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diff --git a/39796.txt b/39796.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 4bd8ee4..0000000 --- a/39796.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1128 +0,0 @@ - A CANADIAN CALENDAR: XII LYRICS - - - - -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 http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - - - -Title: A Canadian Calendar: XII Lyrics -Author: Francis Sherman -Release Date: June 02, 2013 [EBook #39796] -Language: English -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CANADIAN CALENDAR: XII -LYRICS *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - A CANADIAN - CALENDAR: - XII LYRICS - - - Francis Sherman - - - - HABANA:MCM - - - - - _To_ - _F. H. D._ - - - - -_XII. LYRICS: A LIST._ - - I. IN THE NORTH. - II. A ROAD SONG IN MAY. - III. THE LANDSMAN. - IV. THE GHOST. - V. A SONG IN AUGUST. - VI. TO AUTUMN. - VII. THREE GREY DAYS. - VIII. THE WATCH. - IX. THE SEEKERS. - X. FELLOWSHIP. - XI. THE LODGER. - XII. MARCH WIND. - - - - - I. _IN THE NORTH._ - - - Come, let us go and be glad again together - Where of old our eyes were opened and we knew that we were free! - Come, for it is April, and her hands have loosed the tether - That has bound for long her children.--who her children more - than we? - - Hark! hear you not how the strong waters thunder - Down through the alders with the word they have to bring? - Even now they win the meadow and the withered turf is under, - And, above, the willows quiver with foreknowledge of the spring. - - Yea, they come, and joy in coming: for the giant hills have sent - them.-- - The hills that guard the portal where the South has built her - throne: - Unloitering their course is,--can wayside pools content them, - Who were born where old pine forests for the sea forever moan? - - And they, behind the hills, where forever bloom the flowers, - So they ever know the worship of the re-arisen Earth? - Do their hands ever clasp such a happiness as ours, - Now the waters foam about us and the grasses have their birth? - - Fair is their land,--yea fair beyond all dreaming,-- - With its sun upon the roses and its long summer day; - Yet surely they must envy us our vision of the gleaming - Of our lady's white throat as she comes her ancient way. - - For their year is never April--Oh what were Time without her! - Yea, the drifted snows may cover us, yet shall we not complain: - Knowing well our Lady April--all her raiment blown about her-- - Will return with many kisses for our unremembered pain! - - - - - II. _A ROAD SONG IN MAY._ - - O come! Is it not surely May? - The year is at its poise today. - Northward, I hear the distant beat - Of Spring's irrevocable feet: - Tomorrow June will have her way. - - O tawny waters, flecked with sun, - Come: for your labours all are done. - The grey snow fadeth from the hills; - And toward the sound of waking mills - Swing the brown rafts in, one by one. - - O bees among the willow-blooms, - Forget your empty waxen rooms - Awhile, and share our golden hours! - Will they not come, the later flowers, - With their old colours and perfumes? - - O wind that bloweth from the west, - Is not this morning road the best? - --Let us go hand in hand, as free - And glad as little children be - That follow some long-dreamed-of quest! - - - - - III. _THE LANDSMAN._ - - "It well may be just as you say, - Will Carver, that your tales are true; - Yet think what I must put away, - Will Carver, if sail with you." - - "If you should sail with me (the wind - Is west, the tide's at full, my men!) - The things that you have left behind - Will be as nothing to you then." - - "Inland, it's June! And birds sing - Among the wooded hills, I know; - Between green fields, unhastening, - The Nashwaak's shadowed waters flow. - - "What know you of such things as these - Who have the grey sea at your door,-- - Whose path is as the strong winds please - Beyond this narrow strip of shore?" - - "_Your_ fields and woods! Now, answer me: - Up what green path have your feet run - So wide as mine, when the deep sea - Lies all-uncovered to the sun? - - And down the hollows of what hills - Have you gone--half so glad of heart - As you shall be when our sail fills - And the great waves ride far apart?" - - "O! half your life is good to live, - Will Carver; yet, if I should go, - What are the things that you can give - Lest I regret the things I know! - - "Lest I desire the old life's way? - The noises of the crowded town? - The busy streets, where, night and day, - The traffickers go up and down?" - - "What can I give for these? Alas, - That all unchanged your path must be! - Strange lights shall open as we pass - And alien wakes traverse the sea; - - "Your ears shall hear (across your sleep) - New hails, remote, disquieted, - For not a hand-breadth of the deep - But has to soothe some restless dead. - - "These things shall be. And other things, - I think, not quite so sad as these! - --Know you the song the rigging sings - When up the opal-tinted seas - - "The slow south-wind comes amorously? - The sudden gleam of some far sail - Going the same glad way as we, - Hastily, lest the good wind fail? - - "The dreams that come (so strange, so fair!) - When all your world lies well within - The moving magic circle where - The sea ends and the skies begin?"...... - - ......"What port is that, so far astern, - Will Carver? And how many miles - Shall we have run ere the tide turn? - --And is it far to the farthest isles?" - - - - - IV. _THE GHOST._ - - Just where the field becomes the wood - I thought I saw again - Her old remembered face--made grey - As it had known the rain. - - The trees grow thickly there; no place - Has half so many trees; - And hunted things elude one there - Like ancient memories. - - The path itself is hard to find, - And slopes up suddenly; - --In the old days it was a path - None knew so well as we. - - The path slopes upward, till it leaves - The great trees far behind; - --I met her once where the slender birch - Grow up to meet the wind. - - Where the poplars quiver endlessly - And the falling leaves are grey, - I saw her come, and I was glad - That she had learned the way. - - She paused a moment where the path - Grew sunlighted and broad; - Within her hair slept all the gold - Of all the golden-rod. - - And then the wood closed in on her. - And my hand found her hand; - She had no words to say, yet I - Was quick to understand. - - I dared to look in her two eyes; - They too, I thought, were grey: - But no sun shone, and all around - Great, quiet shadows lay. - - Yet, as I looked, I surely knew - That they knew nought of tears,-- - But this was very long ago, - --A year, perhaps ten years. - - All this was long ago. Today, - Her hand met not with mine; - And where the pathway widened out - I saw no gold hair shine. - - I had a weary, fruitless search, - --I think that her wan face - Was but the face of one asleep - Who dreams she knew this place. - - - - - V. _A SONG IN AUGUST._ - - O gold is the West and gold the river-waters - Washing past the sides of my yellow birch canoe, - Gold are the great drops that fall from my paddle, - The far-off hills cry a golden word of you. - - I can almost see you! Where its own shadow - Creeps down the hill's side, gradual and slow. - There you stand waiting; the goldenrod and thistle - Glad of you beside them--the fairest thing they know. - - Down the worn foot-path, the tufted pines behind you, - Grey sheep between,--unfrightened as you pass; - Swift through the sun-glow, I to my loved one - Come, striving hard against the long trailing grass. - - Soon shall I ground on the shining gravel-reaches: - Through the thick alders you will break your way: - Then your hand in mine, and our path is on the waters,-- - For us the long shadows and the end of day. - - Whither shall we go? See, over to the westward, - An hour of precious gold standeth still for you and me; - Still gleams the grain, all yellow on the uplands; - West is it, or East, O Love that you would be? - - West now, or East? For, underneath the moonrise, - Also it is fair; and where the reeds are tall, - And the only little noise is the sound of quiet waters, - Heavy, like the rain, we shall hear the duck-oats fall. - - And perhaps we shall see, rising slowly from the driftwood, - A lone crane go over to its inland nest: - Or a dark line of ducks will come in across the islands - And sail overhead to the marshes of the west. - - Now a little wind rises up for our returning; - Silver grows the East as the West grows grey; - Shadows on the waters, shaded are the meadows, - The firs on the hillside--naught so dark as they. - - Yet we have known the light!--Was ever such an August? - Your hand leave mine; and the new stars gleam - As we separately go to our dreams of opened heaven,-- - The golden dawn shall tell you that you did not dream. - - - - - VI. _TO AUTUMN._ - - How shall I greet thee, Autumn? with loud praise - And joyous song and wild, tumultuous laughter? - Or unrestrained tears? - Shall I behold only the scarlet haze - Of these thy days - That come to crown this best of all the years? - Or shall I hear, even now, those sad hours chime-- - Those unborn hours that surely follow after - The shedding of thy last-relinquished leaf-- - Till I, too, learn the strength and change of time - Who am made one with grief? - - For now thou comest not as thou of old - Wast wont to come; and now mine old desire - Is sated not at all - With sunset-visions of thy splendid gold - Or fold on fold - Of the stained clouds thou hast for coronal. - Still all these ways and things are thine, and still - Before thine altar burneth the ancient fire; - The blackness of the pines is still the same, - And the same peace broodeth behind the hill - Where the old maples flame. - - I, counting these, behold no change; and yet, - To-day, I deem, they know not me for lover, - Nor live because of me. - And yesterday, was it not thou I met, - Thy warm lips wet - And purpled with wild grapes crushed wantonly, - And yellow wind-swept wheat bound round thy hair, - Thy brawn breast half set free and half draped over - With long green leaves of corn? Was it not thou, - Thy feet unsandaled, and thy shoulders bare - As the gleaned fields are now? - - Yea, Autumn, it was thou, and glad was I - To meet thee and caress thee for an hour - And fancy I was thine; - For then I had not learned all things must die - Under the sky,-- - That everywhere (a flaw in the design!) - Decay crept in, unquickening the mass,-- - Creed, empire, man-at-arms, or stone, or flower. - In my unwisdom then, I had not read - The message writ across Earth's face, alas, - But scanned the sun instead. - - For all men sow; and then it happeneth-- - When harvest time is come, and thou are season-- - Each goeth forth to reap. - "This cometh unto him" (perchance one saith) - "Who laboreth: - This is my wage: I will lie down and sleep."-- - He maketh no oblation unto Earth. - Another, in his heart divine unreason, - Seeing his fields lie barren in the sun, - Crieth, "O fool! Behold the little worth - Of that thy toil hath won!" - - And so one sleepeth, dreaming of no prayer; - And so one lieth sleepless, till thou comest - To bid his cursing cease; - Then, in his dreams, envieth the other's share. - Whilst, otherwhere, - Thou showest still thy perfect face of peace, - O Autumn, unto men of alien lands! - Along their paths a little while thou roamest. - A little while they deem thee queenliest, - And good the laying-on of thy warm hands,-- - And then, they, too, would rest. - - They, too, would only rest, forgetting thee! - But I, who am grown the wiser for thy loving, - Never may thee deny! - And when the last child hath forsaken me, - And quietly - Men go about the house wherein I lie, - I shall lie glad, feeling across my face - Thy damp and clinging hair, and thy hands moving - To find my wasted hands that wait for thine - Beneath white cloths; and, for one whisper's space, - Autumn, thy lips on mine! - - - - - VII. _THREE GREY DAYS._ - - If she would come, now, and say, _What will you Lover?_-- - She who has the fairest gifts of all the earth to give-- - Think you I should ask some tremendous thing to prove her, - Her life, say, and all her love, so long as she might live? - Should I touch her hair? her hands? her garments, even? - Nay! for such rewards the gods their own good time have set! - Once, these were _all_ mine: the least, poor one was heaven: - Now, lest she remember, I pray that she forget. - - Merely should I ask--ah! she would not refuse them - Who still seems very kind when I meet with her in dreams-- - Only three of our old days, and--should she help to choose them - Would the first not be in April, beside the sudden - streams?...... - Once, upon a morning, up the path that we had taken, - We saw Spring come where the willow-buds are grey; - Heard the high hills, as with tread of armies, shaken; - Felt the strong sun--O, the glory of that day! - - And then--what? one afternoon of quiet summer weather - O, woodlands and meadow-lands along the blue St. John, - My birch finds a path--though your rafts lie close together-- - Then O! what starry miles before the grey o' the dawn!........ - I have met the new day, among the misty islands, - Come with whine of saw-mills and whirr of hidden wings, - Gleam of dewy cobwebs, smell of grassy highlands.-- - Ah! the blood grows young again thinking of these things. - - Then, last and best of all! Though all else were found hollow - Would Time not send a little space, before the Autumn's close, - And lead us up the road--the old road we used to follow - Among the sunset hills till the Hunter's Moon arise?...... - Then, Home through the poplar-wood! damp across our faces - The grey leaves that fall, the moths that flutter by: - Yea! this for me, now, of all old hours and places, - To keep when I am dead, Time, until she come to die. - - - - - VIII. _THE WATCH._ - - Are those her feet at last upon the stair? - Her trailing garments echoing there? - The falling of her hair? - - About a year ago I heard her come, - Thus; as a child recalling some - Vague memories of home. - - O how the firelight blinded her dear eyes! - I saw them open, and grow wise: - No questions, no replies. - - And now, tonight, comes the same sound of rain. - The wet boughs reach against the pane - In the same way, again. - - In the old way I hear the moaning wind - Hunt the dead leaves it cannot find,-- - Blind as the stars are blind. - - --She may come in at midnight, tired and wan, - Yet,--what if once again at dawn - I wake to find her gone? - - - - - IX. _THE SEEKERS._ - - Is it very long ago things were as they are - Now? or was it ever? or is it to be? - Was it up this road we came, glad the end was far? - Taking comfort each of each, singing cheerily? - - O, the way was good to tread! Up hill and down; - Past the quiet forestlands, by the grassy plains; - Here a stony wilderness, there an ancient town, - Now the high sun over us, now the driving rains. - - Strange and evil things we met--but what cared we, - Strong men and unafraid, ripe for any chance? - Battles by the countless score, red blood running free-- - Soon we learned that all of these were our inheritance. - - Some of us there were that fell: what was that to us? - They were weak--we were strong--health we held to yet: - Pleasant graves we digged them, we the valorous,-- - Then to the road again, striving to forget. - - Once again upon the road! The seasons passed us by-- - Blood-root and mayflowers, grasses straight and tall, - Scarlet banners on the hills, snowdrifts white and high,-- - One by one we lived them through, giving thanks for all. - - O, the countries that we found in our wandering! - Wide seas without a sail, islands fringed with foam, - Undiscovered till we came, waiting for their king,-- - We might tarry but a while, far away from home. - - Far away the home we sought,--soon we must be gone; - The old road, the old days, still we clung to those; - The dawn came, the noon came, the dusk came, the dawn-- - Still we kept upon this path long ago we chose. - - * * * * * - - Was it up this road we came, glad the end was far, - Yesterday,--last year--a million years ago? - Surely it was morning then: now, the twilight star - Hangs above the hidden hills--white and very low. - - Quietly the Earth takes on the hush of things asleep; - All the silence of the birds stills the moveless air; - --Yet we must not falter now, though the way be steep; - Just beyond the turn o' the road,--surely Peace is thee! - - - - - X. _FELLOWSHIP_. - - 1. - - At last we reached the pointed firs - And rested for a little while; - The light of home was in her smile - And my cold hand grew warm as her's. - - Behind, across the level snow, - We saw the half-moon touch the hill - Where we had felt the sunset; still - Our feet had many miles to go. - - And now, new little stars were born - In the dark hollows of the sky:-- - Perhaps (she said) lest we should die - Of weariness before the morn. - - - 2. - - Once, when the year stood still at June, - At even we had tarried there - Till Dusk came in--her noiseless hair - Trailing along a pathway strewn - - With broken cones and year-old things, - But now, tonight, it seemed that She - Therein abode continually, - With weighted feet and folded wings, - - And so we lingered not for dawn - To mark the edges of out path; - But with such home a blind man hath - At midnight, we went groping on. - - --I do not know how many firs - We stumbled past in that still wood: - Only I know that once we stood - Together there--my lips on her's. - - - 3. - - Between the midnight and the dawn - We came out on the farther side; - --What if the wood _was_ dark and wide? - Its shadows now here far withdrawn, - - And O the white stars in the sky! - And O the glitter of the snow!-- - Henceforth we know our feet should know - Fair ways to travel--she and I-- - - For One--Whose shadow is the Night-- - Unwound them where the Great Bear swung - And wide across the darkness flung - The ribbons of the Northern Light. - - - - - XI. _THE LODGER._ - - What! and do you find it good, - Sitting here alone with me? - Hark! the wind goes through the wood - And the snow drifts heavily, - - When the morning brings the light - How know I you will not say, - "What a storm there fell last night, - Is the next inn far away?" - - How know I you do not dream - Of some country where the grass - Grows up tall around the gleam - Of the milestones you must pass? - - Even now perhaps you tell - (While your hands play through my hair) - Every hill, each hidden well, - All the pleasant valleys there, - - That before a clear moon shines - You will be with them again! - --Hear the booming of the pines - And the sleet against the pane. - - - 2. - - Wake, and look upon the sun, - I awoke an hour ago, - When the night was hardly done - And still fell a little snow, - - Since the hill-tops touched the light - Many things have my hands made, - Just that you should think them right - And be glad that you have stayed. - - --How I worked the while you slept! - Scarcely did I dare to sing! - All my soul a silence kept-- - Fearing your awakening. - - Now, indeed, I do not care - If you wake; for now the sun - Makes the least of all things fair - That my poor two hands have done. - - - 3. - - No, it is not hard to find. - You will know it by the hills-- - Seven--sloping up behind; - By the soft perfume that fills - - (O, the red, red roses there!) - Full the narrow path thereto: - By the dark pine-forest where - Such a little wind breathes through; - - By the way the bend o' the stream - Takes the peace that twilight brings: - By the sunset, and the gleam - Of uncounted swallows' wings. - - --No, indeed, I have not been - There: but such dreams I have had! - And, when I grow old, the green - Leaves will hide me, too, made glad. - - Yes, you must go now, I know. - You are sure you understand? - --How I wish that I could go - Now, and lead you by the hand. - - - - - XII. _MARCH WIND._ - - High above the trees, swinging in across the hills, - There's a wide cloud, ominous and slow; - And the wind that rushes over sends the little stars to cover - And the wavering shadows fade along the snow. - Surely on my window (Hark the tumult of the night!) - That's a first, fitful drop of scanty rain; - And the hillside wakes and quivers with the strength of newborn - rivers - Come to make our Northland glad and free again. - - O remember how the snow fell the long winter through! - Was it yesterday I tied your snowshoes on? - All my soul grew wild with yearning for the sight of you - returning - But I waited all those hours that you were gone, - For I watched you from our window through the blurring flakes - that fell - Till you gained the quiet wood, and then I knew - (When our pathways lay together how we revelled in such - weather!) - That the ancient things I loved would comfort you. - - Now I knew that you would tarry in the shadow of the firs - And remember many winters overpast: - All the hidden signs I found you of the hiding life around you, - Sleeping patient till the year should wake at last. - Here a tuft of fern underneath the rounded drift: - A rock, there, behind a covered spring; - And here, nowhither tending, tracks beginning not nor ending,-- - Was it bird or shy four-footed furry thing? - - And remember how we followed down the woodman's winding trail! - By the axe-strokes ringing louder, one by one, - Well we knew that we were nearing now the edges of the - clearing,-- - O the gleam of chips all yellow in the sun! - But the twilight fell about us as we watched him at his work; - And in the south a sudden moon, hung low, - Beckoned us beyond the shadows--down the hill--across the - meadows - Where our little house loomed dark against the snow. - - And that night, too--remember?--outside our quiet house, - Just before the dawn we heard the moaning wind: - Only then its wings were weighted with the storm itself created - And it hid the very things it came to find. - In the morn, when we arose, and looked out across the fields, - (Hark the branches! how they shatter overhead!) - Seemed it not that Time was sleeping, and the whole wide world - was keeping - All the silence of the Houses of the dead? - - Ah, but that was long ago! And tonight the wind foretells - (Hark, above the wind, the little laughing rills!) - Earth's forgetfulness of sorrow when the dawn shall break - tomorrow - And lead me to the bases of the hills: - To the low southern hills where of old we used to go-- - (Hark the rumour of ten thousand ancient Springs!) - O my love, to thy dark quiet--far beyond our North's mad riot-- - Do thy new Gods bring remembrance of such things? - - - - - A Canadian Calendar: XII Lyrics - written by Francis Sherman and - privately printed in Havana is - issued at Christmastide M.C.M. - - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A CANADIAN CALENDAR: XII LYRICS -*** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39796 - -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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