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diff --git a/old/62503-0.txt b/old/62503-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 0303e58..0000000 --- a/old/62503-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2449 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Summer of Love, by Joyce Kilmer - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Summer of Love - -Author: Joyce Kilmer - -Release Date: June 28, 2020 [EBook #62503] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SUMMER OF LOVE *** - - - - -Produced by Tim Lindell, David E. Brown, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - -SUMMER OF LOVE - - - - - SUMMER - _of_ LOVE - - BY - - JOYCE KILMER - - [Illustration] - - NEW YORK - - THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY - - 1911 - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1911, - - BY - - THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY - - - - -In Dedication: - - -TO ALINE - - A vagrant minstrel of the street, - No poet of the laurel crown, - I kneel, dear Princess, at your feet, - And lay my book of verses down. - See all the love that lingers there, - And so, for love’s sake, find it fair. - - - - -Certain of the poems in this volume are reprinted by kind permission -of the editors of the following magazines and newspapers: _The Call_, -_Harpers’ Weekly_, _The Independent_, _Moods_, _The Pathfinder_, the -New York _Sun_ and the _Sunday Magazine_ of the New York _Times_. - -I am glad to acknowledge my debt of gratitude to my mother, Mrs. -Kilburn-Kilmer, for her encouragement and assistance in making this -book. - -For sympathy and valuable advice, I am deeply obliged to many friends, -particularly Mr. and Mrs. Henry Mills Alden and Mr. Robert Cortez -Holliday. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - Summer of Love 1 - - Villanelle of Loveland 2 - - Thurifer 4 - - In a Book-shop 5 - - Eadem 6 - - In Fairyland 7 - - The Sorrows of King Midas 8 - - Slender Your Hands 9 - - Sleep Song 10 - - Love’s Thoroughfare 11 - - White Bird of Love 12 - - Transfiguration 14 - - My Lady 16 - - Gifts of Shee 17 - - Wherever, Whenever 19 - - Ballade of My Lady’s Beauty 20 - - Love’s Rosary 22 - - Tribute 24 - - Matin 25 - - A Valentine 26 - - Star of Love 27 - - For a Birthday 28 - - The Use of Night 31 - - Alchemy 32 - - Wayfarers 33 - - With a Mirror 35 - - Princess Ballade 36 - - Lullaby for a Baby Fairy 38 - - George Meredith 40 - - “And Forbid Them Not” 41 - - A Dead Poet 42 - - The Morning Meditations of Frère Hyacinthus 43 - - Villanelle of the Players 46 - - The Mad Fiddler 47 - - The Grass in Madison Square 49 - - Chevely Crossing 50 - - Said the Rose 53 - - White Marble and Green Grass 56 - - Metamorphosis 57 - - Absinthe 58 - - Theology 60 - - For a Child 61 - - To J. B. Y. 62 - - The King’s Ballad 63 - - Jesus and the Summer Rain 65 - - Ballade of Butterflies 67 - - The Clouded Sun (To A. S.) 69 - - In Memoriam: Florence Nightingale 72 - - Ballad of Three 73 - - Court Musicians 75 - - The Dead Lover 76 - - The Poet’s Epitaph 77 - - The Subway 78 - - The Other Lover 79 - - Age Comes A-wooing 81 - - Prayer to Bragi 84 - - Imitation of Richepin’s Ballade of the Beggars’ King 85 - - Love and the Fowler’s Boy 87 - - The Way of Love 88 - - - - -SUMMER OF LOVE - - - - -SUMMER OF LOVE - - - June lavishes sweet-scented loveliness - And sprinkles sunfilled wine on everything; - The very leaves grow drunk with bliss and sing - And every breeze becomes a soft caress. - All earthly things felicity confess - And fairies dance in many a moonlit ring; - The fleetfoot hours fresh wealth of joyaunce bring; - Life wears her gayest rose-embroidered dress. - - Kind June, why bear these golden gifts to me? - All winter long I hear the throstle’s tune, - All winter long red roses I can see, - Reading the while Love’s ancient magic rune. - In Love’s fair garden-close I wander free, - So take your guerdon elsewhere, lovely June. - - - - -VILLANELLE OF LOVELAND - - - Loveland is fair to see, - Of all kind havens best, - Dwell here, my Sweet, with me. - - Here flowers bloom for thee, - Thy feet are rose-caressed, - Loveland is fair to see. - - The violets shall be - Thy soft and fragrant nest, - Dwell here, my Sweet, with me. - - Thou shalt not lack for glee, - Here life is but a jest; - Loveland is fair to see. - - None shall be glad as we; - Ah, grant me my behest, - Dwell here, my Sweet, with me. - - Now would I ask my fee, - Thy red heart I request; - Loveland is fair to see, - Dwell here, my Sweet, with me. - - - - -THURIFER - - - In a carven censer of burnished words, - Swung on a golden chain of rhythm, - For you I burn my heart. - - - - -IN A BOOK-SHOP - - - All day I serve among the volumes telling - Old tales of love and war and high romance; - Good company, God wot, is in them dwelling, - Brave knights who dared to scorn untoward chance. - - King Arthur--Sidney--Copperfield--the daring - And friendly souls of Meredith’s bright page-- - The Pilgrim on his darksome journey faring, - And Shakespeare’s heroes, great in love and rage. - - Fair ladies, too--here Beatricè smiling, - Through hell leads Dante to the happy stars; - And Heloise, the cruel guards beguiling, - With Abelard makes mock of convent bars. - - Yet when night comes I leave these folks with pleasure - To open Love’s great summer-scented tome, - Within whose pages--precious beyond measure-- - My own White Flower Lady hath her home. - - - - -EADEM - - - Sometimes within the garden of your sweetness - I rest and dream and think of all the years - Before my soul had bloomed to fair completeness, - Those times of shadow-laughter, mixed with tears. - - And in my dreams I see a gentle maiden - Whom I once loved and whom I still love, Sweet, - For she is like a rose with sunlight laden, - And my lips ache to kiss her little feet. - - She is so pure the very sky above her - Is not so fair with all its white and blue, - And so, my love, I cannot help but love her - Although my life and love belong to you. - - - - -IN FAIRYLAND - - - The fairy poet takes a sheet - Of moonbeam, silver white, - His ink is dew from daisies sweet, - His pen a point of light. - - My love, I know is fairer far - Than his, (though she is fair,) - And we should dwell where fairies are - For I could praise her there. - - - - -THE SORROWS OF KING MIDAS - - - King Midas took delight - In golden vessels bright, - And yellow bars of ore he found most fair; - But he had never seen - The dancing, glancing sheen - Of sunlight on your dark and fragrant hair. - - His wealth could buy him wine - Made from the purple vine - And sweet as all the blossom-breathing South; - But he could never slake - His thirst, nor ease the ache - Of his hot lips at your love-pliant mouth. - - - - -SLENDER YOUR HANDS - - - Slender your hands and soft and white - As petals of moon-kissed roses; - Yet the grasp of your fingers slight - My passionate heart encloses. - - Innocent eyes like delicate spheres - That are born when day is dying; - Yet the wisdom of all the years - Is in their lovelight lying. - - - - -SLEEP SONG - - - The Lady World - Is sleeping on her white and cloudy bed. - Like petals furled - Her eyelids close. Beside her dream-filled head - Her lover stands in silver cloak and shoon, - The faithful Moon. - - So Love, my Love, - Sleep on, my Love, my Life, be not afraid. - The Moon above - Shall guard the World, and I my little maid. - Your life, your love, your dreams are mine to keep, - So sleep, so sleep. - - - - -LOVE’S THOROUGHFARE - - - As down the primrose path to Love I trod - The golden flowers kissed my eager feet, - The wayside trees with singing birds were sweet, - The summer air was like the smile of God. - “Turn back!” said one, “escape the avenging rod. - Soon thou the deathless flames of Hell shall meet.” - But I pressed on and thought of no retreat, - Till soon with fire I was clothed and shod. - - But through the burning vales of Hell where flow - The molten streams of bitterest despair, - Made blind by pain I stumbled on, and lo! - I stood at last in Love’s own perfumed air. - So, having reached my journey’s end I know - That God made Hell to be Love’s thoroughfare. - - - - -WHITE BIRD OF LOVE - - - Little white bird of the summer sky, - Silver against the golden sun, - Over the green of the hills you fly, - You and the sweet, wild air are one. - - Glorious sights are in that far place - Reached by your daisy-petal wing, - Rose-colored meteors dive through space, - Stars made of molten music sing. - - Still, though your quivering eager flight - Reaches the groves by Heaven town, - Where all the angels cry out, “Alight! - Stop, little bird, come down, come down!” - - Careless you speed over fields of stars, - Darting through Heaven swift and free; - Nothing your arrowy passage bars - Back to the earth and back to me. - - Here in the orchard of dream-fruit fair - Out of my dreams is built your nest. - Blossoming dreams all the branches bear, - Fit for my silver dream-bird’s rest. - - Here, since they love you, the young stars shine, - Through the white petals come their beams. - Little white love-laden bird of mine, - Let them shine on you through my dreams. - - - - -TRANSFIGURATION - - - If it should be my task, I being God, - From whirling atoms to evolve your mate, - With hands omnipotent I should create - A great-souled hero, with the starlight shod. - The subject worlds should tremble at his nod - And all the angel host upon him wait - Yet he should leave his pomp and splendid state - And kneel to kiss the ground whereon you trod. - - But God, who like a little child is wise, - Made me, a common thing of earthly clay; - Then bade me go and see within your eyes - The flame of love that burns more bright than day, - And as I looked I knew with wild surprise - I was transformed--your heart in my heart lay. - - * * * * * - - When first the golden dawn of love was breaking - In your white soul, I kissed your gentle hand, - And all my heart with strange, sweet pain was aching, - A wild, new joy I could not understand. - - And now, when I your slender fingers taking - Keep them enslaved to my hot lips’ demand, - I feel that same strange thirst that knows no slaking - But then--why should I wish to understand? - - - - -MY LADY - - - The joy of pleasant places - Where Saturn still doth reign - Is in her gentle face’s - Calm ignorance of pain. - The bliss of ages golden - In her slim hand is holden, - By old gods she was molden - Before the world knew stain. - - Her body is an altar - Wherein is Love enshrined. - Before her worldlings falter - And cruel eyes grow kind. - Her breath is breath of roses - From mystic garden-closes, - The troubled it composes - Like nectar-laden wine. - - - - -GIFTS OF SHEE - - - O Shee who weave the moonlight into shimmering white strands, - O powerful and tender-hearted Shee! - While I live at home in plenty or am poor in far-off lands, - I will thank you for the gifts you gave to me. - - For the silver collar that you wrought me by your magic art, - For the scarlet Seal that on my mouth you set, - For the glorious White Flower that you placed upon my heart, - When the sun and moon shall die I’ll thank you yet. - - For around my throat the Silver Collar of soft arms I wear, - On my mouth sweet lips have fixed the Scarlet Seal, - On my heart the perfect Flower white of deathless love I bear, - And these charms, your gifts, ensure my lasting weal. - - O Shee who weave the moonlight into shimmering white strands, - O powerful and tender-hearted Shee! - Though I live at home in plenty or am poor in far-off lands, - I will thank you for the gifts you gave to me. - - - - -WHEREVER, WHENEVER - - - If I had lived down underneath the earth, - And you had dwelt among the pleasant stars, - I should have flown the caverns of my birth, - And you have riven Heaven’s silver bars. - - We owe no gratitude to wanton chance, - For not through him does heart cleave fast to heart. - Not time nor place nor any circumstance, - Could keep our lips, our breasts, our souls, apart. - - - - -BALLADE OF MY LADY’S BEAUTY - - - Squire Adam had two wives, they say, - Two wives had he, for his delight, - He kissed and clypt them all the day - And clypt and kissed them all the night. - Now Eve like ocean foam was white - And Lilith roses dipped in wine, - But though they were a goodly sight - No lady is so fair as mine. - - To Venus some folk tribute pay - And Queen of Beauty she is hight, - And Sainte Marie the world doth sway - In cerule napery bedight. - My wonderment these twain invite, - Their comeliness it is divine, - And yet I say in their despite, - No lady is so fair as mine. - - Dame Helen caused a grievous fray, - For love of her brave men did fight, - The eyes of her made sages fey - And put their hearts in woful plight. - To her no rhymes will I indite, - For her no garlands will I twine, - Though she be made of flowers and light - No lady is so fair as mine. - - L’ENVOI - - Prince Eros, Lord of lovely might - Who on Olympus dost recline, - Do I not tell the truth aright? - No lady is so fair as mine. - - - - -LOVE’S ROSARY - - - Love’s rosary is ours this holiday, - So let us worship Eros, Lord of bliss. - Let me be priest and teach you as we pray - Love’s rosary. - The first fair golden globe denotes a kiss, - Curve your sweet lips the proper churchly way, - And you must lie within my arms at this. - Keep all the rites! It will not do to miss - A single bead in all the long array. - Ah, Sweet, we’ll tell on every day, I wis, - Love’s rosary. - - * * * * * - - “The Princess cried; her tears fell on the ground - Like pearls of moonlight, precious, fair and round.” - But when the Princess whom I worship cries - Then from the clouded heaven of her eyes - Rain of such sweet wild loveliness I sip - My heart says “Stop!” but not my eager lip. - - - - -TRIBUTE - - - Because my Love has lips that taste of glory, - That breathe of love, that are as red as wine, - My days and nights are as a pleasant story - Told in a valley sweet with rose and vine. - - Because my Love has hair that smells of flowers, - That is as soft and cool as forest shade, - Therefore the tale of all my blissful hours - Be writ in gold and at her footstool laid. - - - - -MATIN - - - Soft purple shadows cloud love-weary eyes, - Dawn’s saffron glow is on the tossed white bed; - Now passion’s day, warm fragrant night is fled, - A cold grey shroud on Love’s bright altar lies. - From dusky corners ghostly dreams arise, - The pallid wraiths of kisses newly dead, - They float and blend above her sleeping head, - Her languid red lips quiver as she sighs. - - And so, like Adam when in fear and shame - He saw God’s soldiery in fierce array - And sorrowing from Eden’s threshold came - To bear what pains life on his soul might lay, - I see Dawn standing with a sword of flame, - And from my Eden turn in grief away. - - - - -A VALENTINE - - - My songs should be as lilies fair, - And roses made of crimson light, - To lie amid the fragrant hair - And on the breast of my delight. - - Such glory is for them too high; - I’ll scatter them adown the street, - And when my love is passing by - They will rise up and kiss her feet. - - - - -STAR O’ LOVE - - - The Sun pours gold upon the waking earth - And makes the hills and valleys ring with glee, - Brings fruits and flowers to their joyous birth, - And paints strange colors on the foaming sea. - The Moon, with quivering wand of silver-white, - Calls forth the fairies to their circling dance, - Bids lovers seek their never old delight, - And fills the air with perfume of romance. - Yet, Sun, thy glory passes with the day, - And Moon, the dawn destroys thy loveliness; - But thou, sweet Star o’ Love, wilt shine alway, - Nor night nor day can make thy splendor less. - Fade, lordly Sun, and Moon, forget to shine, - Since thy white wonder, Star o’ Love, is mine! - - - - -FOR A BIRTHDAY - - - April with her violets, - May and June with roses, - Young July with all her flowers, crimson, gold and white, - Each in place her tribute sets, - Each her wreath composes, - Making glad the roadway for the Lady of Delight. - - Birds with many colors gay, - Through the branches flitting, - Sing, to greet my Lady Love, a lusty welcome song. - Even bees make holiday, - Hive and honey quitting, - Tremulous and jubilant they join the eager throng. - - Now the road is flower-paved; - Timid fawns are peering - From their pleasant vantage in the roadside’s leafy green. - All the world in sunlight laved, - Knows the hour is nearing - That shall bring the golden presence of the well-loved Queen. - - Hark! at last the silver trill - Of a lute is sounding-- - Happy August, purple-clad, appears with all her train. - Sudden sweet the branches fill; - Every heart is bounding; - August comes, the kindly nurse of her who is to reign! - - And now, with proud and valiant gait, - An hundred centaurs come. - Pan rides the foremost one in state; - The waiting crowd grows dumb. - Each centaur wears a jewelled thong - And harness bright of sheen; - They draw through surging floods of song - The carriage of the Queen! - - “Hail! Hail! Hail! to the Queen in her moonstone car! - Hail! Hail! Hail! to the Lady whose slaves we are! - We of the meadows, the rocks and the hills, - Dwellers in oceans and rivers and rills, - Beasts of the forests and birds of the air, - Linnet and butterfly, lion and bear, - Daisy and daffodil, spruce-tree and fir, - Yield to our Queen and do homage to her! - Hail! Hail! Hail! we welcome thy royal sway! - Hail! Hail! Hail! O Queen, on this festal day!” - - So all the world kneels down to you, - And all things are your own; - Now let a humble rhymer sue - Before your crystal throne. - Fair Queen, at your rose-petal feet - Bid me to live and die! - Not all your world of lovers, Sweet, - Can love so much as I. - - - - -THE USE OF NIGHT - - - I said: “What is the use of sombre night?” - The Moon replied: “To frame my love-wan face.” - A fairy dame said: “That my fresh-wove lace - May on the grasses catch the Sun’s first light.” - “That we may keep with song our ancient rite,” - Croaked glistening frogs from their dank dwelling place. - “That I may halt,” a man said, “in my race, - And rest my eyes that are grown tired of sight.” - - Your ebon frame, pale Moon, makes you more fair; - Weave, gentle neighbor; frogs, pipe loud your song; - Sad traveller, be dreamless sleep your share. - And I would have night twenty times as long, - And clasp my love in some dark bower where - The Day could never come to do us wrong. - - - - -ALCHEMY - - - I sang two little songs one day, - I sang them for a lady’s pleasure, - I took her praise for wreath of bay, - Her smile for largess beyond measure. - - I sang out in the market square - And most folk could not understand; - One who by chance was passing there - Dropped down some silver in my hand. - - Now since the songs I gave you, Sweet, - Have turned to silver fair and gleaming, - For your pleasaunce as is most meet - The silver turns to song and dreaming. - - - - -WAYFARERS - - - Underneath the orchard trees lies a gypsy sleeping, - Tattered cloak and swarthy face and shaggy moonlit hair, - One brown hand his crazy fiddle in its grasp is keeping, - Through the Land of Dreams he strolls and sings his love songs - there. - - Up above the apple blossoms where the stars are shining, - Free and careless wandering among the clouds he goes, - Singing of his lady-love and for her pleasure twining - Wreaths of Heaven flowers, violet and golden rose. - - In his sleep he stirs, and wakes to find his love beside him, - Pours his load of Dreamland blooms before her silver feet, - Takes her in his arms and as her soft brown tresses hide him - Both together fare to Dreamland up the star-paved street. - - - - -WITH A MIRROR - - - Carved by a swarthy knave - Close by the Adrian wave - Came I to being. - To me a soul he gave, - In gold he did me lave, - To suit your seeing. - - Mine is a pleasant life, - Jove bless his flashing knife, - Who wrought my living. - For me nor care nor strife, - Joys in my days are rife, - Joys of your giving. - - - - -PRINCESS BALLADE - - - Never a horn sounds in Sherwood tonight, - Friar Tuck’s drinking Olympian ale, - Little John’s wandered away from our sight, - Robin Hood’s bow hangs unused on its nail. - Even the moon has grown weary and pale - Sick for the glint of Maid Marian’s hair, - But there is one joy on mountain and dale, - Fairies abound all the time, everywhere! - - Saints have attacked them with sacredest might, - They could not shatter their gossamer mail, - Steam-driven engines can never affright - Fairies who dance in their spark-sprinkled trail. - Still for a warning the sad Banshees wail, - Still are the Leprechauns ready to bear - Purses of gold to their captors for bail; - Fairies abound all the time, everywhere! - - Oberon, king of the realms of delight, - May your domain over us never fail. - Mab, as a rainbow-hued butterfly bright, - Yours is the glory that age cannot stale. - When we are planted down under the shale, - Fairy-folk, drop a few daffodils there, - Comfort our souls in the Stygian vale; - Fairies abound all the time, everywhere. - - L’ENVOI - - White Flower Princess, though sophisters rail, - Let us be glad in faith that we share. - None shall the Good People safely assail; - Fairies abound all the time, everywhere! - - - - -LULLABY FOR A BABY FAIRY - - - Night is over; through the clover globes of crystal shine; - Birds are calling; sunlight falling on the wet green vine. - Little wings must folded lie, little lips be still - While the sun is in the sky, over Fairy Hill. - Sleep, sleep, sleep, - Baby with buttercup hair, - Golden rays - Into the violet creep. - Dream, dream deep; - Dream of the night revels fair. - Daylight stays; - Sleep, little fairy child, sleep. - - Rest in daytime; night is playtime, all good fairies know. - Under sighing grasses lying, off to slumber go - Night will come with stars agleam, lilies in her hand, - Calling you from Hills of Dream back to Fairyland. - Sleep, sleep, sleep, - Baby with buttercup hair; - Golden rays - Into the violet creep. - Dream, dream deep; - Dream of the night-revels fair. - Daylight stays; - Sleep, little fairy child, sleep. - - - - -GEORGE MEREDITH - - - He listened to the mighty lyre of earth, - And learned the lore of soul-compelling song. - He pondered on the rune of right and wrong, - And saw the hearts of men, their woe, their mirth. - In him our vision had a second birth, - For by his words we saw as in some strong - Enchanted lens the conscience of the throng, - The font of ill, the hidden source of worth. - - Shall Death claim him, on deathless knowledge reared? - Shall dreams o’ertake the Master of the dream? - Nay, his perfect love that never feared, - His words send through our grief a radiant gleam: - “With Life and Death I walked and Love appeared - And made them on each side a shadow seem.” - - - - -“AND FORBID THEM NOT” - -(“No Trespassing” signs in a churchyard.) - - - Tall, bleak, austere, the mighty buildings loom; - Hard, bare and dull the grimy city street. - Here by the church is found a little room - Roofed with blue sky and with green turf made sweet. - - Surely the Master of this house would smile - Seeing the children on His grass at play, - Seeing the mothers rest a little while - Out of the turmoil of the busy day. - - Soon will he ask, “Where are the children gone: - They who should share this pleasant, sacred place? - No little feet are treading this soft lawn, - Here shines no glory from a little face.” - - Ye in whose trust this Christian church is left, - Think ye that thus ye serve your Master mild? - None by His will are of this home bereft; - They love Him not who wrong a little child. - - - - -A DEAD POET - - - Fair Death, kind Death, it was a gracious deed - To take that weary vagrant to thy breast. - Love, Song and Wine had he, and but one need-- - Rest. - - - - -THE MORNING MEDITATIONS OF FRERE HYACINTHUS - - - So he is dead and damned and all is well. - So fare all traitors to the church and God! - Cursed and cast out with candle, book and bell, - And thrust to rot beneath unhallowed sod. - - The mouth that sounded once Saint Mary’s name - He smirched and stained with scarlet wine of lust; - Therefore is he become a thing of shame, - Anathema and alien to the just. - - We prayed within the cloister side by side, - He chose the world, wise in his own conceit; - I kept our Blessed Lady for my bride, - To paths of sin he set his wayward feet. - - And she is dead, too. Lies with him, they say? - Aye, lies with him--they are together still-- - That golden girl I saw one summer day - Tending her kine upon the pasture hill. - - God, God, is not my blood like his blood red? - God, God, could I not see that she was fair? - Did I not close my eyes and bow my head, - And purge my soul with fasting and with prayer? - - God, see my flesh with scourgings cut and scarred! - God, see my frame with fasting weak and thin! - God, see my face with tears and sorrow marred! - God, see my soul burnt white and clean of sin! - - Tempted I was like him, but did not yield. - Outcast is he and damned and spit upon. - Elect am I and with thine own sign sealed, - Washed white and pure in blood of Christ thy Son. - - And yet, and yet--Ah, God, that dream last night! - When I had prayed before Thy blessed shrine, - And sought to rest a while before the light - Should call me to new services of Thine. - - Then as I slept it seemed I was with Thee - In Heaven, and I looked down into Hell, - That I the cursed souls in pain might see - And be more glad that I had served Thee well. - - I saw the place with blood-red flames alight, - I saw the damned and heard their shrieks and groans, - And then there burst upon my eyes a sight - That turned to lead the marrow in my bones. - - There in his arms her soft white body lay; - Shielded by him she kissed his mouth and smiled. - Round them the flames kept their unheeded sway. - Even to Hell Love made them reconciled. - - It’s time for Mass. God bless the newborn day! - How very fair it is, and sweet and still-- - Down yonder lane she used to make her way - To tend her kine upon the pasture hill. - - - - -VILLANELLE OF THE PLAYERS - - - Violets fade with the May, - Purple and fragrant they die, - Players live for a day. - - What is their legacy, pray? - Where does their loveliness lie? - Violets fade with the May. - - Actors in motley array - Grace of your memory cry, - Players live for a day. - - Where the sad pine trees sway - Lonely the reft winds sigh, - Violets fade with the May. - - Withered the wreaths of bay, - Wine-cups are cracked and dry, - Players live for a day. - - Clouds of the sunset sky, - None shall their eulogy say, - Violets fade with the May, - Players live for a day. - - - - -THE MAD FIDDLER - - - I sleep beneath a bracken sheet - In sunlight or in rain, - The road dust burns my naked feet, - The sunrays sear my brain; - But children love my fiddle’s sound - And if a lad be straying, - His mother knows he may be found - Where old Mad Larry’s playing. - - O fiddle, let us follow, follow, - Till we see my Eileen’s face, - Through the moonlight like a swallow - Off she flew to some far place. - - O, did you ever love a lass? - I loved a lass one day, - And she would lie upon the grass - And sing while I would play. - She was a cruel, lovely thing, - Nor heart nor soul have I - For Eileen took them that soft spring - When she flew to the sky. - - So fiddle, let us follow, follow, - Till we see my Eileen’s face, - Through the moonlight like a swallow - Off she flew to some far place. - - - - -THE GRASS IN MADISON SQUARE - - - The pleasant turf is dried and marred and seared, - The grass is dead. - No soft green shoot, by rain and sunshine reared, - Lifts up its head. - - I think the grass that made the park so gay - In early spring - Now decks the lawns of Heaven where babies play - And dance and sing. - - And poor old vagabonds who now have left - The dusty street, - Find fields of which they were in life bereft, - Beneath their feet. - - - - -CHEVELY CROSSING - - - Where two roads cross by Chevely town - A man is lying dead. - The rumbling wains of scented hay - Roll over his fair head; - A stake is driven through his heart, - For his own blood he shed. - - * * * * * - - Among the pleasant flower-stars - By God’s own garden gate, - A little maid fresh come from earth - One summer night did wait; - Her poppy mouth dropped down with fear, - With fear her eyes were great. - - The angels saw her sinless face, - The gate was opened wide. - She only shook her dawn-crowned head - And would not come inside. - She was alone, and so afraid-- - She hid her face and cried. - - Her tears dropped down like sun-filled rain - Through stars and starless space, - Until at last in Chevely town - Where in a moonlit place - Her lover knelt upon her grave, - They fell upon his face. - - Said he, “My love, my only love, - My Elena, my Sweet! - Through what wild ways of mystery - Have strayed your little feet? - Alone, alone this lonely night - Where only spirits meet! - - “It is not my bleak desert life - That turns my heart to lead, - Not for my empty arms I mourn, - Nor for my loveless bed; - But that you wander forth alone - On heights I may not tread. - - “If I could stand beside you now - Sin-burdened though I be, - I’d bear you through the trackless ways - From fear and danger free, - Not God himself could daunt the strong - Undying love of me! - - “Though Heaven is a pleasant place - What joy for you is there? - Who tread the jewelled streets alone - Without my heart to share - Each throb of your heart, and my arm - Around you, O my Fair! - - “I hear your sobbing in the wind, - And in the summer rain - I feel your tears. My heart is pierced - With your sad, lonely pain. - My Love! My only Love! I come! - You shall not call in vain!” - - * * * * * - - Where two roads cross by Chevely town - A man is lying dead. - The rumbling wains of scented hay - Roll over his fair head; - A stake is driven through his heart, - For his own blood he shed. - - - - -SAID THE ROSE - - - No flower hath so fair a face as this pale love of mine - When he bends down to kiss my heart, my petals try to twine - About his lips to hold them fast. He is so very fair, - My lover with the pale, sad face and forest-fragrant hair. - - I think it is a pleasant place, this garden where I grow, - With gravel walks and grassy mounds and crosses in a row. - There is no toil nor worry here, nor clatter of the street, - And here each night my lover comes, pale, sad and very sweet. - - He never heeds the violets or lilies tall and white; - I am his love, his only love, his Flower of Delight; - And often when the cold moonbeams are lying all around - My lover kneels the whole night through beside me on the ground. - - How can I miss the sunshine-laden breezes of the south - When all my heart is burning with the kisses of his mouth? - How can I miss the coming of the comfort-bringing rain - When his hot tears are filling me with heaven-sweet love-pain? - - There is a jealous little bird that envies me my love, - He sings this bitter, bitter song from his brown nest above: - “Was ever yet a mortal man who wed a flower wife? - He loves the girl down in your roots whose dead breast gives you - life.” - - O little bird, O jealous bird, fly off and cease your chatter! - My lover is my lover, and what can a dead girl matter? - In his hot kisses and sweet tears I shall my petals steep; - I am his love, his only love, I have his heart to keep. - - - - -WHITE MARBLE AND GREEN GRASS - - - Starlight, sunlight, silver light and gold, - All are dark for Love’s great flame is cold. - Rose wind, garden wind and morning’s breath, - Are ye stronger than the scent of death? - - - - -METAMORPHOSIS - - - He was an evil thing to see-- - Of joy his mouth was desolate, - His body was a stunted tree, - His eyes were pools of lust and hate. - - Now silverly the linnet sings - On leaves that from his temples start - And gay the yellow crocus springs - From the rich clod that was his heart. - - - - -ABSINTHE - - - I have prayed to the Christ of the merciful eyes, - I have prayed to the Lord of Hosts, - I have prayed, but in vain, for God to rise - And scatter these murderous ghosts, - These horrible, beckoning ghosts that sign - And beckon me where? ah, where? - O little green god in your crystal shrine, - You only will heed my prayer! - - The breath of your mouth is a powerful wind - That whirls sorrow-shadows away; - The light of your eyes burns the bonds that bind, - I escape from the earth’s fell sway. - The pallid figures in threatening line, - They falter and tremble and flee. - O little green god in your crystal shrine, - Shed some of your glory on me! - - I have given you service, sincere and prolonged, - I have given you love--ah, you know! - Though I pray in a fane by your worshippers thronged, - There is no one who worships you so. - My hand and my heart and my brain, ah, divine - Lord, master of living, I give, - O little green god in your crystal shrine, - Take these--and then bid me to live! - - By a green marble house in a garden of green, - Green roses bloom ’neath a green sun, - Where the maidens have eyes of an emerald sheen, - And the strife and the labor are done, - O there let me dwell, where the ravenous whine - Of the earth ghosts is soundless and dead. - O little green god in your crystal shrine, - Your heavenly dream-shower shed! - - - - -THEOLOGY - - - The blade is sharp, the reaper stout, - And every daisy dies. - Their souls are fluttering about-- - We call them butterflies. - - - - -FOR A CHILD - - - His mind has neither need nor power to know - The foolish things that men call right and wrong. - For him the streams of pleasant love-wind flow, - For him the mystic, sleep-compelling song. - Through love he rules his love-made universe, - And sees with eyes by ignorance made keen - The fauns and elves whom older eyes disperse, - Great Pan and all the fairies with their queen. - King gods, I pray, bestow on him this dole, - Not wisdom, wealth, nor mighty deeds to do, - But let him keep his happy pagan soul, - The poet-vision, simple, free and true, - To hunt the rainbow-gold and phantom lights, - And meet with dryads on the wooded heights. - - - - -TO J. B. Y. - - - Bitter and selfish sorrow, poverty, strife and ruth, - Fear of the dreadful morrow,--these took away our youth. - Ængus is bending o’er us--we are too old to see, - Too old to hear before us moon-drenchèd songs of Shee. - - Dreamer of dreams and lover, young as are love and dreams, - Show us the Shee that hover over the silver streams, - Give us the song and story, make us to live anew, - Bathed in your youthful glory let us be young like you. - - - - -THE KING’S BALLAD - - - Good my king, in your garden close, - (Hark to the thrush’s trilling,) - Why so sad when the maiden rose - Love at your feet is spilling? - Golden the air and honey-sweet, - Sapphire the sky, it is not meet - Sorrowful faces should flowers greet, - (Hark to the thrush’s trilling.) - - All alone walks the king to-day, - (Hark to the thrush’s trilling,) - Far from the throne he steals away - Loneness and quiet willing. - Roses and tulips and lilies fair - Smile for his pleasure everywhere, - Yet of their joyaunce he takes no share, - (Hark to the thrush’s trilling.) - - Ladies wait in the palace, Sire, - (Hark to the thrush’s trilling,) - Red and white for the king’s desire - Lovewarm and sweet and thrilling, - Breasts of moonshine and hair of night, - Glances amorous soft and bright, - Nothing is lacking for thy delight, - (Hark to the thrush’s trilling.) - - Kneels the king in a grassy place, - (Hark to the thrush’s trilling,) - Little flowers under his face - With his warm tears are filling: - Says the king, “Here my heart lies dead - Where my fair love is buried, - Would I were lying here instead!” - (Hark to the thrush’s trilling.) - - - - -JESUS AND THE SUMMER RAIN - - - Over the hills and across the plain, - Treading their gypsy way, - Ragged and penniless, vagrants twain - Went with a child one day. - - Sunburnt and barefooted was the man, - Poor was the woman’s dress, - Over the baby the sunbeams ran, - Winds gave him soft caress. - - “Brother o’ mine,” said the summer rain, - “Brother o’ mine,” said he, - “Take you the vagabond’s joy and pain, - Vagabond shall you be. - - “Banned by the rich and the folk of power, - Outcasts shall love you well; - Harlots and thieves in your dying hour - Closest to you shall dwell. - - “Never a home nor abiding place - Where you may rest your load; - Ever the starlight on your face, - Ever the open road. - - “Brother o’ mine,” said the summer rain, - “Brother o’ mine,” said he, - “Take you the vagabond’s joy and pain, - Vagabond shall you be.” - - - - -THE BALLADE OF BUTTERFLIES - - - Because we never build a nest - And no one of us ever sings, - We are the butt of every jest - That strutting loud-mouthed robin flings. - Unless the field with laughter rings - And we are meek in our replies - His claws and beak to bear he brings; - Have pity on all butterflies! - - Since we are of no home possest, - And have no joy in courts and kings, - And love on working-days to rest, - The name of “Idlers” to us clings. - On all our gypsy travellings - They follow us with jeering cries. - From every rose a spider springs; - Have pity on all butterflies! - - A little thing is our request-- - Some peace from nets of sticks and strings, - An hour to feel the sunlight’s zest, - To ’scape the deadly bee that stings. - From hostile fortune’s bolts and slings - Give us release ere Summer dies-- - We dread the Winter’s threatenings; - Have pity on all butterflies! - - L’ENVOI - - Great Pan, kind lord of living things, - Look on us now with friendly eyes. - We pray to you on trembling wings, - Have pity on all butterflies! - - - - -THE CLOUDED SUN - -(To A. S.) - - - It is not good for poets to grow old - For they serve Death that loves and Love that kills; - And Love and Death, enthroned above the hills, - Call back their faithful servants to the fold - Before Age makes them passionless and cold. - - Therefore it is that no more sorry thing - Can shut the sunlight from the thirsty grass - Than some grey head through which no longer pass - Wild dreams more lively than the scent of Spring - To fire the blood and make the glad mouth sing. - - Far happier he, who, young and full of pride - And radiant with the glory of the sun, - Leaves earth before his singing time is done. - All wounds of Time the graveyard flowers hide, - His beauty lives, as fresh as when he died. - - Then through the words wherein his spirit dwells - The world may see his young impetuous face - Unmarred by Time, with undiminished grace; - While memory no piteous story tells - Of barren days, stale loves and broken spells. - - * * * * * - - Brother and Master, we are wed with woe. - Yea, Grief’s funereal cloud it is that hovers - About the head of us thy mournful lovers. - Uncomforted and sick with pain we go, - Dust on our brows and at our hearts the snow. - - The London lights flare on the chattering street, - Young men and maidens love and dance and die; - Wine flows, and perfumes float up to the sky. - Once thou couldst feel that this was very sweet, - Now thou art still--mouth, hands and weary feet. - - O subtle mouth, whereon the Sphinx has placed - The smile of those she kisses at their birth, - Sing once again, for Spring has thrilled the earth. - Nay, thou art dumb. Not even April’s taste - Is sweet to thee in thy live coffin cased. - - There is no harsher tragedy than this-- - That thou, who feltest as no man before - Scent, color, taste and sound and didst outpour - For us rich draughts of thine enchanted bliss - Shouldst be plunged down this cruel black abyss. - - Brother and Master, if our love could free - Thy flameborn spirit from its leaden chain - Thou shouldst rise up from this sad house of pain, - Be young and fair as thou wast wont to be, - And strong with joy as is the boundless sea. - - Brother and Master, at thy feet we lay - These roses, red as lips that thou hast sung. - And cypress wreaths above thy head are hung - To mingle with the green and fragrant bay. - We kneel awhile, then turn in tears away. - - - - -IN MEMORIAM: FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE - - - She whom we love, our Lady of Compassion, - Can never die, for Love forbids her death. - Love has bent down in his old kindly fashion, - And breathed upon her his immortal breath. - - On wounded soldiers, in their anguish lying, - Her gentle spirit shall descend like rain. - Where the white flag with the red cross is flying, - There shall she dwell, the vanquisher of pain. - - - - -BALLAD OF THREE - - - Upon the river’s brink she stands - And tastes the dawn’s white breath. - She wrings her slender, silver hands, - “God’s curse on love,” she saith. - “Love binds me with his cruel bands - That break not save with death.” - - “Now Geoffrey is a huntsman bold - And slays the mountain deer, - And Hugh plows up the fragrant mold - And plucks the ripened ear. - In friendship would these twain grow old - Did I not dwell anear. - - “Hugh brings me grapes with sunlight sweet, - Like globes of amethyst, - While Geoffrey’s fawn with snowflake feet - Is corded to my wrist. - They mutter curses when they meet, - Their sight dims with red mist. - - “And it is love hath done this thing; - Yea, Geoffrey loves my hair, - And Hugh lifts up his voice to sing - That my sad face is fair, - And love strews poison in the spring - And fouls the pleasant air. - - “But not for my poor loveliness - Shall blood of brothers flow. - What is one woman, more or less? - And what is love but woe! - I want no murderer’s caress, - So for love’s sake--I go.” - - Lads, sheathe your knives, no use to fight. - The lady you would wed - Shall sleep alone in state tonight - With candles at her head. - Lift, friends, this figure still and white - And bear her to her bed. - - - - -COURT MUSICIANS - - - As when in summer-scented days gone by - The court-musicians, dressed in velvets gay - And golden silks, would on their gitterns play - And blend their voices with the strings’ love-cry, - So that the princess from her tower on high - Might through the rose-framed window hear their lay, - And make more splendid the resplendent day - By leaning out, her choristers to spy; - - So now, with weary voice and violin, - Two court-musicians rend the dusty air. - Their shrill notes pierce the elevated’s din, - And thrill a girl’s heart with a pleasure rare. - For her has sweeter music never been; - They never saw a princess half so fair. - - - - -THE DEAD LOVER - - - I tire of lovely faces free from pain - And free from sin; - Here none with lips wet with the crimson stain - May enter in. - One thing I lack, and lacking it, am dead-- - A woman’s heart. - “She cannot enter here,” an angel said; - I will depart. - - I have one prayer that I will make to God, - That I may stay - Where lies my body underneath the sod. - Then night and day - I shall be where my dear false love may pass; - It will be sweet - To hear above my head, upon the grass, - Her little feet. - - - - -THE POET’S EPITAPH - - - Dreams fade with morning light, - Never a morn for thee, - Dreamer of dreams, good-night. - - Over our earthly sight - Shadows of woe must be; - Dreams fade with morning light. - - Soldiers awake to fight-- - Thou art from strife set free, - Dreamer of dreams, good-night. - - Day breaketh, cruel, white, - Lovely the forms that flee; - Dreams fade with morning light. - - Thine is the sure delight, - Sleep-visions still to see, - Dreamer of dreams, good-night. - - Pity us from thy height, - Dawn-haunted slaves are we; - Dreams fade with morning light, - Dreamer of dreams, good-night. - - - - -THE SUBWAY - - - Tired clerks, pale girls, street cleaners, business men, - Boys, priests and harlots, drunkards, students, thieves, - Each one the pleasant outer sunshine leaves; - They mingle in this stifling, loud-wheeled pen. - The gate clangs to--we stir--we sway--and then - We thunder through the dark. The long train weaves - Its gloomy way. At last above the eaves - We see awhile God’s day, then night again. - - Hurled through the dark--day at Manhattan Street, - The rest all night. That is my life, it seems. - Through sunless ways go my reluctant feet. - The sunlight comes in transitory gleams. - And yet the darkness makes the light more sweet, - The perfect light about me--in my dreams. - - - - -THE OTHER LOVER - - - I’m home from off the stormy sea, - And down the street - The folk come out to welcome me - On eager feet. - O neighbors, God be with you all, - But for my true love I must call; - She lingers in her father’s hall - So shy, so sweet! - - Here is a string of milky pearls - For her to wear, - An amber comb to match the curls - Of her bright hair. - O neighbors, do not crowd me so! - Stand by! stand by! for I must go - To put on my love’s hand of snow - This gold ring fair. - - Good dame, why do you block the way - And shake your head? - Must all the things you have to say - Just now be said? - O neighbors, let me pass--but why-- - My God, what makes you women cry? - Come tell me that I too may die! - Is my love dead? - - “Nay, Marjorie’s a living thing, - And fair and strong. - Yet did you wait to give your ring - A year too long. - To seek her love there came the Moon; - Now Marjorie at night and noon - Is chained and sits alone to croon - The Moon’s love-song.” - - - - -AGE COMES A-WOOING - - - With shameless and incessant lust - Thy tremulous hot hands are thrust - Upon my body’s loveliness. - O loathsome Age, thy foul caress - Puts on my heart a deadly blight, - Withers my hair to leprous white, - Binds fetters on my eager feet - That once on Springtime’s road were fleet - To bear me to Love’s shining goal. - Now bitter tides of sorrow roll - To drown me in a sea of woe - And God looks on, and wills it so! - - Give over thy pursuing, Age! - Fearest thou not my lover’s rage? - For he is young and strong of limb, - Thou canst not stand a bout with him. - Ah, surely he will laugh to see - So wan a suitor wooing me. - Then with wild scorn his heart will swell - And he will fling thee back to hell. - - O Love, that stronger art than Death, - Enfold me from the burning breath - Of Age that has grown amorous, - That sears and blasts me. Even thus, - Men say, his passionate embrace - Spoils maids and flowers of their grace, - And every woman’s fate is cast - To be his paramour at last. - And so all lovely things are made - Shameful, and in the ashes laid, - To die alone, uncared for. Such - Is the pollution of his touch. - - Stars that have shone since Time began, - Rivers that saw the birth of man, - And mountains that are fair and green, - And were, when Helen was a queen, - White dreams that never can grow old, - Stories of love and glory told - By Homer once, and ballads sung - Eons ago--ye still are young. - Tell me the secret of your youth. - Can any weeping fill with ruth - Age, that is harsh and pitiless? - - Nay, they are blind to my distress. - They have not feared the grasping hand - Of Age, and cannot understand. - Love saw my whitened hair and laughed - And bid me drain my bitter draught. - While in my lover’s startled eyes - A lurking terror strangely lies. - There is no place in which to hide - When Age comes seeking for his bride. - - - - -PRAYER TO BRAGI - - - The world-rocking roar of the thunder, the red lightning’s - death-dealing flash, - The wind that rends mountains asunder, the tempest’s sharp, - blood-bringing lash, - Beneficent silvery rivers that stream from the dream-laden - moon, - And crimsoning fire that delivers bound life at the sun’s - freeing noon; - These swell like a marvellous ocean, all throbbing and leaping - and strong, - O Bragi, in thy magic potion of pain and of sweetness and song! - - The life-blood of Kvasir was taken, sharp heart-seeking knives - made him bleed, - But still shall his spirit awaken in singers who drink of thy - mead. - The honey from forests of flowers, poured out as the milk from the - kine, - It flows through the undying hours from lips that are wet with thy - wine. - O Bragi, dear master of singing, song-thirsty I beg for thy - dole! - To thy knees, a suppliant clinging, I pray for a draught from thy - bowl. - - - - -IMITATION OF RICHEPIN’S BALLADE OF THE BEGGARS’ KING - - - Hey, come to me, you slipshod race, - Picklocks and squealing bagpipe crew, - Come, strumpet, knave and monkey-face, - Come loafers, I’m the lad for you! - Come ragged cloak and tattered shoe, - Your wild, hot liberty I sing, - For I am of your nation, too, - The poet is the beggars’ king. - - You playthings of the copper’s mace, - You toys of wind and rain and dew, - You whom the yelping watchdogs chase, - Whom blows and noisome ills pursue, - Whose paltry rags the wind strikes through - As through some rotten paper thing, - To whom nor want nor woe is new, - The poet is the beggars’ king. - - You hoboes, whom the sun’s embrace - Has burned to darkly golden hue, - You trollops, full of love and grace, - Whom half a hundred lovers woo, - You little crawling babies who - Just wear your hides for costuming, - Old toothless men with noses blue, - The poet is the beggars’ king. - - L’ENVOI - - My subjects all and vassals true, - Come, give me royal welcoming, - May booze be plenty, bulls be few, - The poet is the beggars’ king. - - - - -LOVE AND THE FOWLER’S BOY - -(Bion IV, 14.) - - - Lo, the fowler’s little lad, - Through the woodland straying, - Sight of winged Love hath had - In the branches playing. - - “Ah,” he cries, “a bonnie prey!” - Sets his bow to wing him. - Cupid blows the dart away - That to earth would bring him. - - Now the boy in angry woe - Casts away his quiver - To his master straight doth go - And the tale deliver. - - Saith the sage, “Nay, not for thee - Such a bird to harry. - From the haunted forest flee - Where such creatures tarry. - - “Though it now escape thy dart - Let not tears be flowing, - It will light upon thy heart - Ere thy beard be growing.” - - - - -THE WAY OF LOVE - -(An Old Legend.) - - - When darkness hovers over earth - And day gives place to night, - Then lovers see the Milky Way - Gleam mystically bright, - And calling it the Way of Love - They hail it with delight. - - She was a lady wondrous fair - A right brave lover he, - And sooth they suffered grievous pain - And sorrowed mightily, - For they were parted during life - By leagues of land and sea. - - She died. Then Death came to the man. - He met him joyfully, - And said, “Thou Angel Death, well met! - Quick, do thy will with me, - That I may haste to greet my love - In Heaven’s company.” - - Now on one side of Heaven he dwelt - And on the other, she. - And broad between them stretched sheer space - Whereon no way might be, - The empty, yawning, awful depth, - Unplumbed infinity. - - The deathless spheric melody - Came gently to his ear, - And dulcet notes, the harmonies - Of Seraphs chanting near. - He heeded not for listening - His lady’s voice to hear. - - The Saints and Martyrs round him ranged - A goodly company, - The Virgin, robed in radiance, - The Holy Trinity. - He heeded not, but strained his eyes - His lady’s face to see. - - At last from far across the void - Her voice came, faint and sweet. - The bright-hued walls of Paradise - Did the glad sound repeat; - The distant stars on which she stood - Shone bright beneath her feet. - - “Dear Love,” she said, “Oh, come to me! - I cannot see your face. - O will not Lord Christ grant to us - To cross this sea of space?” - Then thrilled his heart with Love’s own might. - He answered, by Love’s grace. - - “The world is wide, and Heaven is wide, - From me to thee is far, - Alas! across Infinity - No passageways there are. - Sweetheart, I’ll make my way to thee, - I’ll build it, star by star!” - - Through all the curving vault of sky - His lusty blows rang out. - He smote the jewel-studded walls - And with a mighty shout - He tore the gleaming masonry - And posts that stood about. - - He strove to build a massive bridge - That should the chasm span. - With heart upheld by hope and love - His great task he began, - And toiled and labored doughtily - To work his God-like plan. - - He took the heavy beams of gold - That round him he did see; - The beryl, jacinth, sardius, - That shone so brilliantly, - And no fair jewel would he spare - So zealously worked he. - - He stole the gorgeous tinted stuffs - Whereof are sunsets made, - And his rude, grasping, eager hands - On little stars he laid; - To rob God’s sacred treasure-house - He was no whit afraid. - - And so for centuries he worked. - Across the void at last - A bridge of precious mold did stand - Completed, strong and fast. - So now the faithful lovers met - And all their woe was past. - - But soon a shining angel guard - Sped to the throne of gold - And said, “Lord, see yon new-made bridge, - A mortal, overbold, - Has built it, scorning thy desire!” - Straightway the tale he told. - - Then said: “Now, Master, Thou mayst see - The thing that has been wrought. - Speak, then, the word, stretch forth Thine hand - That with the speed of thought - This poor presumptuous work may fall - And crumble into naught.” - - God looked upon the angel then - And on the bridge below. - Then with His smile of majesty - He said: “Let all things know, - This bridge, which has by Love been built, - I will not overthrow.” - - When darkness hovers over earth - And day gives place to night, - Then lovers see the Milky Way - Gleam mystically bright, - And calling it the Way of Love, - They hail it with delight. - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE: - - -Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Summer of Love, by Joyce Kilmer - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SUMMER OF LOVE *** - -***** This file should be named 62503-0.txt or 62503-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/5/0/62503/ - -Produced by Tim Lindell, David E. 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