goes, Here a moment sitting By this wilding rose, With my heart's repose. Every bud and flower From her look has caught Something of that hour While she stood in thought Gazing into naught. 44 Every bough that dances Has assumed the grace Of her form; and fancies, Flashed from eye and face, Brood about the place. Every wind that flutters, Says what is expressed Of her heart and utters Sounds of peace and rest Pulsing in her breast. And the water, shaken In its plunge and poise, To itself has taken Quiet of her voice, And restrains its joys. Would that these could tell me What and whence she is,- She, who doth enspell me, Fill my soul with bliss Of her spirit-kiss. Though the heart beseech her, And the soul implore, Who is it may reach her, Safe behind the door Of all woodland lore 45 THE WOOD ANEMONE rHE thorn-tree waved a bough of May And all its branches bent To indicate the wildwood way The Wind and Sunbeam went. A wildrose here, a wildrose there Lifted appealing eyes, And looked the path they did not dare Reveal in other wise. Wild parsley tossed a plume of gold And breathed so sweet a sigh, I guessed the way, it never told, Which they had hastened by. I traced the Beam, so swift and white, In many a woodland place By wildflower footprints of its flight And gleamings of its grace. I knew its joy had filled with song The high heart of the bird, That rippled, rippled all day long In dells that hushed and heard. I knew the Wind with flashing feet Had charmed the brook withal, Who in its cascades did repeat The music of that call. 46 All were in league to help me find, Or tell to me the way, Which now before me, now behind, These two had gone in play. I could not understand how these Could hide so near to me, When by the whispering of the trees I knew the wood could see. Until, all breathless with its joy, The Wind, that could not rest, Ran past me, like a romping boy, And bade me look my best. And there I saw them clasped in bliss Beneath an old beech tree: And here's the flower born of their kiss- This wild anemone. 47 "Revels the Moon did light" J PIXY WOOD THE vat-like cups of the fungus, filled With the rain that fell last night, Are casks of wine that the elves distilled For revels the moon did light. The owlet there with her "Who-oh-who," And the frog with his "All is right," Could tell a tale if they wanted to Of what took place last night. In that hollow beech, where the wood Their toadstool houses stand; A little village of drabs and grays, Cone-roofed, of Faeryland. That moth, which gleams like a lichez Is one of an elfin band, That whisks away if you merely dare To try to understand. decays, i there, The snail, that slides on that mushroom's top, And the slug on its sleepy trail, Wax fat on the things the elves let drop At feast in the moonlight pale. The whippoorwill, that grieves and grieves, If it would, could tell a tale Of what took place here under the leaves Last night on the Dreamland Trail. 49 The trillium there and the Mayapple, With their white eyes opened wide, Of many a secret sight could tell If speech were not denied: Of many a pixy revelry And rout on which they've spied, With the hollow tree, which there you see Opens its eye-knots wide. 50 THE GRAY SISTERS W HAT is that which walks by night In flying tatters of leaves and weeds, When the clouds rush by like daemon steeds, And the moon is a jack-o'-lantern light Low in the pool's dark reeds- What is that, like a soul who sinned- Is it a witch or the Autumn wind What is that which sits and glowers Under the trees by the forest pool With a cloak of moss whence the raindrops drule, Chilling the air with a sense of showers And touch of the cold toadstool: What is that, with its breath of gloom- Is it a witch or the Fall perfume What is that in a mantle of gray, With rags, like water, that wreathe and wind That gropes the forest, as if to find A path, long-lost, on its midnight way, Shadowy, old and blind: What is that, so white and whist- Is it a witch or the Autumn mist You may have met them; you may have heard; As I have heard them; as I have met: 51 The three gray sisters of wind and wet Each with a spell or a cryptic word Working her magic yet: The three gray sisters, the witches old, Daughters of Autumn, who haunt the wold. 52 THE FAERY PIPE WOODS of wonder, wonder ways, )OV Where the Faery Piper plays, Bidding all to up and follow Over haunted hill and hollow, And behold again the Fays Whirling in a moonlit maze. He whom once our Childhood knew, Piper of the Dream-come-true; Who with music reared us towers Of Adventure, where the Hours Wove enchantments; peopled too With the deeds of Daring-do. Oh, to hear the pipe he blows Saying all of Let's-Suppose! Who once bade us brave the danger Of the Dragon, for the stranger, Princess,-who, to tell her woes, Dropped from her high Tower a rose. She, for whom we would have died, To whose Tower the pipe was guide, And from Witchcraft's power delivered.- How the dungeon-tower shivered When our trumpet blast defied, Challenging its giant pride!- 53 Oh, again to stand and see Vision grow reality! Hear the Elfland bugles blowing, And, beyond all seeing, knowing, Gallop to our empery There again in Faerie! Oh, again to leave regret, Fever of the world and fret! Tears and loss and work and worry! For the Land of Song and Story, For that Land none can forget, Of which Thought is minion yet. Woods of wonder, wonder ways, Where the Faery Piper plays, Saying, "Quit your melancholy! Leave the world of work and folly! Follow me to where the Fays Trip it as in Childhood's days." 54 THE FOREST OF OLD ENCHANTMENT SQUAW-BERRY, bramble, Solomon's-seal, And rattlesnake-weed make wild the place: You seem to feel that a Faun will steal Or leap before your face. Is that the reel of a Satyr's heel, Or the brook in its headlong race Yellow puccoon and the blue-eyed grass, And briars a riot of bloom: And now from the mass of that sassafras What is it shakes perfume- A Nymph, who has for her looking-glass That pool in the mossy gloom Mile on mile of the trees and vines, And rock and fern and root: What is it pines where the wild-grape twines A dove or Pan's own flute- And there!-what shines into rosy lines A flower or Dryad's foot White-plantain, bluet, and, golden-clear, The crowfoot's earth-bound star: Now what draws near to the spirit ear- A god or a sunbeam-bar- And what do we hear with a sense of fear- Diana or winds afar 55 If we but thought as the old Greeks thought, And knew what the ancients knew, Then Beauty sought of the soul were caught And breathed into being too; And out of naught were the real wrought, And the dream of the world made true. 56 THE HOUSE OF MOSS (Built by a Child in a deep Forest.) H OW fancy romped and played here, Building this house of moss! A faery house, the shade here And sunlight gleam across; And how it danced and swayed here, A child with locks atoss! I pause to gaze and ponder; And, whisk! I seem to know How, in that house and under, The starry elf-lamps glow, And pixy dances sunder The hush when night falls slow. Oh, that a witch had willed it That those child-dreams come true! With which the child-heart filled it While 'neath glad hands it grew, And, dim, amort, it builded Far better than it knew. For Middleage,-that wandered And found it hidden here, And, pausing, gazed and pondered Knowing a mystery near- A dream, its childhood squandered, Or lost, gone many a year. 57 Had not Time so distorted My vision, haply I Had also viewed, wild-hearted, Dreams which that child drew nigh, And to the world imparted Strange news none dare deny. 58 ROSE AND REDBIRD A Faerytale. I HAD the strangest dream last night:- I dreamed the poppies, red and white, That over-run the flower-bed, Changed to wee women, white and red, Who, jeweled with the twinkling wet, Joined hands and danced a minuet. 59 And there, beside the garden walk, I thought a red-rose stood at talk With a black cricket; and I heard The cricket say, "You are the bird, Red-crested, who comes every day To sing his lyric roundelay." The rose replied,-"Nay! you must know That bird and I loved long-ago: I am a princess, he a prince: And we were parted ever since The world of science made us don The new disguises we have on." And then the rose put off disguise And stood revealed before my eyes, A faery princess; and, in black, His tiny fiddle on his back, An elfin fiddler, long of nose, The cricket bowed before the rose. A house of moss and firefly-light Now seemed to rise within the night Beside the tree where, bending low, The flowers stood, a silken row, Around the rose,-a faery band Before the Queen of Faeryland. And suddenly I saw the side Of a great beech-tree open wide, 60 And there, behold! were wondrous things,- Slim flower-like people bright with wings, Who bowed before a throne of state, Whereon the rose and redbird sate. And then I woke; and there, behold, Was naught except the moonlight's gold On tree and garden; and the flowers Safe snuggled in their beds and bowers: The rose was gone, but where she'd stood Lay scattered crimson of her hood. The cricket still was at his tune Somewhere between the dawn and moon: And I'd have sworn it was a dream Had I not glimpsed a glowworm gleam And heard a chuckling in the tree, And seen the dewdrop wink at me. 61 THE DANCE OF SUMMER S UMMER, gowned in catnip-gray, Goes her weedy wildwood way, Where with rosehip-buttoned coat, Cardinal flower-plume afloat, With the squirrel-folk at play, Brown September, smiling, stands, Chieftain of the Romany bands Of the Fall a gypsy crew, Glimmering in lobelia-blue, Gold and scarlet down the lands. Summer, with a redbird trill, Dares him follow at her will, There to romp in tree and vine, Drink the sunset's crimson wine, And on beauty feast his fill. He his Autumn whistle takes, And his dark hair backward shakes; Pipes a note, and bids her on,- Dancing like a woodland faun,- And she follows through the brakes. She must follow: she is bound By the wildness of the sound.- Is it love or necromance- Down the world he leads the dance, And the woods go whirling round. 62 Wildly briars clutch and hold; Branches reach out arms of gold; Naught can stay them. Pipe, and follow Over hill and over hollow Till the night fall dark and cold. Now her gown is torn in shreds, And her gossamer veil is threads Streaming round her nakedness; And the flowers, at her distress, Weep and hide their drooping heads. Round her whirl the frightened leaves, And the stammering water grieves; Nut and haw the forest throws At her as she dancing goes To the pipe that magic weaves. Death will have her. She must spin Till, a skeleton, she win To the land where Winter dwells, Where shall end Fall's gipsy spells, And her long white sleep begin. 63 A FOREST FLUTE IHEARD a reed among the hills, A woodland reed of music where, Like madcap children, ran the rills, Boisterous, with wildly flowing hair. I knew it for a pipe the Spring Tuned to the rapture in her heart, That in the egg should shape the wing, And in the seed the wildflower start. And I-I followed where it blew, And found a valley, dim and green, A wild spot, like a drop of dew, Hung glimmeringly two hills between. I heard the flute, a bird-like note, That made the place a magic well, On which enchantment seemed to float, A spirit in a rainbow shell. I knew what danced there with its flute, Unseen, a part of soul and mind: I saw the imprint of its foot, In many a flower of orchis-kind. I knew it of an ancient race, Some myth the Greeks had known of old. Could I have spoken it face to face Of what lost dreams I might have told! 64 BUBBLES A SI went through the wood, the wood, As Through fern and pimpernel, A water fell, a water stood, Twinkling within a dell, And Naiad fancies, gleaming, hung Like bubbles there the moss among. And as I sat beside the fall And watched a rainbow beam, There rose a dream, a spirit tall, Out of the woodland stream: Bright, prismed bubbles in her hair, She rose and smiled upon me there. But as I gazed at her and gazed, Dim bubbles grew her eyes; And frail of dyes her body raised, And vanished in the skies: And with the spirit went my dream- A rainbow bubble of the stream. 65 LOVE AND THE WIND ALL were in league to capture Love The rock, the stream, the tree; The very Month was leader of The whole conspiracy. It led Love where wild waters met, And tree hugged close to tree; And where the dew and sunbeam let Their lips meet rapturously. And then it shouted,-"Here he is, o wild Wind in the tree! Come, clasp him now, and kiss and kiss! And call the flowers to see!" And there, on every side, the wood Rushed out in flower and tree.-- And that is how, I've understood, The Springtime came to be. 66 THE DREAM IN THE WOOD THE beauty of the day put joy, I Unbounded, in the woodland's breast, Through which the wind, like some wild boy, Ran on and took no rest. The little stream that made its home, Under the spicewood bough and beech, Hummed to its heart a song of foam, Or with the moss held speech. And he, whose heart was weighed with tears, And who had come to seek a dream, For a dim while forgot his fears, Hearkening the wind and stream. The wind for him assumed a form,- A child's, with wildflowers in its hair; It seemed to take him by the arm To lead him far from care. The streamlet raised a hand of spray By every rock, and waved him on, Whispering, "Come, take this wildwood way, And find your dream long gone." And he, who heard and followed these, Came on a secret place apart, And there, behold! the dream of peace He found in his own heart. 67 THE FOREST OF FEAR T HE cut-throat darkness hemmed me 'round: I waited, helpless in its grasp. The forest gave no sign or sound: The wind was dead: no insect's rasp I heard, nor water's gulp and gasp Fitting its strength against a stone. The only sound that there was mnade Was my wild heart's that sobbed alone, Knowing itself to be afraid Of that vast wood where it had strayed. I dared not move. There was no star To indicate where God might be. Night and his henchmen, without bar, Had there assumed their empery.- Nothing but prayer was left to me. Around me seemed to loom the dead Of ages past, gaunt in the gloom. And when I heard a stealthy tread As of one groping from the tomb, I braced myself to meet my doom. And then I heard a breathing low As of a beast that seeks its prey; And then the footstep, soft and slow, Approached again from far away.-. I held my breath lest it betray 68 Me to some Death-in monstrous guise- With fang or talon, or a blade Grasped in a hand of giant size- Or was't a fiend And then I prayed, Who never yet had prayed, for aid. I closed my eyes. My heart was still. I did not look. I knew it stood Glaring upon me all its fill.- When would it strike-The ancient wood Seemed waiting eager for my blood. I prayed and prayed. The something there Stood waiting still-a fiend from Hell Gloating upon my soul's despair- This was the end, I knew too well; It pealed within me like a bell. And then I thought, "In spite of all, It is but death. Earth can not go Further than death, whate'er befall.- With open eyes I'll take the blow, And face to face now meet my foe." "My foe"-Perhaps it was a friend.- What whim put in my heart that thought I had no friends. This was the end, And I would face it: I was caught In the old gin that sin had wrought. 69 And then I looked-I looked to see- How could it be-serene of eye, A little Child beneath a tree. A Child that glimmered starrily; A Christ-like Child not born to die. And overhead I saw the night Had doffed its cowl of black, and stood Revealed in azure and in white, While all the staring solitude Looked on the round moon o'er the wood. I called the Child. It smiling came; Undid the bonds of my despair, And led me forth.-I said, "Your name"- It smiled and, gazing, answered, "Prayer."- And with that word went into air. 70 E LFINS of the Autumn night, Gather! gather! work's to do: Th re's the toadstool, plump and white, To be lifted into view: And the ghost-flower, like a light, To be dight, And washed white with moon and dew; While the frog, From the bog, Watchmans us with "All is right." Ouphes, come help the spider spin, Stretch his webs for mist and moon; Rim with rounded rain, or, thin, Curve into a frosty lune: Lift the mushroom's rosy chin, Help it win Through the leaves that lie aboon; While the cricket In the thicket Makes its fairy fiddle din. 71 "Lift the Mushroom's rosy chin." Brim the lichen-cups with rain; Blow to feather the goldenrods; Help the touchmenots, a-strain To explode their ripened pods, Sow their pattering seed again; Help to stain Every freckled flower that nods; While with glee, In its tree, Chants the owl its wild refrain. Drop the acorn in its place; Split and spill the chestnuts' burrs; Trail the weeds with pixy lace Of the moony gossamers; And with tricksy colors trace Form and face Of each leaf the wildwood stirs; While the fox, 'Mid the rocks, Barks, or times with ours his pace. Elfin, ouphe, and gnarly gnome, Ye who house the humble-bee, Ride the slow snail to its home, Wrap the worm up silkenly; Ye who guard the wild bees' comb, And the dome Of the hornets in the tree, Hear the call- One and all Gather! gather, Autumn's come! 73 aar SONG AND STORY This page in the original text is blank. THE VIKINGS A Saga of Yule. FAR to the South a star, Bright-shining over all; And a sound of voices singing, 'Round a Babe in an ox's-stall. Three Kings a-riding, riding, With gifts of myrrh and gold, Far, far from the wild North Ocean, Of which this tale is told:- By the sea, in the Hall of Beele, Were Yule and joy and feast, Outside was the noise of the ocean And storm, like a howling beast. The King sate at the banquet With his Jarls and Berserks hale, Quaffing to Thor and Odin Huge horns of mead and ale. Unheeded howled the winter 'Round the oak walls of the King, For a mighty skald with a runic harp Made the hall re-echoing ring. 77 Loud laughed the blonde Norse maidens As they brimmed the barmy cup, Where the torches flickered the war-blades And the bucklers hanging up. But out by the thundering North Sea Ten shattered dragons lie, Vessels, like great sea-monsters, To the billows heaving high. And pale and hacked with gashes, 'Mid his battered arms lies low The red-haired Viking, Hareck, Half-buried in the snow. And wan, where the waves beat sullen, Lies his brother, one-eyed Hulf, Above whose mailed visage Snarls the winter-famished wolf. And where is seen the glimmer Of arms on dune and shore, Their warriors, fierce and long-haired, Lie frozen in their gore. For Hulf and red-haired Hareck To Sogn did harrying sail, But Beele and his Berserkers Did give them welcome hale. 78 On the shore of the wild North Ocean, In the wild mist and the spray, In the spindrift and the tempest The battle clanged all day. On the shore of the wild North Ocean, When fell the wilder night, The Vikings, Hulf and Hareck, As the snow lay cold and white. Not for long in their shattered armor, By the billow-booming deep, Were left the terrible warriors In their eternal sleep. For Odin from Valhala Saw the Vikings fight and fall, And bade the Valkyrs summon The heroes to his Hall. They came. The ghosts of the Vikings Stood dark-browed on the field, Moody within the tempest, Each leaning on his shield. In his great-horned helm loomed Hareck, His face like some wild moon That looks upon the havoc Of a field with battle strewn. 79 Like a dark star, dim and misty, Faint-seen through scud-blown air, Hulf's face on the Maids of Odin Shone in its wind-tossed hair. And with them, lo! another, Whose face was mild and sad- Unarmed, no Viking warrior, A Man in whiteness clad. Through snow and the foam of the ocean Glittered the Valkyries, And the sound of their trumpet voices Was like to the stormy sea's. "Behold," they cried, "Valhala Awaits! And Odin sent !- The polished skulls are brimmed with mead And ready the tournament! "And Thor and Brage and Balder, And many an Aza fair, On the pleasant plain of Ida, Await your coming there!" And they stretched their glittering gauntlets To the Vikings standing pale, And joy lit up their lowering brows Like moonlight in a gale. 80 And then the other murmured,- And His voice was soft and low,- And a scent as of myrrh and lilies Swept through the storm and snow:- "Come to Me, ye who labor, And ye who are distressed! All, all whose hearts are burdened, And I will give you rest. "I bring a different message From that just brought of these, A message of love and forgiveness From My Father the King of Peace. "Now ends the reign of Odin, And My Father's rule begins! Peace and good-will, good-will and peace, And forgiveness of all sins !" And He stretched His arms toward them, And hushed were the howling gales: And they saw that His brow was crowned with thorns, And His hands were pierced with nails. And there in the Hall of Beele The sound of Yule died low, And all was hushed as the Word of Christ Pealed far through the wind and snow. 81 6 TREASURE TROVE XWE were a crew of what you please, Men with the lust of gold gone mad; Dutch and Yankee and Portuguese, With a nigger or two from Trinidad, The scum of the Caribbees: Outbound, outbound for a treasure ground, A pirate isle no man had found, A long-lost isle in the Southern Seas, An isle of the Southern Seas. We sailed our ship by a chart we bore, The parchment script of a buccaneer, Whose skeleton, found on a Carib shore, Had kept its secret for many a year, Locked in a buckle of belt it wore. And the dim chart told of buried gold, A hidden harbor and pirate hold, On an isle that seamen touched no more, That sailors knew no more. We were a crew of Devil-may-care, Who staked our lives on a bit of a scrawl; Who diced each other for lot and share Or ever we hoisted sail at all, Or the brine blew through our hair. At last with a hail for calm or gale, The wind of adventure in our sail, We piped up anchor and did our dare, Steered for the Island there. 82 From Porto Bello to Isle of France, And thence South East our chart read plain: We followed the route of old Romance, The plate-ship route of the Spanish Main, The old wild route of Chance. Black Beard sailed it and Jean Lafitte; And Drake and Morgan, and many a fleet Of pillage once that led the dance, Spain's golden-galleon dance. Moidores, guineas, and pieces-of-eight; Doubloons round as the gibbous moon; All the wealth that they sacked as freight In the good old days of the piccaroon, We dreamed of soon and late: And gems of the East, of which the least Would grace a Khan's or a Caliph's feast, And chest on chest of Spanish plate, Great chests of Spanish plate. The wind blew fair from Panama; For a month the wind blew fair and free; We steered our ship by the gold we saw In the far-off script of a century, Wherein men knew no law. We held our course, for better or worse, Now with a song and now with a curse, According to the lots we'd draw, Rum or the lots we'd draw. 83 We had not reckoned on destiny, And him all seamen dread, they say, That captain, old in infamy, Who holds to Hell till the Judgment Day, And takes of Earth his fee.- Oh, black and black is the South Sea track Of the skeleton Captain, Yellow Jack, Who sweeps with his boneyard crew the sea, The hurricane-haunted sea. Six weeks we lay in the doldrums; dead; Six weeks that rotted us with delay, Till a gale sprang up and drove us ahead, Out of our course, for a week and a day, Till we deemed we were Dutchman-led.- When the gale was done, why, one by one, The scurvy took us, every son, And mutiny down in the hold was bred, Mutiny then was bred. At last on our bow we sighted shore, A wild crag circled of cloud and sea; Our pirate isle, where ceaselessly The rock-fanged surf kept up its roar Round a towering bluff and tree, Where the chart was marked that the gold should be: Cliffs that the seafowl clamored o'er, With the dragging seaweed hoar. 84 A smudge of mist and a gleam that died, And a muttering down below- And night was on us at a stride, And, God! how it came to blow! And a man went over the side: Then fore and aft of our crazy craft Corposants glimmered and Madness laughed, And a voice from the Island wild replied, A daemon voice replied. Three nights and days of the hurricane s rage.- What curse now held us off!- We never would win to an anchorage, We thought, when, ho! with a scoff The Island thundered, "Come take your wage!"- And, lo, that night by the thin moonlight We found our ship in a bay or bight, That seemed a part of another age, A far-off pirate age. Our ship a-leak and her pumps all jammed We won to the Harbor of Yellow Jack; And so it was that he took command And hoisted his skeleton flag of black, And our decks with dead men crammed.- But we we found the treasure ground- Where some went mad and some were drowned- For the gold, you see, was damned, was damned, The gold you see was damned. 85 SERVICE I PASSED a cottage 'twixt the town and wood, And marked its garden, blossoming bright and bold, And breathing many a scent. Awhile I stood Near pink and marigold. It seemed a place of prayer; of love and peace; Where gray Content with children at his knees,- Like blessings manifold, Rested among the trees. An old man came into the garden-plot; And 'mid the tansy and the scarlet sage Found for himself a dim and quiet spot Wherein to turn a page: For in his hand he bore a well-thumbed book, Upon whose pages now and then he'd look; And then, as if with age, His hoary head he shook. I said to him: "You have a lovely place. How rich your garden blooms! How sweet its shade! How good to sit here in the eve and face Those hills of woods while fade The sunset's splendors-like a bannered host Before the glory of the Holy Ghost,- While Dusk, in light arrayed, Takes up his starry post." 86 The old man smiled, and turned around to stare Not at me but above my head, as if He saw a form, a flying phantom there, A flaming hippogriff: Then said: "You find here what I keep in mind- Thoughts-thoughts of beauty with which God is kind To an old man grown stiff And half-way deaf and blind. "This garden, now, in every herb and flower, Expresses what the Bible says in part Unto my soul: To serve God every hour, In thought, or through some art, With loveliness: as men did long ago, Work at some beauty that shall gleam and glow With worship of the heart, Whose dream shall burn below. "For men may serve God in their humblest works: In gardens, say, like mine; wherein the Word Walks with me, and in every rosebush lurks God's blessing like a bird." And so he ceased. And, like the Seraphim, The sunset clouds spread golden over him; And in the trees I heard, The wind, like some far hymn. 87 AT THE FALL OF DEW ONE bright star in the firmament, One wild rose in the dew, And a girl, like the sparkling two, Following the cows that went Through roses wet with dew, Roses, two by two. Shy she was as the twilight skies When they hesitate with stars, As she stood to wait at the pasture bars, Gazing with far-off eyes At the slowly coming stars Over the pasture bars. She hummed a tune while the cattle passed, And the bells in the dusk clanged clear; Then a whistle caught her ear, And she knew 'twas love at last, While the bells in the dusk clanged clear, And his whistle caught her ear. The smell of the hay came warm and sweet From the field there where he stood, The -field by the old beech wood, Where a bird sang, "Sweet! oh, sweet!" In the tree there, where he stood By the old beech wood. 88 Then a voice at the farmyard gate Called to her down the road, Where the fireflies' lights were sowed; But she answered the one await By the tree at the end of the road Where the fireflies' lights were sowed. Right young was he and brown and strong As a farmer's lad should be; And she with her soul of witchery And a heart, like a bird's, of song, All a country girl should be, With a soul of witchery. Oh! I can see them yet In the dusk of the long-ago- Two lovers walking slow; And my eyes with tears are wet For the love of the long-ago, Love of the long-ago. 89 WAS it a dream, Or a whim of the night Or did they gleam Upon my sight An instant there in the wan moonlight- I saw them all, I think, Under the bowers, The faery folk, in a moonbeam wink, Disguised as flowers. 90 First came the Bleeding-Hearts, that hang like bells Or delicate shells; Who, gowned in white and red, Hooped skirts and furbelows, A long procession led Of Faery Ladies and their beaux, Such as the Violet and Early Rose, Into the ball-room of the flower-bed, Where they began a Pixy minuet.= Then suddenly, from whence nobody knows, The Johnny-Jump-Ups glimmered in that set, Tipping about on tiny flower-toes, All dressed in twinkling velvet, black and blue, Faint-jeweled with the dew: Stout sons of Faerie, Yeomen of the Night, Glittering, each one, a rapier-ray of light:- Then, bowing two by two,- While all the Bleeding-Hearts stood by and fanned, They, silken hand in hand, Began a faery saraband, That wound and interwound, and went and came again.- And then, In ruffed and ribboned lines, The gold-and-ruby gleaming Columbines, Fair Maids-of-Honor to the Faery Queen,- Who still remained unseen,- Trailed twinkling into view. And then a trumpet blew A beetle-blast-and there! 91 Adown a glowworm-lanthorned avenue, Tall two by two, With sapphire-helmed hair, Proud Knights and minions of the moon, The Larkspurs, to a cricket tune, Marched with a haughty air. And golden-cuirassed, blowing a wild fanfare Of fragrant notes From honey-crystaled throats, Snapdragons, Trumpeters of the Faery King, With pomp and glittering Of many an elfin prince and peer, Drew near. And when I felt secure, And sure The King and Queen of Facrie would appear, My dear, A cockerel crew, a thwarting cockerel crew, And, presto! whew! The whole scene went in air, Leaving it there,- The garden,-glimmering with the moon and dew, Looking demure With all its flowers. But I knew, Nay, I was sure, It was not quite as innocent as it seemed. It could not fool me with its looks demure. I knew I had not dreamed. 92 THE HEART'S OWN DAY rPIS is the heart's own day: With dreaming eyes Life seems to look away Beyond the skies Into some long-gone May. A May that can not die; Across whose hills Youth's heart goes singing by, 'Mid daffodils, With Love the young and shy. Love of the slender form And elvish face; Who with uplifted arm Points to one place A place of oldtime charm. Where once the lilies grew For Love to twine, With violets, white and blue, And columbine, Of gold and crimson hue. Gone is the long-ago: Gone like the wind; And Love we used to know Sits dumb and blind, With locks of winter snow. 93 And by him Memory Sits sketching back Into the used-to-be, In white and black, One flower on his knee. One rose, whose crimson gleams Like Youth's glad heart, And fills the day with dreams, And is a part Of the old love it seems. That touches with the tints Of Faeryland This day; and makes a prince-- Of Samarcand,- Of him, whose hand Hers held in dreams long since. 94 THE RIBBON rFHOSE were the days of doubt. How clear It all comes back!-This ribbon, see Brings that far past so very near I lose my own identity, And seem two beings: one that's here, And one back in that century Of cowardice and fear, Wherein I met with love and her, When I was but a wanderer. Those were the days of doubt, I said: I doubted all things; even God. Within my heart there was no dread Of Hell or Heaven. Never a rod Was there to smite; no mercy led: And man's reward was death: a clod He was, alive or dead. Those were the days of doubt; and so I scoffed at all things, high and low. And then I met her. Fair and frail, A girl whose soul was as a flame That burns within the Holy Grael; And through her eyes shone clear the same Fanatic fire, pure and pale,- That once put Sisera to shame In the dark eyes of Jael, When, leading him into her tent, She used the nail as argument. 95 There was no argument of grace She did not use; no dogma, wrought Of sophistry, she did not place Before me, leading up my thought To Heaven from the fearful maze Of Hell, wherein God's angels fought With fiends, on darkling ways. I listened-but in her young look Was more for me than in God's Book. She seemed a priestess. Heaven to be Was in her face. A ribbon bound Her hair like a phylactery. This is the band. I took it; wound And laid it on my heart.-Ah me! No other argument I found As good as that. Convincingly It held me sane and sound. And I have kept it here alway Since first she gave it me that day. "Where is she now"-I do not know. She is the wife of one whose hand, Stretched forth to aid me long-ago, Took from me more than all this land In her own self,-and gave me woe To take her place.-As here I stand I stood and took the blow, While in my heart I looked and saw The love that filled my soul with awe. 96 And did she love me Am I sure- Ah, while I heard angelic hosts Of Heaven singing love, there were Black wings about me: all the ghosts Of all my doubts. I heard them stir, And so drew back from those bright coasts Of happiness with her. Despite the love within my heart Doubt entered, and began its part. Make no mistake. I loved her; ay! And she loved me as women love The thing they save. I spoke my lie, That by my lie I so might prove Her love, and with the proof defy The doubt, whose shadow hung above, Watching with jealous eye. So I denied love.-Played a part And, playing it, broke my own heart. The better part of me then died; I killed her love, not mine.-You see I keep this ribbon here, she tied My heart to hers with.-Silkenly It says, "She is another's bride. Through me now keep in memory Your doubt was justified. She did not love you. She could change."- I keep the ribbon.-Is it strange 97 THE PLOUGHBOY A LILAC mist makes warm the hills, And silvery through it threads a stream: The redbird's cadence throbs and thrills, The jaybirds scream. The bluets' stars begin to gleam, And 'mid them, whispering with the rills, The morning-hours dream. The ploughboy Spring drives out his plough, A robin's whistle on his lips; And as he goes with lifted brow, And snaps and whips His lash of wind, a sunbeam tips, The wildflowers laugh, and on the bough The blossom skips. The scent of winter-mellowed loam And greenwood buds is blown from him, As blithe he takes his young way home, Large, strong of limb, Along the hilltop's sunset brim, Whistling; the first star, white as foam, In his hat's blue rim. 98 THE DITTANY TH E scent of dittany was hot. T Its smell intensified the heat: Into his brain it seemed to beat With memories of a day forgot, When she walked with him through the wheat, And noon was heavy with the heat. Again her eyes gazed into his With all their maiden tenderness; Again the fragrance of her dress Swooned on his senses; and, with bliss, Again he felt her heart's caress Full of a timid tenderness. What of that spray she plucked and gave The spray of this wild dittany, Whose scent brought back to memory A something lost, beyond the grave. He knew now what it meant, ah me! That spray of withered dittany. How many things he had forgot!- Far, lovely things Life flings away! - And where was she now-Who could say -- The dittany, whose scent was hot, Spoke to his heart; and, old and gray, Through the lone land he went his way. 99 "THE OLD REMAIN" TrE old remain, the young are gone. The farm dreams lonely on the hill: From early eve to early dawn A cry goes with the whippoorwill- "The old remain, the young are gone." Where run the roads they wander on The young, whose hearts romped shouting here: Whose feet thrilled rapture through this lawn, Where sadness walks now all the year. The old remain, the young are gone. To what far glory are they drawn And do they weary of the quest And serve they now a king or pawn There in the cities of unrest- The old remain, the young are gone. They found the life here gray and wan, Too kind, too poor, too full of peace: The great mad world of brain and brawn Called to their young hearts without cease.- The old remain, the young are gone. They left us to our Avalon, The ancient fields, the house and trees, Where we at sunset and at dawn May sit with dreams and memories.- The old remain, the young are gone. 100 Dear Heart, draw near and lean upon My heart, and gaze no more through tears: We have our love; our work well done, To help us face the wistful years.- The old remain, the young are gone. 101 THE OLD HOME THEY'yE torn the old house down, that stood, Like some kind mother, in this place, Hugged by its orchard and its wood, Two sturdy children, strong of race. This formal place makes no appeal. I miss the oldtime happiness And peace, which often here did heal The cares of life, the heart's distress. The shrubs,-which snowed their blossoms on The walks, wide-stretching from the doors Like friendly arms,-are dead and gone, And over all a grand house soars. Within its front no welcome lies, But pride's aloofness; wealth, that stares From windows, cold as haughty eyes, The arrogance of new-made heirs. Its very flowers breathe of cast; And even the Springtide seems estranged, In that stiff garden, caught, held fast, All her wild beauty clipped and changed. 102 'T is not the Spring, that once I knew, Who made a glory of her face, And robed in shimmering light and dew Moved to wild music in this place. How fair she walked here with her Hours, Pouring forth colors and perfumes, And with her bosom heaped with flowers Climbed by the rose-vines to its rooms. Or round the old porch, 'mid the trees, Fluttered a flute of bluebird-song; Or murmuring with a myriad bees Drowsed in the garden all day long. How Summer, with her apron full Of manna, shook the red peach down; Or, stretched among the shadows cool, Wove for her hair a daisy crown. Or with her crickets, night and day, Gossiped of many a faery thing, Her sweet breath warm with scents of hay And honey, purple-blossoming. How Autumn, trailing tattered gold And scarlet, in the orchard mused, And of the old trees taking hold Upon the sward their ripeness bruised. 103 Or, past its sunset window-panes, Like thoughts that drift before old eyes, Whirled red leaves and the ragged rains, And crows, black-blown, about the skies. How Winter, huddled in her hood Of snow and sleet, crouched by its flues; Or, rushing from the stormy wood, Rapped at its doors with windy news. Or in the firelight, through the pane, Watched Comfort crown with cheer the hearth, Or Love lead in his Yuletide train Of hospitality and mirth. . It lived. The house was part of us. It was not merely wood and stone, But had a soul, a heart, that thus Grappled and made us all its own. The lives that with its life were knit, In some strange way, beyond the sense, Had gradually given to it A look of old experience. A look, which I shall not forget, No matter where my ways may roam.- I close my eyes: I see it yet- The old house that was once my home. 104 A SUMMER DAY WH ITE clouds, like thistledown at fault, That drift through heaven's azure vault. The sun beams down; the weedy ground Vibrates with many an insect sound. Blackberry-lilies in the noon Lean to the creek with eyes a-swoon, Where, in a shallow, silver gleams Of minnows and a heron dreams- An old road, clouding pale the heat Behind a slow hoof's muffled beat: And there, hill-gazing at the skies, A pond, within whose languor lies A twinkle,-like an eye that smiles In thought; that with a dream beguiles The day: a dream of clouds that drift, And arms the willow trees uplift, Protectingly, as if to hide The wildbird on its nest that cried. Now mists that mass the sunset-dyes Build an Arabia in the skies, Through which the sun in pomp retires, Torched to his room with saffron fires; And 'thwart his palace door is laid A crescent sign, a moony blade, Then glittering in a cloud is sheathed; And, dripping crimson, fire-wreathed, A magic scimetar of flame Is slowly drawn before the same. 105 The door of Day is closed; its bar Put up, one bright and golden star; While, crowding all the corridors Of Dusk, the shadows, blackamoors Of darkness, glide; and zephyrs sweep Mist-gowns of musk through halls of Sleep- Dim odalisques of Night, who wait Upon their lord who lies in state. 106 THE OLD GARDEN SPURGE and sea-pink, hyssop blue, Dragonhead of purple hue; Catnip, frosted green and gray, With blue butterflies a-sway, These may point you out the way. These and Summer's acolytes, Crickets, singing days and nights, Tell you the old road again; And adown the tangled lane Lead you to her window-pane. Goldenrod and goldenglow Crowd the gate in which you go; To your arm they cling and catch, Kiss the hand that lifts the latch, Guide you to her garden-patch. O'er the fence the hollyhock Leans to greet you; and the stock Looks as if it thought, "I knew You were coming. Gave the cue To the place to welcome you." And the crumpled marigold And the dahlia, big and bold, With Sweet Williams, white and red, Nod at you a drowsy head From the sleepy flowerbed. 107 Where all day the brown bees croon, Honey-drunk; and stars and moon All night long lean down to hear, In the silence far and near, Whippoorwills a-calling clear. While adown the dewy dark Flits a flame, a firefly spark, Leading to a place of myrrh, Where, in lace and lavender, Waits the Loveliness of her. 108 THE YELLOW PUCCOON (A Wildflower.) 'WHO could describe you, child of mystery And silence, born among these solitudes Within whose look there is a secrecy,- Old as these wandering woods,- And knowledge, cousin to the morning-star, Beyond the things that mar, And earth itself that on the soul intrudes. How many eons-what antiquity Went to your making When the world war young You yet were old. What mighty company Of cosmic forces swung About you!--On what wonders have you gazed Since first your head was raised To greet the Power that here your seed-spore flung! The butterfly that woos you, and the bee That quits the mandrakes' cups to whisper you, Are in your confidence and sympathy, As sunlight is and dew, And the soft music of this woodland stream, Telling the trees its dream, That lean attentive its dim face unto. 109 With bluet, larkspur, and anemone Your gold conspires to arrest the eye, Making it prisoner unto Fantasy And Vision,-none '11 deny !- That lead the mind (as children lead the blind Homeward by ways that wind) To certainties of love that round it lie. The tanager, in scarlet livery, Out-flaunts you not in bravery,-amber-bright As is the little moon of Faerie, That glows with golden light From out a firmament of green, as you- From out the moss and dew- Glimmer your starry disc upon my sight. If I might know you, have you, as the bee And butterfly, in some more intimate sense Or, like the brook there talking to the tree, Win to your confidence Then might I grasp it, solve it, in some wise, This riddle in disguise Named Life, through you and your experience. 110 THE OLD CREEK TrE frogs still cry, "Knee-deep! knee-deep!" Among its starlit pools, When dark the woodland lies asleep, And dusk its water cools: The fireflies round its bank of ferns Hang will-o'-wisps for lamps, Where in a place no eye discerns Enchantment's host encamps. The bats above it go and come In reeling rigadoons, While Elfland beats a beetle-drum, Or cricket-fiddle tunes; And in and out, and all about, The pixy people dance To katydid song and green-frog gong That hold the woods in trance. The moon looks, listening, through its trees As if to hear its calls, Or with long arms of light to seize Its twinkling waterfalls With Witchcraft who, a foam-white hand, Its glimmering banks between, Beckons from sand to riffled sand, To something far, unseen. 111 A ghost, that leans beside it still; The phantom of a boy, Who followed once its wildwood will With barefoot troops of joy: The soul of him who yearns afar To see, in dusk and dew, If still it dances with the star That once his boyhood knew. "While Elfiand beats a beetle-drum, Or Cricket-fiddle tunes." 112 THE CLOSE OF SUMMER THE wild-plum tree, whose leaves grow thin, T Has strewn the way with half its fruit: The grasshopper's and cricket's din Grows hushed and mute; The veery seems a far-off flute Where Summer listens, hand on chin, And taps an idle foot. A silvery haze veils half the hills, That crown themselves with clouds like cream; The crow its clamor almost stills, The hawk its scream; The aster stars begin to gleam; And 'mid them, by the sleepy rills, The Summer dreams her dream. The butterfly upon its weed Droops as if weary of its wings; The bee, 'mid blooms that turn to seed, Half-hearted clings, Sick of the only song it sings, While Summer tunes a drowsy reed And dreams of far-off things. Passion, of which unrest is part, That filled with ardor all her hours, 113 S Burns low within her quiet heart As now in ours: The time fulfilled of fruits and flowers, From out Life's dying fires now start Love's less uneasy powers. All is at peace; the perfect days Move onward to a perfect close; A little while the Year delays, And takes repose, Ere to her end she sighing goes, And, clothed in tattered golds and grays, Weeps all her shadowy woes. . So is it with the heart awhile, The heart and soul that dreams engage, While on fruition Toil doth smile And take his wage Of Love, who cons Life's middle page; Regardless of the distant stile Where Death awaits and Age. 114 THE HUNTER'S MOON D ARKLY October, where the wild fowl fly, Utters a harsh and melancholy cry; And slowly closing, far, a sunset door, Day wildly glares upon the world once more, Where Twilight, with one star to lamp her by, Walks with the Wind that haunts the hills and shore. The Spirit of Autumn, with averted gaze, Comes slowly down the ragged garden ways; And where she walks she lays a finger cold On rose and aster, lily and marigold, And at her touch they turn, in mute amaze, And bow their heads, assenting to the cold. And all around rise phantoms of the flowers, Scents, ghost-like, gliding from the dripping bowers; And evermore vague, spectral voices ring Of Something gone, or Something perishing: Joy's requiem; hope's tolling of the Hours; Love's dirge of dreams for Beauty sorrowing. And now the moon above the garden side Lifts a pale face and looks down misty-eyed, As if she saw the ghost of yesteryear That once with Happiness went wandering here And the young Loveliness of days that died Sitting with Memory 'mid the sad and sere. 115 THE GRASSHOPPER THE grasshopper, that sang its sleepy song All summer long, The orchard lands and harvest fields among, Taking no heed of aught save its own joy, Without alloy, Cheering the ear with its "Ahoy! ahoy!" A merry note of summer's self a part, Like my old heart, Is silent now and cold; its singing done. The grasshopper's a-cold and summer's gone, And I'm alone. 116 THE COWARD H E found the road so long and lone HEThat he was fain to turn again. The bird's faint note, the bee's low drone Seemed to his heart to monotone The unavailing and the vain, And dirge the dreams that life had slain. And for a while he sat him there Beside the way, and bared his head: He felt the hot sun on his hair; And weed-warm odors everywhere Waked memories, forgot or dead, Of days when love this way had led To that old house beside the road With white board-fence and picket gate, And garden plot that gleamed and glowed With color, and that overflowed With fragrance; where, both soon and late, She 'mid the flowers used to wait. Was it the same or had it changed, As he and she, with months and years How long now had they been estranged How far away their lives had ranged, Since that last meeting, filled with tears, And boyish hopes and maiden fears! 117 He closed his eyes, and seemed to see That parting now: The moon above The old house and its locust tree; The moths that glimmered drowsily From flower to flower, the scent whereof Seemed portion of that oldtime love. Her face was lifted, pale and wet; Her body tense as if with pain: He stooped,-yes, he could see it yet- A moment and their young lips met, And then . . . There in the lonely lane He seemed to live it o'er again. Why had he gone-WTwas for her sake.- But what had come of all his toil The City, like some monster snake, Had dragged him down-down, half awake, Crushing him in its grimy coil, Whence none escapes without a soil. He was not clean yet. She would read Failure, vice-written, in his face. But, haply, now she had no need Of him, whose life, like some wild weed Full grown, with evil would replace The love in her heart's garden-space. He could not bear to look and see The question in those virgin eyes. What answer for that look had he 118 He thought it out. It could not be. He could not live a life of lies.- Better to break all oldtime ties. And then he rose. The house was near- There where the road turned from the wood.- Whose voice was that he seemed to hear Then heart and soul were seized with fear, And, turning, as if death-pursued, He fled into the solitude. 119 SHADOWS ON THE SHORE rTE doubtful dawn came dim and wan, And dimmer grew the day: The kildee whistled among the weeds, The blue crane clanged in the river reeds, And a mist fell wild and gray. At dawn she stood, her heavy hood Flung back, in the ferry boat, To watch the rebel raiders ride, Her rebel-love, with his men beside, His kiss on her mouth and throat. Like some dark spell the tempest fell, Like some wild curse night came: For hours she heard the warring dead, Whose batteries opened overhead With thunder and with flame. And now again, in wind and rain, She toiled at the creaking oar:- Oh what had she heard in the night and storm Whose voice was that and whose the form That galloped to the shore Across the stream, in the tempest's gleam, Who sent that wild halloo In the lightning's glare, who was it there, The wind and the rain in his tossing hair, And his gray cloak torn in two 120 Through rain and blast pull fast, pull fast! Oar down the rushing tide!- Look where he rides in the lightning's glow!- And hearken now to his far hallo!- But only his horse, with head hung low, A blur of blood on the saddlebow, Comes whinnying to her side. 121 WASTELAND B RIAR and fenncl and chinquapin, And rue and ragweed everywhere: The field seemed sick as a soul with sin, Or dead of an old despair, Born of an ancient care. The cricket's cry and the locust's whirr, And the note of a bird's distress, With the rasping sound of a grasshopper, Clung to the loneliness Like burrs to a ragged dress. So sad the field, so waste the ground, So curst with an old despair, A woodchuck's burrow, a blind mole's mound, And a chipmunk's stony lair, Seemed more than it could bear. So solemn too, so more than sad, So droning-lone with bees- I wondered what more could Nature add To the sum of its miseries- And then I saw the trees. Skeletons gaunt, that gnarled the place, Twisted and torn they rose, The tortured bones of a perished race Of monsters no mortal knows. They startled the mind's repose. 122 And a man stood there, as still as moss, A lichen form that stared; And an old blind hound, that seemed at loss, Forever around him fared With a snarling fang half-bared. I looked at the man. I saw him plain. Like a dead weed, gray and wan, Or a breath of dust. I looked again And man and dog were gone Like wisps o' the graying dawn. . . Were they a part of the grim death there Ragweed, fennel, and rue Or forms of the mind, an old despair, That there into semblance grew Out of the grief I knew 123 THE OLD HOUSE IN THE WOOD WEEDS and dead leaves, and leaves the Autumn stains With hues of rust and rose whence moisture weeps; Gnarl'd thorns, from which the knotted haw-fruit rains On paths the gray moss heaps. One golden flower, like a dreamy thought In the sad mind of Age, makes bright the wood; And near it, like a fancy Childhood-fraught, The toadstool's jaunty hood. Webs, in whose snares the nimble spiders crouch, Waiting the prey that comes, moon-winged, with night: Slugs and the snail which trails the mushroom's pouch, That marks the wood with white. An old gaunt house, round which the trees decay, Its porches fallen and its windows gone, Starts out at you as if to bar the way, Or bid you hurry on. A picket fence, grim as a skeleton arm, Is flung around a weed-wild garden place; The gate, o'er which the rose once hung its charm, Gapes in an empty space. 124 Here nothing that was beauty's now remains: Old death and sorrow have made all their own, And life and love, who wrought here, for their pains Have nothingness alone. I stand before the shattered fence and gaze:- All, all is silent now where once was noise Of household duties, gossip of kind days, And little children's joys. Then suddenly I see a shadow slip From out the house: A ghost of bygone years; One finger lifted to its pallid lip, It passes me with tears. It passes me 'mid whirling leaves and rain.- Between the trees I see it gleam and glide. I know it for the dream which once in vain My heart had made its guide. Was it for this that I had come the blind Old ways of life back to Love's house again The house of Memory, there again to find The dream that proved in vain A will-o'-wisp; a faery fire; a spark, That led me where I knew not; and at last Would leave me, lost within the woodland dark, 'Mid shadows of the past. 125 Again I followed; and again it failed. And night came on. And then once more it seemed That all was lost; that nothing more availed- When, lo!-a window gleamed, And I was home. . . . Thank God for love! and light, Set in the window of the days that were! And for the dream, though vain, that through the night Leads back to home and her! 126 ONE WHO DIED YOUNG W ITH her 't is well now. She died young, NV With all her hope and faith unmarred, Nor lived to see the pearls, Love strung, Without regard, Cast, lost among The disillusions that make life so hard. Time on her body now can lay No soiling hand and spoil what's fair: He shall not turn the gold hair gray, Nor bring crabbed Care, Day after day, To line the white brow with the heart's despair. Far better thus. Yea, even so, To die before faith turns to dust, Before the heart has learned to know, As learn it must, Of love the woe, And of all human life the deep disgust. 127 FAILURE NO ray, no will-o'-wisp, no firefly gleam; N Nothing but night around: The only sound the sobbing of a stream Within the hush profound. Then suddenly the chanting of a bird, Plaintive, appealing, far- And in my heart the murmur of a word, And high in heaven a star. A star, that shone out suddenly and seemed A herald of the light,- The dawn, that cried within me, "Lo! you dreamed That 'twould be always night! "If night be here, dawn is not far away, However dark the sky. And in the heart whatever doubts betray, Faith still stands smiling by. "Put trust in God, and hold to your one aim. And though it is to be Failure at last, then let it seem the same As victory." 128 THE NEW GOD I LOOK about me, and behold How all is changed: The sound and sane, The kind, the true, the hale and old, That once made strong the features plain Of life, are cast in other mold, That bears the stamp of greed and gold- A god unclean, who drags a chain Of jewelled lust, which men call Gain, Binding their hearts to all that's vain, That God at last for punishment Shall curse with woe and discontent. 129 DIES ILLA HOW shall it be with them that day When God demands of Earth His pay With them who make a god of clay And gold and put all truth away. Shall not they see the lightning-ray Of wrath and hear the trumpet-bray Of black destruction while dismay O'erwhelms them and God's hosts delay Shall not they, clothed in rich array, Pray God for mercy and, a-sway, Heap on their hearts the ashes gray Of old repentance-Nay! oh, nay! They shall not know till He shall lay An earthquake hand upon their way; And Doomsday, clad in Death's decay, Sweep down, and they've no time to pray. 130 EPILOGUE 7 HERE is a world Life dreams of, long since lost: Invisible save only to the heart: That spreads its cloudy islands, without chart, Above the Earth, 'mid oceans none has crossed: Far Faerylands, that have become a part Of mortal longings; that, through difficult art, Man strives to realize to the uttermost. Could we attain that Land of Faerie Here in the flesh, what starry certitudes Of loveliness were ours! what mastery Of beauty and the dream that still eludes! What clearer vision !-Ours were then the key To Mystery, that Nature jealously Locks in her heart of hearts among the woods. 131 This page in the original text is blank. K