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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/16535-8.txt b/16535-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..0b9668b --- /dev/null +++ b/16535-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3963 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Myth and Romance, by Madison Cawein + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Myth and Romance + Being a Book of Verses + +Author: Madison Cawein + +Release Date: August 16, 2005 [EBook #16535] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MYTH AND ROMANCE *** + + + + +Produced by Digital & Multimedia Center, Michigan State +University Libraries, Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, Sankar +Viswanathan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team +at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + Myth and Romance + + + Being a Book of verses + + By MADISON CAWEIN + + + + + G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS + + New York and London + + The Knickerbocker Press + + 1899 + + + + + +TO + +MY FRIEND + +WILLIAM WARWICK THUM + + + + +CONTENTS + + + + +VISIONS AND VOICES + + +Myth and Romance + +Genius Loci + +The Rain-Crow + +The Harvest Moon + +The Old Water-Mill + +Anthem of Dawn + +Dithyrambics + +Hymn to Desire + +Music + +Jotunheim + +Dionysia + +The Last Song + +Romaunt of the Oak + +Morgan le Fay + +The Dream of Roderick + +Zyps of Zirl + +The Glowworm + +Ghosts + +The Purple Valleys + +The Land of Illusion + +Spirit of Dreams + + +LINES AND LYRICS + + +To a Wind-Flower + +Microcosm + +Fortune + +Death + +The Soul + +Conscience + +Youth + +Life's Seasons + +Old Homes + +Field and Forest Call + +Meeting in Summer + +Swinging + +Rosemary + +Ghost Stories + +Dolce far Niente + +Words + +Reasons + +Evasion + +In May + +Will you Forget? + +Clouds of the Autumn Night + +The Glory and the Dream + +Snow and Fire + +Restraint + +Why Should I Pine? + +When Lydia Smiles + +The Rose + +A Ballad of Sweethearts + +Her Portrait + +A Song for Yule + +The Puritans' Christmas + +Spring + +Lines + +When Ships put out to Sea + +The "Kentucky" + +Quatrains + +Processional + + + + +_PROEM._ + + +_There is no rhyme that is half so sweet +As the song of the wind in the rippling wheat; +There is no metre that's half so fine +As the lilt of the brook under rock and vine; +And the loveliest lyric I ever heard +Was the wildwood strain of a forest bird.-- +If the wind and the brook and the bird would teach +My heart their beautiful parts of speech. +And the natural art that they say these with, +My soul would sing of beauty and myth +In a rhyme and a metre that none before +Have sung in their love, or dreamed in their lore, +And the world would be richer one poet the more._ + + + + +VISIONS AND VOICES + + + + +_Myth and +Romance_ + +I + + +When I go forth to greet the glad-faced Spring, + Just at the time of opening apple-buds, +When brooks are laughing, winds are whispering, + On babbling hillsides or in warbling woods, + There is an unseen presence that eludes:-- +Perhaps a Dryad, in whose tresses cling + The loamy odors of old solitudes, +Who, from her beechen doorway, calls; and leads + My soul to follow; now with dimpling words + Of leaves; and now with syllables of birds; +While here and there--is it her limbs that swing? +Or restless sunlight on the moss and weeds? + + +II + + +Or, haply, 't is a Naiad now who slips, + Like some white lily, from her fountain's glass, +While from her dripping hair and breasts and hips, + The moisture rains cool music on the grass. + Her have I heard and followed, yet, alas! +Have seen no more than the wet ray that dips + The shivered waters, wrinkling where I pass; +But, in the liquid light, where she doth hide, + I have beheld the azure of her gaze + Smiling; and, where the orbing ripple plays, +Among her minnows I have heard her lips, +Bubbling, make merry by the waterside. + + +III + + +Or now it is an Oread--whose eyes + Are constellated dusk--who stands confessed, +As naked as a flow'r; her heart's surprise, + Like morning's rose, mantling her brow and breast: + She, shrinking from my presence, all distressed +Stands for a startled moment ere she flies, + Her deep hair blowing, up the mountain crest, +Wild as a mist that trails along the dawn. + And is't her footfalls lure me? or the sound + Of airs that stir the crisp leaf on the ground? +And is't her body glimmers on yon rise? +Or dog-wood blossoms snowing on the lawn? + + +IV + + +Now't is a Satyr piping serenades + On a slim reed. Now Pan and Faun advance +Beneath green-hollowed roofs of forest glades, + Their feet gone mad with music: now, perchance, + Sylvanus sleeping, on whose leafy trance +The Nymphs stand gazing in dim ambuscades + Of sun-embodied perfume.--Myth, Romance, +Where'er I turn, reach out bewildering arms, + Compelling me to follow. Day and night + I hear their voices and behold the light +Of their divinity that still evades, +And still allures me in a thousand forms. + + + + +_Genius +Loci_ + +I + + +What wood-god, on this water's mossy curb, + Lost in reflections of earth's loveliness, +Did I, just now, unconsciously disturb? + I, who haphazard, wandering at a guess, +Came on this spot, wherein, with gold and flame +Of buds and blooms, the season writes its name.-- +Ah, me! could I have seen him ere alarm + Of my approach aroused him from his calm! + As he, part Hamadryad and, mayhap, +Part Faun, lay here; who left the shadow warm + As wildwood rose, and filled the air with balm + Of his sweet breath as with ethereal sap. + + +II + + +Does not the moss retain some vague impress, + Green dented in, of where he lay or trod? +Do not the flow'rs, so reticent, confess + With conscious looks the contact of a god? +Does not the very water garrulously +Boast the indulgence of a deity? +And, hark! in burly beech and sycamore + How all the birds proclaim it! and the leaves + Rejoice with clappings of their myriad hands! +And shall not I believe, too, and adore, + With such wide proof?--Yea, though my soul perceives + No evident presence, still it understands. + + +III + + +And for a while it moves me to lie down + Here on the spot his god-head sanctified: +Mayhap some dream he dreamed may lingert brown + And young as joy, around the forestside; +Some dream within whose heart lives no disdain +For such as I whose love is sweet and sane; +That may repeat, so none but I may hear-- + As one might tell a pearl-strung rosary-- + Some epic that the trees have learned to croon, +Some lyric whispered in the wild-flower's ear, + Whose murmurous lines are sung by bird and bee, + And all the insects of the night and noon. + + +IV + + +For, all around me, upon field and hill, + Enchantment lies as of mysterious flutes; +As if the music of a god's good-will + Had taken on material attributes +In blooms, like chords; and in the water-gleam, +That runs its silvery scales from stream to stream; +In sunbeam bars, up which the butterfly, + A golden note, vibrates then flutters on-- + Inaudible tunes, blown on the pipes of Pan, +That have assumed a visible entity, + And drugged the air with beauty so, a Faun, + Behold, I seem, and am no more a man. + + + + +_The +Rain-Crow_ + +I + + +Can freckled August,--drowsing warm and blonde + Beside a wheat-shock in the white-topped mead, +In her hot hair the oxeyed daisies wound,-- + O bird of rain, lend aught but sleepy heed + To thee? when no plumed weed, no feather'd seed +Blows by her; and no ripple breaks the pond, + That gleams like flint between its rim of grasses, + Through which the dragonfly forever passes + Like splintered diamond. + + +II + + +Drouth weights the trees, and from the farmhouse eaves + The locust, pulse-beat of the summer day, +Throbs; and the lane, that shambles under leaves + Limp with the heat--a league of rutty way-- + Is lost in dust; and sultry scents of hay +Breathe from the panting meadows heaped with sheaves-- + Now, now, O bird, what hint is there of rain, + In thirsty heaven or on burning plain, + That thy keen eye perceives? + + +III + + +But thou art right. Thou prophesiest true. + For hardly hast thou ceased thy forecasting, +When, up the western fierceness of scorched blue, + Great water-carrier winds their buckets bring + Brimming with freshness. How their dippers ring +And flash and rumble! lavishing dark dew + On corn and forestland, that, streaming wet, + Their hilly backs against the downpour set, + Like giants vague in view. + + +IV + + +The butterfly, safe under leaf and flower, + Has found a roof, knowing how true thou art; +The bumble-bee, within the last half-hour, + Has ceased to hug the honey to its heart; + While in the barnyard, under shed and cart, +Brood-hens have housed.--But I, who scorned thy power, + Barometer of the birds,--like August there,-- + Beneath a beech, dripping from foot to hair, + Like some drenched truant, cower. + + + + +_The +Harvest Moon_ + +I + + +Globed in Heav'n's tree of azure, golden mellow + As some round apple hung +High in hesperian boughs, thou hangest yellow + The branch-like mists among: +Within thy light a sunburnt youth, named Health, + Rests 'mid the tasseled shocks, the tawny stubble; +And by his side, clad on with rustic wealth + Of field and farm, beneath thy amber bubble, +A nut-brown maid, Content, sits smiling still: + While through the quiet trees, + The mossy rocks, the grassy hill, +Thy silvery spirit glides to yonder mill, + Around whose wheel the breeze +And shimmering ripples of the water play, +As, by their mother, little children may. + + +II + + +Sweet spirit of the moon, who walkest,--lifting + Exhaustless on thy arm, +A pearly vase of fire,--through the shifting + Cloud-halls of calm and storm, +Pour down thy blossoms! let me hear them come, + Pelting with noiseless light the twinkling thickets, +Making the darkness audible with the hum + Of many insect creatures, grigs and crickets: +Until it seems the elves hold revelries + By haunted stream and grove; + Or, in the night's deep peace, +The young-old presence of Earth's full increase + Seems telling thee her love, +Ere, lying down, she turns to rest, and smiles, +Hearing thy heart beat through the myriad miles. + + + + +_The Old +Water-Mill_ + + +Wild ridge on ridge the wooded hills arise, +Between whose breezy vistas gulfs of skies +Pilot great clouds like towering argosies, +And hawk and buzzard breast the azure breeze. +With many a foaming fall and glimmering reach +Of placid murmur, under elm and beech, +The creek goes twinkling through long glows and glooms +Of woodland quiet, poppied with perfumes: +The creek, in whose clear shallows minnow-schools +Glitter or dart; and by whose deeper pools +The blue kingfishers and the herons haunt; +That, often startled from the freckled flaunt +Of blackberry-lilies--where they feed and hide-- +Trail a lank flight along the forestside +With eery clangor. Here a sycamore, +Smooth, wave-uprooted, builds from shore to shore +A headlong bridge; and there, a storm-hurled oak +Lays a long dam, where sand and gravel choke +The water's lazy way. Here mistflower blurs +Its bit of heaven; there the oxeye stirs +Its gloaming hues of bronze and gold; and here, +A gray cool stain, like dawn's own atmosphere, +The dim wild-carrot lifts its crumpled crest: +And over all, at slender flight or rest, +The dragon-flies, like coruscating rays +Of lapis-lazuli and chrysoprase, +Drowsily sparkle through the summer days; +And, dewlap-deep, here from the noontide heat +The bell-hung cattle find a cool retreat: +And through the willows girdling the hill, +Now far, now near, borne as the soft winds will, +Comes the low rushing of the water-mill. +Ah, lovely to me from a little child, +How changed the place! wherein once, undefiled, +The glad communion of the sky and stream +Went with me like a presence and a dream. +Where once the brambled meads and orchardlands +Poured ripe abundance down with mellow hands +Of summer; and the birds of field and wood +Called to me in a tongue I understood; +And in the tangles of the old rail-fence +Even the insect tumult had some sense, +And every sound a happy eloquence; +And more to me than wisest books can teach, +The wind and water said; whose words did reach +My soul, addressing their magnificent speech, +Raucous and rushing, from the old mill-wheel, +That made the rolling mill-cogs snore and reel, +Like some old ogre in a fairy-tale +Nodding above his meat and mug of ale. + +How memory takes me back the ways that lead-- +As when a boy--through woodland and through mead! +To orchards fruited; or to fields in bloom; +Or briary fallows, like a mighty room, +Through which the winds swing censers of perfume, +And where deep blackberries spread miles of fruit;-- +A splendid feast, that stayed the ploughboy's foot +When to the tasseling acres of the corn +He drove his team, fresh in the primrose morn; +And from the liberal banquet, nature lent, +Took dewy handfuls as he whistling went.-- +A boy once more I stand with sunburnt feet +And watch the harvester sweep down the wheat; +Or laze with warm limbs in the unstacked straw +Nearby the thresher, whose insatiate maw +Devours the sheaves, hot drawling out its hum-- +Like some great sleepy bee, above a bloom, +Made drunk with honey--while, grown big with grain, +The bulging sacks receive the golden rain. +Again I tread the valley, sweet with hay, +And hear the bob-white calling far away, +Or wood-dove cooing in the elder-brake; +Or see the sassafras bushes madly shake +As swift, a rufous instant, in the glen +The red-fox leaps and gallops to his den; +Or, standing in the violet-colored gloam, +Hear roadways sound with holiday riding home +From church, or fair, or bounteous barbecue, +Which the whole country to some village drew. + +How spilled with berries were its summer hills, +And strewn with walnuts were its autumn rills-- +And chestnut burs! fruit of the spring's long flowers, +When from their tops the trees seemed streaming showers +Of slender silver, cool, crepuscular, +And like a nebulous radiance shone afar. +And maples! how their sappy hearts would gush +Broad troughs of syrup, when the winter bush +Steamed with the sugar-kettle, day and night, +And all the snow was streaked with firelight. +Then it was glorious! the mill-dam's edge, +One slant of frosty crystal, laid a ledge +Of pearl across; above which, sleeted trees +Tossed arms of ice, that, clashing in the breeze, +Tinkled the ringing creek with icicles, +Thin as the peal of Elfland's Sabbath bells: +A sound that in my city dreams I hear, +That brings before me, under skies that clear, +The old mill in its winter garb of snow, +Its frozen wheel, a great hoar beard below, +And its West windows, two deep eyes aglow. + +Ah, ancient mill, still do I picture o'er +Thy cobwebbed stairs and loft and grain-strewn floor; +Thy door,--like some brown, honest hand of toil, +And honorable with labor of the soil,-- +Forever open; through which, on his back +The prosperous farmer bears his bursting sack. +And while the miller measures out his toll, +Again I hear, above the cogs' loud roll,-- +That makes stout joist and rafter groan and sway,-- +The harmless gossip of the passing day: +Good country talk, that tells how so-and-so +Has died or married; how curculio +And codling-moth have ruined half the fruit, +And blight plays mischief with the grapes to boot; +Or what the news from town; next county fair; +How well the crops are looking everywhere: +Now this, now that, on which their interests fix, +Prospects for rain or frost, and politics. +While, all around, the sweet smell of the meal +Filters, warm-pouring from the grinding wheel +Into the bin; beside which, mealy white, +The miller looms, dim in the dusty light. + +Again I see the miller's home, between +The crinkling creek and hills of beechen green: +Again the miller greets me, gaunt and brown, +Who oft o'erawed me with his gray-browed frown +And rugged mien: again he tries to reach +My youthful mind with fervid scriptural speech.-- +For he, of all the country-side confessed, +The most religious was and happiest; +A Methodist, and one whom faith still led, +No books except the Bible had he read-- +At least so seemed it to my younger head.-- +All things in earth and heav'n he'd prove by this, +Be it a fact or mere hypothesis; +For to his simple wisdom, reverent, +"_The Bible says_" was all of argument.-- +God keep his soul! his bones were long since laid +Among the sunken gravestones in the shade +Of those black-lichened rocks, that wall around +The family burying-ground with cedars crowned; +Where bristling teasel and the brier combine +With clambering wood-rose and the wild-grape vine +To hide the stone whereon his name and dates +Neglect, with mossy hand, obliterates. + + + + +_Anthem +of Dawn_ + +I + + +Then up the orient heights to the zenith, that balanced the crescent,-- +Up and far up and over,--the heaven grew erubescent, +Vibrant with rose and with ruby from the hands of the harpist Dawn, +Smiting symphonic fire on the firmament's barbiton: +And the East was a priest who adored with offerings of gold and of gems, +And a wonderful carpet unrolled for the inaccessible hems +Of the glistening robes of her limbs; that, lily and amethyst, +Swept glorying on and on through temples of cloud and mist. + + +II + + +Then out of the splendor and richness, that burned like a magic stone, +The torrent suffusion that deepened and dazzled and broadened and shone, +The pomp and the pageant of color, triumphal procession of glare, +The sun, like a king in armor, breathing splendor from feet to hair, +Stood forth with majesty girdled, as a hero who towers afar +Where the bannered gates are bristling hells and the walls are roaring war: +And broad on the back of the world, like a Cherubin's fiery blade, +The effulgent gaze of his aspect fell in glittering accolade. + + +III + + +Then billowing blue, like an ocean, rolled from the shores of morn to even: +And the stars, like rafts, went down: and the moon, like a ghost-ship, driven, +A feather of foam, from port to port of the cloud-built isles that dotted, +With pearl and cameo, bays of the day, her canvas webbed and rotted, +Lay lost in the gulf of heaven: while over her mixed and melted +The beautiful children of Morn, whose bodies are opal-belted; +The beautiful daughters of Dawn, who, over and under, and after +The rivered radiance, wrestled; and rainbowed heaven with laughter +Of halcyon sapphire.--O Dawn! thou visible mirth, +And hallelujah of Heaven! hosanna of Earth! + + + + +_Dithyrambics_ + +I + +TEMPEST + + +Wrapped round of the night, as a monster is wrapped of the ocean, +Down, down through vast storeys of darkness, behold, in the tower +Of the heaven, the thunder! on stairways of cloudy commotion, +Colossal of tread, like a giant, from echoing hour to hour +Goes striding in rattling armor ... +The Nymph, at her billow-roofed dormer +Of foam; and the Sylvan--green-housed--at her window of leaves appears; +--As a listening woman, who hears +The approach of her lover, who comes to her arms in the night; +And, loosening the loops of her locks, +With eyes full of love and delight, +From the couch of her rest in ardor and haste arises.-- +The Nymph, as if breathed of the tempest, like fire surprises +The riotous bands of the rocks, +That face with a roar the shouting charge of the seas. +The Sylvan,--through troops of the trees, +Whose clamorous clans with gnarly bosoms keep hurling +Themselves on the guns of the wind,--goes wheeling and whirling. +The Nymph, of the waves' exultation upheld, her green tresses +Knotted with flowers of the hollow white foam, dives screaming; +Then bounds to the arms of the storm, who boisterously presses +Her hair and wild form to his breast that is panting and streaming. +The Sylvan,--hard-pressed by the wind, the Pan-footed air,-- +On the violent backs of the hills,-- +Like a flame that tosses and thrills +From peak to peak when the world of spirits is out,-- +Is borne, as her rapture wills, +With glittering gesture and shout: +Now here in the darkness, now there, +From the rain-like sweep of her hair,-- +Bewilderingly volleyed o'er eyes and o'er lips,-- +To the lambent swell of her limbs, her breasts and her hips, +She flashes her beautiful nakedness out in the glare +Of the tempest that bears her away,-- +That bears me away! +Away, over forest and foam, over tree and spray, +Far swifter than thought, far swifter than sound or than flame. +Over ocean and pine, +In arms of tumultuous shadow and shine ... +Though Sylvan and Nymph do not +Exist, and only what +Of terror and beauty I feel and I name +As parts of the storm, the awe and the rapture divine +That here in the tempest are mine,-- +The two are the same, the two are forever the same. + + +II + +CALM + + +Beautiful-bosomed, O night, in thy noon +Move with majesty onward! bearing, as lightly +As a singer may bear the notes of an exquisite tune, +The stars and the moon +Through the clerestories high of the heaven, the firmament's halls; +Under whose sapphirine walls, +June, hesperian June, +Robed in divinity wanders. Daily and nightly +The turquoise touch of her robe, that the violets star, +The silvery fall of her feet, that lilies are, +Fill the land with languorous light and perfume.-- +Is it the melody mute of burgeoning leaf and of bloom? +The music of Nature, that silently shapes in the gloom +Immaterial hosts +Of spirits that have the flowers and leaves in their keep, +That I hear, that I hear? +Invisible ghosts,-- +Who whisper in leaves and glimmer in blossoms and hover +In color and fragrance and loveliness, breathed from the deep +World-soul of the mother, +Nature;--who, over and over, +Both sweetheart and lover, +Goes singing her songs from one sweet month to the other,-- +That appear, that appear? +In forest and field, on hill-land and lea, +As crystallized harmony, +Materialized melody, +An uttered essence peopling far and near +The hyaline atmosphere?... +Behold how it sprouts from the grass and blooms from flower and tree! +In waves of diaphanous moonlight and mist, +In fugue upon fugue of gold and of amethyst, +Around me, above me it spirals; now slower, now faster, +Like symphonies born of the thought of a musical master.-- +--O music of Earth! O God who the music inspired! +Let me breathe of the life of thy breath! +And so be fulfilled and attired +In resurrection, triumphant o'er time and o'er death! + + + + +_Hymn to +Desire_ + +I + + +Mother of visions, with lineaments dulcet as numbers +Breathed on the eyelids of love by music that slumbers, +Secretly, sweetly, O presence of fire and snow, +Thou comest mysterious, +In beauty imperious, +Clad on with dreams and the light of no world that we know. +Deep to my innermost soul am I shaken, +Helplessly shaken and tossed, +And of thy tyrannous yearnings so utterly taken, +My lips, unsatisfied, thirst; +Mine eyes are accurst +With longings for visions that far in the night are forsaken; +And mine ears, in listening lost, +Yearn, yearn for the note of a chord that will never awaken. + + +II + + +Like palpable music thou comest, like moonlight; and far,-- +Resonant bar upon bar,-- +The vibrating lyre +Of the spirit responds with melodious fire, +As thy fluttering fingers now grasp it and ardently shake, +With flame and with flake, +The chords of existence, the instrument star-sprung. +Whose frame is of clay, so wonderfully molded from mire. + + +III + + +Vested with vanquishment, come, O Desire, Desire! +Breathe in this harp of my soul the audible angel of love! +Make of my heart an Israfel burning above, +A lute for the music of God, that lips, which are mortal, but stammer! +Smite every rapturous wire +With golden delirium, rebellion and silvery clamor, +Crying--"Awake! awake! +Too long hast thou slumbered! too far from the regions of glamour, +With its mountains of magic, its fountains of Faëry, the spar-sprung, +Hast thou wandered away, O Heart! +Come, oh, come and partake +Of necromance banquets of beauty; and slake +Thy thirst in the waters of art, +That are drawn from the streams +Of love and of dreams." + + +IV + + +"Come, oh, come! +No longer shall language be dumb! +Thy vision shall grasp-- +As one doth the glittering hasp +Of a dagger made splendid with gems and with gold-- +The wonder and richness of life, not anguish and hate of it merely. +And out of the stark +Eternity, awful and dark, +Immensity silent and cold,-- +Universe-shaking as trumpets, or thunderous metals +That cymbal; yet pensive and pearly +And soft as the rosy unfolding of petals, +Or crumbling aroma of blossoms that wither too early,-- +The majestic music of Death, where he plays +On the organ of eons and days." + + + + +_Music_ + + +Thou, oh, thou! +Thou of the chorded shell and golden plectrum! thou +Of the dark eyes and pale pacific brow! +Music, who by the plangent waves, +Or in the echoing night of labyrinthine caves, +Or on God's mountains, lonely as the stars, +Touchest reverberant bars +Of immemorial sorrow and amaze;-- +Keeping regret and memory awake, +And all the immortal ache +Of love that leans upon the past's sweet days +In retrospection!--now, oh, now, +Interpreter and heart-physician, thou, +Who gazest on the heaven and the hell +Of life, and singest each as well, +Touch with thy all-mellifluous finger-tips, +Or thy melodious lips, +This sickness named my soul, +Making it whole, +As is an echo of a chord, +Or some symphonic word, +Or sweet vibrating sigh, +That deep, resurgent still doth rise and die +On thy voluminous roll; +Part of the beauty and the mystery +That axles Earth with song; and as a slave, +Swings it around and 'round on each sonorous pole, +'Mid spheric harmony, +And choral majesty, +And diapasoning of wind and wave; +And speeds it on its far elliptic way +'Mid vasty anthemings of night and day.-- +O cosmic cry +Of two eternities, wherein we see +The phantasms, Death and Life, +At endless strife +Above the silence of a monster grave. + + + + +_Jotunheim_ + +I + + +Beyond the Northern Lights, in regions haunted +Of twilight, where the world is glacier planted, +And pale as Loki in his cavern when +The serpent's slaver burns him to the bones, +I saw the phantasms of gigantic men, +The prototypes of vastness, quarrying stones; +Great blocks of winter, glittering with the morn's +And evening's colors,--wild prismatic tones +Of boreal beauty.--Like the three gray Norns, +Silence and solitude and terror loomed +Around them where they labored. Walls arose, +Vast as the Andes when creation boomed +Insurgent fire; and through the rushing snows +Enormous battlements of tremendous ice, +Bastioned and turreted, I saw arise. + + +II + + +But who can sing the workmanship gigantic + That reared within its coruscating dome +The roaring fountain, hurling an Atlantic + Of streaming ice that flashed with flame and foam? +An opal spirit, various and many formed,-- +In whose clear heart reverberant fire stormed,-- + Seemed its inhabitant; and through pale halls, + And deep diaphanous walls, + And corridors of whiteness. + Auroral colors swarmed, + As rosy-flickering stains, +Or lambent green, or gold, or crimson, warmed +The pulsing crystal of the spirit's veins + With ever-changing brightness. +And through the Arctic night there went a voice, +As if the ancient Earth cried out, "Rejoice! + My heart is full of lightness!" + + +III + + +Here well might Thor, the god of war, +Harness the whirlwinds to his car, +While, mailed in storm, his iron arm +Heaves high his hammer's lava-form, +And red and black his beard streams back, +Like some fierce torrent scoriac, +Whose earthquake light glares through the night +Around some dark volcanic height; +And through the skies Valkyrian cries +Trumpet, as battleward he flies, +Death in his hair and havoc in his eyes. + + +IV + + +Still in my dreams I hear that fountain flowing; +Beyond all seeing and beyond all knowing; +Still in my dreams I see those wild walls glowing + With hues, Aurora-kissed; +And through huge halls fantastic phantoms going. + Vast shapes of snow and mist,-- +Sonorous clarions of the tempest blowing,-- + That trail dark banners by, + Cloudlike, underneath the sky + Of the caverned dome on high, + Carbuncle and amethyst.-- + Still I hear the ululation + Of their stormy exultation, + Multitudinous, and blending + In hoarse echoes, far, unending; + And, through halls of fog and frost, + Howling back, like madness lost + In the moonless mansion of + Its own demon-haunted love. + + +V + + +Still in my dreams I hear the mermaid singing; +The mermaid music at its portal ringing; +The mermaid song, that hinged with gold its door, + And, whispering evermore, + Hushed the ponderous hurl and roar + And vast æolian thunder + Of the chained tempests under + The frozen cataracts that were its floor.-- +And, blinding beautiful, I still behold +The mermaid there, combing her locks of gold, +While, at her feet, green as the Northern Seas, +Gambol her flocks of seals and walruses; +While, like a drift, her dog--a Polar bear-- +Lies by her, glowering through his shaggy hair. + + +VI + + +O wondrous house, built by supernal hands + In vague and ultimate lands! +Thy architects were behemoth wind and cloud, + That, laboring loud, +Mountained thy world foundations and uplifted + Thy skyey bastions drifted +Of piled eternities of ice and snow; + Where storms, like ploughmen, go, +Ploughing the deeps with awful hurricane; + Where, spouting icy rain, +The huge whale wallows; and through furious hail + Th' explorer's tattered sail +Drives like the wing of some terrific bird, + Where wreck and famine herd.-- +Home of the red Auroras and the gods! +He who profanes thy perilous threshold,--where + The ancient centuries lair, +And, glacier-throned, thy monarch, Winter, nods,-- + Let him beware! +Lest, coming on that hoary presence there, + Whose pitiless hand, + Above that hungry land, +An iceberg wields as sceptre, and whose crown + The North Star is, set in a band of frost, +He, too, shall feel the bitterness of that frown, + And, turned to stone, forevermore be lost. + + + + +_Dionysia_ + + +The day is dead; and in the west +The slender crescent of the moon-- +Diana's crystal-kindled crest-- +Sinks hillward in a silvery swoon. +What is the murmur in the dell? +The stealthy whisper and the drip?-- +A Dryad with her leaf-light trip? +Or Naiad o'er her fountain well?-- +Who, with white fingers for her comb, +Sleeks her blue hair, and from its curls +Showers slim minnows and pale pearls, +And hollow music of the foam. +What is it in the vistaed ways +That leans and springs, and stoops and sways?-- +The naked limbs of one who flees? +An Oread who hesitates +Before the Satyr form that waits, +Crouching to leap, that there she sees? +Or under boughs, reclining cool, +A Hamadryad, like a pool +Of moonlight, palely beautiful? +Or Limnad, with her lilied face, +More lovely than the misty lace +That haunts a star and gives it grace? +Or is it some Leimoniad, +In wildwood flowers dimly clad? +Oblong blossoms white as froth; +Or mottled like the tiger-moth; +Or brindled as the brows of death; +Wild of hue and wild of breath. +Here ethereal flame and milk +Blent with velvet and with silk; +Here an iridescent glow +Mixed with satin and with snow: +Pansy, poppy and the pale +Serpolet and galingale; +Mandrake and anemone, +Honey-reservoirs o' the bee; +Cistus and the cyclamen,-- +Cheeked like blushing Hebe this, +And the other white as is +Bubbled milk of Venus when +Cupid's baby mouth is pressed, +Rosy, to her rosy breast. +And, besides, all flowers that mate +With aroma, and in hue +Stars and rainbows duplicate +Here on earth for me and you. + +Yea! at last mine eyes can see! +'Tis no shadow of the tree +Swaying softly there, but she!-- +Mænad, Bassarid, Bacchant, +What you will, who doth enchant +Night with sensuous nudity. +Lo! again I hear her pant +Breasting through the dewy glooms-- +Through the glow-worm gleams and glowers +Of the starlight;--wood-perfumes +Swoon around her and frail showers +Of the leaflet-tilted rain. +Lo, like love, she comes again, +Through the pale, voluptuous dusk, +Sweet of limb with breasts of musk. +With her lips, like blossoms, breathing +Honeyed pungence of her kiss, +And her auburn tresses wreathing +Like umbrageous helichrys, +There she stands, like fire and snow, +In the moon's ambrosial glow, +Both her shapely loins low-looped +With the balmy blossoms, drooped, +Of the deep amaracus. +Spiritual yet sensual, +Lo, she ever greets me thus +In my vision; white and tall, +Her delicious body there,-- +Raimented with amorous air,-- +To my mind expresses all +The allurements of the world. +And once more I seem to feel +On my soul, like frenzy, hurled +All the passionate past.--I reel, +Greek again in ancient Greece, +In the Pyrrhic revelries; +In the mad and Mænad dance +Onward dragged with violence; +Pan and old Silenus and +Faunus and a Bacchant band +Round me. Wild my wine-stained hand +O'er tumultuous hair is lifted; +While the flushed and Phallic orgies +Whirl around me; and the marges +Of the wood are torn and rifted +With lascivious laugh and shout. +And barbarian there again,-- +Shameless with the shameless rout, +Bacchus lusting in each vein,-- +With her pagan lips on mine, +Like a god made drunk with wine, +On I reel; and, in the revels, +Her loose hair, the dance dishevels, +Blows, and 'thwart my vision swims +All the splendor of her limbs.... + +So it seems. Yet woods are lonely. +And when I again awake, +I shall find their faces only +Moonbeams in the boughs that shake; +And their revels, but the rush +Of night-winds through bough and brush. +Yet my dreaming--is it more +Than mere dreaming? Is some door +Opened in my soul? a curtain +Raised? to let me see for certain +I have lived that life before? + + + + +_The Last +Song_ + + +She sleeps; he sings to her. The day was long, +And, tired out with too much happiness, +She fain would have him sing of old Provence; +Quaint songs, that spoke of love in such soft tones, +Her restless soul was straight besieged of dreams, +And her wild heart beleagured of deep peace, +And heart and soul surrendered unto sleep.-- +Like perfect sculpture in the moon she lies, +Its pallor on her through heraldic panes +Of one tall casement's gulèd quarterings.-- +Beside her couch, an antique table, weighed +With gold and crystal; here, a carven chair, +Whereon her raiment,--that suggests sweet curves +Of shapely beauty,--bearing her limbs' impress, +Is richly laid: and, near the chair, a glass, +An oval mirror framed in ebony: +And, dim and deep,--investing all the room +With ghostly life of woven women and men, +And strange fantastic gloom, where shadows live,-- +Dark tapestry,--which in the gusts--that twinge +A grotesque cresset's slender star of light-- +Seems moved of cautious hands, assassin-like, +That wait the hour. + She alone, deep-haired +As rosy dawn, and whiter than a rose, +Divinely breasted as the Queen of Love, +Lies robeless in the glimmer of the moon, +Like Danaë within the golden shower. +Seated beside her aromatic rest, +In rapture musing on her loveliness, +Her knight and troubadour. A lute, aslope +The curious baldric of his tunic, glints +With pearl-reflections of the moon, that seem +The silent ghosts of long-dead melodies. +In purple and sable, slashed with solemn gold, +Like stately twilight o'er the snow-heaped hills, +He bends above her.-- + Have his hands forgot +Their craft, that they pause, idle on the strings? +His lips, their art, that they cease, speechless there?-- +His eyes are set.... What is it stills to stone +His hands, his lips? and mails him, head and heel, +In terrible marble, motionless and cold?-- +Behind the arras, can it be he feels, +Black-browed and grim, with eyes of sombre fire, +Death towers above him with uplifted sword? + + + + +_Romaunt of +the Oak_ + + +"I rode to death, for I fought for shame-- +The Lady Maurine of noble name, + +"The fair and faithless!--Though life be long +Is love the wiser?--Love made song + +"Of all my life; and the soul that crept +Before, arose like a star and leapt: + +"Still leaps with the love that it found untrue, +That it found unworthy.--Now run me through! + +"Yea, run me through! for meet and well, +And a jest for laughter of fiends in hell, + +"It is that I, who have done no wrong, +Should die by the hand of Hugh the Strong, + +"Of Hugh her leman!--What else could be +When the devil was judge twixt thee and me? + +"He splintered my lance, and my blade he broke-- +Now finish me thou 'neath the trysting oak!" ... + +The crest of his foeman,--a heart of white +In a bath of fire,--stooped i' the night; + +Stooped and laughed as his sword he swung, +Then galloped away with a laugh on his tongue.... + +But who is she in the gray, wet dawn, +'Mid the autumn shades like a shadow wan? + +Who kneels, one hand on her straining breast, +One hand on the dead man's bosom pressed? + +Her face is dim as the dead's; as cold +As his tarnished harness of steel and gold. + +O Lady Maurine! O Lady Maurine! +What boots it now that regret is keen? + +That his hair you smooth, that you kiss his brow +What boots it now? what boots it now?... + +She has haled him under the trysting oak, +The huge old oak that the creepers cloak. + +She has stood him, gaunt in his battered arms, +In its haunted hollow.--"Be safe from storms," + +She laughed as his cloven casque she placed +On his brow, and his riven shield she braced. + +Then sat and talked to the forest flowers +Through the lonely term of the day's pale hours. + +And stared and whispered and smiled and wept, +While nearer and nearer the evening crept. + +And, lo, when the moon, like a great gold bloom +Above the sorrowful trees did loom, + +She rose up sobbing, "O moon, come see +My bridegroom here in the old oak-tree! + +"I have talked to the flowers all day, all day, +For never a word had he to say. + +"He would not listen, he would not hear, +Though I wailed my longing into his ear. + +"O moon, steal in where he stands so grim, +And tell him I love him, and plead with him. + +"Soften his face that is cold and stern +And brighten his eyes and make them burn, + +"O moon, O moon, so my soul can see +That his heart still glows with love for me!" ... + +When the moon was set, and the woods were dark, +The wild deer came and stood as stark + +As phantoms with eyes of fire; or fled +Like a ghostly hunt of the herded dead. + +And the hoot-owl called; and the were-wolf snarled; +And a voice, in the boughs of the oak-tree gnarled,-- + +Like the whining rush of the hags that ride +To the witches' sabboth,--crooned and cried. + +And wrapped in his mantle of wind and cloud +The storm-fiend stalked through the forest loud. + +When she heard the dead man rattle and groan +As the oak was bent and its leaves were blown, + +And the lightning vanished and shimmered his mail, +Through the swirling sweep of the rain and hail, + +She seemed to hear him, who seemed to call,-- +"Come hither, Maurine, the wild leaves fall! + +"The wild leaves rustle, the wild leaves flee; +Come hither, Maurine, to the hollow tree! + +"To the trysting tree, to the tree once green; +Come hither, Maurine! come hither, Maurine!" ... + +They found her closed in his armored arms-- +Had he claimed his bride on that night of storms? + + + + +_Morgan le +Fay_ + + +In dim samite was she bedight, + And on her hair a hoop of gold, +Like fox-fire in the tawn moonlight, + Was glimmering cold. + +With soft gray eyes she gloomed and glowered; + With soft red lips she sang a song: +What knight might gaze upon her face, + Nor fare along? + +For all her looks were full of spells, + And all her words of sorcery; +And in some way they seemed to say + "Oh, come with me! + +"Oh, come with me! oh, come with me! + Oh, come with me, my love, Sir Kay!"-- +How should he know the witch, I trow, + Morgan le Fay? + +How should he know the wily witch, + With sweet white face and raven hair? +Who by her art bewitched his heart + And held him there. + +For soul and sense had waxed amort + To wold and weald, to slade and stream; +And all he heard was her soft word + As one adream. + +And all he saw was her bright eyes, + And her fair face that held him still; +And wild and wan she led him on + O'er vale and hill. + +Until at last a castle lay + Beneath the moon, among the trees; +Its Gothic towers old and gray + With mysteries. + +Tall in its hall an hundred knights + In armor stood with glaive in hand; +The following of some great King, + Lord of that land. + +Sir Bors, Sir Balin, and Gawain, + All Arthur's knights, and many mo; +But these in battle had been slain + Long years ago. + +But when Morgan with lifted hand + Moved down the hall, they louted low; +For she was Queen of Shadowland, + That woman of snow. + +Then from Sir Kay she drew away, + And mocking at him by her side,-- +"Behold, Sir Knights, the knave who slew + Your King," she cried. + +Then like one man those shadows raised + Their swords, whereon the moon glanced gray; +And clashing all strode from the wall + Against Sir Kay. + +And on his body, bent and bowed, + The hundred blades like one blade fell; +While over all rang long and loud + The mirth of Hell. + + + + +_The Dream +of Roderick_ + + +Below, the tawny Tagus swept +Past royal gardens, breathing balm; +Upon his couch the monarch slept; +The world was still; the night was calm. + +Gray, Gothic-gated, in the ray +Of moonrise, tower-and castle-crowned, +The city of Toledo lay +Beneath the terraced palace-ground. + +Again, he dreamed, in kingly sport +He sought the tree-sequestered path, +And watched the ladies of his Court +Within the marble-basined bath. + +Its porphyry stairs and fountained base +Shone, houried with voluptuous forms, +Where Andalusia vied in grace +With old Castile, in female charms. + +And laughter, song, and water-splash +Rang round the place, with stone arcaded, +As here a breast or limb would flash +Where beauty swam or beauty waded. + +And then, like Venus, from the wave +A maiden came, and stood below; +And by her side a woman slave +Bent down to dry her limbs of snow. + +Then on the tesselated bank, +Robed on with fragrance and with fire,-- +Like some exotic flower--she sank, +The type of all divine desire. + +Then her dark curls, that sparkled wet, +She parted from her perfect brows, +And, lo, her eyes, like lamps of jet +Within an alabaster house. + +And in his sleep the monarch sighed, +"Florinda!"--Dreaming still he moaned, +"Ah, would that I had died, had died! +I have atoned! I have atoned!" ... + +And then the vision changed: O'erhead +Tempest and darkness were unrolled, +Full of wild voices of the dead, +And lamentations manifold. + +And wandering shapes of gaunt despair +Swept by, with faces pale as pain, +Whose eyes wept blood and seemed to glare +Fierce curses on him through the rain. + +And then, it seemed, 'gainst blazing skies +A necromantic tower sate, +Crag-like on crags, of giant size; +Of adamant its walls and gate. + +And from the storm a hand of might +Red-rolled in thunder, reached among +The gate's huge bolts--that burst; and night +Clanged ruin as its hinges swung. + +Then far away a murmur trailed,-- +As of sad seas on cavern'd shores,-- +That grew into a voice that wailed, +"They come! they come! the Moors! the Moors!" + +And with deep boom of atabals +And crash of cymbals and wild peal +Of battle-bugles, from its walls +An army rushed in glimmering steel. + +And where it trod he saw the torch +Of conflagration stalk the skies, +And in the vanward of its march +The monster form of Havoc rise. + +And Paynim war-cries rent the storm, +Athwart whose firmament of flame, +Destruction reared an earthquake form +On wreck and death without a name ... + +And then again the vision changed: +Where flows the Guadalete, see, +The warriors of the Cross are ranged +Against the Crescent's chivalry. + +With roar of trumpets and of drums +They meet; and in the battle's van +He fights; and, towering towards him, comes +Florinda's father, Julian; + +And one-eyed Taric, great in war: +And where these couch their burning spears, +The Christian phalanx, near and far, +Goes down like corn before the shears. + +The Moslem wins: the Christian flies: +"Allah il Allah," hill and plain +Reverberate: the rocking skies, +"Allah il Allah," shout again. + +And then he dreamed the swing of swords +And hurl of arrows were no more; +But, louder than the howling hordes, +Strange silence fell on field and shore. + +And through the night, it seemed, he fled, +Upon a white steed like a star, +Across a field of endless dead, +Beneath a blood-red scimitar. + +Of sunset: And he heard a moan, +Beneath, around, on every hand-- +"Accurséd! Yea, what hast thou done +To bring this curse upon thy land?" + +And then an awful sense of wings: +And, lo! the answer--"'Twas his lust +That was his crime. Behold! E'en kings +Must reckon with Me. All are dust." + + + + +_Zyps of +Zirl_ + + +The Alps of the Tyrol are dark with pines, +Where, foaming under the mountain spines, +The Inn's long water sounds and shines. + +Beyond, are peaks where the morning weaves +An icy rose; and the evening leaves +The glittering gold of a thousand sheaves. + +Deep vines and torrents and glimmering haze, +And sheep-bells tinkling on mountain ways, +And fluting shepherds make sweet the days. + +The rolling mist, like a wandering fleece, +The great round moon in a mountain crease, +And a song of love make the nights all peace. + +Beneath the blue Tyrolean skies +On the banks of the Inn, that foams and flies, +The storied city of Innsbruck lies. + +With its mediaeval streets, that crook, +And its gabled houses, it has the look +Of a belfried town in a fairy-book. + +So wild the Tyrol that oft, 'tis said, +When the storm is out and the town in bed, +The howling of wolves sweeps overhead. + +And oft the burgher, sitting here +In his walled rose-garden, hears the clear +Shrill scream of the eagle circling near. + +And this is the tale that the burghers tell:-- +The Abbot of Wiltau stood at his cell +Where the Solstein lifts its pinnacle. + +A mighty summit of bluffs and crags +That frowns on the Inn; where the forest stags +Have worn a path to the water-flags. + +The Abbot of Wiltau stood below; +And he was aware of a plume and bow +On the precipice there in the morning's glow. + +A chamois, he saw, from span to span +Had leapt; and after it leapt a man; +And he knew 't was the Kaiser Maxmilian. + +But, see! though rash as the chamois he, +His foot less sure. And verily +If the King should miss ... "Jesu, Marie! + +"The King hath missed!"--And, look, he falls! +Rolls headlong out to the headlong walls. +What saint shall save him on whom he calls? + +What saint shall save him, who struggles there +On the narrow ledge by the eagle's lair, +With hooked hands clinging 'twixt earth and air? + +The Abbot, he crosses himself in dread-- +"Let prayers go up for the nearly dead, +And the passing-bell be tolled," he said. + +"For the House of Hapsburg totters; see, +How raveled the thread of its destiny, +Sheer hung between cloud and rock!" quoth he. + +But hark! where the steeps of the peak reply, +Is it an eagle's echoing cry? +And the flitting shadow, its plumes on high? + +No voice of the eagle is that which rings! +And the shadow, a wiry man who swings +Down, down where the desperate Kaiser clings. + +The _crampons_ bound to his feet, he leaps +Like a chamois now; and again he creeps +Or twists, like a snake, o'er the fearful deeps. + +"By his cross-bow, baldrick, and cap's black curl," +Quoth the Abbot below, "I know the churl! +'T is the hunted outlaw Zyps of Zirl. + +"Upon whose head, or dead or alive, +The Kaiser hath posted a price.--Saints shrive +The King!" quoth Wiltau. "Who may contrive + +"To save him now that his foe is there?"-- +But, listen! again through the breathless air +What words are those that the echoes bear? + +"Courage, my King!--To the rescue, ho!" +The wild voice rings like a twanging bow, +And the staring Abbot stands mute below. + +And, lo! the hand of the outlaw grasps +The arm of the King--and death unclasps +Its fleshless fingers from him who gasps. + +And how he guides! where the clean cliffs wedge +Them flat to their faces; by chasm and ledge +He helps the King from the merciless edge. + +Then up and up, past bluffs that shun +The rashest chamois; where eagles sun +Fierce wings and brood; where the mists are spun. + +And safe at last stand Kaiser and churl +On the mountain path where the mosses curl-- +And this the revenge of Zyps of Zirl. + + + + +_The +Glowworm_ + + +How long had I sat there and had not beheld +The gleam of the glow-worm till something compelled!... + +The heaven was starless, the forest was deep, +And the vistas of darkness stretched silent in sleep. + +And late 'mid the trees had I lingered until +No thing was awake but the lone whippoorwill. + +And haunted of thoughts for an hour I sat +On a lichen-gray rock where the moss was a mat. + +And thinking of one whom my heart had held dear, +Like terrible waters, a gathering fear. + +Came stealing upon me with all the distress +Of loss and of yearning and powerlessness: + +Till the hopes and the doubts and the sleepless unrest +That, swallow-like, built in the home of my breast, + +Now hither, now thither, now heavenward flew, +Wild-winged as the winds are: now suddenly drew + +My soul to abysses of nothingness where +All light was a shadow, all hope, a despair: + +Where truth, that religion had set upon high, +The darkness distorted and changed to a lie: + +And dreams of the beauty ambition had fed +Like leaves of the autumn fell blighted and dead. + +And I rose with my burden of anguish and doom, +And cried, "O my God, had I died in the womb! + +"Than born into night, with no hope of the morn, +An heir unto shadows, to live so forlorn! + +"All effort is vain; and the planet called Faith +Sinks down; and no power is real but death. + +"Oh, light me a torch in the deepening dark +So my sick soul may follow, my sad heart may mark!"-- + +And then in the darkness the answer!--It came +From Earth not from Heaven--a glimmering flame, + +Behold, at my feet! In the shadow it shone +Mysteriously lovely and dimly alone: + +An ember; a sparkle of dew and of glower; +Like the lamp that a spirit hangs under a flower: + +As goldenly green as the phosphorus star +A fairy may wear in her diadem's bar: + +An element essence of moonlight and dawn +That, trodden and trampled, burns on and burns on. + +And hushed was my soul with the lesson of light +That God had revealed to me there in the night: + +Though mortal its structure, material its form, +The spiritual message of worm unto worm. + + + + +_Ghosts_ + + +Was it the strain of the waltz that, repeating +"Love," so bewitched me? or only the gleam +There of the lustres, that set my heart beating, +Feeling your presence as one feels a dream? + +For, on a sudden, the woman of fashion, +Soft at my side in her diamonds and lace, +Vanished, and pale with reproach or with passion, +You, my dead sweetheart, smiled up in my face. + +Music, the nebulous lights, and the sifting +Fragrance of women made amorous the air; +Born of these three and my thoughts you came drifting, +Clad in dim muslin, a rose in your hair. + +There in the waltz, that followed the lancers, +Hard to my breast did I crush you and hold; +Far through the stir and the throng of the dancers +Onward I bore you as often of old. + +Pale were your looks; and the rose in your tresses +Paler of hue than the dreams we have lost;-- +"Who," then I said, "is it sees or who guesses, +Here in the hall, that I dance with a ghost?" + +Gone! And the dance and the music are ended. +Gone! And the rapture dies out of the skies. +And, on my arm, in her elegance splendid, +The woman of fashion smiles up in my eyes. + +Had I forgotten? and did you remember?-- +You, who are dead, whom I cannot forget; +You, for whose sake all my heart is an ember +Covered with ashes of dreams and regret. + + + + +_The Purple +Valleys_ + + +Far in the purple valleys of illusion +I see her waiting, like the soul of music, +With deep eyes, lovelier than cerulean pansies, +Shadow and fire, yet merciless as poison; +With red lips, sweeter than Arabian storax, +Yet bitterer than myrrh.--O tears and kisses! +O eyes and lips, that haunt my soul forever! + +Again Spring walks transcendent on the mountains: +The woods are hushed: the vales are blue with shadows: +Above the heights, steeped in a thousand splendors, +Like some vast canvas of the gods, hangs burning +The sunset's wild sciography: and slowly +The moon treads heaven's proscenium,--night's stately +White queen of love and tragedy and madness. + +Again I know forgotten dreams and longings; +Ideals lost; desires dead and buried +Beside the altar sacrifice erected +Within the heart's high sanctuary. Strangely +Again I know the horror and the rapture, +The utterless awe, the joy akin to anguish, +The terror and the worship of the spirit. + +Again I feel her eyes pierce through and through me; +Her deep eyes, lovelier than imperial pansies, +Velvet and flame, through which her fierce will holds me, +Powerless and tame, and draws me on and onward +To sad, unsatisfied and animal yearnings, +Wild, unrestrained--the brute within the human-- +To fling me panting on her mouth and bosom. + +Again I feel her lips like ice and fire, +Her red lips, odorous as Arabian storax, +Fragrance and fire, within whose kiss destruction +Lies serpent-like. Intoxicating languors +Resistlessly embrace me, soul and body; +And we go drifting, drifting--she is laughing-- +Outcasts of God, into the deep's abysm. + + + + +_The Land +of Illusion_ + +I + + +So we had come at last, my soul and I, + Into that land of shadowy plain and peak, + On which the dawn seemed ever about to break +On which the day seemed ever about to die. + + +II + + +Long had we sought fulfillment of our dreams, + The everlasting wells of Joy and Youth; + Long had we sought the snow-white flow'r of Truth, +That blooms eternal by eternal streams. + + +III + + +And, fonder still, we hoped to find the sweet + Immortal presence, Love; the bird Delight + Beside her; and, eyed with sidereal night, +Faith, like a lion, fawning at her feet. + + +IV + + +But, scorched and barren, in its arid well, + We found our dreams' forgotten fountain-head; + And by black, bitter waters, crushed and dead, +Among wild weeds, Truth's trampled asphodel. + + +V + + +And side by side with pallid Doubt and Pain, + Not Love, but Grief did meet us there: afar + We saw her, like a melancholy star, +Or pensive moon, move towards us o'er the plain. + + +VI + + +Sweet was her face as song that sings of home; + And filled our hearts with vague, suggestive spells + Of pathos, as sad ocean fills its shells +With sympathetic moanings of its foam. + + +VII + + +She raised one hand and pointed silently, + Then passed; her eyes, gaunt with a thirst unslaked, + Were worlds of woe, where tears in torrents ached, +Yet never fell. And like a winter sea,-- + + +VIII + + +Whose caverned crags are haunts of wreck and wrath, + That house the condor pinions of the storm,-- + My soul replied; and, weeping, arm in arm, +To'ards those dim hills, by that appointed path, + + +IX + + +We turned and went. Arrived, we did discern + How Beauty beckoned, white 'mid miles of flowers, + Through which, behold, the amaranthine Hours +Like maidens went each holding up an urn; + + +X + + +Wherein, it seemed--drained from long chalices + Of those slim flow'rs--they bore mysterious wine; + A poppied vintage, full of sleep divine +And pale forgetting of all miseries. + + +XI + + +Then to my soul I said, "No longer weep. + Come, let us drink; for hateful is the sky, + And earth is full of care, and life's a lie. +So let us drink; yea, let us drink and sleep." + + +XII + + +Then from their brimming urns we drank sweet must, + While, all around us, rose-crowned faces laughed + Into our eyes; but hardly had we quaffed +When, one by one, these crumbled into dust. + + +XIII + + +And league on league the eminence of blooms, + That flashed and billowed like a summer sea, + Rolled out a waste of thorns and tombs; where bee +And butterfly and bird hung dead in looms + + +XIV + + +Of worm and spider. And through tomb and brier, + A thin wind, parched with thirsty dust and sand, + Went wailing as if mourning some lost land +Of perished empire, Babylon or Tyre. + + +XV + + +Long, long with blistered feet we wandered in + That land of ruins, through whose sky of brass + Hate's Harpy shrieked; and in whose iron grass +The Hydra hissed of undestroyable Sin. + + +XVI + + +And there at last, behold, the House of Doom,-- + Red, as if Hell had glared it into life, + Blood-red, and howling with incessant strife,-- +With burning battlements, towered in the gloom. + + +XVII + + +And throned within sat Darkness.--Who might gaze + Upon that form, that threatening presence there, + Crowned with the flickering corpse-lights of Despair, +And yet escape sans madness and amaze? + + +XVIII + + +And we had hoped to find among these hills + The House of Beauty!--Curst, yea, thrice accurst, + The hope that lures one on from last to first +With vain illusions that no time fulfills! + + +XIX + + +Why will we struggle to attain, and strive, + When all we gain is but an empty dream?-- + Better, unto my thinking, doth it seem +To end it all and let who will survive; + + +XX + + +To find at last all beauty is but dust; + That love and sorrow are the very same; + That joy is only suffering's sweeter name; +And sense is but the synonym of lust. + + +XXI + + +Far better, yea, to me it seems to die; + To set glad lips against the lips of Death-- + The only thing God gives that comforteth, +The only thing we do not find a lie. + + + + +_Spirit of +Dreams_ + +I + + +Where hast thou folded thy pinions, + Spirit of Dreams? +Hidden elusive garments + Woven of gleams? +In what divine dominions, + Brighter than day, +Far from the world's dark torments, + Dost thou stay, dost thou stay?-- +When shall my yearnings reach thee + Again? +Not in vain let my soul beseech thee! + Not in vain! not in vain! + + +II + + +I have longed for thee as a lover + For her, the one; +As a brother for a sister + Long dead and gone. +I have called thee over and over + Names sweet to hear; +With words than music trister, + And thrice as dear. +How long must my sad heart woo thee, + Yet fail? +How long must my soul pursue thee, + Nor avail, nor avail? + + +III + + +All night hath thy loving mother, + Beautiful Sleep, +Lying beside me, listened + And heard me weep. +But ever thou soughtest another + Who sought thee not; +For him thy soft smile glistened-- + I was forgot. +When shall my soul behold thee + As before? +When shall my heart infold thee?-- + Nevermore? nevermore? + + + + +LINES AND LYRICS + + + + +_To a Wind-Flower_ + +I + + +Teach me the secret of thy loveliness, + That, being made wise, I may aspire to be +As beautiful in thought, and so express + Immortal truths to earth's mortality; +Though to my soul ability be less + Than 't is to thee, O sweet anemone. + + +II + + +Teach me the secret of thy innocence, + That in simplicity I may grow wise; +Asking from Art no other recompense + Than the approval of her own just eyes; +So may I rise to some fair eminence, + Though less than thine, O cousin of the skies. + + +III + + +Teach me these things; through whose high knowledge, I,-- + When Death hath poured oblivion through my veins, +And brought me home, as all are brought, to lie + In that vast house, common to serfs and Thanes,-- +I shall not die, I shall not utterly die, + For beauty born of beauty--_that_ remains. + + + + +_Microcosm_ + + +The memory of what we've lost +Is with us more than what we've won; +Perhaps because we count the cost +By what we could, yet have not done. + +'Twixt act and purpose fate hath drawn +Invisible threads we can not break, +And puppet-like these move us on +The stage of life, and break or make. + +Less than the dust from which we're wrought, +We come and go, and still are hurled +From change to change, from naught to naught, +Heirs of oblivion and the world. + + + + +_Fortune_ + + +Within the hollowed hand of God, +Blood-red they lie, the dice of fate, +That have no time nor period, +And know no early and no late. + +Postpone you can not, nor advance +Success or failure that's to be; +All fortune, being born of chance, +Is bastard-child to destiny. + +Bow down your head, or hold it high, +Consent, defy--no smallest part +Of this you change, although the die +Was fashioned from your living heart. + + + + +_Death_ + + +Through some strange sense of sight or touch +I find what all have found before, +The presence I have feared so much, +The unknown's immaterial door. + +I seek not and it comes to me: +I do not know the thing I find: +The fillet of fatality +Drops from my brows that made me blind. + +Point forward now or backward, light! +The way I take I may not choose: +Out of the night into the night, +And in the night no certain clews. + +But on the future, dim and vast, +And dark with dust and sacrifice, +Death's towering ruin from the past +Makes black the land that round me lies. + + + + +_The +Soul_ + + +An heritage of hopes and fears +And dreams and memory, +And vices of ten thousand years +God gives to thee. + +A house of clay, the home of Fate, +Haunted of Love and Sin, +Where Death stands knocking at the gate +To let him in. + + + + +_Conscience_ + + +Within the soul are throned two powers, +One, Love; one, Hate. Begot of these, +And veiled between, a presence towers, +The shadowy keeper of the keys. + +With wild command or calm persuasion +This one may argue, that compel; +Vain are concealment and evasion-- +For each he opens heaven and hell. + + + + +_Youth_ + +I + + +Morn's mystic rose is reddening on the hills, +Dawn's irised nautilus makes glad the sea; +There is a lyre of flame that throbs and fills +Far heaven and earth with hope's wild ecstasy.-- + With lilied field and grove, + Haunts of the turtle-dove, + Here is the land of Love. + + +II + + +The chariot of the noon makes blind the blue +As towards the goal his burning axle glares; +There is a fiery trumpet thrilling through +Wide heaven and earth with deeds of one who dares.-- + With peaks of splendid name, + Wrapped round with astral flame, + Here is the land of Fame. + + +III + + +The purple priesthood of the evening waits +With golden pomp within the templed skies; +There is a harp of worship at the gates +Of heaven and earth that bids the soul arise.-- + With columned cliffs and long + Vales, music breathes among, + Here is the land of Song. + + +IV + + +Moon-crowned, the epic of the night unrolls +Its starry utterance o'er height and deep; +There is a voice of beauty at the souls +Of heaven and earth that lulls the heart asleep.-- + With storied woods and streams, + Where marble glows and gleams, + Here is the land of Dreams. + + + + +_Life's +Seasons_ + +I + + +When all the world was Mayday, + And all the skies were blue, +Young innocence made playday + Among the flowers and dew; +Then all of life was Mayday, + And clouds were none or few. + + +II + + +When all the world was Summer, + And morn shone overhead, +Love was the sweet newcomer + Who led youth forth to wed; +Then all of life was Summer, + And clouds were golden red. + + +III + + +When earth was all October, + And days were gray with mist, +On woodways, sad and sober, + Grave memory kept her tryst; +Then life was all October, + And clouds were twilight-kissed. + + +IV + + +Now all the world's December, + And night is all alarm, +Above the last dim ember + Grief bends to keep him warm; +Now all of life's December, + And clouds are driven storm. + + + + +_Old +Homes_ + + +Old homes among the hills! I love their gardens, +Their old rock-fences, that our day inherits; +Their doors, 'round which the great trees stand like wardens; +Their paths, down which the shadows march like spirits; +Broad doors and paths that reach bird-haunted gardens. + +I see them gray among their ancient acres, +Severe of front, their gables lichen-sprinkled,-- +Like gentle-hearted, solitary Quakers, +Grave and religious, with kind faces wrinkled,-- +Serene among their memory-hallowed acres. + +Their gardens, banked with roses and with lilies-- +Those sweet aristocrats of all the flowers-- +Where Springtime mints her gold in daffodillies, +And Autumn coins her marigolds in showers, +And all the hours are toilless as the lilies. + +I love their orchards where the gay woodpecker +Flits, flashing o'er you, like a winged jewel; +Their woods, whose floors of moss the squirrels checker +With half-hulled nuts; and where, in cool renewal, +The wild brooks laugh, and raps the red woodpecker. + +Old homes! old hearts! Upon my soul forever +Their peace and gladness lie like tears and laughter; +Like love they touch me, through the years that sever, +With simple faith; like friendship, draw me after +The dreamy patience that is theirs forever. + + + + +_Field and +Forest Call_ + + +There is a field, that leans upon two hills, +Foamed o'er with flowers and twinkling with clear rills; +That in its girdle of wild acres bears +The anodyne of rest that cures all cares; +Wherein soft wind and sun and sound are blent +And fragrance--as in some old instrument +Sweet chords--calm things, that nature's magic spell +Distils from heaven's azure crucible, +And pours on Earth to make the sick mind well. + There lies the path, they say-- + Come, away! come, away! + +There is a forest, lying 'twixt two streams, +Sung through of birds and haunted of dim dreams; +That in its league-long hand of trunk and leaf +Lifts a green wand that charms away all grief; +Wrought of quaint silence and the stealth of things, +Vague, whispering touches, gleams and twitterings, +Dews and cool shadows--that the mystic soul +Of nature permeates with suave control, +And waves o'er earth to make the sad heart whole. + There lies the road, they say-- + Come, away! come, away! + + + + +_Meeting in +Summer_ + + + A tranquil bar +Of rosy twilight under dusk's first star. + + A glimmering sound +Of whispering waters over grassy ground. + + A sun-sweet smell +Of fresh-reaped hay from dewy field and dell. + + A lazy breeze +Jostling the ripeness from the apple-trees. + + A vibrant cry, +Passing, then gone, of bullbats in the sky. + + And faintly now +The katydid upon the shadowy bough. + + And far-off then +The little owl within the lonely glen. + + And soon, full soon, +The silvery arrival of the moon. + + And, to your door, +The path of roses I have trod before. + + And, sweetheart, you! +Among the roses and the moonlit dew. + + + + +_Swinging_ + + +Under the boughs of spring +She swung in the old rope-swing. + +Her cheeks, with their happy blood, +Were pink as the apple-bud. + +Her eyes, with their deep delight, +Were glad as the stars of night. + +Her curls, with their romp and fun, +Were hoiden as wind and sun. + +Her lips, with their laughter shrill, +Were wild as a woodland rill. + +Under the boughs of spring +She swung in the old rope-swing. + +And I,--who leaned on the fence, +Watching her innocence, + +As, under the boughs that bent, +Now high, now low, she went, + +In her soul the ecstasies +Of the stars, the brooks, the breeze,-- + +Had given the rest of my years, +With their blessings, and hopes, and fears, + +To have been as she was then; +And, just for a moment, again + +A boy in the old rope-swing +Under the boughs of spring. + + + + +_Rosemary_ + + +Above her, pearl and rose the heavens lay; +Around her, flowers scattered earth with gold, +Or down the path in insolence held sway-- +Like cavaliers who ride the elves' highway-- +Scarlet and blue, within a garden old. + +Beyond the hills, faint-heard through belts of wood, +Bells, Sabbath-sweet, swooned from some far-off town; +Gamboge and gold, broad sunset colors strewed +The purple west as if, with God imbued, +Her mighty pallet Nature there laid down. + +Amid such flowers, underneath such skies, +Embodying all life knows of sweet and fair, +She stood; love's dreams in girlhood's face and eyes, +White as a star that comes to emphasize +The mingled beauty of the earth and air. + +Behind her, seen through vines and orchard trees, +Gray with its twinkling windows--like the face +Of calm old-age that sits and smiles at ease-- +Porched with old roses, haunts of honey-bees, +The homestead loomed dim in a glimmering space. + +Ah! whom she waited in the afterglow, +Soft-eyed and dreamy 'mid the lily and rose, +I do not know, I do not wish to know;-- +It is enough I keep her picture so, +Hung up, like poetry, o'er my life's dull prose. + +A fragrant picture, where I still may find +Her face untouched of sorrow or regret, +Unspoiled of contact, ever young and kind, +Glad spiritual sweetheart of my soul and mind, +She had not been, perhaps, if we had met. + + + + +_Ghost +Stories_ + + +When the hoot of the owl comes over the hill, +At twelve o'clock when the night is still, +And pale on the pools, where the creek-frogs croon, +Glimmering gray is the light o' the moon; +And under the willows, where waters lie, +The torch of the firefly wanders by; +They say that the miller walks here, walks here, +All covered with chaff, with his crooked staff, +And his horrible hobble and hideous laugh; +The old lame miller hung many a year: +When the hoot of the owl comes over the hill, +He walks alone by the rotting mill. + +When the bark of the fox comes over the hill, +At twelve o'clock when the night is shrill, +And faint, on the ways where the crickets creep, +The starlight fails and the shadows sleep; +And under the willows, that toss and moan, +The glow-worm kindles its lanthorn lone; +They say that a woman floats dead, floats dead, +In a weedy space that the lilies lace, +A curse in her eyes and a smile on her face, +The miller's young wife with a gash in her head: +When the bark of the fox comes over the hill, +She floats alone by the rotting mill. + +When the howl of the hound comes over the hill, +At twelve o'clock when the night is ill, +And the thunder mutters and forests sob, +And the fox-fire glows like the lamp of a Lob; +And under the willows, that gloom and glance, +The will-o'-the-wisps hold a devils' dance; +They say that that crime is re-acted again, +And each cranny and chink of the mill doth wink +With the light o' hell or the lightning's blink, +And a woman's shrieks come wild through the rain: +When the howl of the hound comes over the hill, +That murder returns to the rotting mill. + + + + +_Dolce far +Niente_ + +I + + +Over the bay as our boat went sailing + Under the skies of Augustine, +Far to the East lay the ocean paling + Under the skies of Augustine.-- +There, in the boat as we sat together, +Soft in the glow of the turquoise weather, +Light as the foam or a seagull's feather, +Fair of form and of face serene, +Sweet at my side I felt you lean, +As over the bay our boat went sailing + Under the skies of Augustine. + + +II + + +Over the bay as our boat went sailing + Under the skies of Augustine, +Pine and palm, to the West, hung, trailing + Under the skies of Augustine.-- +Was it the wind that sighed above you? +Was it the wave that whispered of you? +Was it my soul that said "I love you"? +Was it your heart that murmured between, +Answering, shy as a bird unseen? +As over the bay our boat went sailing + Under the skies of Augustine. + + +III + + +Over the bay as our boat went sailing + Under the skies of Augustine, +Gray and low flew the heron wailing + Under the skies of Augustine.-- +Naught was spoken. We watched the simple +Gulls wing past. Your hat's white wimple +Shadowed your eyes. And your lips, a-dimple, +Smiled and seemed from your soul to wean +An inner beauty, an added sheen, +As over the bay our boat went sailing + Under the skies of Augustine. + + +IV + + +Over the bay as our boat went sailing + Under the skies of Augustine, +Red on the marshes the day flared, failing + Under the skies of Augustine.-- +Was it your thought, or the transitory +Gold of the West, like a dreamy story, +Bright on your brow, that I read? the glory +And grace of love, like a rose-crowned queen +Pictured pensive in mind and mien? +As over the bay our boat went sailing + Under the skies of Augustine. + + +V + + +Over the bay as our boat went sailing + Under the skies of Augustine, +Wan on the waters the mist lay veiling + Under the skies of Augustine.-- +Was it the joy that begot the sorrow?-- +Joy that was filled with the dreams that borrow +Prescience sad of a far To-morrow,-- +There in the Now that was all too keen, +That shadowed the fate that might intervene? +As over the bay our boat went sailing + Under the skies of Augustine. + + +VI + + +Over the bay as our boat went sailing + Under the skies of Augustine, +The marsh-hen cried and the tide was ailing + Under the skies of Augustine.-- +And so we parted. No vows were spoken. +No faith was plighted that might be broken. +But deep in our hearts each bore a token +Of life and of love and of all they mean, +Beautiful, thornless and ever green, +As over the bay our boat went sailing + Under the skies of Augustine. + + +_St. Augustine, Fla_. + + + + +_Words_ + + +I cannot tell what I would tell thee, + What I would say, what thou shouldst hear: +Words of the soul that should compell thee, + Words of the heart to draw thee near. + +For when thou smilest, thou, who fillest + My life with joy, and I would speak, +'T is then my lips and tongue are stillest, + Knowing all language is too weak. + +Look in my eyes: read there confession: + The truest love has least of art: +Nor needs it words for its expression + When soul speaks soul and heart speaks heart. + + + + +_Reasons_ + +I + + +Yea, why I love thee let my heart repeat: + I look upon thy face and then divine + How men could die for beauty, such as thine,-- + Deeming it sweet +To lay my life and manhood at thy feet, + And for a word, a glance, + Do deeds of old romance. + + +II + + +Yea, why I love thee let my heart unfold: + I look into thy heart and then I know + The wondrous poetry of the long-ago, + The Age of Gold, +That speaks strange music, that is old, so old, + Yet young, as when 't was born, + With all the youth of morn. + + +III + + +Yea, why I love thee let my heart conclude: + I look into thy soul and realize + The undiscovered meaning of the skies,-- + That long have wooed +The world with far ideals that elude,-- + Out of whose dreams, maybe, + God shapes reality. + + + + +_Evasion_ + + +Why do I love you, who have never given + My heart encouragement or any cause? +Is it because, as earth is held of heaven, + Your soul holds mine by some mysterious laws? +Perhaps, unseen of me, within your eyes + The answer lies, the answer lies. + + +II + + +From your sweet lips no word hath ever fallen + To tell my heart its love is not in vain-- +The bee that wooes the flow'r hath honey and pollen + To cheer him on and bring him back again: +But what have I, your other friends above, + To feed my love, to feed my love? + + +III + + +Still, still you are my dream and my desire; + Your love is an allurement and a dare +Set for attainment, like a shining spire, + Far, far above me in the starry air: +And gazing upward, 'gainst the hope of hope, + I breast the slope, I breast the slope. + + + + +_In +May_ + +I + + +When you and I in the hills went Maying, + You and I in the sweet May weather, + The birds, that sang on the boughs together, +There in the green of the woods, kept saying + All that my heart was saying low, + Love, as glad as the May's glad glow,-- + And did you know? +When you and I in the hills went Maying. + + +II + + +There where the brook on its rocks went winking, + There by its banks where the May had led us, + Flowers, that bloomed in the woods and meadows, +Azure and gold at our feet, kept thinking + All that my soul was thinking there, + Love, as pure as the May's pure air,-- + And did you care? +There where the brook on its rocks went winking. + + +III + + +Whatever befalls through fate's compelling, + Should our paths unite or our pathways sever, + In the Mays to come I shall feel forever +The wildflowers thinking, the wildbirds telling + The same fond love that my heart then knew, + Love unspeakable, deep and true,-- + But what of you? +Whatever befalls through fate's compelling. + + + + +_Will You +Forget?_ + + +In years to come, will you forget, +Dear girl, how often we have met? +And I have gazed into your eyes +And there beheld no sad regret +To cloud the gladness of their skies, +While in your heart--unheard as yet-- +Love slept, oblivious of my sighs?-- +In years to come, will you forget? + +Ah, me! I only pray that when, +In other days, some man of men +Has taught those eyes to laugh and weep +With joy and sorrow, hearts must ken +When love awakens in their deep,-- +I only pray some memory then, +Or sad or sweet, you still will keep +Of me and love that might have been. + + + + +_Clouds of the +Autumn Night_ + + +Clouds of the autumn night, + Under the hunter's moon,-- +Ghostly and windy white,-- + Whither, like leaves wild strewn, +Take ye your stormy flight? + +Out of the west, where dusk, + From her rich windowsill, +Leaned with a wand of tusk, + Witch-like, and wood and hill +Phantomed with mist and musk. + +Into the east, where morn + Sleeps in a shadowy close, +Shut with a gate of horn, + 'Round which the dreams she knows +Flutter with rose and thorn. + +Blow from the west, oh, blow, + Clouds that the tempest steers! +And with your rain and snow + Bear of my heart the tears, +And of my soul the woe. + +Into the east then pass, + Clouds that the night winds sweep! +And on her grave's sear grass, + There where she lies asleep. +There let them fall, alas! + + + + +_The Glory +and the Dream_ + + +There in the past I see her as of old, +Blue-eyed and hazel-haired, within a room +Dim with a twilight of tenebrious gold; +Her white face sensuous as a delicate bloom +Night opens in the tropics. Fold on fold +Pale laces drape her; and a frail perfume, +As of a moonlit primrose brimmed with rain, +Breathes from her presence, drowsing heart and brain. + +Her head is bent; some red carnations glow +Deep in her heavy hair; her large eyes gleam;-- +Bright sister stars of those twin worlds of snow, +Her breasts, through which the veined violets stream;-- +I hold her hand; her smile comes sweetly slow +As thoughts of love that haunt a poet's dream; +And at her feet once more I sit and hear +Wild words of passion--dead this many a year. + + + + +_Snow +and Fire_ + + +Deep-hearted roses of the purple dusk +And lilies of the morn; +And cactus, holding up a slender tusk +Of fragrance on a thorn; +All heavy flowers, sultry with their musk, +Her presence puts to scorn. + +For she is like the pale, pale snowdrop there, +Scentless and chaste of heart; +The moonflower, making spiritual the air, +Like some pure work of art; +Divine and holy, exquisitely fair, +And virtue's counterpart. + +Yet when her eyes gaze into mine, and when +Her lips to mine are pressed,-- +Why are my veins all fire then? and then +Why should her soul suggest +Voluptuous perfumes, maddening unto men, +And prurient with unrest? + + + + +_Restraint_ + + +Dear heart and love! what happiness to sit +And watch the firelight's varying shade and shine +On thy young face; and through those eyes of thine-- +As through glad windows--mark fair fancies flit +In sumptuous chambers of thy soul's chaste wit +Like graceful women: then to take in mine +Thy hand, whose pressure brims my heart's divine +Hushed rapture as with music exquisite! +When I remember how thy look and touch +Sway, like the moon, my blood with ecstasy, +I dare not think to what fierce heaven might lead +Thy soft embrace; or in thy kiss how much +Sweet hell,--beyond all help of me,--might be, +Where I were lost, where I were lost indeed! + + + + +_Why Should +I Pine_? + + +Why should I pine? when there in Spain +Are eyes to woo, and not in vain; +Dark eyes, and dreamily divine: +And lips, as red as sunlit wine; + +Sweet lips, that never know disdain: +And hearts, for passion over fain; +Fond, trusting hearts that know no stain + Of scorn for hearts that love like mine.-- + Why should I pine? + +Because all dreams I entertain +Of beauty wear thy form, Elain; + And e'en their lips and eyes are thine: + So though I gladly would resign +All love, I love, and still complain, + "Why should I pine?" + + + + +_When Lydia +Smiles_ + + +When Lydia smiles, I seem to see +The walls around me fade and flee; + And, lo, in haunts of hart and hind + I seem with lovely Rosalind, +In Arden 'neath the greenwood tree: +The day is drowsy with the bee, +And one wild bird flutes dreamily, + And all the mellow air is kind, + When Lydia smiles. + +Ah, me! what were this world to me +Without her smile!--What poetry, + What glad hesperian paths I find + Of love, that lead my soul and mind +To happy hills of Arcady, + When Lydia smiles! + + + + +_The +Rose_ + + +You have forgot: it once was red +With life, this rose, to which you said,-- + When, there in happy days gone by, + You plucked it, on my breast to lie,-- +"Sleep there, O rose! how sweet a bed +Is thine!--And, heart, be comforted; +For, though we part and roses shed + Their leaves and fade, love cannot die.--" + You have forgot. + +So by those words of yours I'm led +To send it you this day you wed. + Look well upon it. You, as I, + Should ask it now, without a sigh, +If love can lie as it lies dead.-- + You have forgot. + + + + +_A Ballad +of Sweethearts_ + + +Summer may come, in sun-blonde splendor, +To reap the harvest that Springtime sows; +And Fall lead in her old defender, + Winter, all huddled up in snows: + Ever a-south the love-wind blows +Into my heart, like a vane asway + From face to face of the girls it knows-- +But who is the fairest it's hard to say. + +If Carrie smile or Maud look tender, + Straight in my bosom the gladness glows; +But scarce at their side am I all surrender + When Gertrude sings where the garden grows: + And my heart is a bloom, like the red rose shows +For her hand to gather and toss away, + Or wear on her breast, as her fancy goes-- +But who is the fairest it's hard to say. + +Let Laura pass, as a sapling slender, + Her cheek a berry, her mouth a rose,-- +Or Blanche or Helen,--to each I render + The worship due to the charms she shows: + But Mary's a poem when these are prose; +Here at her feet my life I lay; + All of devotion to her it owes-- +But who is the fairest it's hard to say. + +How _can_ my heart of my hand dispose? + When Ruth and Clara, and Kate and May, +In form and feature no flaw disclose-- + But who is the fairest it's hard to say. + + + + +_Her +Portrait_ + + +Were I an artist, Lydia, I + Would paint you as you merit, +Not as my eyes, but dreams, descry; + Not in the flesh, but spirit. + +The canvas I would paint you on + Should be a bit of heaven; +My brush, a sunbeam; pigments, dawn + And night and starry even. + +Your form and features to express, + Likewise your soul's chaste whiteness, +I'd take the primal essences + Of darkness and of brightness. + +I'd take pure night to paint your hair; + Stars for your eyes; and morning +To paint your skin--the rosy air + That is your limbs' adorning. + +To paint the love-bows of your lips, + I'd mix, for colors, kisses; +And for your breasts and finger-tips, + Sweet odors and soft blisses. + +And to complete the picture well, + I'd temper all with woman,-- +Some tears, some laughter; heaven and hell, + To show you still are human. + + + + +_A Song +for Yule_ + +I + + +Sing, Hey, when the time rolls round this way, +And the bells peal out, _'Tis Christmas Day_; +The world is better then by half, + For joy, for joy; +In a little while you will see it laugh-- +For a song's to sing and a glass to quaff, + My boy, my boy. +So here's to the man who never says nay!-- +Sing, Hey, a song of Christmas-Day! + + +II + + +Sing, Ho, when roofs are white with snow, +And homes are hung with mistletoe; +Old Earth is not half bad, I wis-- + What cheer! what cheer! +How it ever seemed sad the wonder is-- +With a gift to give and a girl to kiss, + My dear, my dear. +So here's to the girl who never says no! +Sing, Ho, a song of the mistletoe! + + +III + + +No thing in the world to the heart seems wrong +When the soul of a man walks out with song; +Wherever they go, glad hand in hand, + And glove in glove, +The round of the land is rainbow-spanned, +And the meaning of life they understand + Is love, is love. +Let the heart be open, the soul be strong, +And life will be glad as a Christmas song. + + + + +_The Puritans' +Christmas_ + + +Their only thought religion, + What Christmas joys had they, +The stern, staunch Pilgrim Fathers who + Knew naught of holiday?-- + +A log-church in the clearing + 'Mid solitudes of snow, +The wild-beast and the wilderness, + And lurking Indian foe. + +No time had they for pleasure, + Whom God had put to school; +A sermon was their Christmas cheer, + A psalm their only Yule. + +They deemed it joy sufficient,-- + Nor would Christ take it ill,-- +That service to Himself and God + Employed their spirits still. + +And so through faith and prayer + Their powers were renewed, +And souls made strong to shape a World, + And tame a solitude. + +A type of revolution, + Wrought from an iron plan, +In the largest mold of liberty + God cast the Puritan. + +A better land they founded, + That Freedom had for bride, +The shackles of old despotism + Struck from her limbs and side. + +With faith within to guide them, + And courage to perform, +A nation, from a wilderness, + They hewed with their strong arm. + +For liberty to worship, + And right to do and dare, +They faced the savage and the storm + With voices raised in prayer. + +For God it was who summoned, + And God it was who led, +And God would not forsake the love + That must be clothed and fed. + +Great need had they of courage! + Great need of faith had they! +And lacking these--how otherwise + For us had been this day! + + + + +_Spring_ + + (After the German of Goethe, _Faust_, II) + + +When on the mountain tops ray-crowned Apollo +Turns his swift arrows, dart on glittering dart, +Let but a rock glint green, the wild goats follow +Glad-grazing shyly on each sparse-grown part. + +Rolled into plunging torrents spring the fountains; +And slope and vale and meadowland grow green; +While on ridg'd levels of a hundred mountains, +Far fleece by fleece, the woolly flocks convene. + +With measured stride, deliberate and steady, +The scattered cattle seek the beetling steep, +But shelter for th' assembled herd is ready +In many hollows that the walled rocks heap: + +The lairs of Pan; and, lo, in murmuring places, +In bushy clefts, what woodland Nymphs arouse! +Where, full of yearning for the azure spaces, +Tree, crowding tree, lifts high its heavy boughs. + +Old forests, where the gnarly oak stands regnant +Bristling with twigs that still repullulate, +And, swoln with spring, with sappy sweetness pregnant, +The maple blushes with its leafy weight. + +And, mother-like, in cirques of quiet shadows, +Milk flows, warm milk, that keeps all things alive; +Fruit is not far, th' abundance of the meadows, +And honey oozes from the hollow hive. + + + + +_Lines_ + + +Within the world of every man's desire +Three things have power to lift his soul above, +Through dreams, religion, and ecstatic fire, +The star-like shapes of Beauty, Truth, and Love. + +I never hoped that, this side far-off Heaven, +These three,--whom all exalted souls pursue,-- +I e'er should see; until to me 't was given, +Lady, to meet the three, made one, in you. + + + + +_When Ships put +out to Sea_ + +I + + +It's "Sweet, good-bye," when pennants fly + And ships put out to sea; +It's a loving kiss, and a tear or two +In an eye of brown or an eye of blue;-- + And you'll remember me, + Sweetheart, + And you'll remember me. + + +II + + +It's "Friend or foe?" when signals blow + And ships sight ships at sea; +It's clear for action, and man the guns, +As the battle nears or the battle runs;-- + And you'll remember me, + Sweetheart, + And you'll remember me. + + +III + + +It's deck to deck, and wrath and wreck + When ships meet ships at sea; +It's scream of shot and shriek of shell, +And hull and turret a roaring hell;-- + And you'll remember me, + Sweetheart, + And you'll remember me. + + +IV + + +It's doom and death, and pause a breath + When ships go down at sea; +It's hate is over and love begins, +And war is cruel whoever wins;-- + And you'll remember me, + Sweetheart, + And you'll remember me. + + + + +_The +"Kentucky"_ + + (Battleship, launched March 24, 1898.) + +I + + +Here's to her who bears the name + Of our State; +May the glory of her fame + Be as great! +In the battle's dread eclipse, +When she opens iron lips, +When our ships confront the ships + Of the foe, +May each word of steel she utters carry woe! + Here's to her! + + +II + + +Here's to her, who, like a knight + Mailed of old, +From far sea to sea the Right + Shall uphold. +May she always deal defeat,-- +When contending navies meet, +And the battle's screaming sleet + Blinds and stuns,-- +With the red, terrific thunder of her guns. + Here's to her! + + +III + + +Here's to her who bears the name + Of our State; +May the glory of her fame + Be as great! +Like a beacon, like a star, +May she lead our squadrons far,-- +When the hurricane of war + Shakes the world,-- +With her pennant in the vanward broad unfurled. + Here's to her! + + + + +_Quatrains_ + +I + +MOTHS AND FIREFLIES + + +Since Fancy taught me in her school of spells +I know her tricks--These are not moths at all, +Nor fireflies; but masking Elfland belles +Whose link-boys torch them to Titania's ball. + + +II + +AUTUMN WILD-FLOWERS + + +Like colored lanterns swung in Elfin towers, +Wild morning-glories light the tangled ways, +And, like the rosy rockets of the Fays, +Burns the sloped crimson of the cardinal-flowers. + + +III + +THE WIND IN THE PINES + + +When winds go organing through the pines +On hill and headland, darkly gleaming, +Meseems I hear sonorous lines +Of Iliads that the woods are dreaming. + + +IV + +OPPORTUNITY + + +Behold a hag whom Life denies a kiss +As he rides questward in knighterrant-wise; +Only when he hath passed her is it his +To know, too late, the Fairy in disguise. + + +V + +DREAMS + + +They mock the present and they haunt the past, +And in the future there is naught agleam +With hope, the soul desires, that at last +The heart pursuing does not find a dream. + + +VI + +THE STARS + + +These--the bright symbols of man's hope and fame, +In which he reads his blessing or his curse-- +Are syllables with which God speaks His name +In the vast utterance of the universe. + + +VII + +BEAUTY + + +High as a star, yet lowly as a flower, +Unknown she takes her unassuming place +At Earth's proud masquerade--the appointed hour +Strikes, and, behold, the marvel of her face. + + + + +_Processional_ + + +Universes are the pages +Of that book whose words are ages; +Of that book which destiny +Opens in eternity. + +There each syllable expresses +Silence; there each thought a guess is; +In whose rhetoric's cosmic runes +Roll the worlds and swarming moons. + +There the systems, we call solar, +Equatorial and polar, +Write their lines of rushing light +On the awful leaves of night. + +There the comets, vast and streaming, +Punctuate the heavens' gleaming +Scroll; and suns, gigantic, shine, +Periods to each starry line. + +There, initials huge, the Lion +Looms and measureless Orion; +And, as 'neath a chapter done, +Burns the Great-Bear's colophon. + +Constellated, hieroglyphic, +Numbering each page terrific, +Fiery on the nebular black, +Flames the hurling zodiac. + +In that book, o'er which Chaldean +Wisdom pored and many an eon +Of philosophy long dead, +This is all that man has read:-- + +He has read how good and evil,-- +In creation's wild upheaval,-- +Warred; while God wrought terrible +At foundations red of Hell. + +He has read of man and woman; +Laws and gods, both beast and human; +Thrones of hate and creeds of lust, +Vanished now and turned to dust. + +Arts and manners that have crumbled; +Cities buried; empires tumbled: +Time but breathed on them its breath; +Earth is builded of their death. + +These but lived their little hour, +Filled with pride and pomp and power; +What availed them all at last? +We shall pass as they have past. + +Still the human heart will dream on +Love, part angel and part demon; +Yet, I question, what secures +Our belief that aught endures? + +In that book, o'er which Chaldean +Wisdom pored and many an eon +Of philosophy long dead, +This is all that man has read. + + + + + + +OTHER BOOKS OF VERSE BY MADISON CAWEIN + + + +Days and Dreams Cloth, gilt top, $1.00 +Moods and Memories " " 1.00 +Red Leaves and Roses " " 1.00 +Poems of Nature and Love " " 1.00 +Intimations of the Beautiful " " 1.00 + + + * * * * * + +PUBLISHED BY + +G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS, + +27 & 29, West Twenty-third Street, New York, N. Y + + * * * * * + +_Sent by mail, postpaid, to any address on receipt of price._ + + + + +SOME NOTICES OF MR. CAWEIN'S VERSES + + +"I should like to praise the poetry of Madison Cawein, of Kentucky, +which is as remote as Greece from the actual everyday life of his +region; as remote from it as the poetry of Keats was from the England +of his day, and which is yet so richly, so passionately true to the +presence and essence of nature as she can be known only in the +Southern West. I named Keats with no purpose of likening this young +poet to him, but since he is named it is impossible not to recognize +that they are of the same Hellenic race; full of like rapture in sky +and field and stream, and of a like sensitive reluctance from whatever +chills the joy of sense in youth, in love, in melancholy. I know Mr. +Cawein has faults, and very probably he knows it, too; his delight in +color sometimes plunges him into mere paint; his wish to follow a +subtle thought or emotion sometimes lures him into empty dusks; his +devotion to nature sometimes contents him with solitudes bereft of the +human interest by which alone the landscape lives. But he is, to my +thinking, a most genuine poet, and one of these few Americans, who, +even in their over-refinement, could never be mistaken for Europeans; +who perhaps by reason of it are only the more American."--WILLIAM +DEAN HOWELLS in _Literature_. + +"From the poetry of our day I select that of Madison Cawein as an +example of conspicuous merit. Many American readers have enjoyed Mr. +Cawein's productions.... But the appreciation of his poetry has never +been as great as its merits would indicate. His poems are rather _too +good_ to be caught up on the babbling tongue and cast forth into mere +popularity. They are caviare to the general; and yet they have in them +the best elements of popular favor. + +"Cawein is a classicist. He will have it that poems, however humble +the theme, however tender the sentiment, shall wear a tasteful Attic +dress. I do not intimate that Mr. Cawein's mind has been too much +saturated with the classical spirit or that his native instincts have +been supplanted with Greek exotics and flowers out of the renaissance, +but rather that his own mental constitution is of a classical as well +as a romantic mould. + +"The themes of Cawein's poetry are generally taken from the world of +romance. If there be any modern bard who can recreate a mediæval +castle and give to its inhabitants the sentiments which were theirs in +the twelfth century, Cawein is the poet who can. He takes delight in +the East. He is the Omar Khayyam of the Ohio Valley. He is as much of +a Mohammedan as a Christian. He knows the son of Abdallah better than +he knows Cromwell; and has more sympathy with a Khalif than with a +Colonel. He dwells in the romantic regions of life; but the romance is +real. The hope is a true hope. The dream is a true dream. The picture +is a painting, and not a chromo. The love is a passion, and not a +dilettante episode. Cawein's art is a genuine art. His verse is +exquisite. Out of the three hundred and thirteen poems in the five +volumes under consideration there may be found hardly a false or +broken harmony...."--JOHN CLARK RIDPATH, LL.D., in _The +Arena_. + +"The rattlesnake-weed and the bluet-bloom were unknown to Herrick and +to Wordsworth, but such art as Mr. Cawein's makes them at home in +English poetry. There is passion, too, and thought in his +equipment...."--WILLIAM ARCHER in the _Pall Mall Magazine_. + +"I find in the best pieces an intoxicating sense of beauty, a +richness, that is rarely achieved, although every young poet nowadays +strives after it. I find, too, a daring use of language which +sometimes, nay often, conducts to genuine and startling +felicities."--EDMUND GOSSE. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Myth and Romance, by Madison Cawein + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MYTH AND ROMANCE *** + +***** This file should be named 16535-8.txt or 16535-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/5/3/16535/ + +Produced by Digital & Multimedia Center, Michigan State +University Libraries, Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, Sankar +Viswanathan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team +at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Myth and Romance + Being a Book of Verses + +Author: Madison Cawein + +Release Date: August 16, 2005 [EBook #16535] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MYTH AND ROMANCE *** + + + + +Produced by Digital & Multimedia Center, Michigan State +University Libraries, Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, Sankar +Viswanathan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team +at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_I" id="Page_I"></a>[I]</span></p> +<h1>Myth and Romance</h1> + + +<p> </p> +<p class="center"><b>Being a Book of verses</b></p> +<h2>By MADISON CAWEIN</h2> +<p> </p> +<p class="center"><img src="images/image_01.jpg" alt="Decoration" width="200" height="101" /></p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p class="center">G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS</p> +<p class="center">New York and London</p> + +<p class="center">The Knickerbocker Press</p> + +<p class="center">1899</p> + <p> </p> + <p> </p> + <p> </p> + <p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_III" id="Page_III"></a>[III]</span></p> + <hr style="width: 65%;" /> + <p class="center">TO</p> + +<p class="center">MY FRIEND</p> + +<p class="center">WILLIAM WARWICK THUM</p> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p class="center"> </p> +<p class="center"> </p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_V" id="Page_V"></a>[V]</span></p> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + + + + + +<h3> +<span class="smcap">Visions and Voices</span></h3> + + +<ul class="TOC"> +<li><span class="ralign">PAGE</span><br /> +</li> + +<li><a href="#poem_01">Myth and Romance</a> <span class="ralign">3</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_02">Genius Loci</a> <span class="ralign">4</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> + +<li><a href="#poem_03">The Rain-Crow</a> <span class="ralign">6</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_04">The Harvest Moon </a> <span class="ralign">8</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_05">The Old Water-Mill</a> <span class="ralign">9</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_06">Anthem of Dawn</a> <span class="ralign">13</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_07">Dithyrambics </a> <span class="ralign">15</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_08">Hymn to Desire </a> <span class="ralign">18</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_09">Music </a> <span class="ralign">21</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_10">Jotunheim </a> <span class="ralign">22</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_11">Dionysia </a> <span class="ralign">25</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_12">The Last Song </a> <span class="ralign">29</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_13">Romaunt of the Oak</a> <span class="ralign">30</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_14">Morgan le Fay</a> <span class="ralign">33</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_15">The Dream of Roderick</a> <span class="ralign">35</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_16">Zyps of Zirl</a> <span class="ralign">38</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_17">The Glowworm</a> <span class="ralign">41</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_18">Ghosts </a> <span class="ralign">43</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_19">The Purple Valleys</a> <span class="ralign">44</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_20">The Land of Illusion</a> <span class="ralign">45</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_21">Spirit of Dreams</a> <span class="ralign">49</span><br /> +</li> +</ul> +<h3> +<span class="smcap">Lines and Lyrics</span></h3> + +<ul class="TOC"> +<li><a href="#poem_22">To a Wind-Flower </a> <span class="ralign">53</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_23">Microcosm</a> <span class="ralign">53</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_24">Fortune</a> <span class="ralign">54</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_25">Death</a> <span class="ralign">54</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_26">The Soul</a> <span class="ralign">55</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_27">Conscience</a> <span class="ralign">55</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_28">Youth </a> <span class="ralign">56</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_29">Life's Seasons</a> <span class="ralign">57</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_30">Old Homes</a> <span class="ralign">58</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_31">Field and Forest Call</a> <span class="ralign">59</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_32">Meeting in Summer</a> <span class="ralign">60</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_33">Swinging</a> <span class="ralign">61</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_34">Rosemary </a> <span class="ralign">62</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_35">Ghost Stories</a> <span class="ralign">63</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_36">Dolce far Niente</a> <span class="ralign">64</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_37">Words</a> <span class="ralign">66</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_38">Reasons</a> <span class="ralign">67</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_39">Evasion </a> <span class="ralign">67</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_40">In May </a> <span class="ralign">68</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_41">Will you Forget? </a> <span class="ralign">69</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_42">Clouds of the Autumn Night</a> <span class="ralign">70</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_43">The Glory and the Dream</a> <span class="ralign">71</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_44">Snow and Fire</a> <span class="ralign">71</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_45">Restraint</a> <span class="ralign">72</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_46">Why Should I Pine?</a> <span class="ralign">72</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_47">When Lydia Smiles</a> <span class="ralign">73</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_48">The Rose</a> <span class="ralign">74</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_49">A Ballad of Sweethearts</a> <span class="ralign">74</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_50">Her Portrait</a> <span class="ralign">75</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_51">A Song for Yule</a> <span class="ralign">76</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_52">The Puritans' Christmas</a> <span class="ralign">77</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_53">Spring </a> <span class="ralign">79</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_54">Lines </a> <span class="ralign">79</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_55">When Ships put out to Sea</a> <span class="ralign">80</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_56">The "Kentucky" </a> <span class="ralign">81</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_57">Quatrains</a> <span class="ralign">82</span><br /> + <br /> +</li> +<li><a href="#poem_58">Processional</a> <span class="ralign">84</span><br /> +</li></ul> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p> <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1"></a>[1]</span></p> +<h2><a name="PROEM" id="PROEM"></a><i>PROEM.</i></h2> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is no rhyme that is half so sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the song of the wind in the rippling wheat;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is no metre that's half so fine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the lilt of the brook under rock and vine;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the loveliest lyric I ever heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was the wildwood strain of a forest bird.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If the wind and the brook and the bird would teach<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My heart their beautiful parts of speech.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the natural art that they say these with,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My soul would sing of beauty and myth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a rhyme and a metre that none before<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have sung in their love, or dreamed in their lore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the world would be richer one poet the more.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2>VISIONS AND VOICES +</h2> + + + + + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3"></a>[3]</span></p> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_01" id="poem_01"></a><i>Myth and</i><br /> +</span> +<span class="t2"><i>Romance</i></span></h3> +<h4>I + +</h4> + + + + + + + + + + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When I go forth to greet the glad-faced Spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Just at the time of opening apple-buds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When brooks are laughing, winds are whispering,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On babbling hillsides or in warbling woods,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There is an unseen presence that eludes:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps a Dryad, in whose tresses cling<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The loamy odors of old solitudes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, from her beechen doorway, calls; and leads<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My soul to follow; now with dimpling words<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of leaves; and now with syllables of birds;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While here and there—is it her limbs that swing?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or restless sunlight on the moss and weeds?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II + +</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Or, haply, 't is a Naiad now who slips,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Like some white lily, from her fountain's glass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While from her dripping hair and breasts and hips,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The moisture rains cool music on the grass.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her have I heard and followed, yet, alas!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have seen no more than the wet ray that dips<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The shivered waters, wrinkling where I pass;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, in the liquid light, where she doth hide,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I have beheld the azure of her gaze<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Smiling; and, where the orbing ripple plays,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among her minnows I have heard her lips,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bubbling, make merry by the waterside.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Or now it is an Oread—whose eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Are constellated dusk—who stands confessed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As naked as a flow'r; her heart's surprise,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4"></a>[4] </span> +<span class="i2">Like morning's rose, mantling her brow and breast:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">She, shrinking from my presence, all distressed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stands for a startled moment ere she flies,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her deep hair blowing, up the mountain crest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wild as a mist that trails along the dawn.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And is't her footfalls lure me? or the sound<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of airs that stir the crisp leaf on the ground?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And is't her body glimmers on yon rise?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or dog-wood blossoms snowing on the lawn?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IV</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now't is a Satyr piping serenades<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On a slim reed. Now Pan and Faun advance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath green-hollowed roofs of forest glades,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their feet gone mad with music: now, perchance,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sylvanus sleeping, on whose leafy trance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Nymphs stand gazing in dim ambuscades<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of sun-embodied perfume.—Myth, Romance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where'er I turn, reach out bewildering arms,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Compelling me to follow. Day and night<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I hear their voices and behold the light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of their divinity that still evades,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And still allures me in a thousand forms.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_02" id="poem_02"></a><i>Genius</i><br /> +</span> + <span class="t2"><i>Loci</i></span> +</h3> + + +<h4>I</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What wood-god, on this water's mossy curb,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Lost in reflections of earth's loveliness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Did I, just now, unconsciously disturb?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I, who haphazard, wandering at a guess,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came on this spot, wherein, with gold and flame<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of buds and blooms, the season writes its name.—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5"></a>[5] </span> +<span class="i0">Ah, me! could I have seen him ere alarm<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of my approach aroused him from his calm!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As he, part Hamadryad and, mayhap,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Part Faun, lay here; who left the shadow warm<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As wildwood rose, and filled the air with balm<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of his sweet breath as with ethereal sap.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Does not the moss retain some vague impress,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Green dented in, of where he lay or trod?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Do not the flow'rs, so reticent, confess<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With conscious looks the contact of a god?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Does not the very water garrulously<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Boast the indulgence of a deity?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, hark! in burly beech and sycamore<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How all the birds proclaim it! and the leaves<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rejoice with clappings of their myriad hands!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shall not I believe, too, and adore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With such wide proof?—Yea, though my soul perceives<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No evident presence, still it understands.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And for a while it moves me to lie down<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Here on the spot his god-head sanctified:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mayhap some dream he dreamed may lingert brown<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And young as joy, around the forestside;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some dream within whose heart lives no disdain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For such as I whose love is sweet and sane;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That may repeat, so none but I may hear—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As one might tell a pearl-strung rosary—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Some epic that the trees have learned to croon,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6"></a>[6] </span> +<span class="i0">Some lyric whispered in the wild-flower's ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose murmurous lines are sung by bird and bee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all the insects of the night and noon.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IV</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For, all around me, upon field and hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Enchantment lies as of mysterious flutes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if the music of a god's good-will<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Had taken on material attributes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In blooms, like chords; and in the water-gleam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That runs its silvery scales from stream to stream;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In sunbeam bars, up which the butterfly,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A golden note, vibrates then flutters on—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Inaudible tunes, blown on the pipes of Pan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That have assumed a visible entity,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And drugged the air with beauty so, a Faun,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Behold, I seem, and am no more a man.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_03" id="poem_03"></a><i>The</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>Rain-Crow</i></span></h3> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Can freckled August,—drowsing warm and blonde<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beside a wheat-shock in the white-topped mead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In her hot hair the oxeyed daisies wound,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O bird of rain, lend aught but sleepy heed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To thee? when no plumed weed, no feather'd seed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blows by her; and no ripple breaks the pond,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That gleams like flint between its rim of grasses,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through which the dragonfly forever passes<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Like splintered diamond.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7"></a>[7] </span></p> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Drouth weights the trees, and from the farmhouse eaves<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The locust, pulse-beat of the summer day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Throbs; and the lane, that shambles under leaves<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Limp with the heat—a league of rutty way—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Is lost in dust; and sultry scents of hay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breathe from the panting meadows heaped with sheaves—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Now, now, O bird, what hint is there of rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In thirsty heaven or on burning plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">That thy keen eye perceives?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But thou art right. Thou prophesiest true.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For hardly hast thou ceased thy forecasting,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, up the western fierceness of scorched blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Great water-carrier winds their buckets bring<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Brimming with freshness. How their dippers ring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And flash and rumble! lavishing dark dew<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On corn and forestland, that, streaming wet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their hilly backs against the downpour set,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Like giants vague in view.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IV</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The butterfly, safe under leaf and flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Has found a roof, knowing how true thou art;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bumble-bee, within the last half-hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Has ceased to hug the honey to its heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While in the barnyard, under shed and cart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brood-hens have housed.—But I, who scorned thy power,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Barometer of the birds,—like August there,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beneath a beech, dripping from foot to hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Like some drenched truant, cower.<br /></span> +</div></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8"></a>[8] </span></p> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_04" id="poem_04"></a><i>The</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>Harvest Moon</i></span></h3> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Globed in Heav'n's tree of azure, golden mellow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As some round apple hung<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High in hesperian boughs, thou hangest yellow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The branch-like mists among:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within thy light a sunburnt youth, named Health,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rests 'mid the tasseled shocks, the tawny stubble;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And by his side, clad on with rustic wealth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of field and farm, beneath thy amber bubble,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A nut-brown maid, Content, sits smiling still:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While through the quiet trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The mossy rocks, the grassy hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy silvery spirit glides to yonder mill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Around whose wheel the breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And shimmering ripples of the water play,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As, by their mother, little children may.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sweet spirit of the moon, who walkest,—lifting<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Exhaustless on thy arm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A pearly vase of fire,—through the shifting<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Cloud-halls of calm and storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pour down thy blossoms! let me hear them come,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pelting with noiseless light the twinkling thickets,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Making the darkness audible with the hum<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of many insect creatures, grigs and crickets:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until it seems the elves hold revelries<br /></span> +<span class="i2">By haunted stream and grove;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or, in the night's deep peace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The young-old presence of Earth's full increase<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Seems telling thee her love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere, lying down, she turns to rest, and smiles,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hearing thy heart beat through the myriad miles.<br /></span> +</div></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9"></a>[9] </span></p> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_05" id="poem_05"></a><i>The Old</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>Water-Mill</i></span> + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Wild ridge on ridge the wooded hills arise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Between whose breezy vistas gulfs of skies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pilot great clouds like towering argosies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hawk and buzzard breast the azure breeze.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With many a foaming fall and glimmering reach<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of placid murmur, under elm and beech,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The creek goes twinkling through long glows and glooms<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of woodland quiet, poppied with perfumes:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The creek, in whose clear shallows minnow-schools<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glitter or dart; and by whose deeper pools<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The blue kingfishers and the herons haunt;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, often startled from the freckled flaunt<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of blackberry-lilies—where they feed and hide—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trail a lank flight along the forestside<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With eery clangor. Here a sycamore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smooth, wave-uprooted, builds from shore to shore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A headlong bridge; and there, a storm-hurled oak<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lays a long dam, where sand and gravel choke<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The water's lazy way. Here mistflower blurs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its bit of heaven; there the oxeye stirs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its gloaming hues of bronze and gold; and here,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A gray cool stain, like dawn's own atmosphere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dim wild-carrot lifts its crumpled crest:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And over all, at slender flight or rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dragon-flies, like coruscating rays<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of lapis-lazuli and chrysoprase,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drowsily sparkle through the summer days;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, dewlap-deep, here from the noontide heat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bell-hung cattle find a cool retreat:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through the willows girdling the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now far, now near, borne as the soft winds will,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Comes the low rushing of the water-mill.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10"></a>[10] </span> +<span class="i0">Ah, lovely to me from a little child,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How changed the place! wherein once, undefiled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The glad communion of the sky and stream<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Went with me like a presence and a dream.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where once the brambled meads and orchardlands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Poured ripe abundance down with mellow hands<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of summer; and the birds of field and wood<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Called to me in a tongue I understood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in the tangles of the old rail-fence<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Even the insect tumult had some sense,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every sound a happy eloquence;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And more to me than wisest books can teach,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wind and water said; whose words did reach<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My soul, addressing their magnificent speech,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Raucous and rushing, from the old mill-wheel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That made the rolling mill-cogs snore and reel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like some old ogre in a fairy-tale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nodding above his meat and mug of ale.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How memory takes me back the ways that lead—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As when a boy—through woodland and through mead!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To orchards fruited; or to fields in bloom;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or briary fallows, like a mighty room,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through which the winds swing censers of perfume,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And where deep blackberries spread miles of fruit;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A splendid feast, that stayed the ploughboy's foot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When to the tasseling acres of the corn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He drove his team, fresh in the primrose morn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And from the liberal banquet, nature lent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Took dewy handfuls as he whistling went.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A boy once more I stand with sunburnt feet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And watch the harvester sweep down the wheat;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or laze with warm limbs in the unstacked straw<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11"></a>[11] </span> +<span class="i0">Nearby the thresher, whose insatiate maw<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Devours the sheaves, hot drawling out its hum—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like some great sleepy bee, above a bloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Made drunk with honey—while, grown big with grain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bulging sacks receive the golden rain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again I tread the valley, sweet with hay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hear the bob-white calling far away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or wood-dove cooing in the elder-brake;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or see the sassafras bushes madly shake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As swift, a rufous instant, in the glen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The red-fox leaps and gallops to his den;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or, standing in the violet-colored gloam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hear roadways sound with holiday riding home<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From church, or fair, or bounteous barbecue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which the whole country to some village drew.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How spilled with berries were its summer hills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And strewn with walnuts were its autumn rills—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And chestnut burs! fruit of the spring's long flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When from their tops the trees seemed streaming showers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of slender silver, cool, crepuscular,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And like a nebulous radiance shone afar.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And maples! how their sappy hearts would gush<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Broad troughs of syrup, when the winter bush<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Steamed with the sugar-kettle, day and night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the snow was streaked with firelight.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then it was glorious! the mill-dam's edge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One slant of frosty crystal, laid a ledge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of pearl across; above which, sleeted trees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tossed arms of ice, that, clashing in the breeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tinkled the ringing creek with icicles,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thin as the peal of Elfland's Sabbath bells:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12"></a>[12] </span> +<span class="i0">A sound that in my city dreams I hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That brings before me, under skies that clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old mill in its winter garb of snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its frozen wheel, a great hoar beard below,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And its West windows, two deep eyes aglow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah, ancient mill, still do I picture o'er<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy cobwebbed stairs and loft and grain-strewn floor;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy door,—like some brown, honest hand of toil,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And honorable with labor of the soil,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forever open; through which, on his back<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The prosperous farmer bears his bursting sack.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And while the miller measures out his toll,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again I hear, above the cogs' loud roll,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That makes stout joist and rafter groan and sway,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The harmless gossip of the passing day:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Good country talk, that tells how so-and-so<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has died or married; how curculio<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And codling-moth have ruined half the fruit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And blight plays mischief with the grapes to boot;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or what the news from town; next county fair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How well the crops are looking everywhere:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now this, now that, on which their interests fix,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prospects for rain or frost, and politics.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While, all around, the sweet smell of the meal<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Filters, warm-pouring from the grinding wheel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into the bin; beside which, mealy white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The miller looms, dim in the dusty light.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Again I see the miller's home, between<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The crinkling creek and hills of beechen green:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again the miller greets me, gaunt and brown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who oft o'erawed me with his gray-browed frown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And rugged mien: again he tries to reach<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My youthful mind with fervid scriptural speech.—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13"></a>[13] </span> +<span class="i0">For he, of all the country-side confessed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The most religious was and happiest;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Methodist, and one whom faith still led,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No books except the Bible had he read—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At least so seemed it to my younger head.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All things in earth and heav'n he'd prove by this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be it a fact or mere hypothesis;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For to his simple wisdom, reverent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"<i>The Bible says</i>" was all of argument.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God keep his soul! his bones were long since laid<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among the sunken gravestones in the shade<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of those black-lichened rocks, that wall around<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The family burying-ground with cedars crowned;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where bristling teasel and the brier combine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With clambering wood-rose and the wild-grape vine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To hide the stone whereon his name and dates<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Neglect, with mossy hand, obliterates.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_06" id="poem_06"></a><i>Anthem</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>of Dawn</i></span> + +</h3> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then up the orient heights to the zenith, that balanced the crescent,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up and far up and over,—the heaven grew erubescent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vibrant with rose and with ruby from the hands of the harpist Dawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smiting symphonic fire on the firmament's barbiton:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the East was a priest who adored with offerings of gold and of gems,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a wonderful carpet unrolled for the inaccessible hems<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14"></a>[14]</span> +<span class="i0">Of the glistening robes of her limbs; that, lily and amethyst,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swept glorying on and on through temples of cloud and mist.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then out of the splendor and richness, that burned like a magic stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The torrent suffusion that deepened and dazzled and broadened and shone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pomp and the pageant of color, triumphal procession of glare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sun, like a king in armor, breathing splendor from feet to hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stood forth with majesty girdled, as a hero who towers afar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the bannered gates are bristling hells and the walls are roaring war:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And broad on the back of the world, like a Cherubin's fiery blade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The effulgent gaze of his aspect fell in glittering accolade.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then billowing blue, like an ocean, rolled from the shores of morn to even:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the stars, like rafts, went down: and the moon, like a ghost-ship, driven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A feather of foam, from port to port of the cloud-built isles that dotted,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With pearl and cameo, bays of the day, her canvas webbed and rotted,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lay lost in the gulf of heaven: while over her mixed and melted<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The beautiful children of Morn, whose bodies are opal-belted;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15"></a>[15]</span> +<span class="i0">The beautiful daughters of Dawn, who, over and under, and after<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rivered radiance, wrestled; and rainbowed heaven with laughter<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of halcyon sapphire.—O Dawn! thou visible mirth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hallelujah of Heaven! hosanna of Earth!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_07" id="poem_07"></a><i>Dithyrambics</i></span> + +</h3> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<p><span class="t3"><b>TEMPEST</b></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Wrapped round of the night, as a monster is wrapped of the ocean,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down, down through vast storeys of darkness, behold, in the tower<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the heaven, the thunder! on stairways of cloudy commotion,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Colossal of tread, like a giant, from echoing hour to hour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Goes striding in rattling armor ...<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Nymph, at her billow-roofed dormer<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of foam; and the Sylvan—green-housed—at her window of leaves appears;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—As a listening woman, who hears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The approach of her lover, who comes to her arms in the night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, loosening the loops of her locks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With eyes full of love and delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the couch of her rest in ardor and haste arises.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Nymph, as if breathed of the tempest, like fire surprises<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16"></a>[16]</span> +<span class="i0">The riotous bands of the rocks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That face with a roar the shouting charge of the seas.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Sylvan,—through troops of the trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose clamorous clans with gnarly bosoms keep hurling<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Themselves on the guns of the wind,—goes wheeling and whirling.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Nymph, of the waves' exultation upheld, her green tresses<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Knotted with flowers of the hollow white foam, dives screaming;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then bounds to the arms of the storm, who boisterously presses<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her hair and wild form to his breast that is panting and streaming.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Sylvan,—hard-pressed by the wind, the Pan-footed air,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the violent backs of the hills,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a flame that tosses and thrills<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From peak to peak when the world of spirits is out,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is borne, as her rapture wills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With glittering gesture and shout:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now here in the darkness, now there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the rain-like sweep of her hair,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bewilderingly volleyed o'er eyes and o'er lips,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the lambent swell of her limbs, her breasts and her hips,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She flashes her beautiful nakedness out in the glare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the tempest that bears her away,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That bears me away!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Away, over forest and foam, over tree and spray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far swifter than thought, far swifter than sound or than flame.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Over ocean and pine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In arms of tumultuous shadow and shine ...<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17"></a>[17]</span> +<span class="i0">Though Sylvan and Nymph do not<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Exist, and only what<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of terror and beauty I feel and I name<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As parts of the storm, the awe and the rapture divine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That here in the tempest are mine,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The two are the same, the two are forever the same.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<p><span class="t3"><b>CALM</b></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beautiful-bosomed, O night, in thy noon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Move with majesty onward! bearing, as lightly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As a singer may bear the notes of an exquisite tune,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stars and the moon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the clerestories high of the heaven, the firmament's halls;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under whose sapphirine walls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">June, hesperian June,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Robed in divinity wanders. Daily and nightly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The turquoise touch of her robe, that the violets star,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The silvery fall of her feet, that lilies are,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fill the land with languorous light and perfume.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is it the melody mute of burgeoning leaf and of bloom?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The music of Nature, that silently shapes in the gloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Immaterial hosts<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of spirits that have the flowers and leaves in their keep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I hear, that I hear?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Invisible ghosts,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who whisper in leaves and glimmer in blossoms and hover<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18"></a>[18]</span> +<span class="i0">In color and fragrance and loveliness, breathed from the deep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">World-soul of the mother,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nature;—who, over and over,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Both sweetheart and lover,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Goes singing her songs from one sweet month to the other,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That appear, that appear?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In forest and field, on hill-land and lea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As crystallized harmony,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Materialized melody,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An uttered essence peopling far and near<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The hyaline atmosphere?...<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behold how it sprouts from the grass and blooms from flower and tree!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In waves of diaphanous moonlight and mist,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In fugue upon fugue of gold and of amethyst,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around me, above me it spirals; now slower, now faster,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like symphonies born of the thought of a musical master.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">—O music of Earth! O God who the music inspired!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let me breathe of the life of thy breath!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so be fulfilled and attired<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In resurrection, triumphant o'er time and o'er death!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_08" id="poem_08"></a><i>Hymn to</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>Desire</i></span> + +</h3> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Mother of visions, with lineaments dulcet as numbers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breathed on the eyelids of love by music that slumbers,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19"></a>[19]</span> +<span class="i0">Secretly, sweetly, O presence of fire and snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou comest mysterious,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In beauty imperious,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clad on with dreams and the light of no world that we know.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep to my innermost soul am I shaken,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Helplessly shaken and tossed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And of thy tyrannous yearnings so utterly taken,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My lips, unsatisfied, thirst;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mine eyes are accurst<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With longings for visions that far in the night are forsaken;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And mine ears, in listening lost,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yearn, yearn for the note of a chord that will never awaken.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Like palpable music thou comest, like moonlight; and far,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Resonant bar upon bar,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The vibrating lyre<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the spirit responds with melodious fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As thy fluttering fingers now grasp it and ardently shake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With flame and with flake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The chords of existence, the instrument star-sprung.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose frame is of clay, so wonderfully molded from mire.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Vested with vanquishment, come, O Desire, Desire!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breathe in this harp of my soul the audible angel of love!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Make of my heart an Israfel burning above,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20"></a>[20]</span> +<span class="i0">A lute for the music of God, that lips, which are mortal, but stammer!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smite every rapturous wire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With golden delirium, rebellion and silvery clamor,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crying—"Awake! awake!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Too long hast thou slumbered! too far from the regions of glamour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With its mountains of magic, its fountains of Faëry, the spar-sprung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hast thou wandered away, O Heart!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come, oh, come and partake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of necromance banquets of beauty; and slake<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy thirst in the waters of art,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That are drawn from the streams<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of love and of dreams.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IV</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Come, oh, come!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No longer shall language be dumb!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy vision shall grasp—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As one doth the glittering hasp<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of a dagger made splendid with gems and with gold—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wonder and richness of life, not anguish and hate of it merely.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And out of the stark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Eternity, awful and dark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Immensity silent and cold,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Universe-shaking as trumpets, or thunderous metals<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That cymbal; yet pensive and pearly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And soft as the rosy unfolding of petals,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or crumbling aroma of blossoms that wither too early,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The majestic music of Death, where he plays<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the organ of eons and days."<br /></span> +</div></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21"></a>[21]</span></p> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_09" id="poem_09"></a><i>Music</i></span> + + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thou, oh, thou!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thou of the chorded shell and golden plectrum! thou<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the dark eyes and pale pacific brow!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Music, who by the plangent waves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or in the echoing night of labyrinthine caves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or on God's mountains, lonely as the stars,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Touchest reverberant bars<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of immemorial sorrow and amaze;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Keeping regret and memory awake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the immortal ache<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of love that leans upon the past's sweet days<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In retrospection!—now, oh, now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Interpreter and heart-physician, thou,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who gazest on the heaven and the hell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of life, and singest each as well,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Touch with thy all-mellifluous finger-tips,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or thy melodious lips,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This sickness named my soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Making it whole,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As is an echo of a chord,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or some symphonic word,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or sweet vibrating sigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That deep, resurgent still doth rise and die<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On thy voluminous roll;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Part of the beauty and the mystery<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That axles Earth with song; and as a slave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swings it around and 'round on each sonorous pole,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Mid spheric harmony,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And choral majesty,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And diapasoning of wind and wave;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And speeds it on its far elliptic way<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Mid vasty anthemings of night and day.—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22"></a>[22]</span> +<span class="i0">O cosmic cry<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of two eternities, wherein we see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The phantasms, Death and Life,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At endless strife<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above the silence of a monster grave.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_10" id="poem_10"></a><i>Jotunheim</i></span> + +</h3> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beyond the Northern Lights, in regions haunted<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of twilight, where the world is glacier planted,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pale as Loki in his cavern when<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The serpent's slaver burns him to the bones,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I saw the phantasms of gigantic men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The prototypes of vastness, quarrying stones;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Great blocks of winter, glittering with the morn's<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And evening's colors,—wild prismatic tones<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of boreal beauty.—Like the three gray Norns,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silence and solitude and terror loomed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around them where they labored. Walls arose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vast as the Andes when creation boomed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Insurgent fire; and through the rushing snows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Enormous battlements of tremendous ice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bastioned and turreted, I saw arise.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But who can sing the workmanship gigantic<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That reared within its coruscating dome<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The roaring fountain, hurling an Atlantic<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of streaming ice that flashed with flame and foam?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An opal spirit, various and many formed,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In whose clear heart reverberant fire stormed,—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23"></a>[23]</span> +<span class="i2">Seemed its inhabitant; and through pale halls,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And deep diaphanous walls,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And corridors of whiteness.<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Auroral colors swarmed,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">As rosy-flickering stains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or lambent green, or gold, or crimson, warmed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The pulsing crystal of the spirit's veins<br /></span> +<span class="i6">With ever-changing brightness.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through the Arctic night there went a voice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As if the ancient Earth cried out, "Rejoice!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">My heart is full of lightness!"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here well might Thor, the god of war,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Harness the whirlwinds to his car,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While, mailed in storm, his iron arm<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heaves high his hammer's lava-form,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And red and black his beard streams back,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like some fierce torrent scoriac,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose earthquake light glares through the night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around some dark volcanic height;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through the skies Valkyrian cries<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trumpet, as battleward he flies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Death in his hair and havoc in his eyes.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IV</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Still in my dreams I hear that fountain flowing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beyond all seeing and beyond all knowing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still in my dreams I see those wild walls glowing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With hues, Aurora-kissed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And through huge halls fantastic phantoms going.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Vast shapes of snow and mist,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sonorous clarions of the tempest blowing,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That trail dark banners by,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24"></a>[24]</span> +<span class="i2">Cloudlike, underneath the sky<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the caverned dome on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Carbuncle and amethyst.—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Still I hear the ululation<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of their stormy exultation,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Multitudinous, and blending<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In hoarse echoes, far, unending;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, through halls of fog and frost,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Howling back, like madness lost<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the moonless mansion of<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Its own demon-haunted love.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>V</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Still in my dreams I hear the mermaid singing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mermaid music at its portal ringing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mermaid song, that hinged with gold its door,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, whispering evermore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hushed the ponderous hurl and roar<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And vast æolian thunder<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of the chained tempests under<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The frozen cataracts that were its floor.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, blinding beautiful, I still behold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mermaid there, combing her locks of gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While, at her feet, green as the Northern Seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gambol her flocks of seals and walruses;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While, like a drift, her dog—a Polar bear—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lies by her, glowering through his shaggy hair.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VI</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O wondrous house, built by supernal hands<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In vague and ultimate lands!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy architects were behemoth wind and cloud,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That, laboring loud,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mountained thy world foundations and uplifted<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thy skyey bastions drifted<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25"></a>[25]</span> +<span class="i0">Of piled eternities of ice and snow;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where storms, like ploughmen, go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ploughing the deeps with awful hurricane;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where, spouting icy rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The huge whale wallows; and through furious hail<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Th' explorer's tattered sail<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drives like the wing of some terrific bird,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where wreck and famine herd.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Home of the red Auroras and the gods!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He who profanes thy perilous threshold,—where<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The ancient centuries lair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, glacier-throned, thy monarch, Winter, nods,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let him beware!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lest, coming on that hoary presence there,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whose pitiless hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Above that hungry land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An iceberg wields as sceptre, and whose crown<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The North Star is, set in a band of frost,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He, too, shall feel the bitterness of that frown,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, turned to stone, forevermore be lost.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_11" id="poem_11"></a><i>Dionysia</i></span> + + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The day is dead; and in the west<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The slender crescent of the moon—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Diana's crystal-kindled crest—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sinks hillward in a silvery swoon.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What is the murmur in the dell?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stealthy whisper and the drip?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Dryad with her leaf-light trip?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or Naiad o'er her fountain well?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who, with white fingers for her comb,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sleeks her blue hair, and from its curls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Showers slim minnows and pale pearls,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26"></a>[26]</span> +<span class="i0">And hollow music of the foam.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What is it in the vistaed ways<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That leans and springs, and stoops and sways?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The naked limbs of one who flees?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An Oread who hesitates<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before the Satyr form that waits,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crouching to leap, that there she sees?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or under boughs, reclining cool,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A Hamadryad, like a pool<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of moonlight, palely beautiful?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or Limnad, with her lilied face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">More lovely than the misty lace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That haunts a star and gives it grace?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or is it some Leimoniad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In wildwood flowers dimly clad?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oblong blossoms white as froth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or mottled like the tiger-moth;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or brindled as the brows of death;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wild of hue and wild of breath.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here ethereal flame and milk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blent with velvet and with silk;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here an iridescent glow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mixed with satin and with snow:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pansy, poppy and the pale<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Serpolet and galingale;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mandrake and anemone,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Honey-reservoirs o' the bee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cistus and the cyclamen,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cheeked like blushing Hebe this,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the other white as is<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bubbled milk of Venus when<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cupid's baby mouth is pressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rosy, to her rosy breast.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, besides, all flowers that mate<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27"></a>[27]</span> +<span class="i0">With aroma, and in hue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stars and rainbows duplicate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here on earth for me and you.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yea! at last mine eyes can see!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis no shadow of the tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swaying softly there, but she!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mænad, Bassarid, Bacchant,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What you will, who doth enchant<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Night with sensuous nudity.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lo! again I hear her pant<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breasting through the dewy glooms—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the glow-worm gleams and glowers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the starlight;—wood-perfumes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swoon around her and frail showers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the leaflet-tilted rain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lo, like love, she comes again,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the pale, voluptuous dusk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet of limb with breasts of musk.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With her lips, like blossoms, breathing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Honeyed pungence of her kiss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And her auburn tresses wreathing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like umbrageous helichrys,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There she stands, like fire and snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the moon's ambrosial glow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Both her shapely loins low-looped<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the balmy blossoms, drooped,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the deep amaracus.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spiritual yet sensual,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lo, she ever greets me thus<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In my vision; white and tall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her delicious body there,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Raimented with amorous air,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To my mind expresses all<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The allurements of the world.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And once more I seem to feel<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28"></a>[28]</span> +<span class="i0">On my soul, like frenzy, hurled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All the passionate past.—I reel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Greek again in ancient Greece,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the Pyrrhic revelries;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the mad and Mænad dance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Onward dragged with violence;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pan and old Silenus and<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faunus and a Bacchant band<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round me. Wild my wine-stained hand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O'er tumultuous hair is lifted;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While the flushed and Phallic orgies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whirl around me; and the marges<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the wood are torn and rifted<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With lascivious laugh and shout.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And barbarian there again,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shameless with the shameless rout,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bacchus lusting in each vein,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With her pagan lips on mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a god made drunk with wine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On I reel; and, in the revels,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her loose hair, the dance dishevels,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blows, and 'thwart my vision swims<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All the splendor of her limbs....<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So it seems. Yet woods are lonely.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And when I again awake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I shall find their faces only<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Moonbeams in the boughs that shake;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And their revels, but the rush<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of night-winds through bough and brush.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet my dreaming—is it more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than mere dreaming? Is some door<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Opened in my soul? a curtain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Raised? to let me see for certain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have lived that life before?<br /></span> +</div></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29"></a>[29]</span></p> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_12" id="poem_12"></a><i>The Last</i><br /></span> + <span class="t2"><i>Song</i></span> + + + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She sleeps; he sings to her. The day was long,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, tired out with too much happiness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She fain would have him sing of old Provence;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Quaint songs, that spoke of love in such soft tones,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her restless soul was straight besieged of dreams,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And her wild heart beleagured of deep peace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heart and soul surrendered unto sleep.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like perfect sculpture in the moon she lies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its pallor on her through heraldic panes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of one tall casement's gulèd quarterings.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beside her couch, an antique table, weighed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With gold and crystal; here, a carven chair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whereon her raiment,—that suggests sweet curves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of shapely beauty,—bearing her limbs' impress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is richly laid: and, near the chair, a glass,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An oval mirror framed in ebony:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, dim and deep,—investing all the room<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With ghostly life of woven women and men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And strange fantastic gloom, where shadows live,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dark tapestry,—which in the gusts—that twinge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A grotesque cresset's slender star of light—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seems moved of cautious hands, assassin-like,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That wait the hour.<br /></span> +<span class="i10">She alone, deep-haired<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As rosy dawn, and whiter than a rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Divinely breasted as the Queen of Love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lies robeless in the glimmer of the moon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like Danaë within the golden shower.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seated beside her aromatic rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In rapture musing on her loveliness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her knight and troubadour. A lute, aslope<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The curious baldric of his tunic, glints<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30"></a>[30]</span> +<span class="i0">With pearl-reflections of the moon, that seem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The silent ghosts of long-dead melodies.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In purple and sable, slashed with solemn gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like stately twilight o'er the snow-heaped hills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He bends above her.—<br /></span> +<span class="i10">Have his hands forgot<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their craft, that they pause, idle on the strings?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His lips, their art, that they cease, speechless there?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His eyes are set.... What is it stills to stone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His hands, his lips? and mails him, head and heel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In terrible marble, motionless and cold?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Behind the arras, can it be he feels,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Black-browed and grim, with eyes of sombre fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Death towers above him with uplifted sword?<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_13" id="poem_13"></a><i>Romaunt of</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>the Oak</i></span> + + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I rode to death, for I fought for shame—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Lady Maurine of noble name,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The fair and faithless!—Though life be long<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is love the wiser?—Love made song<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Of all my life; and the soul that crept<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Before, arose like a star and leapt:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Still leaps with the love that it found untrue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That it found unworthy.—Now run me through!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Yea, run me through! for meet and well,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a jest for laughter of fiends in hell,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"It is that I, who have done no wrong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should die by the hand of Hugh the Strong,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31"></a>[31]</span></p> +<span class="i0">"Of Hugh her leman!—What else could be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the devil was judge twixt thee and me?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"He splintered my lance, and my blade he broke—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now finish me thou 'neath the trysting oak!" ...<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The crest of his foeman,—a heart of white<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a bath of fire,—stooped i' the night;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Stooped and laughed as his sword he swung,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then galloped away with a laugh on his tongue....<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But who is she in the gray, wet dawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Mid the autumn shades like a shadow wan?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Who kneels, one hand on her straining breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One hand on the dead man's bosom pressed?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her face is dim as the dead's; as cold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As his tarnished harness of steel and gold.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O Lady Maurine! O Lady Maurine!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What boots it now that regret is keen?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">That his hair you smooth, that you kiss his brow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What boots it now? what boots it now?...<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She has haled him under the trysting oak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The huge old oak that the creepers cloak.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She has stood him, gaunt in his battered arms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In its haunted hollow.—"Be safe from storms,"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She laughed as his cloven casque she placed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On his brow, and his riven shield she braced.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then sat and talked to the forest flowers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the lonely term of the day's pale hours.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And stared and whispered and smiled and wept,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While nearer and nearer the evening crept.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32"></a>[32]</span></p> +<span class="i0">And, lo, when the moon, like a great gold bloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above the sorrowful trees did loom,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She rose up sobbing, "O moon, come see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My bridegroom here in the old oak-tree!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I have talked to the flowers all day, all day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For never a word had he to say.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"He would not listen, he would not hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though I wailed my longing into his ear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"O moon, steal in where he stands so grim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tell him I love him, and plead with him.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Soften his face that is cold and stern<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And brighten his eyes and make them burn,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"O moon, O moon, so my soul can see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That his heart still glows with love for me!" ...<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the moon was set, and the woods were dark,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wild deer came and stood as stark,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As phantoms with eyes of fire; or fled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a ghostly hunt of the herded dead.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the hoot-owl called; and the were-wolf snarled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a voice, in the boughs of the oak-tree gnarled,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Like the whining rush of the hags that ride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the witches' sabboth,—crooned and cried.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And wrapped in his mantle of wind and cloud<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The storm-fiend stalked through the forest loud.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When she heard the dead man rattle and groan<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the oak was bent and its leaves were blown,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And the lightning vanished and shimmered his mail,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the swirling sweep of the rain and hail,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33"></a>[33]</span></p> +<span class="i0">She seemed to hear him, who seemed to call,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Come hither, Maurine, the wild leaves fall!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The wild leaves rustle, the wild leaves flee;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come hither, Maurine, to the hollow tree!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"To the trysting tree, to the tree once green;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come hither, Maurine! come hither, Maurine!" ...<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They found her closed in his armored arms—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had he claimed his bride on that night of storms?<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_14" id="poem_14"></a><i>Morgan le</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>Fay</i></span> + + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In dim samite was she bedight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And on her hair a hoop of gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like fox-fire in the tawn moonlight,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Was glimmering cold.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With soft gray eyes she gloomed and glowered;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With soft red lips she sang a song:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What knight might gaze upon her face,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Nor fare along?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For all her looks were full of spells,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all her words of sorcery;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in some way they seemed to say<br /> +</span> +<span class="i2"> "Oh, come with me!<br /> +</span> +</div> +<div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh, come with me! oh, come with me!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Oh, come with me, my love, Sir Kay!"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How should he know the witch, I trow,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Morgan le Fay?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34"></a>[34]</span></p> +<span class="i0">How should he know the wily witch,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With sweet white face and raven hair?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who by her art bewitched his heart<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And held him there.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For soul and sense had waxed amort<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To wold and weald, to slade and stream;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all he heard was her soft word<br /></span> +<span class="i4">As one adream.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And all he saw was her bright eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And her fair face that held him still;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wild and wan she led him on<br /></span> +<span class="i4">O'er vale and hill.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Until at last a castle lay<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beneath the moon, among the trees;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its Gothic towers old and gray<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With mysteries.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Tall in its hall an hundred knights<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In armor stood with glaive in hand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The following of some great King,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Lord of that land.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sir Bors, Sir Balin, and Gawain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All Arthur's knights, and many mo;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But these in battle had been slain<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Long years ago.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But when Morgan with lifted hand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Moved down the hall, they louted low;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For she was Queen of Shadowland,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">That woman of snow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then from Sir Kay she drew away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And mocking at him by her side,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Behold, Sir Knights, the knave who slew<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Your King," she cried.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35"></a>[35]</span></p> +<span class="i0">Then like one man those shadows raised<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their swords, whereon the moon glanced gray;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And clashing all strode from the wall<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Against Sir Kay.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And on his body, bent and bowed,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The hundred blades like one blade fell;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While over all rang long and loud<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The mirth of Hell.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_15" id="poem_15"></a><i>The Dream</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>of Roderick</i></span> + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Below, the tawny Tagus swept<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Past royal gardens, breathing balm;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon his couch the monarch slept;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The world was still; the night was calm.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Gray, Gothic-gated, in the ray<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of moonrise, tower-and castle-crowned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The city of Toledo lay<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath the terraced palace-ground.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Again, he dreamed, in kingly sport<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He sought the tree-sequestered path,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And watched the ladies of his Court<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within the marble-basined bath.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Its porphyry stairs and fountained base<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shone, houried with voluptuous forms,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Andalusia vied in grace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With old Castile, in female charms.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And laughter, song, and water-splash<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rang round the place, with stone arcaded,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As here a breast or limb would flash<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where beauty swam or beauty waded.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36"></a>[36]</span></p> +<span class="i0">And then, like Venus, from the wave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A maiden came, and stood below;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And by her side a woman slave<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bent down to dry her limbs of snow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then on the tesselated bank,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Robed on with fragrance and with fire,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like some exotic flower—she sank,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The type of all divine desire.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then her dark curls, that sparkled wet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She parted from her perfect brows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, lo, her eyes, like lamps of jet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within an alabaster house.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And in his sleep the monarch sighed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Florinda!"—Dreaming still he moaned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Ah, would that I had died, had died!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have atoned! I have atoned!" ...<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And then the vision changed: O'erhead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tempest and darkness were unrolled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Full of wild voices of the dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lamentations manifold.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And wandering shapes of gaunt despair<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swept by, with faces pale as pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose eyes wept blood and seemed to glare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fierce curses on him through the rain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And then, it seemed, 'gainst blazing skies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A necromantic tower sate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crag-like on crags, of giant size;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of adamant its walls and gate.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And from the storm a hand of might<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Red-rolled in thunder, reached among<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gate's huge bolts—that burst; and night<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clanged ruin as its hinges swung.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37"></a>[37]</span></p> +<span class="i0">Then far away a murmur trailed,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As of sad seas on cavern'd shores,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That grew into a voice that wailed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"They come! they come! the Moors! the Moors!"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And with deep boom of atabals<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And crash of cymbals and wild peal<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of battle-bugles, from its walls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An army rushed in glimmering steel.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And where it trod he saw the torch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of conflagration stalk the skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in the vanward of its march<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The monster form of Havoc rise.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And Paynim war-cries rent the storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Athwart whose firmament of flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Destruction reared an earthquake form<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On wreck and death without a name ...<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And then again the vision changed:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where flows the Guadalete, see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The warriors of the Cross are ranged<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Against the Crescent's chivalry.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With roar of trumpets and of drums<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They meet; and in the battle's van<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He fights; and, towering towards him, comes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Florinda's father, Julian;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And one-eyed Taric, great in war:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And where these couch their burning spears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Christian phalanx, near and far,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Goes down like corn before the shears.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Moslem wins: the Christian flies:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Allah il Allah," hill and plain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Reverberate: the rocking skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Allah il Allah," shout again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38"></a>[38]</span></p> +<span class="i0">And then he dreamed the swing of swords<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hurl of arrows were no more;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, louder than the howling hordes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strange silence fell on field and shore.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And through the night, it seemed, he fled,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Upon a white steed like a star,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Across a field of endless dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath a blood-red scimitar.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Of sunset: And he heard a moan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beneath, around, on every hand—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Accurséd! Yea, what hast thou done<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To bring this curse upon thy land?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And then an awful sense of wings:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, lo! the answer—"'Twas his lust<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That was his crime. Behold! E'en kings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Must reckon with Me. All are dust."<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_16" id="poem_16"></a><i>Zyps of</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>Zirl</i></span> + + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Alps of the Tyrol are dark with pines,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where, foaming under the mountain spines,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Inn's long water sounds and shines.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beyond, are peaks where the morning weaves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An icy rose; and the evening leaves<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The glittering gold of a thousand sheaves.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Deep vines and torrents and glimmering haze,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sheep-bells tinkling on mountain ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fluting shepherds make sweet the days.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The rolling mist, like a wandering fleece,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The great round moon in a mountain crease,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a song of love make the nights all peace.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39"></a>[39]</span></p> +<span class="i0">Beneath the blue Tyrolean skies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the banks of the Inn, that foams and flies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The storied city of Innsbruck lies.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With its mediæval streets, that crook,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And its gabled houses, it has the look<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of a belfried town in a fairy-book.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So wild the Tyrol that oft, 'tis said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the storm is out and the town in bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The howling of wolves sweeps overhead.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And oft the burgher, sitting here<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In his walled rose-garden, hears the clear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shrill scream of the eagle circling near.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And this is the tale that the burghers tell:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Abbot of Wiltau stood at his cell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the Solstein lifts its pinnacle.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A mighty summit of bluffs and crags<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That frowns on the Inn; where the forest stags<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Have worn a path to the water-flags.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Abbot of Wiltau stood below;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he was aware of a plume and bow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the precipice there in the morning's glow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A chamois, he saw, from span to span<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had leapt; and after it leapt a man;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he knew 't was the Kaiser Maxmilian.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But, see! though rash as the chamois he,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His foot less sure. And verily<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If the King should miss ... "Jesu, Marie!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The King hath missed!"—And, look, he falls!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rolls headlong out to the headlong walls.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What saint shall save him on whom he calls?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40"></a>[40]</span></p> +<span class="i0">What saint shall save him, who struggles there<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the narrow ledge by the eagle's lair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With hooked hands clinging 'twixt earth and air?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Abbot, he crosses himself in dread—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Let prayers go up for the nearly dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the passing-bell be tolled," he said.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"For the House of Hapsburg totters; see,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How raveled the thread of its destiny,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sheer hung between cloud and rock!" quoth he.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But hark! where the steeps of the peak reply,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is it an eagle's echoing cry?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the flitting shadow, its plumes on high?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No voice of the eagle is that which rings!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the shadow, a wiry man who swings<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down, down where the desperate Kaiser clings.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The <i>crampons</i> bound to his feet, he leaps<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a chamois now; and again he creeps<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or twists, like a snake, o'er the fearful deeps.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"By his cross-bow, baldrick, and cap's black curl,"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Quoth the Abbot below, "I know the churl!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'T is the hunted outlaw Zyps of Zirl.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Upon whose head, or dead or alive,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Kaiser hath posted a price.—Saints shrive<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The King!" quoth Wiltau. "Who may contrive<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"To save him now that his foe is there?"—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, listen! again through the breathless air<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What words are those that the echoes bear?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Courage, my King!—To the rescue, ho!"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wild voice rings like a twanging bow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the staring Abbot stands mute below.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41"></a>[41]</span></p> +<span class="i0">And, lo! the hand of the outlaw grasps<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The arm of the King—and death unclasps<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its fleshless fingers from him who gasps.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And how he guides! where the clean cliffs wedge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Them flat to their faces; by chasm and ledge<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He helps the King from the merciless edge.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then up and up, past bluffs that shun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rashest chamois; where eagles sun<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fierce wings and brood; where the mists are spun.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And safe at last stand Kaiser and churl<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the mountain path where the mosses curl—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And this the revenge of Zyps of Zirl.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_17" id="poem_17"></a><i>The</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>Glowworm</i></span> + + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How long had I sat there and had not beheld<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The gleam of the glow-worm till something compelled!...<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The heaven was starless, the forest was deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the vistas of darkness stretched silent in sleep.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And late 'mid the trees had I lingered until<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No thing was awake but the lone whippoorwill.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And haunted of thoughts for an hour I sat<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On a lichen-gray rock where the moss was a mat.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And thinking of one whom my heart had held dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like terrible waters, a gathering fear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Came stealing upon me with all the distress<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of loss and of yearning and powerlessness:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42"></a>[42]</span></p> +<span class="i0">Till the hopes and the doubts and the sleepless unrest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, swallow-like, built in the home of my breast,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now hither, now thither, now heavenward flew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wild-winged as the winds are: now suddenly drew,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My soul to abysses of nothingness where<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All light was a shadow, all hope, a despair:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Where truth, that religion had set upon high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The darkness distorted and changed to a lie:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And dreams of the beauty ambition had fed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like leaves of the autumn fell blighted and dead.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And I rose with my burden of anguish and doom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cried, "O my God, had I died in the womb!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Than born into night, with no hope of the morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An heir unto shadows, to live so forlorn!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"All effort is vain; and the planet called Faith<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sinks down; and no power is real but death.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh, light me a torch in the deepening dark<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So my sick soul may follow, my sad heart may mark!"—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And then in the darkness the answer!—It came<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Earth not from Heaven—a glimmering flame,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Behold, at my feet! In the shadow it shone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mysteriously lovely and dimly alone:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">An ember; a sparkle of dew and of glower;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like the lamp that a spirit hangs under a flower:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As goldenly green as the phosphorus star<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A fairy may wear in her diadem's bar:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43"></a>[43]</span></p> +<span class="i0">An element essence of moonlight and dawn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That, trodden and trampled, burns on and burns on.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And hushed was my soul with the lesson of light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That God had revealed to me there in the night:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Though mortal its structure, material its form,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The spiritual message of worm unto worm.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_18" id="poem_18"></a><i>Ghosts</i></span> + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Was it the strain of the waltz that, repeating<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Love," so bewitched me? or only the gleam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There of the lustres, that set my heart beating,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Feeling your presence as one feels a dream?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For, on a sudden, the woman of fashion,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soft at my side in her diamonds and lace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vanished, and pale with reproach or with passion,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You, my dead sweetheart, smiled up in my face.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Music, the nebulous lights, and the sifting<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fragrance of women made amorous the air;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Born of these three and my thoughts you came drifting,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clad in dim muslin, a rose in your hair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There in the waltz, that followed the lancers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hard to my breast did I crush you and hold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far through the stir and the throng of the dancers<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Onward I bore you as often of old.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Pale were your looks; and the rose in your tresses<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Paler of hue than the dreams we have lost;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Who," then I said, "is it sees or who guesses,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here in the hall, that I dance with a ghost?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44"></a>[44]</span></p> +<span class="i0">Gone! And the dance and the music are ended.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gone! And the rapture dies out of the skies.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, on my arm, in her elegance splendid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The woman of fashion smiles up in my eyes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Had I forgotten? and did you remember?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You, who are dead, whom I cannot forget;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You, for whose sake all my heart is an ember<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Covered with ashes of dreams and regret.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_19" id="poem_19"></a><i>The Purple</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>Valleys</i></span> + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Far in the purple valleys of illusion<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I see her waiting, like the soul of music,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With deep eyes, lovelier than cerulean pansies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shadow and fire, yet merciless as poison;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With red lips, sweeter than Arabian storax,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet bitterer than myrrh.—O tears and kisses!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O eyes and lips, that haunt my soul forever!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Again Spring walks transcendent on the mountains:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The woods are hushed: the vales are blue with shadows:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above the heights, steeped in a thousand splendors,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like some vast canvas of the gods, hangs burning<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sunset's wild sciography: and slowly<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The moon treads heaven's proscenium,—night's stately<br /></span> +<span class="i0">White queen of love and tragedy and madness.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Again I know forgotten dreams and longings;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ideals lost; desires dead and buried<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beside the altar sacrifice erected<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within the heart's high sanctuary. Strangely<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Again I know the horror and the rapture,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45"></a>[45]</span> +<span class="i0">The utterless awe, the joy akin to anguish,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The terror and the worship of the spirit.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Again I feel her eyes pierce through and through me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her deep eyes, lovelier than imperial pansies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Velvet and flame, through which her fierce will holds me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Powerless and tame, and draws me on and onward<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To sad, unsatisfied and animal yearnings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wild, unrestrained—the brute within the human—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To fling me panting on her mouth and bosom.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Again I feel her lips like ice and fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her red lips, odorous as Arabian storax,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fragrance and fire, within whose kiss destruction<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lies serpent-like. Intoxicating languors<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Resistlessly embrace me, soul and body;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And we go drifting, drifting—she is laughing—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Outcasts of God, into the deep's abysm.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_20" id="poem_20"></a><i>The Land</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>of Illusion</i></span> + + +</h3> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So we had come at last, my soul and I,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Into that land of shadowy plain and peak,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">On which the dawn seemed ever about to break<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On which the day seemed ever about to die.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Long had we sought fulfillment of our dreams,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The everlasting wells of Joy and Youth;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Long had we sought the snow-white flow'r of Truth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That blooms eternal by eternal streams.<br /></span> +</div></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46"></a>[46]</span></p> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And, fonder still, we hoped to find the sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Immortal presence, Love; the bird Delight<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beside her; and, eyed with sidereal night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Faith, like a lion, fawning at her feet.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IV</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But, scorched and barren, in its arid well,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We found our dreams' forgotten fountain-head;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And by black, bitter waters, crushed and dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among wild weeds, Truth's trampled asphodel.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>V</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And side by side with pallid Doubt and Pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not Love, but Grief did meet us there: afar<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We saw her, like a melancholy star,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or pensive moon, move towards us o'er the plain.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VI</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sweet was her face as song that sings of home;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And filled our hearts with vague, suggestive spells<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of pathos, as sad ocean fills its shells<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With sympathetic moanings of its foam.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">She raised one hand and pointed silently,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Then passed; her eyes, gaunt with a thirst unslaked,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Were worlds of woe, where tears in torrents ached,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet never fell. And like a winter sea,—<br /></span> +</div></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47"></a>[47]</span></p> + +<h4>VIII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Whose caverned crags are haunts of wreck and wrath,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That house the condor pinions of the storm,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My soul replied; and, weeping, arm in arm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To'ards those dim hills, by that appointed path,<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IX</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">We turned and went. Arrived, we did discern<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How Beauty beckoned, white 'mid miles of flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through which, behold, the amaranthine Hours<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like maidens went each holding up an urn;<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>X</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Wherein, it seemed—drained from long chalices<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of those slim flow'rs—they bore mysterious wine;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A poppied vintage, full of sleep divine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pale forgetting of all miseries.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XI</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then to my soul I said, "No longer weep.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Come, let us drink; for hateful is the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And earth is full of care, and life's a lie.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So let us drink; yea, let us drink and sleep."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Then from their brimming urns we drank sweet must,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">While, all around us, rose-crowned faces laughed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Into our eyes; but hardly had we quaffed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When, one by one, these crumbled into dust.<br /></span> +</div></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48"></a>[48]</span></p> + +<h4>XIII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And league on league the eminence of blooms,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That flashed and billowed like a summer sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Rolled out a waste of thorns and tombs; where bee<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And butterfly and bird hung dead in looms<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XIV</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Of worm and spider. And through tomb and brier,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A thin wind, parched with thirsty dust and sand,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Went wailing as if mourning some lost land<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of perished empire, Babylon or Tyre.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XV</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Long, long with blistered feet we wandered in<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That land of ruins, through whose sky of brass<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Hate's Harpy shrieked; and in whose iron grass<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Hydra hissed of undestroyable Sin.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XVI</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And there at last, behold, the House of Doom,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Red, as if Hell had glared it into life,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Blood-red, and howling with incessant strife,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With burning battlements, towered in the gloom.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XVII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And throned within sat Darkness.—Who might gaze<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Upon that form, that threatening presence there,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Crowned with the flickering corpse-lights of Despair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And yet escape sans madness and amaze?<br /></span> +</div></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49"></a>[49]</span></p> + +<h4>XVIII</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And we had hoped to find among these hills<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The House of Beauty!—Curst, yea, thrice accurst,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The hope that lures one on from last to first<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With vain illusions that no time fulfills!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XIX</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Why will we struggle to attain, and strive,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When all we gain is but an empty dream?—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Better, unto my thinking, doth it seem<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To end it all and let who will survive;<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XX</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To find at last all beauty is but dust;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That love and sorrow are the very same;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That joy is only suffering's sweeter name;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sense is but the synonym of lust.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>XXI</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Far better, yea, to me it seems to die;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To set glad lips against the lips of Death—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The only thing God gives that comforteth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The only thing we do not find a lie.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_21" id="poem_21"></a><i>Spirit of</i><br /> + </span> + + <span class="t2"><i>Dreams</i></span> + +</h3> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Where hast thou folded thy pinions,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Spirit of Dreams?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hidden elusive garments<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Woven of gleams?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In what divine dominions,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50"></a>[50]</span> +<span class="i2">Brighter than day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far from the world's dark torments,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Dost thou stay, dost thou stay?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When shall my yearnings reach thee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Again?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not in vain let my soul beseech thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not in vain! not in vain!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I have longed for thee as a lover<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For her, the one;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As a brother for a sister<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Long dead and gone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I have called thee over and over<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Names sweet to hear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With words than music trister,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And thrice as dear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How long must my sad heart woo thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet fail?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How long must my soul pursue thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor avail, nor avail?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">All night hath thy loving mother,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beautiful Sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lying beside me, listened<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And heard me weep.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But ever thou soughtest another<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who sought thee not;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For him thy soft smile glistened—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I was forgot.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When shall my soul behold thee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As before?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When shall my heart infold thee?—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nevermore? nevermore?<br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53"></a>[53]</span></p> + +<h2>LINES AND LYRICS + + + +</h2> + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_22" id="poem_22"></a><i>To a Wind-</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>Flower</i></span> + +</h3> + + +<h4>I</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Teach me the secret of thy loveliness,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That, being made wise, I may aspire to be<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As beautiful in thought, and so express<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Immortal truths to earth's mortality;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though to my soul ability be less<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than 't is to thee, O sweet anemone.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Teach me the secret of thy innocence,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That in simplicity I may grow wise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Asking from Art no other recompense<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Than the approval of her own just eyes;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So may I rise to some fair eminence,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though less than thine, O cousin of the skies.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Teach me these things; through whose high knowledge, I,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When Death hath poured oblivion through my veins,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And brought me home, as all are brought, to lie<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In that vast house, common to serfs and Thanes,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I shall not die, I shall not utterly die,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For beauty born of beauty—<i>that</i> remains.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_23" id="poem_23"></a><i>Microcosm</i></span> + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The memory of what we've lost<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is with us more than what we've won;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps because we count the cost<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By what we could, yet have not done.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54"></a>[54]</span></p> +<span class="i0">'Twixt act and purpose fate hath drawn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Invisible threads we can not break,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And puppet-like these move us on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stage of life, and break or make.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Less than the dust from which we're wrought,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We come and go, and still are hurled<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From change to change, from naught to naught,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heirs of oblivion and the world.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_24" id="poem_24"></a><i>Fortune</i></span> + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Within the hollowed hand of God,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blood-red they lie, the dice of fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That have no time nor period,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And know no early and no late.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Postpone you can not, nor advance<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Success or failure that's to be;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All fortune, being born of chance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is bastard-child to destiny.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Bow down your head, or hold it high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Consent, defy—no smallest part<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of this you change, although the die<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was fashioned from your living heart.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_25" id="poem_25"></a><i>Death</i></span> + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Through some strange sense of sight or touch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I find what all have found before,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The presence I have feared so much,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The unknown's immaterial door.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55"></a>[55]</span></p> +<span class="i0">I seek not and it comes to me:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I do not know the thing I find:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fillet of fatality<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drops from my brows that made me blind.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Point forward now or backward, light!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The way I take I may not choose:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out of the night into the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in the night no certain clews.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But on the future, dim and vast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dark with dust and sacrifice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Death's towering ruin from the past<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Makes black the land that round me lies.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_26" id="poem_26"></a><i>The</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>Soul</i></span> + + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">An heritage of hopes and fears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And dreams and memory,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And vices of ten thousand years<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God gives to thee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A house of clay, the home of Fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Haunted of Love and Sin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Death stands knocking at the gate<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To let him in.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_27" id="poem_27"></a><i>Conscience</i></span> + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Within the soul are throned two powers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One, Love; one, Hate. Begot of these,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And veiled between, a presence towers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shadowy keeper of the keys.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56"></a>[56]</span></p> +<span class="i0">With wild command or calm persuasion<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This one may argue, that compel;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vain are concealment and evasion—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For each he opens heaven and hell.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_28" id="poem_28"></a><i>Youth</i></span> + +</h3> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Morn's mystic rose is reddening on the hills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dawn's irised nautilus makes glad the sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is a lyre of flame that throbs and fills<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far heaven and earth with hope's wild ecstasy.—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">With lilied field and grove,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Haunts of the turtle-dove,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Here is the land of Love.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The chariot of the noon makes blind the blue<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As towards the goal his burning axle glares;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is a fiery trumpet thrilling through<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wide heaven and earth with deeds of one who dares.—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">With peaks of splendid name,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Wrapped round with astral flame,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Here is the land of Fame.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The purple priesthood of the evening waits<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With golden pomp within the templed skies;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is a harp of worship at the gates<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of heaven and earth that bids the soul arise.—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">With columned cliffs and long<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Vales, music breathes among,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Here is the land of Song.<br /></span> +</div></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57"></a>[57]</span></p> + +<h4>IV</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Moon-crowned, the epic of the night unrolls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Its starry utterance o'er height and deep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There is a voice of beauty at the souls<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of heaven and earth that lulls the heart asleep.—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">With storied woods and streams,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Where marble glows and gleams,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Here is the land of Dreams.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_29" id="poem_29"></a><i>Life's</i><br /> + </span> + + <span class="t2"><i>Seasons</i></span> + +</h3> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When all the world was Mayday,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all the skies were blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Young innocence made playday<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Among the flowers and dew;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then all of life was Mayday,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And clouds were none or few.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When all the world was Summer,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And morn shone overhead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love was the sweet newcomer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who led youth forth to wed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then all of life was Summer,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And clouds were golden red.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When earth was all October,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And days were gray with mist,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On woodways, sad and sober,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Grave memory kept her tryst;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then life was all October,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And clouds were twilight-kissed.<br /></span> +</div></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58"></a>[58]</span></p> + +<h4>IV</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now all the world's December,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And night is all alarm,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Above the last dim ember<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Grief bends to keep him warm;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now all of life's December,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And clouds are driven storm.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_30" id="poem_30"></a><i>Old</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>Homes</i></span> + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Old homes among the hills! I love their gardens,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their old rock-fences, that our day inherits;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their doors, 'round which the great trees stand like wardens;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their paths, down which the shadows march like spirits;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Broad doors and paths that reach bird-haunted gardens.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I see them gray among their ancient acres,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Severe of front, their gables lichen-sprinkled,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like gentle-hearted, solitary Quakers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grave and religious, with kind faces wrinkled,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Serene among their memory-hallowed acres.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Their gardens, banked with roses and with lilies—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those sweet aristocrats of all the flowers—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Springtime mints her gold in daffodillies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Autumn coins her marigolds in showers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And all the hours are toilless as the lilies.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I love their orchards where the gay woodpecker<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flits, flashing o'er you, like a wingéd jewel;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59"></a>[59]</span> +<span class="i0">Their woods, whose floors of moss the squirrels checker<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With half-hulled nuts; and where, in cool renewal,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wild brooks laugh, and raps the red woodpecker.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Old homes! old hearts! Upon my soul forever<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Their peace and gladness lie like tears and laughter;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like love they touch me, through the years that sever,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With simple faith; like friendship, draw me after<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The dreamy patience that is theirs forever.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_31" id="poem_31"></a><i>Field and</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>Forest Call</i></span> + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is a field, that leans upon two hills,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Foamed o'er with flowers and twinkling with clear rills;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That in its girdle of wild acres bears<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The anodyne of rest that cures all cares;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherein soft wind and sun and sound are blent<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And fragrance—as in some old instrument<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet chords—calm things, that nature's magic spell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Distils from heaven's azure crucible,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pours on Earth to make the sick mind well.<br /></span> +<span class="i6">There lies the path, they say—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Come, away! come, away!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is a forest, lying 'twixt two streams,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sung through of birds and haunted of dim dreams;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That in its league-long hand of trunk and leaf<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lifts a green wand that charms away all grief;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60"></a>[60]</span> +<span class="i0">Wrought of quaint silence and the stealth of things,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vague, whispering touches, gleams and twitterings,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dews and cool shadows—that the mystic soul<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of nature permeates with suave control,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And waves o'er earth to make the sad heart whole.<br /></span> +<span class="i6">There lies the road, they say—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Come, away! come, away!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_32" id="poem_32"></a><i>Meeting in</i><br /></span> + <span class="t2"><i>Summer</i></span> + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">A tranquil bar<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of rosy twilight under dusk's first star.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">A glimmering sound<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of whispering waters over grassy ground.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">A sun-sweet smell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of fresh-reaped hay from dewy field and dell.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">A lazy breeze<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jostling the ripeness from the apple-trees.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">A vibrant cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Passing, then gone, of bullbats in the sky.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">And faintly now<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The katydid upon the shadowy bough.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">And far-off then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The little owl within the lonely glen.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">And soon, full soon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The silvery arrival of the moon.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">And, to your door,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The path of roses I have trod before.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i6">And, sweetheart, you!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among the roses and the moonlit dew.<br /></span> +</div></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61"></a>[61]</span></p> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_33" id="poem_33"></a><i>Swinging</i></span> + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Under the boughs of spring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She swung in the old rope-swing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her cheeks, with their happy blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were pink as the apple-bud.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her eyes, with their deep delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were glad as the stars of night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her curls, with their romp and fun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were hoiden as wind and sun.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her lips, with their laughter shrill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were wild as a woodland rill.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Under the boughs of spring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She swung in the old rope-swing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And I,—who leaned on the fence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Watching her innocence,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As, under the boughs that bent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now high, now low, she went,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In her soul the ecstasies<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the stars, the brooks, the breeze,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Had given the rest of my years,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With their blessings, and hopes, and fears,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To have been as she was then;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, just for a moment, again,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A boy in the old rope-swing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under the boughs of spring.<br /></span> +</div></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62"></a>[62]</span></p> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_34" id="poem_34"></a><i>Rosemary</i></span> + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Above her, pearl and rose the heavens lay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Around her, flowers scattered earth with gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or down the path in insolence held sway—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like cavaliers who ride the elves' highway—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scarlet and blue, within a garden old.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Beyond the hills, faint-heard through belts of wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bells, Sabbath-sweet, swooned from some far-off town;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gamboge and gold, broad sunset colors strewed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The purple west as if, with God imbued,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her mighty pallet Nature there laid down.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Amid such flowers, underneath such skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Embodying all life knows of sweet and fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She stood; love's dreams in girlhood's face and eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">White as a star that comes to emphasize<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mingled beauty of the earth and air.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Behind her, seen through vines and orchard trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gray with its twinkling windows—like the face<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of calm old-age that sits and smiles at ease—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Porched with old roses, haunts of honey-bees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The homestead loomed dim in a glimmering space.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah! whom she waited in the afterglow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soft-eyed and dreamy 'mid the lily and rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I do not know, I do not wish to know;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It is enough I keep her picture so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hung up, like poetry, o'er my life's dull prose.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A fragrant picture, where I still may find<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her face untouched of sorrow or regret,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unspoiled of contact, ever young and kind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glad spiritual sweetheart of my soul and mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She had not been, perhaps, if we had met.<br /></span> +</div></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63"></a>[63]</span></p> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_35" id="poem_35"></a><i>Ghost</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>Stories</i></span> + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the hoot of the owl comes over the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At twelve o'clock when the night is still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pale on the pools, where the creek-frogs croon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glimmering gray is the light o' the moon;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And under the willows, where waters lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The torch of the firefly wanders by;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They say that the miller walks here, walks here,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All covered with chaff, with his crooked staff,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his horrible hobble and hideous laugh;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old lame miller hung many a year:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the hoot of the owl comes over the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He walks alone by the rotting mill.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the bark of the fox comes over the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At twelve o'clock when the night is shrill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And faint, on the ways where the crickets creep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The starlight fails and the shadows sleep;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And under the willows, that toss and moan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The glow-worm kindles its lanthorn lone;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They say that a woman floats dead, floats dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a weedy space that the lilies lace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A curse in her eyes and a smile on her face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The miller's young wife with a gash in her head:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the bark of the fox comes over the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She floats alone by the rotting mill.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the howl of the hound comes over the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At twelve o'clock when the night is ill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the thunder mutters and forests sob,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the fox-fire glows like the lamp of a Lob;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And under the willows, that gloom and glance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The will-o'-the-wisps hold a devils' dance;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They say that that crime is re-acted again,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64"></a>[64]</span> +<span class="i0">And each cranny and chink of the mill doth wink<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the light o' hell or the lightning's blink,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a woman's shrieks come wild through the rain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the howl of the hound comes over the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That murder returns to the rotting mill.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_36" id="poem_36"></a><i>Dolce far</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>Niente</i></span> + +</h3> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Over the bay as our boat went sailing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under the skies of Augustine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far to the East lay the ocean paling<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under the skies of Augustine.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There, in the boat as we sat together,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soft in the glow of the turquoise weather,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Light as the foam or a seagull's feather,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair of form and of face serene,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet at my side I felt you lean,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As over the bay our boat went sailing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under the skies of Augustine.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Over the bay as our boat went sailing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under the skies of Augustine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pine and palm, to the West, hung, trailing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under the skies of Augustine.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was it the wind that sighed above you?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was it the wave that whispered of you?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was it my soul that said "I love you"?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was it your heart that murmured between,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Answering, shy as a bird unseen?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As over the bay our boat went sailing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under the skies of Augustine.<br /></span> +</div></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65"></a>[65]</span></p> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Over the bay as our boat went sailing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under the skies of Augustine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gray and low flew the heron wailing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under the skies of Augustine.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Naught was spoken. We watched the simple<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gulls wing past. Your hat's white wimple<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shadowed your eyes. And your lips, a-dimple,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Smiled and seemed from your soul to wean<br /></span> +<span class="i0">An inner beauty, an added sheen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As over the bay our boat went sailing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under the skies of Augustine.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IV</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Over the bay as our boat went sailing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under the skies of Augustine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Red on the marshes the day flared, failing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under the skies of Augustine.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was it your thought, or the transitory<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gold of the West, like a dreamy story,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bright on your brow, that I read? the glory<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And grace of love, like a rose-crowned queen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pictured pensive in mind and mien?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As over the bay our boat went sailing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under the skies of Augustine.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>V</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Over the bay as our boat went sailing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under the skies of Augustine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wan on the waters the mist lay veiling<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under the skies of Augustine.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Was it the joy that begot the sorrow?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Joy that was filled with the dreams that borrow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Prescience sad of a far To-morrow,—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66"></a>[66]</span> +<span class="i0">There in the Now that was all too keen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That shadowed the fate that might intervene?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As over the bay our boat went sailing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under the skies of Augustine.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VI</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Over the bay as our boat went sailing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under the skies of Augustine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The marsh-hen cried and the tide was ailing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under the skies of Augustine.—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And so we parted. No vows were spoken.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No faith was plighted that might be broken.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But deep in our hearts each bore a token<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of life and of love and of all they mean,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beautiful, thornless and ever green,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As over the bay our boat went sailing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under the skies of Augustine.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><i> St. Augustine, Fla</i>.</p> + + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_37" id="poem_37"></a><i>Words</i></span> + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I cannot tell what I would tell thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What I would say, what thou shouldst hear:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Words of the soul that should compell thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Words of the heart to draw thee near.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For when thou smilest, thou, who fillest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My life with joy, and I would speak,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'T is then my lips and tongue are stillest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Knowing all language is too weak.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Look in my eyes: read there confession:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The truest love has least of art:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor needs it words for its expression<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When soul speaks soul and heart speaks heart.<br /></span> +</div></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67"></a>[67]</span></p> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_38" id="poem_38"></a><i>Reasons</i></span> + +</h3> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yea, why I love thee let my heart repeat:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I look upon thy face and then divine<br /></span> +<span class="i2">How men could die for beauty, such as thine,—<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Deeming it sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To lay my life and manhood at thy feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And for a word, a glance,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Do deeds of old romance.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yea, why I love thee let my heart unfold:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I look into thy heart and then I know<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The wondrous poetry of the long-ago,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">The Age of Gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That speaks strange music, that is old, so old,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Yet young, as when 't was born,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With all the youth of morn.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yea, why I love thee let my heart conclude:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I look into thy soul and realize<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The undiscovered meaning of the skies,—<br /></span> +<span class="i8">That long have wooed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The world with far ideals that elude,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Out of whose dreams, maybe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">God shapes reality.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_39" id="poem_39"></a><i>Evasion</i></span> + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Why do I love you, who have never given<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My heart encouragement or any cause?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is it because, as earth is held of heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your soul holds mine by some mysterious laws?<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68"></a>[68]</span> +<span class="i0">Perhaps, unseen of me, within your eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The answer lies, the answer lies.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From your sweet lips no word hath ever fallen<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To tell my heart its love is not in vain—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The bee that wooes the flow'r hath honey and pollen<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To cheer him on and bring him back again:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But what have I, your other friends above,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To feed my love, to feed my love?<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Still, still you are my dream and my desire;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Your love is an allurement and a dare<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Set for attainment, like a shining spire,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Far, far above me in the starry air:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gazing upward, 'gainst the hope of hope,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">I breast the slope, I breast the slope.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_40" id="poem_40"></a><i>In</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>May</i></span> + +</h3> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When you and I in the hills went Maying,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You and I in the sweet May weather,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The birds, that sang on the boughs together,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There in the green of the woods, kept saying<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All that my heart was saying low,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love, as glad as the May's glad glow,—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And did you know?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When you and I in the hills went Maying.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There where the brook on its rocks went winking,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There by its banks where the May had led us,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69"></a>[69]</span> +<span class="i2">Flowers, that bloomed in the woods and meadows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Azure and gold at our feet, kept thinking<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All that my soul was thinking there,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love, as pure as the May's pure air,—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">And did you care?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There where the brook on its rocks went winking.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Whatever befalls through fate's compelling,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Should our paths unite or our pathways sever,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In the Mays to come I shall feel forever<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wildflowers thinking, the wildbirds telling<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The same fond love that my heart then knew,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Love unspeakable, deep and true,—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">But what of you?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whatever befalls through fate's compelling.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_41" id="poem_41"></a><i>Will You</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>Forget?</i></span> + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In years to come, will you forget,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dear girl, how often we have met?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I have gazed into your eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there beheld no sad regret<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To cloud the gladness of their skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While in your heart—unheard as yet—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love slept, oblivious of my sighs?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In years to come, will you forget?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah, me! I only pray that when,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In other days, some man of men<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has taught those eyes to laugh and weep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With joy and sorrow, hearts must ken<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70"></a>[70]</span> +<span class="i0">When love awakens in their deep,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I only pray some memory then,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or sad or sweet, you still will keep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of me and love that might have been.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_42" id="poem_42"></a><i>Clouds of the</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>Autumn Night</i></span> + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Clouds of the autumn night,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Under the hunter's moon,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ghostly and windy white,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whither, like leaves wild strewn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Take ye your stormy flight?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Out of the west, where dusk,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From her rich windowsill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leaned with a wand of tusk,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Witch-like, and wood and hill<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Phantomed with mist and musk.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Into the east, where morn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sleeps in a shadowy close,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shut with a gate of horn,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Round which the dreams she knows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flutter with rose and thorn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Blow from the west, oh, blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Clouds that the tempest steers!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And with your rain and snow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Bear of my heart the tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And of my soul the woe.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Into the east then pass,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Clouds that the night winds sweep!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And on her grave's sear grass,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">There where she lies asleep.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There let them fall, alas!<br /></span> +</div></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71"></a>[71]</span></p> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_43" id="poem_43"></a><i>The Glory</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>and the Dream</i></span> + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There in the past I see her as of old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blue-eyed and hazel-haired, within a room<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dim with a twilight of tenebrious gold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her white face sensuous as a delicate bloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Night opens in the tropics. Fold on fold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pale laces drape her; and a frail perfume,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As of a moonlit primrose brimmed with rain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breathes from her presence, drowsing heart and brain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her head is bent; some red carnations glow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep in her heavy hair; her large eyes gleam;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bright sister stars of those twin worlds of snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her breasts, through which the veinéd violets stream;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hold her hand; her smile comes sweetly slow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As thoughts of love that haunt a poet's dream;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And at her feet once more I sit and hear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wild words of passion—dead this many a year.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_44" id="poem_44"></a><i>Snow</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>and Fire</i></span> + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Deep-hearted roses of the purple dusk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lilies of the morn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cactus, holding up a slender tusk<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of fragrance on a thorn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All heavy flowers, sultry with their musk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her presence puts to scorn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For she is like the pale, pale snowdrop there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scentless and chaste of heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The moonflower, making spiritual the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like some pure work of art;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72"></a>[72]</span> +<span class="i0">Divine and holy, exquisitely fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And virtue's counterpart.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Yet when her eyes gaze into mine, and when<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her lips to mine are pressed,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why are my veins all fire then? and then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Why should her soul suggest<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Voluptuous perfumes, maddening unto men,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And prurient with unrest?<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_45" id="poem_45"></a><i>Restraint</i></span> + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dear heart and love! what happiness to sit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And watch the firelight's varying shade and shine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On thy young face; and through those eyes of thine—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As through glad windows—mark fair fancies flit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In sumptuous chambers of thy soul's chaste wit<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like graceful women: then to take in mine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy hand, whose pressure brims my heart's divine<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hushed rapture as with music exquisite!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When I remember how thy look and touch<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sway, like the moon, my blood with ecstasy,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I dare not think to what fierce heaven might lead<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy soft embrace; or in thy kiss how much<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet hell,—beyond all help of me,—might be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where I were lost, where I were lost indeed!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_46" id="poem_46"></a><i>Why Should</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>I Pine</i>?</span> + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Why should I pine? when there in Spain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are eyes to woo, and not in vain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dark eyes, and dreamily divine:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lips, as red as sunlit wine;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73"></a>[73]</span></p> +<span class="i0">Sweet lips, that never know disdain:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hearts, for passion over fain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fond, trusting hearts that know no stain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of scorn for hearts that love like mine.—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Why should I pine?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Because all dreams I entertain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of beauty wear thy form, Elain;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And e'en their lips and eyes are thine:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So though I gladly would resign<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All love, I love, and still complain,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">"Why should I pine?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_47" id="poem_47"></a><i>When Lydia</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>Smiles</i></span> + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When Lydia smiles, I seem to see<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The walls around me fade and flee;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And, lo, in haunts of hart and hind<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I seem with lovely Rosalind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Arden 'neath the greenwood tree:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The day is drowsy with the bee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And one wild bird flutes dreamily,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And all the mellow air is kind,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">When Lydia smiles.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Ah, me! what were this world to me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Without her smile!—What poetry,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What glad hesperian paths I find<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of love, that lead my soul and mind<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To happy hills of Arcady,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">When Lydia smiles!<br /></span> +</div></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74"></a>[74]</span></p> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_48" id="poem_48"></a><i>The</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>Rose</i></span> + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You have forgot: it once was red<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With life, this rose, to which you said,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When, there in happy days gone by,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">You plucked it, on my breast to lie,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Sleep there, O rose! how sweet a bed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is thine!—And, heart, be comforted;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, though we part and roses shed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their leaves and fade, love cannot die.—"<br /></span> +<span class="i6">You have forgot.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">So by those words of yours I'm led<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To send it you this day you wed.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Look well upon it. You, as I,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Should ask it now, without a sigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If love can lie as it lies dead.—<br /></span> +<span class="i6">You have forgot.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_49" id="poem_49"></a><i>A Ballad</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>of Sweethearts</i></span> + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Summer may come, in sun-blonde splendor,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To reap the harvest that Springtime sows;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Fall lead in her old defender,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Winter, all huddled up in snows:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Ever a-south the love-wind blows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into my heart, like a vane asway<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From face to face of the girls it knows—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But who is the fairest it's hard to say.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">If Carrie smile or Maud look tender,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Straight in my bosom the gladness glows;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But scarce at their side am I all surrender<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When Gertrude sings where the garden grows:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75"></a>[75]</span> +<span class="i2">And my heart is a bloom, like the red rose shows<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For her hand to gather and toss away,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Or wear on her breast, as her fancy goes—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But who is the fairest it's hard to say.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Let Laura pass, as a sapling slender,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her cheek a berry, her mouth a rose,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or Blanche or Helen,—to each I render<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The worship due to the charms she shows:<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But Mary's a poem when these are prose;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here at her feet my life I lay;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">All of devotion to her it owes—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But who is the fairest it's hard to say.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How <i>can</i> my heart of my hand dispose?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When Ruth and Clara, and Kate and May,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In form and feature no flaw disclose—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">But who is the fairest it's hard to say.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_50" id="poem_50"></a><i>Her</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>Portrait</i></span> + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Were I an artist, Lydia, I<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Would paint you as you merit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Not as my eyes, but dreams, descry;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Not in the flesh, but spirit.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The canvas I would paint you on<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Should be a bit of heaven;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My brush, a sunbeam; pigments, dawn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And night and starry even.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Your form and features to express,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Likewise your soul's chaste whiteness,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd take the primal essences<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of darkness and of brightness.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76"></a>[76]</span></p> +<span class="i0">I'd take pure night to paint your hair;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stars for your eyes; and morning<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To paint your skin—the rosy air<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That is your limbs' adorning.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To paint the love-bows of your lips,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'd mix, for colors, kisses;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And for your breasts and finger-tips,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sweet odors and soft blisses.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And to complete the picture well,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'd temper all with woman,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some tears, some laughter; heaven and hell,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">To show you still are human.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_51" id="poem_51"></a><i>A Song</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>for Yule</i></span> + +</h3> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sing, Hey, when the time rolls round this way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the bells peal out, <i>'Tis Christmas Day</i>;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The world is better then by half,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">For joy, for joy;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a little while you will see it laugh—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For a song's to sing and a glass to quaff,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">My boy, my boy.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So here's to the man who never says nay!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sing, Hey, a song of Christmas-Day!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sing, Ho, when roofs are white with snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And homes are hung with mistletoe;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Old Earth is not half bad, I wis—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">What cheer! what cheer!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How it ever seemed sad the wonder is—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77"></a>[77]</span> +<span class="i0">With a gift to give and a girl to kiss,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">My dear, my dear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So here's to the girl who never says no!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sing, Ho, a song of the mistletoe!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No thing in the world to the heart seems wrong<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the soul of a man walks out with song;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wherever they go, glad hand in hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">And glove in glove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The round of the land is rainbow-spanned,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the meaning of life they understand<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Is love, is love.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let the heart be open, the soul be strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And life will be glad as a Christmas song.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_52" id="poem_52"></a><i>The Puritans'</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>Christmas</i></span> + + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Their only thought religion,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">What Christmas joys had they,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stern, staunch Pilgrim Fathers who<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Knew naught of holiday?—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A log-church in the clearing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Mid solitudes of snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The wild-beast and the wilderness,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And lurking Indian foe.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No time had they for pleasure,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Whom God had put to school;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sermon was their Christmas cheer,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">A psalm their only Yule.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They deemed it joy sufficient,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor would Christ take it ill,—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78"></a>[78]</span> +<span class="i0">That service to Himself and God<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Employed their spirits still.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And so through faith and prayer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Their powers were renewed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And souls made strong to shape a World,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And tame a solitude.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A type of revolution,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Wrought from an iron plan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the largest mold of liberty<br /></span> +<span class="i2">God cast the Puritan.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A better land they founded,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That Freedom had for bride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The shackles of old despotism<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Struck from her limbs and side.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With faith within to guide them,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And courage to perform,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A nation, from a wilderness,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They hewed with their strong arm.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For liberty to worship,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And right to do and dare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They faced the savage and the storm<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With voices raised in prayer.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">For God it was who summoned,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And God it was who led,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And God would not forsake the love<br /></span> +<span class="i2">That must be clothed and fed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Great need had they of courage!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Great need of faith had they!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And lacking these—how otherwise<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For us had been this day!<br /></span> +</div></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79"></a>[79]</span></p> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_53" id="poem_53"></a><i>Spring</i></span></h3> + + + <p><span style="margin-left: 1em;"> (After the German of Goethe, <i>Faust</i>, II)</span><br /> + </p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When on the mountain tops ray-crowned Apollo<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Turns his swift arrows, dart on glittering dart,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let but a rock glint green, the wild goats follow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glad-grazing shyly on each sparse-grown part.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Rolled into plunging torrents spring the fountains;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And slope and vale and meadowland grow green;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While on ridg'd levels of a hundred mountains,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far fleece by fleece, the woolly flocks convene.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With measured stride, deliberate and steady,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The scattered cattle seek the beetling steep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But shelter for th' assembled herd is ready<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In many hollows that the walled rocks heap:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The lairs of Pan; and, lo, in murmuring places,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In bushy clefts, what woodland Nymphs arouse!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where, full of yearning for the azure spaces,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tree, crowding tree, lifts high its heavy boughs.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Old forests, where the gnarly oak stands regnant<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bristling with twigs that still repullulate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, swoln with spring, with sappy sweetness pregnant,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The maple blushes with its leafy weight.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And, mother-like, in cirques of quiet shadows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Milk flows, warm milk, that keeps all things alive;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fruit is not far, th' abundance of the meadows,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And honey oozes from the hollow hive.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_54" id="poem_54"></a><i>Lines</i></span> + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Within the world of every man's desire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Three things have power to lift his soul above,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80"></a>[80]</span> +<span class="i0">Through dreams, religion, and ecstatic fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The star-like shapes of Beauty, Truth, and Love.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I never hoped that, this side far-off Heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">These three,—whom all exalted souls pursue,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I e'er should see; until to me 't was given,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lady, to meet the three, made one, in you.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_55" id="poem_55"></a><i>When Ships put</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>out to Sea</i></span> + +</h3> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It's "Sweet, good-bye," when pennants fly<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And ships put out to sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It's a loving kiss, and a tear or two<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In an eye of brown or an eye of blue;—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And you'll remember me,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sweetheart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And you'll remember me.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It's "Friend or foe?" when signals blow<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And ships sight ships at sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It's clear for action, and man the guns,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As the battle nears or the battle runs;—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And you'll remember me,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sweetheart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And you'll remember me.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It's deck to deck, and wrath and wreck<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When ships meet ships at sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It's scream of shot and shriek of shell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hull and turret a roaring hell;—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And you'll remember me,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sweetheart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And you'll remember me.<br /></span> +</div></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81"></a>[81]</span></p> + +<h4>IV</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It's doom and death, and pause a breath<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When ships go down at sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It's hate is over and love begins,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And war is cruel whoever wins;—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And you'll remember me,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sweetheart,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And you'll remember me.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_56" id="poem_56"></a><i>The</i><br /> + </span> + <span class="t2"><i>"Kentucky"</i></span></h3> + + <p><span style="margin-left: 1em;"> (Battleship, launched March 24, 1898.)</span><br /> + </p> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here's to her who bears the name<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of our State;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May the glory of her fame<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Be as great!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the battle's dread eclipse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When she opens iron lips,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When our ships confront the ships<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of the foe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May each word of steel she utters carry woe!<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Here's to her!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here's to her, who, like a knight<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Mailed of old,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From far sea to sea the Right<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Shall uphold.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May she always deal defeat,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When contending navies meet,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82"></a>[82]</span> +<span class="i0">And the battle's screaming sleet<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Blinds and stuns,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With the red, terrific thunder of her guns.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Here's to her!<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here's to her who bears the name<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Of our State;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May the glory of her fame<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Be as great!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like a beacon, like a star,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">May she lead our squadrons far,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the hurricane of war<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Shakes the world,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With her pennant in the vanward broad unfurled.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Here's to her!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_57" id="poem_57"></a><i>Quatrains</i></span> + +</h3> + +<h4>I</h4> + +<p class="smcap"> Moths and Fireflies</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Since Fancy taught me in her school of spells<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I know her tricks—These are not moths at all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor fireflies; but masking Elfland belles<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose link-boys torch them to Titania's ball.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>II</h4> + +<p class="smcap"> Autumn Wild-Flowers</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Like colored lanterns swung in Elfin towers,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wild morning-glories light the tangled ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, like the rosy rockets of the Fays,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Burns the sloped crimson of the cardinal-flowers.<br /></span> +</div></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83"></a>[83]</span></p> + +<h4>III</h4> + +<p class="smcap"> The Wind in the Pines</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When winds go organing through the pines<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On hill and headland, darkly gleaming,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Meseems I hear sonorous lines<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of Iliads that the woods are dreaming.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>IV</h4> + +<p class="smcap"> Opportunity</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Behold a hag whom Life denies a kiss<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As he rides questward in knighterrant-wise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only when he hath passed her is it his<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To know, too late, the Fairy in disguise.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>V</h4> + +<p class="smcap"> Dreams</p> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They mock the present and they haunt the past,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And in the future there is naught agleam<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With hope, the soul desires, that at last<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heart pursuing does not find a dream.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VI</h4> + +<p class="smcap"> The Stars</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">These—the bright symbols of man's hope and fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In which he reads his blessing or his curse—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are syllables with which God speaks His name<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the vast utterance of the universe.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<h4>VII</h4> + +<p class="smcap"> Beauty</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">High as a star, yet lowly as a flower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unknown she takes her unassuming place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At Earth's proud masquerade—the appointed hour<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Strikes, and, behold, the marvel of her face.<br /></span> +</div></div><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84"></a>[84]</span></p> + + + +<h3><span class="t2"><a name="poem_58" id="poem_58"></a><i>Processional</i></span> + +</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Universes are the pages<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of that book whose words are ages;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of that book which destiny<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Opens in eternity.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There each syllable expresses<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silence; there each thought a guess is;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In whose rhetoric's cosmic runes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Roll the worlds and swarming moons.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There the systems, we call solar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Equatorial and polar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Write their lines of rushing light<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the awful leaves of night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There the comets, vast and streaming,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Punctuate the heavens' gleaming<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scroll; and suns, gigantic, shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Periods to each starry line.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There, initials huge, the Lion<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Looms and measureless Orion;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And, as 'neath a chapter done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Burns the Great-Bear's colophon.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Constellated, hieroglyphic,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Numbering each page terrific,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fiery on the nebular black,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flames the hurling zodiac.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In that book, o'er which Chaldean<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wisdom pored and many an eon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of philosophy long dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This is all that man has read:—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85"></a>[85]</span></p> +<span class="i0">He has read how good and evil,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In creation's wild upheaval,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Warred; while God wrought terrible<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At foundations red of Hell.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He has read of man and woman;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Laws and gods, both beast and human;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thrones of hate and creeds of lust,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Vanished now and turned to dust.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Arts and manners that have crumbled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cities buried; empires tumbled:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Time but breathed on them its breath;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Earth is builded of their death.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">These but lived their little hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Filled with pride and pomp and power;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What availed them all at last?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We shall pass as they have past.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Still the human heart will dream on<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love, part angel and part demon;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, I question, what secures<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our belief that aught endures?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In that book, o'er which Chaldean<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wisdom pored and many an eon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of philosophy long dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This is all that man has read.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2_1" id="Page_2_1"></a>[1]</span></p> +<h2><a name="OTHER_BOOKS_OF_VERSE_BY_MADISON_CAWEIN" id="OTHER_BOOKS_OF_VERSE_BY_MADISON_CAWEIN"></a>OTHER BOOKS OF VERSE BY MADISON CAWEIN</h2> + + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Days and Dreams</span> +<span class="adv1"> Cloth, gilt top,</span> +<span class="adv">$1.00</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Moods and Memories</span> +<span class="adv1"> " "</span> +<span class="adv"> 1.00</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Red Leaves and Roses</span> +<span class="adv1"> " "</span> +<span class="adv"> 1.00</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Poems of Nature and Love</span> +<span class="adv1"> " "</span> +<span class="adv"> 1.00</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Intimations of the Beautiful</span> +<span class="adv1"> " "</span> +<span class="adv"> 1.00</span><br /> +</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p class="center">PUBLISHED BY</p> + +<p class="center">G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS,</p> + +<p class="center">27 & 29, West Twenty-third Street, New York, N. Y</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p class="center"><i>Sent by mail, postpaid, to any address on receipt of price.</i></p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2_2" id="Page_2_2"></a>[2]</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="SOME_NOTICES_OF_MR_CAWEINS_VERSES" id="SOME_NOTICES_OF_MR_CAWEINS_VERSES"></a>SOME NOTICES OF MR. CAWEIN'S VERSES</h2> + + +<p>"I should like to praise the poetry of Madison Cawein, of Kentucky, +which is as remote as Greece from the actual everyday life of his +region; as remote from it as the poetry of Keats was from the England +of his day, and which is yet so richly, so passionately true to the +presence and essence of nature as she can be known only in the +Southern West. I named Keats with no purpose of likening this young +poet to him, but since he is named it is impossible not to recognize +that they are of the same Hellenic race; full of like rapture in sky +and field and stream, and of a like sensitive reluctance from whatever +chills the joy of sense in youth, in love, in melancholy. I know Mr. +Cawein has faults, and very probably he knows it, too; his delight in +color sometimes plunges him into mere paint; his wish to follow a +subtle thought or emotion sometimes lures him into empty dusks; his +devotion to nature sometimes contents him with solitudes bereft of the +human interest by which alone the landscape lives. But he is, to my +thinking, a most genuine poet, and one of these few Americans, who, +even in their over-refinement, could never be mistaken for Europeans; +who perhaps by reason of it are only the more American."—<span class="smcap">William +Dean Howells</span> in <i>Literature</i>.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2_3" id="Page_2_3"></a>[3]</span></p> + +<p>"From the poetry of our day I select that of Madison Cawein as an +example of conspicuous merit. Many American readers have enjoyed Mr. +Cawein's productions.... But the appreciation of his poetry has never +been as great as its merits would indicate. His poems are rather <i>too +good</i> to be caught up on the babbling tongue and cast forth into mere +popularity. They are caviare to the general; and yet they have in them +the best elements of popular favor.</p> + +<p>"Cawein is a classicist. He will have it that poems, however humble +the theme, however tender the sentiment, shall wear a tasteful Attic +dress. I do not intimate that Mr. Cawein's mind has been too much +saturated with the classical spirit or that his native instincts have +been supplanted with Greek exotics and flowers out of the renaissance, +but rather that his own mental constitution is of a classical as well +as a romantic mould.</p> + +<p>"The themes of Cawein's poetry are generally taken from the world of +romance. If there be any modern bard who can recreate a mediæval +castle and give to its inhabitants the sentiments which were theirs in +the twelfth century, Cawein is the poet who can. He takes delight in +the East. He is the Omar Khayyam of the Ohio Valley. He is as much of +a Mohammedan as a Christian. He knows the son of Abdallah better than +he knows Cromwell; and has more sympathy with a Khalif than with a +Colonel. He dwells in the romantic regions of life; but the romance is +real. The hope is a true hope. The dream is a true dream. The picture +is a painting, and not a chromo. The love is a passion, and not a +dilettante episode. Cawein's art is a genuine art. His verse is +exquisite. Out of the three hundred and thirteen poems in the five<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2_4" id="Page_2_4"></a>[4]</span> +volumes under consideration there may be found hardly a false or +broken harmony...."—<span class="smcap">John Clark Ridpath, LL.D.</span>, in <i>The +Arena</i>.</p> + +<p>"The rattlesnake-weed and the bluet-bloom were unknown to Herrick and +to Wordsworth, but such art as Mr. Cawein's makes them at home in +English poetry. There is passion, too, and thought in his +equipment...."—<span class="smcap">William Archer</span> in the <i>Pall Mall Magazine</i>.</p> + +<p>"I find in the best pieces an intoxicating sense of beauty, a +richness, that is rarely achieved, although every young poet nowadays +strives after it. I find, too, a daring use of language which +sometimes, nay often, conducts to genuine and startling +felicities."—<span class="smcap">Edmund Gosse</span>.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Myth and Romance, by Madison Cawein + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MYTH AND ROMANCE *** + +***** This file should be named 16535-h.htm or 16535-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/5/3/16535/ + +Produced by Digital & Multimedia Center, Michigan State +University Libraries, Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, Sankar +Viswanathan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team +at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Myth and Romance + Being a Book of Verses + +Author: Madison Cawein + +Release Date: August 16, 2005 [EBook #16535] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MYTH AND ROMANCE *** + + + + +Produced by Digital & Multimedia Center, Michigan State +University Libraries, Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, Sankar +Viswanathan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team +at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + Myth and Romance + + + Being a Book of verses + + By MADISON CAWEIN + + + + + G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS + + New York and London + + The Knickerbocker Press + + 1899 + + + + + +TO + +MY FRIEND + +WILLIAM WARWICK THUM + + + + +CONTENTS + + + + +VISIONS AND VOICES + + +Myth and Romance + +Genius Loci + +The Rain-Crow + +The Harvest Moon + +The Old Water-Mill + +Anthem of Dawn + +Dithyrambics + +Hymn to Desire + +Music + +Jotunheim + +Dionysia + +The Last Song + +Romaunt of the Oak + +Morgan le Fay + +The Dream of Roderick + +Zyps of Zirl + +The Glowworm + +Ghosts + +The Purple Valleys + +The Land of Illusion + +Spirit of Dreams + + +LINES AND LYRICS + + +To a Wind-Flower + +Microcosm + +Fortune + +Death + +The Soul + +Conscience + +Youth + +Life's Seasons + +Old Homes + +Field and Forest Call + +Meeting in Summer + +Swinging + +Rosemary + +Ghost Stories + +Dolce far Niente + +Words + +Reasons + +Evasion + +In May + +Will you Forget? + +Clouds of the Autumn Night + +The Glory and the Dream + +Snow and Fire + +Restraint + +Why Should I Pine? + +When Lydia Smiles + +The Rose + +A Ballad of Sweethearts + +Her Portrait + +A Song for Yule + +The Puritans' Christmas + +Spring + +Lines + +When Ships put out to Sea + +The "Kentucky" + +Quatrains + +Processional + + + + +_PROEM._ + + +_There is no rhyme that is half so sweet +As the song of the wind in the rippling wheat; +There is no metre that's half so fine +As the lilt of the brook under rock and vine; +And the loveliest lyric I ever heard +Was the wildwood strain of a forest bird.-- +If the wind and the brook and the bird would teach +My heart their beautiful parts of speech. +And the natural art that they say these with, +My soul would sing of beauty and myth +In a rhyme and a metre that none before +Have sung in their love, or dreamed in their lore, +And the world would be richer one poet the more._ + + + + +VISIONS AND VOICES + + + + +_Myth and +Romance_ + +I + + +When I go forth to greet the glad-faced Spring, + Just at the time of opening apple-buds, +When brooks are laughing, winds are whispering, + On babbling hillsides or in warbling woods, + There is an unseen presence that eludes:-- +Perhaps a Dryad, in whose tresses cling + The loamy odors of old solitudes, +Who, from her beechen doorway, calls; and leads + My soul to follow; now with dimpling words + Of leaves; and now with syllables of birds; +While here and there--is it her limbs that swing? +Or restless sunlight on the moss and weeds? + + +II + + +Or, haply, 't is a Naiad now who slips, + Like some white lily, from her fountain's glass, +While from her dripping hair and breasts and hips, + The moisture rains cool music on the grass. + Her have I heard and followed, yet, alas! +Have seen no more than the wet ray that dips + The shivered waters, wrinkling where I pass; +But, in the liquid light, where she doth hide, + I have beheld the azure of her gaze + Smiling; and, where the orbing ripple plays, +Among her minnows I have heard her lips, +Bubbling, make merry by the waterside. + + +III + + +Or now it is an Oread--whose eyes + Are constellated dusk--who stands confessed, +As naked as a flow'r; her heart's surprise, + Like morning's rose, mantling her brow and breast: + She, shrinking from my presence, all distressed +Stands for a startled moment ere she flies, + Her deep hair blowing, up the mountain crest, +Wild as a mist that trails along the dawn. + And is't her footfalls lure me? or the sound + Of airs that stir the crisp leaf on the ground? +And is't her body glimmers on yon rise? +Or dog-wood blossoms snowing on the lawn? + + +IV + + +Now't is a Satyr piping serenades + On a slim reed. Now Pan and Faun advance +Beneath green-hollowed roofs of forest glades, + Their feet gone mad with music: now, perchance, + Sylvanus sleeping, on whose leafy trance +The Nymphs stand gazing in dim ambuscades + Of sun-embodied perfume.--Myth, Romance, +Where'er I turn, reach out bewildering arms, + Compelling me to follow. Day and night + I hear their voices and behold the light +Of their divinity that still evades, +And still allures me in a thousand forms. + + + + +_Genius +Loci_ + +I + + +What wood-god, on this water's mossy curb, + Lost in reflections of earth's loveliness, +Did I, just now, unconsciously disturb? + I, who haphazard, wandering at a guess, +Came on this spot, wherein, with gold and flame +Of buds and blooms, the season writes its name.-- +Ah, me! could I have seen him ere alarm + Of my approach aroused him from his calm! + As he, part Hamadryad and, mayhap, +Part Faun, lay here; who left the shadow warm + As wildwood rose, and filled the air with balm + Of his sweet breath as with ethereal sap. + + +II + + +Does not the moss retain some vague impress, + Green dented in, of where he lay or trod? +Do not the flow'rs, so reticent, confess + With conscious looks the contact of a god? +Does not the very water garrulously +Boast the indulgence of a deity? +And, hark! in burly beech and sycamore + How all the birds proclaim it! and the leaves + Rejoice with clappings of their myriad hands! +And shall not I believe, too, and adore, + With such wide proof?--Yea, though my soul perceives + No evident presence, still it understands. + + +III + + +And for a while it moves me to lie down + Here on the spot his god-head sanctified: +Mayhap some dream he dreamed may lingert brown + And young as joy, around the forestside; +Some dream within whose heart lives no disdain +For such as I whose love is sweet and sane; +That may repeat, so none but I may hear-- + As one might tell a pearl-strung rosary-- + Some epic that the trees have learned to croon, +Some lyric whispered in the wild-flower's ear, + Whose murmurous lines are sung by bird and bee, + And all the insects of the night and noon. + + +IV + + +For, all around me, upon field and hill, + Enchantment lies as of mysterious flutes; +As if the music of a god's good-will + Had taken on material attributes +In blooms, like chords; and in the water-gleam, +That runs its silvery scales from stream to stream; +In sunbeam bars, up which the butterfly, + A golden note, vibrates then flutters on-- + Inaudible tunes, blown on the pipes of Pan, +That have assumed a visible entity, + And drugged the air with beauty so, a Faun, + Behold, I seem, and am no more a man. + + + + +_The +Rain-Crow_ + +I + + +Can freckled August,--drowsing warm and blonde + Beside a wheat-shock in the white-topped mead, +In her hot hair the oxeyed daisies wound,-- + O bird of rain, lend aught but sleepy heed + To thee? when no plumed weed, no feather'd seed +Blows by her; and no ripple breaks the pond, + That gleams like flint between its rim of grasses, + Through which the dragonfly forever passes + Like splintered diamond. + + +II + + +Drouth weights the trees, and from the farmhouse eaves + The locust, pulse-beat of the summer day, +Throbs; and the lane, that shambles under leaves + Limp with the heat--a league of rutty way-- + Is lost in dust; and sultry scents of hay +Breathe from the panting meadows heaped with sheaves-- + Now, now, O bird, what hint is there of rain, + In thirsty heaven or on burning plain, + That thy keen eye perceives? + + +III + + +But thou art right. Thou prophesiest true. + For hardly hast thou ceased thy forecasting, +When, up the western fierceness of scorched blue, + Great water-carrier winds their buckets bring + Brimming with freshness. How their dippers ring +And flash and rumble! lavishing dark dew + On corn and forestland, that, streaming wet, + Their hilly backs against the downpour set, + Like giants vague in view. + + +IV + + +The butterfly, safe under leaf and flower, + Has found a roof, knowing how true thou art; +The bumble-bee, within the last half-hour, + Has ceased to hug the honey to its heart; + While in the barnyard, under shed and cart, +Brood-hens have housed.--But I, who scorned thy power, + Barometer of the birds,--like August there,-- + Beneath a beech, dripping from foot to hair, + Like some drenched truant, cower. + + + + +_The +Harvest Moon_ + +I + + +Globed in Heav'n's tree of azure, golden mellow + As some round apple hung +High in hesperian boughs, thou hangest yellow + The branch-like mists among: +Within thy light a sunburnt youth, named Health, + Rests 'mid the tasseled shocks, the tawny stubble; +And by his side, clad on with rustic wealth + Of field and farm, beneath thy amber bubble, +A nut-brown maid, Content, sits smiling still: + While through the quiet trees, + The mossy rocks, the grassy hill, +Thy silvery spirit glides to yonder mill, + Around whose wheel the breeze +And shimmering ripples of the water play, +As, by their mother, little children may. + + +II + + +Sweet spirit of the moon, who walkest,--lifting + Exhaustless on thy arm, +A pearly vase of fire,--through the shifting + Cloud-halls of calm and storm, +Pour down thy blossoms! let me hear them come, + Pelting with noiseless light the twinkling thickets, +Making the darkness audible with the hum + Of many insect creatures, grigs and crickets: +Until it seems the elves hold revelries + By haunted stream and grove; + Or, in the night's deep peace, +The young-old presence of Earth's full increase + Seems telling thee her love, +Ere, lying down, she turns to rest, and smiles, +Hearing thy heart beat through the myriad miles. + + + + +_The Old +Water-Mill_ + + +Wild ridge on ridge the wooded hills arise, +Between whose breezy vistas gulfs of skies +Pilot great clouds like towering argosies, +And hawk and buzzard breast the azure breeze. +With many a foaming fall and glimmering reach +Of placid murmur, under elm and beech, +The creek goes twinkling through long glows and glooms +Of woodland quiet, poppied with perfumes: +The creek, in whose clear shallows minnow-schools +Glitter or dart; and by whose deeper pools +The blue kingfishers and the herons haunt; +That, often startled from the freckled flaunt +Of blackberry-lilies--where they feed and hide-- +Trail a lank flight along the forestside +With eery clangor. Here a sycamore, +Smooth, wave-uprooted, builds from shore to shore +A headlong bridge; and there, a storm-hurled oak +Lays a long dam, where sand and gravel choke +The water's lazy way. Here mistflower blurs +Its bit of heaven; there the oxeye stirs +Its gloaming hues of bronze and gold; and here, +A gray cool stain, like dawn's own atmosphere, +The dim wild-carrot lifts its crumpled crest: +And over all, at slender flight or rest, +The dragon-flies, like coruscating rays +Of lapis-lazuli and chrysoprase, +Drowsily sparkle through the summer days; +And, dewlap-deep, here from the noontide heat +The bell-hung cattle find a cool retreat: +And through the willows girdling the hill, +Now far, now near, borne as the soft winds will, +Comes the low rushing of the water-mill. +Ah, lovely to me from a little child, +How changed the place! wherein once, undefiled, +The glad communion of the sky and stream +Went with me like a presence and a dream. +Where once the brambled meads and orchardlands +Poured ripe abundance down with mellow hands +Of summer; and the birds of field and wood +Called to me in a tongue I understood; +And in the tangles of the old rail-fence +Even the insect tumult had some sense, +And every sound a happy eloquence; +And more to me than wisest books can teach, +The wind and water said; whose words did reach +My soul, addressing their magnificent speech, +Raucous and rushing, from the old mill-wheel, +That made the rolling mill-cogs snore and reel, +Like some old ogre in a fairy-tale +Nodding above his meat and mug of ale. + +How memory takes me back the ways that lead-- +As when a boy--through woodland and through mead! +To orchards fruited; or to fields in bloom; +Or briary fallows, like a mighty room, +Through which the winds swing censers of perfume, +And where deep blackberries spread miles of fruit;-- +A splendid feast, that stayed the ploughboy's foot +When to the tasseling acres of the corn +He drove his team, fresh in the primrose morn; +And from the liberal banquet, nature lent, +Took dewy handfuls as he whistling went.-- +A boy once more I stand with sunburnt feet +And watch the harvester sweep down the wheat; +Or laze with warm limbs in the unstacked straw +Nearby the thresher, whose insatiate maw +Devours the sheaves, hot drawling out its hum-- +Like some great sleepy bee, above a bloom, +Made drunk with honey--while, grown big with grain, +The bulging sacks receive the golden rain. +Again I tread the valley, sweet with hay, +And hear the bob-white calling far away, +Or wood-dove cooing in the elder-brake; +Or see the sassafras bushes madly shake +As swift, a rufous instant, in the glen +The red-fox leaps and gallops to his den; +Or, standing in the violet-colored gloam, +Hear roadways sound with holiday riding home +From church, or fair, or bounteous barbecue, +Which the whole country to some village drew. + +How spilled with berries were its summer hills, +And strewn with walnuts were its autumn rills-- +And chestnut burs! fruit of the spring's long flowers, +When from their tops the trees seemed streaming showers +Of slender silver, cool, crepuscular, +And like a nebulous radiance shone afar. +And maples! how their sappy hearts would gush +Broad troughs of syrup, when the winter bush +Steamed with the sugar-kettle, day and night, +And all the snow was streaked with firelight. +Then it was glorious! the mill-dam's edge, +One slant of frosty crystal, laid a ledge +Of pearl across; above which, sleeted trees +Tossed arms of ice, that, clashing in the breeze, +Tinkled the ringing creek with icicles, +Thin as the peal of Elfland's Sabbath bells: +A sound that in my city dreams I hear, +That brings before me, under skies that clear, +The old mill in its winter garb of snow, +Its frozen wheel, a great hoar beard below, +And its West windows, two deep eyes aglow. + +Ah, ancient mill, still do I picture o'er +Thy cobwebbed stairs and loft and grain-strewn floor; +Thy door,--like some brown, honest hand of toil, +And honorable with labor of the soil,-- +Forever open; through which, on his back +The prosperous farmer bears his bursting sack. +And while the miller measures out his toll, +Again I hear, above the cogs' loud roll,-- +That makes stout joist and rafter groan and sway,-- +The harmless gossip of the passing day: +Good country talk, that tells how so-and-so +Has died or married; how curculio +And codling-moth have ruined half the fruit, +And blight plays mischief with the grapes to boot; +Or what the news from town; next county fair; +How well the crops are looking everywhere: +Now this, now that, on which their interests fix, +Prospects for rain or frost, and politics. +While, all around, the sweet smell of the meal +Filters, warm-pouring from the grinding wheel +Into the bin; beside which, mealy white, +The miller looms, dim in the dusty light. + +Again I see the miller's home, between +The crinkling creek and hills of beechen green: +Again the miller greets me, gaunt and brown, +Who oft o'erawed me with his gray-browed frown +And rugged mien: again he tries to reach +My youthful mind with fervid scriptural speech.-- +For he, of all the country-side confessed, +The most religious was and happiest; +A Methodist, and one whom faith still led, +No books except the Bible had he read-- +At least so seemed it to my younger head.-- +All things in earth and heav'n he'd prove by this, +Be it a fact or mere hypothesis; +For to his simple wisdom, reverent, +"_The Bible says_" was all of argument.-- +God keep his soul! his bones were long since laid +Among the sunken gravestones in the shade +Of those black-lichened rocks, that wall around +The family burying-ground with cedars crowned; +Where bristling teasel and the brier combine +With clambering wood-rose and the wild-grape vine +To hide the stone whereon his name and dates +Neglect, with mossy hand, obliterates. + + + + +_Anthem +of Dawn_ + +I + + +Then up the orient heights to the zenith, that balanced the crescent,-- +Up and far up and over,--the heaven grew erubescent, +Vibrant with rose and with ruby from the hands of the harpist Dawn, +Smiting symphonic fire on the firmament's barbiton: +And the East was a priest who adored with offerings of gold and of gems, +And a wonderful carpet unrolled for the inaccessible hems +Of the glistening robes of her limbs; that, lily and amethyst, +Swept glorying on and on through temples of cloud and mist. + + +II + + +Then out of the splendor and richness, that burned like a magic stone, +The torrent suffusion that deepened and dazzled and broadened and shone, +The pomp and the pageant of color, triumphal procession of glare, +The sun, like a king in armor, breathing splendor from feet to hair, +Stood forth with majesty girdled, as a hero who towers afar +Where the bannered gates are bristling hells and the walls are roaring war: +And broad on the back of the world, like a Cherubin's fiery blade, +The effulgent gaze of his aspect fell in glittering accolade. + + +III + + +Then billowing blue, like an ocean, rolled from the shores of morn to even: +And the stars, like rafts, went down: and the moon, like a ghost-ship, driven, +A feather of foam, from port to port of the cloud-built isles that dotted, +With pearl and cameo, bays of the day, her canvas webbed and rotted, +Lay lost in the gulf of heaven: while over her mixed and melted +The beautiful children of Morn, whose bodies are opal-belted; +The beautiful daughters of Dawn, who, over and under, and after +The rivered radiance, wrestled; and rainbowed heaven with laughter +Of halcyon sapphire.--O Dawn! thou visible mirth, +And hallelujah of Heaven! hosanna of Earth! + + + + +_Dithyrambics_ + +I + +TEMPEST + + +Wrapped round of the night, as a monster is wrapped of the ocean, +Down, down through vast storeys of darkness, behold, in the tower +Of the heaven, the thunder! on stairways of cloudy commotion, +Colossal of tread, like a giant, from echoing hour to hour +Goes striding in rattling armor ... +The Nymph, at her billow-roofed dormer +Of foam; and the Sylvan--green-housed--at her window of leaves appears; +--As a listening woman, who hears +The approach of her lover, who comes to her arms in the night; +And, loosening the loops of her locks, +With eyes full of love and delight, +From the couch of her rest in ardor and haste arises.-- +The Nymph, as if breathed of the tempest, like fire surprises +The riotous bands of the rocks, +That face with a roar the shouting charge of the seas. +The Sylvan,--through troops of the trees, +Whose clamorous clans with gnarly bosoms keep hurling +Themselves on the guns of the wind,--goes wheeling and whirling. +The Nymph, of the waves' exultation upheld, her green tresses +Knotted with flowers of the hollow white foam, dives screaming; +Then bounds to the arms of the storm, who boisterously presses +Her hair and wild form to his breast that is panting and streaming. +The Sylvan,--hard-pressed by the wind, the Pan-footed air,-- +On the violent backs of the hills,-- +Like a flame that tosses and thrills +From peak to peak when the world of spirits is out,-- +Is borne, as her rapture wills, +With glittering gesture and shout: +Now here in the darkness, now there, +From the rain-like sweep of her hair,-- +Bewilderingly volleyed o'er eyes and o'er lips,-- +To the lambent swell of her limbs, her breasts and her hips, +She flashes her beautiful nakedness out in the glare +Of the tempest that bears her away,-- +That bears me away! +Away, over forest and foam, over tree and spray, +Far swifter than thought, far swifter than sound or than flame. +Over ocean and pine, +In arms of tumultuous shadow and shine ... +Though Sylvan and Nymph do not +Exist, and only what +Of terror and beauty I feel and I name +As parts of the storm, the awe and the rapture divine +That here in the tempest are mine,-- +The two are the same, the two are forever the same. + + +II + +CALM + + +Beautiful-bosomed, O night, in thy noon +Move with majesty onward! bearing, as lightly +As a singer may bear the notes of an exquisite tune, +The stars and the moon +Through the clerestories high of the heaven, the firmament's halls; +Under whose sapphirine walls, +June, hesperian June, +Robed in divinity wanders. Daily and nightly +The turquoise touch of her robe, that the violets star, +The silvery fall of her feet, that lilies are, +Fill the land with languorous light and perfume.-- +Is it the melody mute of burgeoning leaf and of bloom? +The music of Nature, that silently shapes in the gloom +Immaterial hosts +Of spirits that have the flowers and leaves in their keep, +That I hear, that I hear? +Invisible ghosts,-- +Who whisper in leaves and glimmer in blossoms and hover +In color and fragrance and loveliness, breathed from the deep +World-soul of the mother, +Nature;--who, over and over, +Both sweetheart and lover, +Goes singing her songs from one sweet month to the other,-- +That appear, that appear? +In forest and field, on hill-land and lea, +As crystallized harmony, +Materialized melody, +An uttered essence peopling far and near +The hyaline atmosphere?... +Behold how it sprouts from the grass and blooms from flower and tree! +In waves of diaphanous moonlight and mist, +In fugue upon fugue of gold and of amethyst, +Around me, above me it spirals; now slower, now faster, +Like symphonies born of the thought of a musical master.-- +--O music of Earth! O God who the music inspired! +Let me breathe of the life of thy breath! +And so be fulfilled and attired +In resurrection, triumphant o'er time and o'er death! + + + + +_Hymn to +Desire_ + +I + + +Mother of visions, with lineaments dulcet as numbers +Breathed on the eyelids of love by music that slumbers, +Secretly, sweetly, O presence of fire and snow, +Thou comest mysterious, +In beauty imperious, +Clad on with dreams and the light of no world that we know. +Deep to my innermost soul am I shaken, +Helplessly shaken and tossed, +And of thy tyrannous yearnings so utterly taken, +My lips, unsatisfied, thirst; +Mine eyes are accurst +With longings for visions that far in the night are forsaken; +And mine ears, in listening lost, +Yearn, yearn for the note of a chord that will never awaken. + + +II + + +Like palpable music thou comest, like moonlight; and far,-- +Resonant bar upon bar,-- +The vibrating lyre +Of the spirit responds with melodious fire, +As thy fluttering fingers now grasp it and ardently shake, +With flame and with flake, +The chords of existence, the instrument star-sprung. +Whose frame is of clay, so wonderfully molded from mire. + + +III + + +Vested with vanquishment, come, O Desire, Desire! +Breathe in this harp of my soul the audible angel of love! +Make of my heart an Israfel burning above, +A lute for the music of God, that lips, which are mortal, but stammer! +Smite every rapturous wire +With golden delirium, rebellion and silvery clamor, +Crying--"Awake! awake! +Too long hast thou slumbered! too far from the regions of glamour, +With its mountains of magic, its fountains of Faery, the spar-sprung, +Hast thou wandered away, O Heart! +Come, oh, come and partake +Of necromance banquets of beauty; and slake +Thy thirst in the waters of art, +That are drawn from the streams +Of love and of dreams." + + +IV + + +"Come, oh, come! +No longer shall language be dumb! +Thy vision shall grasp-- +As one doth the glittering hasp +Of a dagger made splendid with gems and with gold-- +The wonder and richness of life, not anguish and hate of it merely. +And out of the stark +Eternity, awful and dark, +Immensity silent and cold,-- +Universe-shaking as trumpets, or thunderous metals +That cymbal; yet pensive and pearly +And soft as the rosy unfolding of petals, +Or crumbling aroma of blossoms that wither too early,-- +The majestic music of Death, where he plays +On the organ of eons and days." + + + + +_Music_ + + +Thou, oh, thou! +Thou of the chorded shell and golden plectrum! thou +Of the dark eyes and pale pacific brow! +Music, who by the plangent waves, +Or in the echoing night of labyrinthine caves, +Or on God's mountains, lonely as the stars, +Touchest reverberant bars +Of immemorial sorrow and amaze;-- +Keeping regret and memory awake, +And all the immortal ache +Of love that leans upon the past's sweet days +In retrospection!--now, oh, now, +Interpreter and heart-physician, thou, +Who gazest on the heaven and the hell +Of life, and singest each as well, +Touch with thy all-mellifluous finger-tips, +Or thy melodious lips, +This sickness named my soul, +Making it whole, +As is an echo of a chord, +Or some symphonic word, +Or sweet vibrating sigh, +That deep, resurgent still doth rise and die +On thy voluminous roll; +Part of the beauty and the mystery +That axles Earth with song; and as a slave, +Swings it around and 'round on each sonorous pole, +'Mid spheric harmony, +And choral majesty, +And diapasoning of wind and wave; +And speeds it on its far elliptic way +'Mid vasty anthemings of night and day.-- +O cosmic cry +Of two eternities, wherein we see +The phantasms, Death and Life, +At endless strife +Above the silence of a monster grave. + + + + +_Jotunheim_ + +I + + +Beyond the Northern Lights, in regions haunted +Of twilight, where the world is glacier planted, +And pale as Loki in his cavern when +The serpent's slaver burns him to the bones, +I saw the phantasms of gigantic men, +The prototypes of vastness, quarrying stones; +Great blocks of winter, glittering with the morn's +And evening's colors,--wild prismatic tones +Of boreal beauty.--Like the three gray Norns, +Silence and solitude and terror loomed +Around them where they labored. Walls arose, +Vast as the Andes when creation boomed +Insurgent fire; and through the rushing snows +Enormous battlements of tremendous ice, +Bastioned and turreted, I saw arise. + + +II + + +But who can sing the workmanship gigantic + That reared within its coruscating dome +The roaring fountain, hurling an Atlantic + Of streaming ice that flashed with flame and foam? +An opal spirit, various and many formed,-- +In whose clear heart reverberant fire stormed,-- + Seemed its inhabitant; and through pale halls, + And deep diaphanous walls, + And corridors of whiteness. + Auroral colors swarmed, + As rosy-flickering stains, +Or lambent green, or gold, or crimson, warmed +The pulsing crystal of the spirit's veins + With ever-changing brightness. +And through the Arctic night there went a voice, +As if the ancient Earth cried out, "Rejoice! + My heart is full of lightness!" + + +III + + +Here well might Thor, the god of war, +Harness the whirlwinds to his car, +While, mailed in storm, his iron arm +Heaves high his hammer's lava-form, +And red and black his beard streams back, +Like some fierce torrent scoriac, +Whose earthquake light glares through the night +Around some dark volcanic height; +And through the skies Valkyrian cries +Trumpet, as battleward he flies, +Death in his hair and havoc in his eyes. + + +IV + + +Still in my dreams I hear that fountain flowing; +Beyond all seeing and beyond all knowing; +Still in my dreams I see those wild walls glowing + With hues, Aurora-kissed; +And through huge halls fantastic phantoms going. + Vast shapes of snow and mist,-- +Sonorous clarions of the tempest blowing,-- + That trail dark banners by, + Cloudlike, underneath the sky + Of the caverned dome on high, + Carbuncle and amethyst.-- + Still I hear the ululation + Of their stormy exultation, + Multitudinous, and blending + In hoarse echoes, far, unending; + And, through halls of fog and frost, + Howling back, like madness lost + In the moonless mansion of + Its own demon-haunted love. + + +V + + +Still in my dreams I hear the mermaid singing; +The mermaid music at its portal ringing; +The mermaid song, that hinged with gold its door, + And, whispering evermore, + Hushed the ponderous hurl and roar + And vast aeolian thunder + Of the chained tempests under + The frozen cataracts that were its floor.-- +And, blinding beautiful, I still behold +The mermaid there, combing her locks of gold, +While, at her feet, green as the Northern Seas, +Gambol her flocks of seals and walruses; +While, like a drift, her dog--a Polar bear-- +Lies by her, glowering through his shaggy hair. + + +VI + + +O wondrous house, built by supernal hands + In vague and ultimate lands! +Thy architects were behemoth wind and cloud, + That, laboring loud, +Mountained thy world foundations and uplifted + Thy skyey bastions drifted +Of piled eternities of ice and snow; + Where storms, like ploughmen, go, +Ploughing the deeps with awful hurricane; + Where, spouting icy rain, +The huge whale wallows; and through furious hail + Th' explorer's tattered sail +Drives like the wing of some terrific bird, + Where wreck and famine herd.-- +Home of the red Auroras and the gods! +He who profanes thy perilous threshold,--where + The ancient centuries lair, +And, glacier-throned, thy monarch, Winter, nods,-- + Let him beware! +Lest, coming on that hoary presence there, + Whose pitiless hand, + Above that hungry land, +An iceberg wields as sceptre, and whose crown + The North Star is, set in a band of frost, +He, too, shall feel the bitterness of that frown, + And, turned to stone, forevermore be lost. + + + + +_Dionysia_ + + +The day is dead; and in the west +The slender crescent of the moon-- +Diana's crystal-kindled crest-- +Sinks hillward in a silvery swoon. +What is the murmur in the dell? +The stealthy whisper and the drip?-- +A Dryad with her leaf-light trip? +Or Naiad o'er her fountain well?-- +Who, with white fingers for her comb, +Sleeks her blue hair, and from its curls +Showers slim minnows and pale pearls, +And hollow music of the foam. +What is it in the vistaed ways +That leans and springs, and stoops and sways?-- +The naked limbs of one who flees? +An Oread who hesitates +Before the Satyr form that waits, +Crouching to leap, that there she sees? +Or under boughs, reclining cool, +A Hamadryad, like a pool +Of moonlight, palely beautiful? +Or Limnad, with her lilied face, +More lovely than the misty lace +That haunts a star and gives it grace? +Or is it some Leimoniad, +In wildwood flowers dimly clad? +Oblong blossoms white as froth; +Or mottled like the tiger-moth; +Or brindled as the brows of death; +Wild of hue and wild of breath. +Here ethereal flame and milk +Blent with velvet and with silk; +Here an iridescent glow +Mixed with satin and with snow: +Pansy, poppy and the pale +Serpolet and galingale; +Mandrake and anemone, +Honey-reservoirs o' the bee; +Cistus and the cyclamen,-- +Cheeked like blushing Hebe this, +And the other white as is +Bubbled milk of Venus when +Cupid's baby mouth is pressed, +Rosy, to her rosy breast. +And, besides, all flowers that mate +With aroma, and in hue +Stars and rainbows duplicate +Here on earth for me and you. + +Yea! at last mine eyes can see! +'Tis no shadow of the tree +Swaying softly there, but she!-- +Maenad, Bassarid, Bacchant, +What you will, who doth enchant +Night with sensuous nudity. +Lo! again I hear her pant +Breasting through the dewy glooms-- +Through the glow-worm gleams and glowers +Of the starlight;--wood-perfumes +Swoon around her and frail showers +Of the leaflet-tilted rain. +Lo, like love, she comes again, +Through the pale, voluptuous dusk, +Sweet of limb with breasts of musk. +With her lips, like blossoms, breathing +Honeyed pungence of her kiss, +And her auburn tresses wreathing +Like umbrageous helichrys, +There she stands, like fire and snow, +In the moon's ambrosial glow, +Both her shapely loins low-looped +With the balmy blossoms, drooped, +Of the deep amaracus. +Spiritual yet sensual, +Lo, she ever greets me thus +In my vision; white and tall, +Her delicious body there,-- +Raimented with amorous air,-- +To my mind expresses all +The allurements of the world. +And once more I seem to feel +On my soul, like frenzy, hurled +All the passionate past.--I reel, +Greek again in ancient Greece, +In the Pyrrhic revelries; +In the mad and Maenad dance +Onward dragged with violence; +Pan and old Silenus and +Faunus and a Bacchant band +Round me. Wild my wine-stained hand +O'er tumultuous hair is lifted; +While the flushed and Phallic orgies +Whirl around me; and the marges +Of the wood are torn and rifted +With lascivious laugh and shout. +And barbarian there again,-- +Shameless with the shameless rout, +Bacchus lusting in each vein,-- +With her pagan lips on mine, +Like a god made drunk with wine, +On I reel; and, in the revels, +Her loose hair, the dance dishevels, +Blows, and 'thwart my vision swims +All the splendor of her limbs.... + +So it seems. Yet woods are lonely. +And when I again awake, +I shall find their faces only +Moonbeams in the boughs that shake; +And their revels, but the rush +Of night-winds through bough and brush. +Yet my dreaming--is it more +Than mere dreaming? Is some door +Opened in my soul? a curtain +Raised? to let me see for certain +I have lived that life before? + + + + +_The Last +Song_ + + +She sleeps; he sings to her. The day was long, +And, tired out with too much happiness, +She fain would have him sing of old Provence; +Quaint songs, that spoke of love in such soft tones, +Her restless soul was straight besieged of dreams, +And her wild heart beleagured of deep peace, +And heart and soul surrendered unto sleep.-- +Like perfect sculpture in the moon she lies, +Its pallor on her through heraldic panes +Of one tall casement's guled quarterings.-- +Beside her couch, an antique table, weighed +With gold and crystal; here, a carven chair, +Whereon her raiment,--that suggests sweet curves +Of shapely beauty,--bearing her limbs' impress, +Is richly laid: and, near the chair, a glass, +An oval mirror framed in ebony: +And, dim and deep,--investing all the room +With ghostly life of woven women and men, +And strange fantastic gloom, where shadows live,-- +Dark tapestry,--which in the gusts--that twinge +A grotesque cresset's slender star of light-- +Seems moved of cautious hands, assassin-like, +That wait the hour. + She alone, deep-haired +As rosy dawn, and whiter than a rose, +Divinely breasted as the Queen of Love, +Lies robeless in the glimmer of the moon, +Like Danae within the golden shower. +Seated beside her aromatic rest, +In rapture musing on her loveliness, +Her knight and troubadour. A lute, aslope +The curious baldric of his tunic, glints +With pearl-reflections of the moon, that seem +The silent ghosts of long-dead melodies. +In purple and sable, slashed with solemn gold, +Like stately twilight o'er the snow-heaped hills, +He bends above her.-- + Have his hands forgot +Their craft, that they pause, idle on the strings? +His lips, their art, that they cease, speechless there?-- +His eyes are set.... What is it stills to stone +His hands, his lips? and mails him, head and heel, +In terrible marble, motionless and cold?-- +Behind the arras, can it be he feels, +Black-browed and grim, with eyes of sombre fire, +Death towers above him with uplifted sword? + + + + +_Romaunt of +the Oak_ + + +"I rode to death, for I fought for shame-- +The Lady Maurine of noble name, + +"The fair and faithless!--Though life be long +Is love the wiser?--Love made song + +"Of all my life; and the soul that crept +Before, arose like a star and leapt: + +"Still leaps with the love that it found untrue, +That it found unworthy.--Now run me through! + +"Yea, run me through! for meet and well, +And a jest for laughter of fiends in hell, + +"It is that I, who have done no wrong, +Should die by the hand of Hugh the Strong, + +"Of Hugh her leman!--What else could be +When the devil was judge twixt thee and me? + +"He splintered my lance, and my blade he broke-- +Now finish me thou 'neath the trysting oak!" ... + +The crest of his foeman,--a heart of white +In a bath of fire,--stooped i' the night; + +Stooped and laughed as his sword he swung, +Then galloped away with a laugh on his tongue.... + +But who is she in the gray, wet dawn, +'Mid the autumn shades like a shadow wan? + +Who kneels, one hand on her straining breast, +One hand on the dead man's bosom pressed? + +Her face is dim as the dead's; as cold +As his tarnished harness of steel and gold. + +O Lady Maurine! O Lady Maurine! +What boots it now that regret is keen? + +That his hair you smooth, that you kiss his brow +What boots it now? what boots it now?... + +She has haled him under the trysting oak, +The huge old oak that the creepers cloak. + +She has stood him, gaunt in his battered arms, +In its haunted hollow.--"Be safe from storms," + +She laughed as his cloven casque she placed +On his brow, and his riven shield she braced. + +Then sat and talked to the forest flowers +Through the lonely term of the day's pale hours. + +And stared and whispered and smiled and wept, +While nearer and nearer the evening crept. + +And, lo, when the moon, like a great gold bloom +Above the sorrowful trees did loom, + +She rose up sobbing, "O moon, come see +My bridegroom here in the old oak-tree! + +"I have talked to the flowers all day, all day, +For never a word had he to say. + +"He would not listen, he would not hear, +Though I wailed my longing into his ear. + +"O moon, steal in where he stands so grim, +And tell him I love him, and plead with him. + +"Soften his face that is cold and stern +And brighten his eyes and make them burn, + +"O moon, O moon, so my soul can see +That his heart still glows with love for me!" ... + +When the moon was set, and the woods were dark, +The wild deer came and stood as stark + +As phantoms with eyes of fire; or fled +Like a ghostly hunt of the herded dead. + +And the hoot-owl called; and the were-wolf snarled; +And a voice, in the boughs of the oak-tree gnarled,-- + +Like the whining rush of the hags that ride +To the witches' sabboth,--crooned and cried. + +And wrapped in his mantle of wind and cloud +The storm-fiend stalked through the forest loud. + +When she heard the dead man rattle and groan +As the oak was bent and its leaves were blown, + +And the lightning vanished and shimmered his mail, +Through the swirling sweep of the rain and hail, + +She seemed to hear him, who seemed to call,-- +"Come hither, Maurine, the wild leaves fall! + +"The wild leaves rustle, the wild leaves flee; +Come hither, Maurine, to the hollow tree! + +"To the trysting tree, to the tree once green; +Come hither, Maurine! come hither, Maurine!" ... + +They found her closed in his armored arms-- +Had he claimed his bride on that night of storms? + + + + +_Morgan le +Fay_ + + +In dim samite was she bedight, + And on her hair a hoop of gold, +Like fox-fire in the tawn moonlight, + Was glimmering cold. + +With soft gray eyes she gloomed and glowered; + With soft red lips she sang a song: +What knight might gaze upon her face, + Nor fare along? + +For all her looks were full of spells, + And all her words of sorcery; +And in some way they seemed to say + "Oh, come with me! + +"Oh, come with me! oh, come with me! + Oh, come with me, my love, Sir Kay!"-- +How should he know the witch, I trow, + Morgan le Fay? + +How should he know the wily witch, + With sweet white face and raven hair? +Who by her art bewitched his heart + And held him there. + +For soul and sense had waxed amort + To wold and weald, to slade and stream; +And all he heard was her soft word + As one adream. + +And all he saw was her bright eyes, + And her fair face that held him still; +And wild and wan she led him on + O'er vale and hill. + +Until at last a castle lay + Beneath the moon, among the trees; +Its Gothic towers old and gray + With mysteries. + +Tall in its hall an hundred knights + In armor stood with glaive in hand; +The following of some great King, + Lord of that land. + +Sir Bors, Sir Balin, and Gawain, + All Arthur's knights, and many mo; +But these in battle had been slain + Long years ago. + +But when Morgan with lifted hand + Moved down the hall, they louted low; +For she was Queen of Shadowland, + That woman of snow. + +Then from Sir Kay she drew away, + And mocking at him by her side,-- +"Behold, Sir Knights, the knave who slew + Your King," she cried. + +Then like one man those shadows raised + Their swords, whereon the moon glanced gray; +And clashing all strode from the wall + Against Sir Kay. + +And on his body, bent and bowed, + The hundred blades like one blade fell; +While over all rang long and loud + The mirth of Hell. + + + + +_The Dream +of Roderick_ + + +Below, the tawny Tagus swept +Past royal gardens, breathing balm; +Upon his couch the monarch slept; +The world was still; the night was calm. + +Gray, Gothic-gated, in the ray +Of moonrise, tower-and castle-crowned, +The city of Toledo lay +Beneath the terraced palace-ground. + +Again, he dreamed, in kingly sport +He sought the tree-sequestered path, +And watched the ladies of his Court +Within the marble-basined bath. + +Its porphyry stairs and fountained base +Shone, houried with voluptuous forms, +Where Andalusia vied in grace +With old Castile, in female charms. + +And laughter, song, and water-splash +Rang round the place, with stone arcaded, +As here a breast or limb would flash +Where beauty swam or beauty waded. + +And then, like Venus, from the wave +A maiden came, and stood below; +And by her side a woman slave +Bent down to dry her limbs of snow. + +Then on the tesselated bank, +Robed on with fragrance and with fire,-- +Like some exotic flower--she sank, +The type of all divine desire. + +Then her dark curls, that sparkled wet, +She parted from her perfect brows, +And, lo, her eyes, like lamps of jet +Within an alabaster house. + +And in his sleep the monarch sighed, +"Florinda!"--Dreaming still he moaned, +"Ah, would that I had died, had died! +I have atoned! I have atoned!" ... + +And then the vision changed: O'erhead +Tempest and darkness were unrolled, +Full of wild voices of the dead, +And lamentations manifold. + +And wandering shapes of gaunt despair +Swept by, with faces pale as pain, +Whose eyes wept blood and seemed to glare +Fierce curses on him through the rain. + +And then, it seemed, 'gainst blazing skies +A necromantic tower sate, +Crag-like on crags, of giant size; +Of adamant its walls and gate. + +And from the storm a hand of might +Red-rolled in thunder, reached among +The gate's huge bolts--that burst; and night +Clanged ruin as its hinges swung. + +Then far away a murmur trailed,-- +As of sad seas on cavern'd shores,-- +That grew into a voice that wailed, +"They come! they come! the Moors! the Moors!" + +And with deep boom of atabals +And crash of cymbals and wild peal +Of battle-bugles, from its walls +An army rushed in glimmering steel. + +And where it trod he saw the torch +Of conflagration stalk the skies, +And in the vanward of its march +The monster form of Havoc rise. + +And Paynim war-cries rent the storm, +Athwart whose firmament of flame, +Destruction reared an earthquake form +On wreck and death without a name ... + +And then again the vision changed: +Where flows the Guadalete, see, +The warriors of the Cross are ranged +Against the Crescent's chivalry. + +With roar of trumpets and of drums +They meet; and in the battle's van +He fights; and, towering towards him, comes +Florinda's father, Julian; + +And one-eyed Taric, great in war: +And where these couch their burning spears, +The Christian phalanx, near and far, +Goes down like corn before the shears. + +The Moslem wins: the Christian flies: +"Allah il Allah," hill and plain +Reverberate: the rocking skies, +"Allah il Allah," shout again. + +And then he dreamed the swing of swords +And hurl of arrows were no more; +But, louder than the howling hordes, +Strange silence fell on field and shore. + +And through the night, it seemed, he fled, +Upon a white steed like a star, +Across a field of endless dead, +Beneath a blood-red scimitar. + +Of sunset: And he heard a moan, +Beneath, around, on every hand-- +"Accursed! Yea, what hast thou done +To bring this curse upon thy land?" + +And then an awful sense of wings: +And, lo! the answer--"'Twas his lust +That was his crime. Behold! E'en kings +Must reckon with Me. All are dust." + + + + +_Zyps of +Zirl_ + + +The Alps of the Tyrol are dark with pines, +Where, foaming under the mountain spines, +The Inn's long water sounds and shines. + +Beyond, are peaks where the morning weaves +An icy rose; and the evening leaves +The glittering gold of a thousand sheaves. + +Deep vines and torrents and glimmering haze, +And sheep-bells tinkling on mountain ways, +And fluting shepherds make sweet the days. + +The rolling mist, like a wandering fleece, +The great round moon in a mountain crease, +And a song of love make the nights all peace. + +Beneath the blue Tyrolean skies +On the banks of the Inn, that foams and flies, +The storied city of Innsbruck lies. + +With its mediaeval streets, that crook, +And its gabled houses, it has the look +Of a belfried town in a fairy-book. + +So wild the Tyrol that oft, 'tis said, +When the storm is out and the town in bed, +The howling of wolves sweeps overhead. + +And oft the burgher, sitting here +In his walled rose-garden, hears the clear +Shrill scream of the eagle circling near. + +And this is the tale that the burghers tell:-- +The Abbot of Wiltau stood at his cell +Where the Solstein lifts its pinnacle. + +A mighty summit of bluffs and crags +That frowns on the Inn; where the forest stags +Have worn a path to the water-flags. + +The Abbot of Wiltau stood below; +And he was aware of a plume and bow +On the precipice there in the morning's glow. + +A chamois, he saw, from span to span +Had leapt; and after it leapt a man; +And he knew 't was the Kaiser Maxmilian. + +But, see! though rash as the chamois he, +His foot less sure. And verily +If the King should miss ... "Jesu, Marie! + +"The King hath missed!"--And, look, he falls! +Rolls headlong out to the headlong walls. +What saint shall save him on whom he calls? + +What saint shall save him, who struggles there +On the narrow ledge by the eagle's lair, +With hooked hands clinging 'twixt earth and air? + +The Abbot, he crosses himself in dread-- +"Let prayers go up for the nearly dead, +And the passing-bell be tolled," he said. + +"For the House of Hapsburg totters; see, +How raveled the thread of its destiny, +Sheer hung between cloud and rock!" quoth he. + +But hark! where the steeps of the peak reply, +Is it an eagle's echoing cry? +And the flitting shadow, its plumes on high? + +No voice of the eagle is that which rings! +And the shadow, a wiry man who swings +Down, down where the desperate Kaiser clings. + +The _crampons_ bound to his feet, he leaps +Like a chamois now; and again he creeps +Or twists, like a snake, o'er the fearful deeps. + +"By his cross-bow, baldrick, and cap's black curl," +Quoth the Abbot below, "I know the churl! +'T is the hunted outlaw Zyps of Zirl. + +"Upon whose head, or dead or alive, +The Kaiser hath posted a price.--Saints shrive +The King!" quoth Wiltau. "Who may contrive + +"To save him now that his foe is there?"-- +But, listen! again through the breathless air +What words are those that the echoes bear? + +"Courage, my King!--To the rescue, ho!" +The wild voice rings like a twanging bow, +And the staring Abbot stands mute below. + +And, lo! the hand of the outlaw grasps +The arm of the King--and death unclasps +Its fleshless fingers from him who gasps. + +And how he guides! where the clean cliffs wedge +Them flat to their faces; by chasm and ledge +He helps the King from the merciless edge. + +Then up and up, past bluffs that shun +The rashest chamois; where eagles sun +Fierce wings and brood; where the mists are spun. + +And safe at last stand Kaiser and churl +On the mountain path where the mosses curl-- +And this the revenge of Zyps of Zirl. + + + + +_The +Glowworm_ + + +How long had I sat there and had not beheld +The gleam of the glow-worm till something compelled!... + +The heaven was starless, the forest was deep, +And the vistas of darkness stretched silent in sleep. + +And late 'mid the trees had I lingered until +No thing was awake but the lone whippoorwill. + +And haunted of thoughts for an hour I sat +On a lichen-gray rock where the moss was a mat. + +And thinking of one whom my heart had held dear, +Like terrible waters, a gathering fear. + +Came stealing upon me with all the distress +Of loss and of yearning and powerlessness: + +Till the hopes and the doubts and the sleepless unrest +That, swallow-like, built in the home of my breast, + +Now hither, now thither, now heavenward flew, +Wild-winged as the winds are: now suddenly drew + +My soul to abysses of nothingness where +All light was a shadow, all hope, a despair: + +Where truth, that religion had set upon high, +The darkness distorted and changed to a lie: + +And dreams of the beauty ambition had fed +Like leaves of the autumn fell blighted and dead. + +And I rose with my burden of anguish and doom, +And cried, "O my God, had I died in the womb! + +"Than born into night, with no hope of the morn, +An heir unto shadows, to live so forlorn! + +"All effort is vain; and the planet called Faith +Sinks down; and no power is real but death. + +"Oh, light me a torch in the deepening dark +So my sick soul may follow, my sad heart may mark!"-- + +And then in the darkness the answer!--It came +From Earth not from Heaven--a glimmering flame, + +Behold, at my feet! In the shadow it shone +Mysteriously lovely and dimly alone: + +An ember; a sparkle of dew and of glower; +Like the lamp that a spirit hangs under a flower: + +As goldenly green as the phosphorus star +A fairy may wear in her diadem's bar: + +An element essence of moonlight and dawn +That, trodden and trampled, burns on and burns on. + +And hushed was my soul with the lesson of light +That God had revealed to me there in the night: + +Though mortal its structure, material its form, +The spiritual message of worm unto worm. + + + + +_Ghosts_ + + +Was it the strain of the waltz that, repeating +"Love," so bewitched me? or only the gleam +There of the lustres, that set my heart beating, +Feeling your presence as one feels a dream? + +For, on a sudden, the woman of fashion, +Soft at my side in her diamonds and lace, +Vanished, and pale with reproach or with passion, +You, my dead sweetheart, smiled up in my face. + +Music, the nebulous lights, and the sifting +Fragrance of women made amorous the air; +Born of these three and my thoughts you came drifting, +Clad in dim muslin, a rose in your hair. + +There in the waltz, that followed the lancers, +Hard to my breast did I crush you and hold; +Far through the stir and the throng of the dancers +Onward I bore you as often of old. + +Pale were your looks; and the rose in your tresses +Paler of hue than the dreams we have lost;-- +"Who," then I said, "is it sees or who guesses, +Here in the hall, that I dance with a ghost?" + +Gone! And the dance and the music are ended. +Gone! And the rapture dies out of the skies. +And, on my arm, in her elegance splendid, +The woman of fashion smiles up in my eyes. + +Had I forgotten? and did you remember?-- +You, who are dead, whom I cannot forget; +You, for whose sake all my heart is an ember +Covered with ashes of dreams and regret. + + + + +_The Purple +Valleys_ + + +Far in the purple valleys of illusion +I see her waiting, like the soul of music, +With deep eyes, lovelier than cerulean pansies, +Shadow and fire, yet merciless as poison; +With red lips, sweeter than Arabian storax, +Yet bitterer than myrrh.--O tears and kisses! +O eyes and lips, that haunt my soul forever! + +Again Spring walks transcendent on the mountains: +The woods are hushed: the vales are blue with shadows: +Above the heights, steeped in a thousand splendors, +Like some vast canvas of the gods, hangs burning +The sunset's wild sciography: and slowly +The moon treads heaven's proscenium,--night's stately +White queen of love and tragedy and madness. + +Again I know forgotten dreams and longings; +Ideals lost; desires dead and buried +Beside the altar sacrifice erected +Within the heart's high sanctuary. Strangely +Again I know the horror and the rapture, +The utterless awe, the joy akin to anguish, +The terror and the worship of the spirit. + +Again I feel her eyes pierce through and through me; +Her deep eyes, lovelier than imperial pansies, +Velvet and flame, through which her fierce will holds me, +Powerless and tame, and draws me on and onward +To sad, unsatisfied and animal yearnings, +Wild, unrestrained--the brute within the human-- +To fling me panting on her mouth and bosom. + +Again I feel her lips like ice and fire, +Her red lips, odorous as Arabian storax, +Fragrance and fire, within whose kiss destruction +Lies serpent-like. Intoxicating languors +Resistlessly embrace me, soul and body; +And we go drifting, drifting--she is laughing-- +Outcasts of God, into the deep's abysm. + + + + +_The Land +of Illusion_ + +I + + +So we had come at last, my soul and I, + Into that land of shadowy plain and peak, + On which the dawn seemed ever about to break +On which the day seemed ever about to die. + + +II + + +Long had we sought fulfillment of our dreams, + The everlasting wells of Joy and Youth; + Long had we sought the snow-white flow'r of Truth, +That blooms eternal by eternal streams. + + +III + + +And, fonder still, we hoped to find the sweet + Immortal presence, Love; the bird Delight + Beside her; and, eyed with sidereal night, +Faith, like a lion, fawning at her feet. + + +IV + + +But, scorched and barren, in its arid well, + We found our dreams' forgotten fountain-head; + And by black, bitter waters, crushed and dead, +Among wild weeds, Truth's trampled asphodel. + + +V + + +And side by side with pallid Doubt and Pain, + Not Love, but Grief did meet us there: afar + We saw her, like a melancholy star, +Or pensive moon, move towards us o'er the plain. + + +VI + + +Sweet was her face as song that sings of home; + And filled our hearts with vague, suggestive spells + Of pathos, as sad ocean fills its shells +With sympathetic moanings of its foam. + + +VII + + +She raised one hand and pointed silently, + Then passed; her eyes, gaunt with a thirst unslaked, + Were worlds of woe, where tears in torrents ached, +Yet never fell. And like a winter sea,-- + + +VIII + + +Whose caverned crags are haunts of wreck and wrath, + That house the condor pinions of the storm,-- + My soul replied; and, weeping, arm in arm, +To'ards those dim hills, by that appointed path, + + +IX + + +We turned and went. Arrived, we did discern + How Beauty beckoned, white 'mid miles of flowers, + Through which, behold, the amaranthine Hours +Like maidens went each holding up an urn; + + +X + + +Wherein, it seemed--drained from long chalices + Of those slim flow'rs--they bore mysterious wine; + A poppied vintage, full of sleep divine +And pale forgetting of all miseries. + + +XI + + +Then to my soul I said, "No longer weep. + Come, let us drink; for hateful is the sky, + And earth is full of care, and life's a lie. +So let us drink; yea, let us drink and sleep." + + +XII + + +Then from their brimming urns we drank sweet must, + While, all around us, rose-crowned faces laughed + Into our eyes; but hardly had we quaffed +When, one by one, these crumbled into dust. + + +XIII + + +And league on league the eminence of blooms, + That flashed and billowed like a summer sea, + Rolled out a waste of thorns and tombs; where bee +And butterfly and bird hung dead in looms + + +XIV + + +Of worm and spider. And through tomb and brier, + A thin wind, parched with thirsty dust and sand, + Went wailing as if mourning some lost land +Of perished empire, Babylon or Tyre. + + +XV + + +Long, long with blistered feet we wandered in + That land of ruins, through whose sky of brass + Hate's Harpy shrieked; and in whose iron grass +The Hydra hissed of undestroyable Sin. + + +XVI + + +And there at last, behold, the House of Doom,-- + Red, as if Hell had glared it into life, + Blood-red, and howling with incessant strife,-- +With burning battlements, towered in the gloom. + + +XVII + + +And throned within sat Darkness.--Who might gaze + Upon that form, that threatening presence there, + Crowned with the flickering corpse-lights of Despair, +And yet escape sans madness and amaze? + + +XVIII + + +And we had hoped to find among these hills + The House of Beauty!--Curst, yea, thrice accurst, + The hope that lures one on from last to first +With vain illusions that no time fulfills! + + +XIX + + +Why will we struggle to attain, and strive, + When all we gain is but an empty dream?-- + Better, unto my thinking, doth it seem +To end it all and let who will survive; + + +XX + + +To find at last all beauty is but dust; + That love and sorrow are the very same; + That joy is only suffering's sweeter name; +And sense is but the synonym of lust. + + +XXI + + +Far better, yea, to me it seems to die; + To set glad lips against the lips of Death-- + The only thing God gives that comforteth, +The only thing we do not find a lie. + + + + +_Spirit of +Dreams_ + +I + + +Where hast thou folded thy pinions, + Spirit of Dreams? +Hidden elusive garments + Woven of gleams? +In what divine dominions, + Brighter than day, +Far from the world's dark torments, + Dost thou stay, dost thou stay?-- +When shall my yearnings reach thee + Again? +Not in vain let my soul beseech thee! + Not in vain! not in vain! + + +II + + +I have longed for thee as a lover + For her, the one; +As a brother for a sister + Long dead and gone. +I have called thee over and over + Names sweet to hear; +With words than music trister, + And thrice as dear. +How long must my sad heart woo thee, + Yet fail? +How long must my soul pursue thee, + Nor avail, nor avail? + + +III + + +All night hath thy loving mother, + Beautiful Sleep, +Lying beside me, listened + And heard me weep. +But ever thou soughtest another + Who sought thee not; +For him thy soft smile glistened-- + I was forgot. +When shall my soul behold thee + As before? +When shall my heart infold thee?-- + Nevermore? nevermore? + + + + +LINES AND LYRICS + + + + +_To a Wind-Flower_ + +I + + +Teach me the secret of thy loveliness, + That, being made wise, I may aspire to be +As beautiful in thought, and so express + Immortal truths to earth's mortality; +Though to my soul ability be less + Than 't is to thee, O sweet anemone. + + +II + + +Teach me the secret of thy innocence, + That in simplicity I may grow wise; +Asking from Art no other recompense + Than the approval of her own just eyes; +So may I rise to some fair eminence, + Though less than thine, O cousin of the skies. + + +III + + +Teach me these things; through whose high knowledge, I,-- + When Death hath poured oblivion through my veins, +And brought me home, as all are brought, to lie + In that vast house, common to serfs and Thanes,-- +I shall not die, I shall not utterly die, + For beauty born of beauty--_that_ remains. + + + + +_Microcosm_ + + +The memory of what we've lost +Is with us more than what we've won; +Perhaps because we count the cost +By what we could, yet have not done. + +'Twixt act and purpose fate hath drawn +Invisible threads we can not break, +And puppet-like these move us on +The stage of life, and break or make. + +Less than the dust from which we're wrought, +We come and go, and still are hurled +From change to change, from naught to naught, +Heirs of oblivion and the world. + + + + +_Fortune_ + + +Within the hollowed hand of God, +Blood-red they lie, the dice of fate, +That have no time nor period, +And know no early and no late. + +Postpone you can not, nor advance +Success or failure that's to be; +All fortune, being born of chance, +Is bastard-child to destiny. + +Bow down your head, or hold it high, +Consent, defy--no smallest part +Of this you change, although the die +Was fashioned from your living heart. + + + + +_Death_ + + +Through some strange sense of sight or touch +I find what all have found before, +The presence I have feared so much, +The unknown's immaterial door. + +I seek not and it comes to me: +I do not know the thing I find: +The fillet of fatality +Drops from my brows that made me blind. + +Point forward now or backward, light! +The way I take I may not choose: +Out of the night into the night, +And in the night no certain clews. + +But on the future, dim and vast, +And dark with dust and sacrifice, +Death's towering ruin from the past +Makes black the land that round me lies. + + + + +_The +Soul_ + + +An heritage of hopes and fears +And dreams and memory, +And vices of ten thousand years +God gives to thee. + +A house of clay, the home of Fate, +Haunted of Love and Sin, +Where Death stands knocking at the gate +To let him in. + + + + +_Conscience_ + + +Within the soul are throned two powers, +One, Love; one, Hate. Begot of these, +And veiled between, a presence towers, +The shadowy keeper of the keys. + +With wild command or calm persuasion +This one may argue, that compel; +Vain are concealment and evasion-- +For each he opens heaven and hell. + + + + +_Youth_ + +I + + +Morn's mystic rose is reddening on the hills, +Dawn's irised nautilus makes glad the sea; +There is a lyre of flame that throbs and fills +Far heaven and earth with hope's wild ecstasy.-- + With lilied field and grove, + Haunts of the turtle-dove, + Here is the land of Love. + + +II + + +The chariot of the noon makes blind the blue +As towards the goal his burning axle glares; +There is a fiery trumpet thrilling through +Wide heaven and earth with deeds of one who dares.-- + With peaks of splendid name, + Wrapped round with astral flame, + Here is the land of Fame. + + +III + + +The purple priesthood of the evening waits +With golden pomp within the templed skies; +There is a harp of worship at the gates +Of heaven and earth that bids the soul arise.-- + With columned cliffs and long + Vales, music breathes among, + Here is the land of Song. + + +IV + + +Moon-crowned, the epic of the night unrolls +Its starry utterance o'er height and deep; +There is a voice of beauty at the souls +Of heaven and earth that lulls the heart asleep.-- + With storied woods and streams, + Where marble glows and gleams, + Here is the land of Dreams. + + + + +_Life's +Seasons_ + +I + + +When all the world was Mayday, + And all the skies were blue, +Young innocence made playday + Among the flowers and dew; +Then all of life was Mayday, + And clouds were none or few. + + +II + + +When all the world was Summer, + And morn shone overhead, +Love was the sweet newcomer + Who led youth forth to wed; +Then all of life was Summer, + And clouds were golden red. + + +III + + +When earth was all October, + And days were gray with mist, +On woodways, sad and sober, + Grave memory kept her tryst; +Then life was all October, + And clouds were twilight-kissed. + + +IV + + +Now all the world's December, + And night is all alarm, +Above the last dim ember + Grief bends to keep him warm; +Now all of life's December, + And clouds are driven storm. + + + + +_Old +Homes_ + + +Old homes among the hills! I love their gardens, +Their old rock-fences, that our day inherits; +Their doors, 'round which the great trees stand like wardens; +Their paths, down which the shadows march like spirits; +Broad doors and paths that reach bird-haunted gardens. + +I see them gray among their ancient acres, +Severe of front, their gables lichen-sprinkled,-- +Like gentle-hearted, solitary Quakers, +Grave and religious, with kind faces wrinkled,-- +Serene among their memory-hallowed acres. + +Their gardens, banked with roses and with lilies-- +Those sweet aristocrats of all the flowers-- +Where Springtime mints her gold in daffodillies, +And Autumn coins her marigolds in showers, +And all the hours are toilless as the lilies. + +I love their orchards where the gay woodpecker +Flits, flashing o'er you, like a winged jewel; +Their woods, whose floors of moss the squirrels checker +With half-hulled nuts; and where, in cool renewal, +The wild brooks laugh, and raps the red woodpecker. + +Old homes! old hearts! Upon my soul forever +Their peace and gladness lie like tears and laughter; +Like love they touch me, through the years that sever, +With simple faith; like friendship, draw me after +The dreamy patience that is theirs forever. + + + + +_Field and +Forest Call_ + + +There is a field, that leans upon two hills, +Foamed o'er with flowers and twinkling with clear rills; +That in its girdle of wild acres bears +The anodyne of rest that cures all cares; +Wherein soft wind and sun and sound are blent +And fragrance--as in some old instrument +Sweet chords--calm things, that nature's magic spell +Distils from heaven's azure crucible, +And pours on Earth to make the sick mind well. + There lies the path, they say-- + Come, away! come, away! + +There is a forest, lying 'twixt two streams, +Sung through of birds and haunted of dim dreams; +That in its league-long hand of trunk and leaf +Lifts a green wand that charms away all grief; +Wrought of quaint silence and the stealth of things, +Vague, whispering touches, gleams and twitterings, +Dews and cool shadows--that the mystic soul +Of nature permeates with suave control, +And waves o'er earth to make the sad heart whole. + There lies the road, they say-- + Come, away! come, away! + + + + +_Meeting in +Summer_ + + + A tranquil bar +Of rosy twilight under dusk's first star. + + A glimmering sound +Of whispering waters over grassy ground. + + A sun-sweet smell +Of fresh-reaped hay from dewy field and dell. + + A lazy breeze +Jostling the ripeness from the apple-trees. + + A vibrant cry, +Passing, then gone, of bullbats in the sky. + + And faintly now +The katydid upon the shadowy bough. + + And far-off then +The little owl within the lonely glen. + + And soon, full soon, +The silvery arrival of the moon. + + And, to your door, +The path of roses I have trod before. + + And, sweetheart, you! +Among the roses and the moonlit dew. + + + + +_Swinging_ + + +Under the boughs of spring +She swung in the old rope-swing. + +Her cheeks, with their happy blood, +Were pink as the apple-bud. + +Her eyes, with their deep delight, +Were glad as the stars of night. + +Her curls, with their romp and fun, +Were hoiden as wind and sun. + +Her lips, with their laughter shrill, +Were wild as a woodland rill. + +Under the boughs of spring +She swung in the old rope-swing. + +And I,--who leaned on the fence, +Watching her innocence, + +As, under the boughs that bent, +Now high, now low, she went, + +In her soul the ecstasies +Of the stars, the brooks, the breeze,-- + +Had given the rest of my years, +With their blessings, and hopes, and fears, + +To have been as she was then; +And, just for a moment, again + +A boy in the old rope-swing +Under the boughs of spring. + + + + +_Rosemary_ + + +Above her, pearl and rose the heavens lay; +Around her, flowers scattered earth with gold, +Or down the path in insolence held sway-- +Like cavaliers who ride the elves' highway-- +Scarlet and blue, within a garden old. + +Beyond the hills, faint-heard through belts of wood, +Bells, Sabbath-sweet, swooned from some far-off town; +Gamboge and gold, broad sunset colors strewed +The purple west as if, with God imbued, +Her mighty pallet Nature there laid down. + +Amid such flowers, underneath such skies, +Embodying all life knows of sweet and fair, +She stood; love's dreams in girlhood's face and eyes, +White as a star that comes to emphasize +The mingled beauty of the earth and air. + +Behind her, seen through vines and orchard trees, +Gray with its twinkling windows--like the face +Of calm old-age that sits and smiles at ease-- +Porched with old roses, haunts of honey-bees, +The homestead loomed dim in a glimmering space. + +Ah! whom she waited in the afterglow, +Soft-eyed and dreamy 'mid the lily and rose, +I do not know, I do not wish to know;-- +It is enough I keep her picture so, +Hung up, like poetry, o'er my life's dull prose. + +A fragrant picture, where I still may find +Her face untouched of sorrow or regret, +Unspoiled of contact, ever young and kind, +Glad spiritual sweetheart of my soul and mind, +She had not been, perhaps, if we had met. + + + + +_Ghost +Stories_ + + +When the hoot of the owl comes over the hill, +At twelve o'clock when the night is still, +And pale on the pools, where the creek-frogs croon, +Glimmering gray is the light o' the moon; +And under the willows, where waters lie, +The torch of the firefly wanders by; +They say that the miller walks here, walks here, +All covered with chaff, with his crooked staff, +And his horrible hobble and hideous laugh; +The old lame miller hung many a year: +When the hoot of the owl comes over the hill, +He walks alone by the rotting mill. + +When the bark of the fox comes over the hill, +At twelve o'clock when the night is shrill, +And faint, on the ways where the crickets creep, +The starlight fails and the shadows sleep; +And under the willows, that toss and moan, +The glow-worm kindles its lanthorn lone; +They say that a woman floats dead, floats dead, +In a weedy space that the lilies lace, +A curse in her eyes and a smile on her face, +The miller's young wife with a gash in her head: +When the bark of the fox comes over the hill, +She floats alone by the rotting mill. + +When the howl of the hound comes over the hill, +At twelve o'clock when the night is ill, +And the thunder mutters and forests sob, +And the fox-fire glows like the lamp of a Lob; +And under the willows, that gloom and glance, +The will-o'-the-wisps hold a devils' dance; +They say that that crime is re-acted again, +And each cranny and chink of the mill doth wink +With the light o' hell or the lightning's blink, +And a woman's shrieks come wild through the rain: +When the howl of the hound comes over the hill, +That murder returns to the rotting mill. + + + + +_Dolce far +Niente_ + +I + + +Over the bay as our boat went sailing + Under the skies of Augustine, +Far to the East lay the ocean paling + Under the skies of Augustine.-- +There, in the boat as we sat together, +Soft in the glow of the turquoise weather, +Light as the foam or a seagull's feather, +Fair of form and of face serene, +Sweet at my side I felt you lean, +As over the bay our boat went sailing + Under the skies of Augustine. + + +II + + +Over the bay as our boat went sailing + Under the skies of Augustine, +Pine and palm, to the West, hung, trailing + Under the skies of Augustine.-- +Was it the wind that sighed above you? +Was it the wave that whispered of you? +Was it my soul that said "I love you"? +Was it your heart that murmured between, +Answering, shy as a bird unseen? +As over the bay our boat went sailing + Under the skies of Augustine. + + +III + + +Over the bay as our boat went sailing + Under the skies of Augustine, +Gray and low flew the heron wailing + Under the skies of Augustine.-- +Naught was spoken. We watched the simple +Gulls wing past. Your hat's white wimple +Shadowed your eyes. And your lips, a-dimple, +Smiled and seemed from your soul to wean +An inner beauty, an added sheen, +As over the bay our boat went sailing + Under the skies of Augustine. + + +IV + + +Over the bay as our boat went sailing + Under the skies of Augustine, +Red on the marshes the day flared, failing + Under the skies of Augustine.-- +Was it your thought, or the transitory +Gold of the West, like a dreamy story, +Bright on your brow, that I read? the glory +And grace of love, like a rose-crowned queen +Pictured pensive in mind and mien? +As over the bay our boat went sailing + Under the skies of Augustine. + + +V + + +Over the bay as our boat went sailing + Under the skies of Augustine, +Wan on the waters the mist lay veiling + Under the skies of Augustine.-- +Was it the joy that begot the sorrow?-- +Joy that was filled with the dreams that borrow +Prescience sad of a far To-morrow,-- +There in the Now that was all too keen, +That shadowed the fate that might intervene? +As over the bay our boat went sailing + Under the skies of Augustine. + + +VI + + +Over the bay as our boat went sailing + Under the skies of Augustine, +The marsh-hen cried and the tide was ailing + Under the skies of Augustine.-- +And so we parted. No vows were spoken. +No faith was plighted that might be broken. +But deep in our hearts each bore a token +Of life and of love and of all they mean, +Beautiful, thornless and ever green, +As over the bay our boat went sailing + Under the skies of Augustine. + + +_St. Augustine, Fla_. + + + + +_Words_ + + +I cannot tell what I would tell thee, + What I would say, what thou shouldst hear: +Words of the soul that should compell thee, + Words of the heart to draw thee near. + +For when thou smilest, thou, who fillest + My life with joy, and I would speak, +'T is then my lips and tongue are stillest, + Knowing all language is too weak. + +Look in my eyes: read there confession: + The truest love has least of art: +Nor needs it words for its expression + When soul speaks soul and heart speaks heart. + + + + +_Reasons_ + +I + + +Yea, why I love thee let my heart repeat: + I look upon thy face and then divine + How men could die for beauty, such as thine,-- + Deeming it sweet +To lay my life and manhood at thy feet, + And for a word, a glance, + Do deeds of old romance. + + +II + + +Yea, why I love thee let my heart unfold: + I look into thy heart and then I know + The wondrous poetry of the long-ago, + The Age of Gold, +That speaks strange music, that is old, so old, + Yet young, as when 't was born, + With all the youth of morn. + + +III + + +Yea, why I love thee let my heart conclude: + I look into thy soul and realize + The undiscovered meaning of the skies,-- + That long have wooed +The world with far ideals that elude,-- + Out of whose dreams, maybe, + God shapes reality. + + + + +_Evasion_ + + +Why do I love you, who have never given + My heart encouragement or any cause? +Is it because, as earth is held of heaven, + Your soul holds mine by some mysterious laws? +Perhaps, unseen of me, within your eyes + The answer lies, the answer lies. + + +II + + +From your sweet lips no word hath ever fallen + To tell my heart its love is not in vain-- +The bee that wooes the flow'r hath honey and pollen + To cheer him on and bring him back again: +But what have I, your other friends above, + To feed my love, to feed my love? + + +III + + +Still, still you are my dream and my desire; + Your love is an allurement and a dare +Set for attainment, like a shining spire, + Far, far above me in the starry air: +And gazing upward, 'gainst the hope of hope, + I breast the slope, I breast the slope. + + + + +_In +May_ + +I + + +When you and I in the hills went Maying, + You and I in the sweet May weather, + The birds, that sang on the boughs together, +There in the green of the woods, kept saying + All that my heart was saying low, + Love, as glad as the May's glad glow,-- + And did you know? +When you and I in the hills went Maying. + + +II + + +There where the brook on its rocks went winking, + There by its banks where the May had led us, + Flowers, that bloomed in the woods and meadows, +Azure and gold at our feet, kept thinking + All that my soul was thinking there, + Love, as pure as the May's pure air,-- + And did you care? +There where the brook on its rocks went winking. + + +III + + +Whatever befalls through fate's compelling, + Should our paths unite or our pathways sever, + In the Mays to come I shall feel forever +The wildflowers thinking, the wildbirds telling + The same fond love that my heart then knew, + Love unspeakable, deep and true,-- + But what of you? +Whatever befalls through fate's compelling. + + + + +_Will You +Forget?_ + + +In years to come, will you forget, +Dear girl, how often we have met? +And I have gazed into your eyes +And there beheld no sad regret +To cloud the gladness of their skies, +While in your heart--unheard as yet-- +Love slept, oblivious of my sighs?-- +In years to come, will you forget? + +Ah, me! I only pray that when, +In other days, some man of men +Has taught those eyes to laugh and weep +With joy and sorrow, hearts must ken +When love awakens in their deep,-- +I only pray some memory then, +Or sad or sweet, you still will keep +Of me and love that might have been. + + + + +_Clouds of the +Autumn Night_ + + +Clouds of the autumn night, + Under the hunter's moon,-- +Ghostly and windy white,-- + Whither, like leaves wild strewn, +Take ye your stormy flight? + +Out of the west, where dusk, + From her rich windowsill, +Leaned with a wand of tusk, + Witch-like, and wood and hill +Phantomed with mist and musk. + +Into the east, where morn + Sleeps in a shadowy close, +Shut with a gate of horn, + 'Round which the dreams she knows +Flutter with rose and thorn. + +Blow from the west, oh, blow, + Clouds that the tempest steers! +And with your rain and snow + Bear of my heart the tears, +And of my soul the woe. + +Into the east then pass, + Clouds that the night winds sweep! +And on her grave's sear grass, + There where she lies asleep. +There let them fall, alas! + + + + +_The Glory +and the Dream_ + + +There in the past I see her as of old, +Blue-eyed and hazel-haired, within a room +Dim with a twilight of tenebrious gold; +Her white face sensuous as a delicate bloom +Night opens in the tropics. Fold on fold +Pale laces drape her; and a frail perfume, +As of a moonlit primrose brimmed with rain, +Breathes from her presence, drowsing heart and brain. + +Her head is bent; some red carnations glow +Deep in her heavy hair; her large eyes gleam;-- +Bright sister stars of those twin worlds of snow, +Her breasts, through which the veined violets stream;-- +I hold her hand; her smile comes sweetly slow +As thoughts of love that haunt a poet's dream; +And at her feet once more I sit and hear +Wild words of passion--dead this many a year. + + + + +_Snow +and Fire_ + + +Deep-hearted roses of the purple dusk +And lilies of the morn; +And cactus, holding up a slender tusk +Of fragrance on a thorn; +All heavy flowers, sultry with their musk, +Her presence puts to scorn. + +For she is like the pale, pale snowdrop there, +Scentless and chaste of heart; +The moonflower, making spiritual the air, +Like some pure work of art; +Divine and holy, exquisitely fair, +And virtue's counterpart. + +Yet when her eyes gaze into mine, and when +Her lips to mine are pressed,-- +Why are my veins all fire then? and then +Why should her soul suggest +Voluptuous perfumes, maddening unto men, +And prurient with unrest? + + + + +_Restraint_ + + +Dear heart and love! what happiness to sit +And watch the firelight's varying shade and shine +On thy young face; and through those eyes of thine-- +As through glad windows--mark fair fancies flit +In sumptuous chambers of thy soul's chaste wit +Like graceful women: then to take in mine +Thy hand, whose pressure brims my heart's divine +Hushed rapture as with music exquisite! +When I remember how thy look and touch +Sway, like the moon, my blood with ecstasy, +I dare not think to what fierce heaven might lead +Thy soft embrace; or in thy kiss how much +Sweet hell,--beyond all help of me,--might be, +Where I were lost, where I were lost indeed! + + + + +_Why Should +I Pine_? + + +Why should I pine? when there in Spain +Are eyes to woo, and not in vain; +Dark eyes, and dreamily divine: +And lips, as red as sunlit wine; + +Sweet lips, that never know disdain: +And hearts, for passion over fain; +Fond, trusting hearts that know no stain + Of scorn for hearts that love like mine.-- + Why should I pine? + +Because all dreams I entertain +Of beauty wear thy form, Elain; + And e'en their lips and eyes are thine: + So though I gladly would resign +All love, I love, and still complain, + "Why should I pine?" + + + + +_When Lydia +Smiles_ + + +When Lydia smiles, I seem to see +The walls around me fade and flee; + And, lo, in haunts of hart and hind + I seem with lovely Rosalind, +In Arden 'neath the greenwood tree: +The day is drowsy with the bee, +And one wild bird flutes dreamily, + And all the mellow air is kind, + When Lydia smiles. + +Ah, me! what were this world to me +Without her smile!--What poetry, + What glad hesperian paths I find + Of love, that lead my soul and mind +To happy hills of Arcady, + When Lydia smiles! + + + + +_The +Rose_ + + +You have forgot: it once was red +With life, this rose, to which you said,-- + When, there in happy days gone by, + You plucked it, on my breast to lie,-- +"Sleep there, O rose! how sweet a bed +Is thine!--And, heart, be comforted; +For, though we part and roses shed + Their leaves and fade, love cannot die.--" + You have forgot. + +So by those words of yours I'm led +To send it you this day you wed. + Look well upon it. You, as I, + Should ask it now, without a sigh, +If love can lie as it lies dead.-- + You have forgot. + + + + +_A Ballad +of Sweethearts_ + + +Summer may come, in sun-blonde splendor, +To reap the harvest that Springtime sows; +And Fall lead in her old defender, + Winter, all huddled up in snows: + Ever a-south the love-wind blows +Into my heart, like a vane asway + From face to face of the girls it knows-- +But who is the fairest it's hard to say. + +If Carrie smile or Maud look tender, + Straight in my bosom the gladness glows; +But scarce at their side am I all surrender + When Gertrude sings where the garden grows: + And my heart is a bloom, like the red rose shows +For her hand to gather and toss away, + Or wear on her breast, as her fancy goes-- +But who is the fairest it's hard to say. + +Let Laura pass, as a sapling slender, + Her cheek a berry, her mouth a rose,-- +Or Blanche or Helen,--to each I render + The worship due to the charms she shows: + But Mary's a poem when these are prose; +Here at her feet my life I lay; + All of devotion to her it owes-- +But who is the fairest it's hard to say. + +How _can_ my heart of my hand dispose? + When Ruth and Clara, and Kate and May, +In form and feature no flaw disclose-- + But who is the fairest it's hard to say. + + + + +_Her +Portrait_ + + +Were I an artist, Lydia, I + Would paint you as you merit, +Not as my eyes, but dreams, descry; + Not in the flesh, but spirit. + +The canvas I would paint you on + Should be a bit of heaven; +My brush, a sunbeam; pigments, dawn + And night and starry even. + +Your form and features to express, + Likewise your soul's chaste whiteness, +I'd take the primal essences + Of darkness and of brightness. + +I'd take pure night to paint your hair; + Stars for your eyes; and morning +To paint your skin--the rosy air + That is your limbs' adorning. + +To paint the love-bows of your lips, + I'd mix, for colors, kisses; +And for your breasts and finger-tips, + Sweet odors and soft blisses. + +And to complete the picture well, + I'd temper all with woman,-- +Some tears, some laughter; heaven and hell, + To show you still are human. + + + + +_A Song +for Yule_ + +I + + +Sing, Hey, when the time rolls round this way, +And the bells peal out, _'Tis Christmas Day_; +The world is better then by half, + For joy, for joy; +In a little while you will see it laugh-- +For a song's to sing and a glass to quaff, + My boy, my boy. +So here's to the man who never says nay!-- +Sing, Hey, a song of Christmas-Day! + + +II + + +Sing, Ho, when roofs are white with snow, +And homes are hung with mistletoe; +Old Earth is not half bad, I wis-- + What cheer! what cheer! +How it ever seemed sad the wonder is-- +With a gift to give and a girl to kiss, + My dear, my dear. +So here's to the girl who never says no! +Sing, Ho, a song of the mistletoe! + + +III + + +No thing in the world to the heart seems wrong +When the soul of a man walks out with song; +Wherever they go, glad hand in hand, + And glove in glove, +The round of the land is rainbow-spanned, +And the meaning of life they understand + Is love, is love. +Let the heart be open, the soul be strong, +And life will be glad as a Christmas song. + + + + +_The Puritans' +Christmas_ + + +Their only thought religion, + What Christmas joys had they, +The stern, staunch Pilgrim Fathers who + Knew naught of holiday?-- + +A log-church in the clearing + 'Mid solitudes of snow, +The wild-beast and the wilderness, + And lurking Indian foe. + +No time had they for pleasure, + Whom God had put to school; +A sermon was their Christmas cheer, + A psalm their only Yule. + +They deemed it joy sufficient,-- + Nor would Christ take it ill,-- +That service to Himself and God + Employed their spirits still. + +And so through faith and prayer + Their powers were renewed, +And souls made strong to shape a World, + And tame a solitude. + +A type of revolution, + Wrought from an iron plan, +In the largest mold of liberty + God cast the Puritan. + +A better land they founded, + That Freedom had for bride, +The shackles of old despotism + Struck from her limbs and side. + +With faith within to guide them, + And courage to perform, +A nation, from a wilderness, + They hewed with their strong arm. + +For liberty to worship, + And right to do and dare, +They faced the savage and the storm + With voices raised in prayer. + +For God it was who summoned, + And God it was who led, +And God would not forsake the love + That must be clothed and fed. + +Great need had they of courage! + Great need of faith had they! +And lacking these--how otherwise + For us had been this day! + + + + +_Spring_ + + (After the German of Goethe, _Faust_, II) + + +When on the mountain tops ray-crowned Apollo +Turns his swift arrows, dart on glittering dart, +Let but a rock glint green, the wild goats follow +Glad-grazing shyly on each sparse-grown part. + +Rolled into plunging torrents spring the fountains; +And slope and vale and meadowland grow green; +While on ridg'd levels of a hundred mountains, +Far fleece by fleece, the woolly flocks convene. + +With measured stride, deliberate and steady, +The scattered cattle seek the beetling steep, +But shelter for th' assembled herd is ready +In many hollows that the walled rocks heap: + +The lairs of Pan; and, lo, in murmuring places, +In bushy clefts, what woodland Nymphs arouse! +Where, full of yearning for the azure spaces, +Tree, crowding tree, lifts high its heavy boughs. + +Old forests, where the gnarly oak stands regnant +Bristling with twigs that still repullulate, +And, swoln with spring, with sappy sweetness pregnant, +The maple blushes with its leafy weight. + +And, mother-like, in cirques of quiet shadows, +Milk flows, warm milk, that keeps all things alive; +Fruit is not far, th' abundance of the meadows, +And honey oozes from the hollow hive. + + + + +_Lines_ + + +Within the world of every man's desire +Three things have power to lift his soul above, +Through dreams, religion, and ecstatic fire, +The star-like shapes of Beauty, Truth, and Love. + +I never hoped that, this side far-off Heaven, +These three,--whom all exalted souls pursue,-- +I e'er should see; until to me 't was given, +Lady, to meet the three, made one, in you. + + + + +_When Ships put +out to Sea_ + +I + + +It's "Sweet, good-bye," when pennants fly + And ships put out to sea; +It's a loving kiss, and a tear or two +In an eye of brown or an eye of blue;-- + And you'll remember me, + Sweetheart, + And you'll remember me. + + +II + + +It's "Friend or foe?" when signals blow + And ships sight ships at sea; +It's clear for action, and man the guns, +As the battle nears or the battle runs;-- + And you'll remember me, + Sweetheart, + And you'll remember me. + + +III + + +It's deck to deck, and wrath and wreck + When ships meet ships at sea; +It's scream of shot and shriek of shell, +And hull and turret a roaring hell;-- + And you'll remember me, + Sweetheart, + And you'll remember me. + + +IV + + +It's doom and death, and pause a breath + When ships go down at sea; +It's hate is over and love begins, +And war is cruel whoever wins;-- + And you'll remember me, + Sweetheart, + And you'll remember me. + + + + +_The +"Kentucky"_ + + (Battleship, launched March 24, 1898.) + +I + + +Here's to her who bears the name + Of our State; +May the glory of her fame + Be as great! +In the battle's dread eclipse, +When she opens iron lips, +When our ships confront the ships + Of the foe, +May each word of steel she utters carry woe! + Here's to her! + + +II + + +Here's to her, who, like a knight + Mailed of old, +From far sea to sea the Right + Shall uphold. +May she always deal defeat,-- +When contending navies meet, +And the battle's screaming sleet + Blinds and stuns,-- +With the red, terrific thunder of her guns. + Here's to her! + + +III + + +Here's to her who bears the name + Of our State; +May the glory of her fame + Be as great! +Like a beacon, like a star, +May she lead our squadrons far,-- +When the hurricane of war + Shakes the world,-- +With her pennant in the vanward broad unfurled. + Here's to her! + + + + +_Quatrains_ + +I + +MOTHS AND FIREFLIES + + +Since Fancy taught me in her school of spells +I know her tricks--These are not moths at all, +Nor fireflies; but masking Elfland belles +Whose link-boys torch them to Titania's ball. + + +II + +AUTUMN WILD-FLOWERS + + +Like colored lanterns swung in Elfin towers, +Wild morning-glories light the tangled ways, +And, like the rosy rockets of the Fays, +Burns the sloped crimson of the cardinal-flowers. + + +III + +THE WIND IN THE PINES + + +When winds go organing through the pines +On hill and headland, darkly gleaming, +Meseems I hear sonorous lines +Of Iliads that the woods are dreaming. + + +IV + +OPPORTUNITY + + +Behold a hag whom Life denies a kiss +As he rides questward in knighterrant-wise; +Only when he hath passed her is it his +To know, too late, the Fairy in disguise. + + +V + +DREAMS + + +They mock the present and they haunt the past, +And in the future there is naught agleam +With hope, the soul desires, that at last +The heart pursuing does not find a dream. + + +VI + +THE STARS + + +These--the bright symbols of man's hope and fame, +In which he reads his blessing or his curse-- +Are syllables with which God speaks His name +In the vast utterance of the universe. + + +VII + +BEAUTY + + +High as a star, yet lowly as a flower, +Unknown she takes her unassuming place +At Earth's proud masquerade--the appointed hour +Strikes, and, behold, the marvel of her face. + + + + +_Processional_ + + +Universes are the pages +Of that book whose words are ages; +Of that book which destiny +Opens in eternity. + +There each syllable expresses +Silence; there each thought a guess is; +In whose rhetoric's cosmic runes +Roll the worlds and swarming moons. + +There the systems, we call solar, +Equatorial and polar, +Write their lines of rushing light +On the awful leaves of night. + +There the comets, vast and streaming, +Punctuate the heavens' gleaming +Scroll; and suns, gigantic, shine, +Periods to each starry line. + +There, initials huge, the Lion +Looms and measureless Orion; +And, as 'neath a chapter done, +Burns the Great-Bear's colophon. + +Constellated, hieroglyphic, +Numbering each page terrific, +Fiery on the nebular black, +Flames the hurling zodiac. + +In that book, o'er which Chaldean +Wisdom pored and many an eon +Of philosophy long dead, +This is all that man has read:-- + +He has read how good and evil,-- +In creation's wild upheaval,-- +Warred; while God wrought terrible +At foundations red of Hell. + +He has read of man and woman; +Laws and gods, both beast and human; +Thrones of hate and creeds of lust, +Vanished now and turned to dust. + +Arts and manners that have crumbled; +Cities buried; empires tumbled: +Time but breathed on them its breath; +Earth is builded of their death. + +These but lived their little hour, +Filled with pride and pomp and power; +What availed them all at last? +We shall pass as they have past. + +Still the human heart will dream on +Love, part angel and part demon; +Yet, I question, what secures +Our belief that aught endures? + +In that book, o'er which Chaldean +Wisdom pored and many an eon +Of philosophy long dead, +This is all that man has read. + + + + + + +OTHER BOOKS OF VERSE BY MADISON CAWEIN + + + +Days and Dreams Cloth, gilt top, $1.00 +Moods and Memories " " 1.00 +Red Leaves and Roses " " 1.00 +Poems of Nature and Love " " 1.00 +Intimations of the Beautiful " " 1.00 + + + * * * * * + +PUBLISHED BY + +G.P. PUTNAM'S SONS, + +27 & 29, West Twenty-third Street, New York, N. Y + + * * * * * + +_Sent by mail, postpaid, to any address on receipt of price._ + + + + +SOME NOTICES OF MR. CAWEIN'S VERSES + + +"I should like to praise the poetry of Madison Cawein, of Kentucky, +which is as remote as Greece from the actual everyday life of his +region; as remote from it as the poetry of Keats was from the England +of his day, and which is yet so richly, so passionately true to the +presence and essence of nature as she can be known only in the +Southern West. I named Keats with no purpose of likening this young +poet to him, but since he is named it is impossible not to recognize +that they are of the same Hellenic race; full of like rapture in sky +and field and stream, and of a like sensitive reluctance from whatever +chills the joy of sense in youth, in love, in melancholy. I know Mr. +Cawein has faults, and very probably he knows it, too; his delight in +color sometimes plunges him into mere paint; his wish to follow a +subtle thought or emotion sometimes lures him into empty dusks; his +devotion to nature sometimes contents him with solitudes bereft of the +human interest by which alone the landscape lives. But he is, to my +thinking, a most genuine poet, and one of these few Americans, who, +even in their over-refinement, could never be mistaken for Europeans; +who perhaps by reason of it are only the more American."--WILLIAM +DEAN HOWELLS in _Literature_. + +"From the poetry of our day I select that of Madison Cawein as an +example of conspicuous merit. Many American readers have enjoyed Mr. +Cawein's productions.... But the appreciation of his poetry has never +been as great as its merits would indicate. His poems are rather _too +good_ to be caught up on the babbling tongue and cast forth into mere +popularity. They are caviare to the general; and yet they have in them +the best elements of popular favor. + +"Cawein is a classicist. He will have it that poems, however humble +the theme, however tender the sentiment, shall wear a tasteful Attic +dress. I do not intimate that Mr. Cawein's mind has been too much +saturated with the classical spirit or that his native instincts have +been supplanted with Greek exotics and flowers out of the renaissance, +but rather that his own mental constitution is of a classical as well +as a romantic mould. + +"The themes of Cawein's poetry are generally taken from the world of +romance. If there be any modern bard who can recreate a mediaeval +castle and give to its inhabitants the sentiments which were theirs in +the twelfth century, Cawein is the poet who can. He takes delight in +the East. He is the Omar Khayyam of the Ohio Valley. He is as much of +a Mohammedan as a Christian. He knows the son of Abdallah better than +he knows Cromwell; and has more sympathy with a Khalif than with a +Colonel. He dwells in the romantic regions of life; but the romance is +real. The hope is a true hope. The dream is a true dream. The picture +is a painting, and not a chromo. The love is a passion, and not a +dilettante episode. Cawein's art is a genuine art. His verse is +exquisite. Out of the three hundred and thirteen poems in the five +volumes under consideration there may be found hardly a false or +broken harmony...."--JOHN CLARK RIDPATH, LL.D., in _The +Arena_. + +"The rattlesnake-weed and the bluet-bloom were unknown to Herrick and +to Wordsworth, but such art as Mr. Cawein's makes them at home in +English poetry. There is passion, too, and thought in his +equipment...."--WILLIAM ARCHER in the _Pall Mall Magazine_. + +"I find in the best pieces an intoxicating sense of beauty, a +richness, that is rarely achieved, although every young poet nowadays +strives after it. I find, too, a daring use of language which +sometimes, nay often, conducts to genuine and startling +felicities."--EDMUND GOSSE. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Myth and Romance, by Madison Cawein + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MYTH AND ROMANCE *** + +***** This file should be named 16535.txt or 16535.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/5/3/16535/ + +Produced by Digital & Multimedia Center, Michigan State +University Libraries, Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe, Sankar +Viswanathan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team +at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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