UC-NRLF N627 POEMS MEREDITH NICHOLSON I N D I AN AP OLI 5 THE BOBBS MERMl COMPANY PUBLISHERS COPYRIGHT 1906 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY APRIL TO JAMES WHIT CO MB RILEY YOU came when song itself was tame, Though many strove with idle aim Like moths about the sacred -flame On ignorant wing; You scorned, in beaten trails of fame, To walk and sing. You borrowed not Apollo s sign, Affixed to many a lifeless line; You sought not the dim shadowy Nine Obscure, remote: You wove the human and divine In one clear note! You would not strive with them that deign To seek on chaff-strewn floors for grain, And even for trampled husks are fain, But, in the field, You strove with infinite care to gain Life s golden yield. M110219 You sought no high and strenuous key To mark your new blithe minstrelsy, Invoked no shrine on bended knee, In Greece or Rome, But, all ungyved, your spirit free Sang most of home! In the lone farm-house you laid bare The drama of its toil and care, But making love triumphant there Rise strong and sweet, Like herbs that scent the summer air, Bruised neath our feet. Twas your voice sang the yet unsung Faith of a people brave and young To whose rude speech a wild tang clung, Of clean earth born, The variant Saxon of our tongue You did not scorn! You heard, in dewy haunts of spring, The treble note of childhood ring, The homing stroke you taught its wing That you, again, Might woo that vagrant note and sing Once more its strain. Not mine the right to sing your praise Nor twine for you the deathless bays, But mine to walk in lighted ways Lured by your rhyme, Glad for the faith through faithless days You shield from Time. And you still hold, as at the start, That which God set for you apart Faith, Love and Trust, that in your heart Keep its song pure, And the magician gift of art, And these endure! THANKS ARE DUE TO THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY, THE CENTURY MAGAZINE, HARPER S NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE, AND THE READER FOR PERMISSION TO REPUBLISH CERTAIN POEMS IN THIS VOLUME CONTENTS Aileen 108 April Easter, An 24 Asphodel 25 At the Monument 97 Bellona 58 "Bless Thou the Guns" 53 Blind Boys, The 102 Charm 10 Chords 13 Cuba 50 Dead Archer, The 87 Derelict 76 Earth, The 43 Escheat 32 For a Pioneer s Memorial 68 From Bethlehem to Calvary 63 God Save the State! 41 Grace Chimes 75 Heart of the Bugle, The 45 Horatio at Elsinore 99 Horns, The 56 In the Great Pastures 21 In the Street 104 "In Winter I Was Born" 37 Ireland 70 John Tyndall 85 Labor and Art 101 Love s Music 29 Marjorie 98 CONTENTS CONTINUED Mea Culpa 65 Memory 82 Miriam: At a Concert 106 New Year s Collect 61 News 66 Old Guidon, An 44 Orchards By the Sea 69 Prayer of the Hill-Country, A 16 Psalms in the Mountains, The 19 Shadow Lines 34 Shadow of the Rockies, A 22 "She Gathers Roses" 92 Shiloh 48 Simplicity 23 Spirit of the Mountains, The 18 Tenant, A 60 To a Debutante 28 To the Seasons 110 Unmapped 83 Valley of Vision, The 9 Voices of Children 95 Watching the World Go By 73 Wayward Muse, The 79 West 30 Where Four Winds Meet 1 Wind at Whitsuntide, The 4 Wind Patrol, The 14 Winter Wind in the Rockies, The 39 Wide Margins 12 Youth and Winter 35 POEMS WHERE FOUR WINDS MEET FROM homes beyond the farthest space The winds come to their trysting-place. Swiftly from north, east, south and west Assembled on some lonely crest, Or gathered where the murmuring pines Have summoned them by secret signs, They tell of journeys over seas And whisper of earth s mysteries. They know why strong sap-currents sing Through northern trees in earliest spring, And why bold flowers put bravely forth In snowy woodlands of the north. Such things he learns whose guided feet May find the place where four winds meet. It is not true the winds are foes, Though some bring buds and some bring snows ; For they divide the earth s estate 1 :As : friendly : kxb gs .might arbitrate, And each is sovereign any hour The mighty land is in its power. They find delight in bold surprise And would defeat man s prophecies. Ships put not forth, seeds are not sown Until the favoring gales have blown; The destinies of nations wait The winds that ruin or create. These secret things he learns whose feet May find the place where four winds meet. Through summer woods at night s high tide Lone winds from far horizons ride, So quickly gone, so faint of wing, Ear scarce may catch their whispering. And no one knows from what far home Those idle messengers may roam, Nor any more may seek to gain Their purpose from the weather-vane! But swift those tides unchallenged flow Where only silent trees bend low A stir of leaves, a sudden hush, A thrill runs through the underbrush, Then, he who runs with winged feet, May find the place where four winds meet! Now I have sped in many a race To find this secret trysting-place ; North, east, south, west have I been led, Sometimes in hope but oft in dread, Fearing to pause yet scorning rest, Pursuing ceaselessly my quest, For, whether on the land it be Or foamy meadow of the sea I find at last the tryst, lo, there The tyrant captains of the air Shall yield to me each plot and plan By which they rule the world, and man Thenceforth may walk with careless feet, Indifferent where the four winds meet. M THE WIND AT WHITSUNTIDE I AN names the stars across the gulfs of space And calls the sea to tribute, and doth mock The storm and lightning and the earthquake shock, And lifts from lonely peaks Toward the stars his still triumphant face; But the far-driven, pathless winds of God He still in ignorance seeks, Crying his whence and whither with vain breath Where in soft airs the tranquil gardens nod, Or pondering the wind s will Along the pine-hung hill And where the trumpet seas roll round the gates of death. II First of the Blessed Three, The adored, august and mighty Trinity Jehovah to earth came In mystery and awe, And gave to Israel out of cloud and flame His iron-harsh, immitigable law That for the rough, new-builded world was meet. But man still restless yearned For groves of peace whose springs should bubble sweet; Nor smoking altars satisfied his need, Nor fat of richest pastures sacrificed, And Heaven seemed far indeed, A fortress grim on an embattled slope, Where hotly on dull eyes the shining bastions burned. Twas then the Christ With love renewed man s hope, Bringing the ark of peace down from the skies, And out of golden deeds uprearing faith anew; Nor Sinai s lightnings blinded more man s eyes, But gentleness was crowned and meekness blessed, While brighter shone the goal To mankind seeking rest 5 The long-sought haven of the laboring soul, In Christ alone possessed; And down the ages the bright marvel grew That what is just and beautiful and true Within the broad dome of near Heaven lies. Ill Thus of the Three The high-ordained mysterious Trinity, Jehovah and the Son Man s need hath earthward won; But who has seen or heard The last, the majestic and ineffable One And known His audible word? To-night, midway of seas, Out of the star-hung prairies glad with corn, Out of the deep-pulsed, steady heart of Time, Out of the golden pillars of the morn A great wind thundered by, Voicing a hymn in deep sonorous rhyme, And tossed in billows the June-vestured trees. Across the odorous, sweet, low-murmuring night 6 I marked its urgent flight, Then heard its laggard legion round me wake and sigh. That wind, methought, may be Breath of the brooding and exalted One Who cometh in secrecy, Far-ranging the bright track of star and sun! Holier is earth for every wind that blows ; The challenged ocean mid its tumult sings Exultant in God s might, And on the mountain height The retreating tempest flings The gleaming vesture of divine repose. IV O Winds, far-driven and lost In the uncharted ether s high demesne, Com st thou to greet Earth newly with the tongues of Pentecost? Is t thus the Paraclete, Veiled from earth s sealed eyes, Doth from high Heaven lean 7 Brooding- o er earth and sea? O Winds, pour over me Out of thy vast inviolable treasury Thy winnowing, cleansing tide! Anoint me from thy azure spaces wide! Nearer than man s surmise The Spirit of Spirits doth round about us bide, The manifest breath and presence of the Three! Thus doth Jehovah out of space Again with man speak face to face; And thus o er earth Christ breathes again The peace of the Judean plain, The hope of all this earth may be! And thus o er plains and hills The tides of the four winds flow ; Thus the glad earth thrills When the trumpets of Heaven blow; And messengers earthward winging On marvelous errands fly; While the world-heart wakes to singing And the Spirit of God is nigh! 8 THE VALLEY OF VISION Isaiah XXII, 1 and 5 OVER what peaks docs it lie, the wonderful Valley of Vision, Withholden afar in the realm of the Spirit of Rest? Is it a verdurous cleft in the shadowy moun tains elysian, Hidden by mist and cloud where the suns go down in the west? I never may find the place, the wonderful Valley of Vision, Though seeking for long the path that leads to its singing streams ; The mountains unyielding stand, they laugh at my search in derision, Yet ever in faith I seek the hidden Valley of Dreams. 9 CHARM TT is a presence sweet and rare, -*> A something oft attained by Art, Yet oft possessed, all unaware, By folk of simple mind and heart. And he that has it can not pass The secret on with gold or name; It vanishes like dew on grass, Or heat that hovers over flame. In books that man but little seeks, Neglected or forgotten long, This living essence dwells, and speaks In happy rhymes of deathless song. The subtlest of all mystic things, Tis strange indeed that it should be, When worn by poets, beggars, kings, The garment of Simplicity. 10 And you that seek it never find, And you that have it never tell; And all that strive to catch and bind Can only startle and dispel. 11 WIDE MARGINS T^RINT not my Book of Days, I pray, * On meager page, in type compact, Lest the Great Reader s calm eye stray Skippingly through from fact to fact; But let there be a liberal space, At least twixt lines where ill is writ, That I with tempering hand may trace A word to dull the edge of it. And save for me a margin wide Where I may scribble at my ease Elucidative note and guide Of most adroit apologies! CHORDS THOUGHTS of deep pine-woods and of chanting seas Follow the magic hand-touch on the keys ; Now tis the violins that loudest cry, And now in saddest key the cellos sigh. Blent with the lonely challenge of the horn, Echoed, in seeming, from some height forlorn. Again, the drums and viols with sullen roar Break with their sound-waves on the mind s dim shore, And sullenly die away. Tis then there come Out from the cymbal-clash and roll of drum Chords that are love and life, and even the sharp, Hard pain of death chords of the golden harp. 13 THE WIND PATROL NO guard ventures to ask toll Of the wind s midnight patrol, And no eyes, however keen, Have its flying legion seen ; Yet a thousand times and one I have heard the vanguard run! In the peaceful summer night Or when snows lie cold and white, From their far unmapped abode, In contempt of beaten road Come the wind men like a breath, Fatefully and swift as Death. Sometimes with a battle clash Through the forest trees they dash; And at other times they creep Like a dream through vales of sleep. Now these midnight riders own Charms no daylight wind has known, Whether leaving in their wake Needful rain or soft snowflake, Or, the earliest night of spring, Waking all the sap to sing! Elms and beeches in my wood Long as guard for me have stood; But across their barricade Ride the wind men unafraid, And a fearful challenge roar As they charge my pane and door. Then, before the house grows still, They have gained the farthest hill Of my quiet valley s marge, Thence again to charge and charge ! 15 A PRAYER OF THE HILL-COUNTRY And the strength of the hills is his also. LIFT me, O Lord, above the level plain, Beyond the cities where life throbs and thrills, And in the cool airs let my spirit gain The stable strength and courage of Thy hills They are Thy secret dwelling-places, Lord! Like Thy majestic prophets, old and hoar, They stand assembled in divine accord, Thy sign of stablished power forevermore. Here peace finds refuge from ignoble wars, And faith, triumphant, builds in snow and rime, Near the broad highways of the greater stars, Above the tide-line of the seas of time. 16 Lead me yet farther, Lord, to peaks more clear, Until the clouds like shining meadows lie, Where through the deeps of silence I may hear The thunder of Thy legions marching by. 17 THE SPIRIT OF MOUNTAINS SPIRIT of mountains that elusive leaps From high-walled canon to unguarded height, Only the thought may follow your winged flight Where the swift torrent, down the rocky steeps, A flashing line of spray and vapor sweeps, And through dim caverns bears the noonday light Or in the august and tranquil summer night, Among cloud harbors where the lightning sleeps. Spirit of mountains! Freest of all free things, Let me the star-companioned ridges climb With heart as strong as the bold eagle s wings ! Guide me to those serener slopes where Time Less harsh the immelodious challenge rings, And song is truth, and truth is sweet like rhyme ! 18 THE PSALMS IN THE MOUNTAINS IN the great ocean s thunder I heard the old songs ring, I heard them in the prairies Amid the grasses sing; The murmur of the pine-wood With Israel s hymns was sweet, And through the little hills I heard Their solemn rhythm beat. But oh, twas in the mountains Their mystery held me thrall! Where the four winds of heaven Sent forth their challenge call, With martial trumpets thrilling The rough-hewn brawny range, And through dark canons chanting The spirit of all change. 19 The cattle of the foot-hills In gathering snow stood deep ; The shepherds through white meadows Went stumbling for their sheep; And where the lonely hamlet Slept neath stern mountain walls, The winds across the darkness Sang hoarse antiphonals. Twas Zion s heart melodious That woke the solemn height, Till loud the ancient hymnal Made glorious the night; Far-sounding notes of triumph To grief and wailing ran, As Nature s voices uttered The cry of God to man. IN THE GREAT PASTURES Our cattle also shall go with us. Exodus X, 26. WHEN the grave twilight moves toward the west, And the horizons of the plain are blurred, I watch, on gradual slope and foot-hill crest, The dark line of the herd. And something primal through my being thrills, For that line met the night when life began! And cattle gathered from a thousand hills Have kept the trail with man, Till their calm eyes his greater Iliads hold; The wonder-look, the dumb reproof and pain, Have followed him since Abram s herds of old Darkened the Asian plain. A SHADOW OF THE ROCKIES Y I iHE mountains from my window lie out- A rolled, Their solemn peaks with coronals of snow O er which the fires of dawn and sunset flow, And keen, high ridges by fierce winds patrolled. With evening comes a mighty shadow cold Across my doorway as the sun sinks low, And, high above, the loftier summits show Faint, as the twilight tames their outlines bold. Then from the heights the spirit of repose Steals earthward, with the peace that long has lain Secure amid the deep, untrodden snows A shadow stream, for which my soul is fain, That from the towering peak of silence flows, And pours its balm upon the toiling plain. SIMPLICITY IF power were mine to wield control Of Time within my heart and soul, Saving from ruin and decay What I hold dearest, I should pray: That I may never cease to be Wooed daily by Expectancy ; That evening shadows in mine eyes Dim not the light of new surprise; That I may feel, till life be spent, Each day the sweet bewilderment Of fresh delight in simple things, In snowy winters, golden springs, And quicker heart-beats at the thought Of all the good that man has wrought. But may I never face a dawn With all the awe and wonder gone, Or in late twilight fail to see Charm in the stars old sorcery. AN APRIL EASTER r | iHE sun has brought his golden keys " And opened wide the doors of spring, Till earth s a-thrill with mysteries Of breaking bud and eager wing. I know not where spring s miracle In the glad mold was earliest wrought, No more by striving may men tell What first was in His holy thought When the light seal of sleep He broke, And in the darkened sepulcher Once more to human sense awoke, And felt the life within Him stir. ASPHODEL ONE night while loitering in some grove of sleep I saw a hand mysterious unbar A gate, that from my heavy eyes did keep A raging battle in a region far. Then bugles sounded, and within my dream, But yet distinct, insistent, came the roar Of that strange conflict and the sudden gleam Of weapons that a myriad warriors bore And on that dust-blurred field With sturdy hand did wield. Cool was the wood In which I stood Intent upon that heated plain, and sweet Were the dew-laden flowers about my feet, 25 Sky-woven violets and moonflowers wan, Roses and hyacinths whereon ne er fell The rival hues of any new day s dawn, And oh, the asphodel, the asphodel! "Ah, but for power to pass that open gate And for the strength to break this hated spell, And praying thus I strove against the fate That held me prisoner to the asphodel. "Why must I see afar the battle rage And not be of the armies there that wage Such glorious conflict?" And I sought again To leave that quiet wood and its soft air For the fierce ventures of the shaken plain; But the gate closed before my wondering eyes, Leaving me gaping, like a child whose hand Aids in a trick beyond his vague surmise, Vexed with himself, yet fain to understand. Then from dream s thrall set free, I slowly turned, but yet contentedly, To the deep odorous wood With its sweet solitude; Its roses, hyacinths and lorn, Meek moonflowers, fearful of the morn, And oh, I loved it long and well! The asphodel, the asphodel! If you were keeper of that gate, if you, My friend, could give me entrance to that field That I thereon some valorous deed might do, So fame to me would yield Reward of honor and of gold, Would you the way unfold, Or I be left my little while to dwell A neighbor of the asphodel? TO A DEBUTANTE YOUR dreams have never known a world so fair As this reality of joy and light; The springs that o er your head have winged swift flight Steal back again with all their fragrance rare Of May-time blossoms. On the happy air, Viol and harp and horn their burden bright Add to the charm of this enchantment night, That finds you queen, with none your reign to share. But through the music s careless march and swing, Beyond these dancers forms that drift and sway, I hear for you a graver measure ring Where, far along on your appointed way, A girl s heart to a woman s task you bring, Serene and pure, amid the troubled day. 28 LOVE S MUSIC T OVE S music is not set in simple keys * * Of jingling catches and light melodies, But rings in deeper, mightier chords than these. Through marvelous symphonies it ebbs and flows, In choral storms, with martial power it blows, And chants in solemn oratorios. Like hymns of victory are its pure chords blown, Or like a bugle s notes that rise alone And call, beyond man s thought, to Death s far zone. Its strength is more mysterious than the tides, As, unresisted, through the soul it rides, Until in Memory s quiet haven it bides. 29 WEST NORTH, east, south, west, tis thus geog raphers Bound the known earth and for the unknown make quest; But I, remembering each sweet way of hers, Look only west. And less reluctant now that she has gone, The golden sun goes down its arching way, Bearing to her the welcome light of dawn And the new day. Such peace, such calm as hers they only find Who know life and its surging waters wide, Who dare the deeps and shoals of soul and mind At the supremest tide. 30 So as each eve the western windows grow Bright in the dying rays and discords cease. The thought of her becomes an afterglow Of joy, calm, peace. ESCHEAT TO my estate no heirs succeed; When I have done with it no man Shall find it suited to his need, Adapted to his plan. The walls for me were built, and when I close the door and turn the key No one shall enter there again, Or rule in place of me. This house is all I own; though poor It shelters me, and many a storm Has passed it, leaving all secure, The inner hearthstone warm. But after me no eager kin Shall hold my former house in pride; No enemy shall enter in As tenant to abide. The friendly earth is good and sweet And kindly to its heart will draw Estates like mine when they escheat By nature s changeless law. 33 SHADOW LINES WHEN slow the brooding dark around you falls, Save only as the lamp s rose-mellowed light Burns through it, but without dispelling quite Trembling along the dim and shadowy walls What fleeting spirit of the evening calls? What songs come stealing to you through the night Along the vistas of brave fancy s flight What story steals from old Romance s halls? I can not fathom what these things to you May bring; nor what sad thoughts to you belong ; Nor know I whether rosemary or rue Awaits you here or there; the path is long And some things must be false and some be true And sad strains must be woven in the song. 34 YOUTH AND WINTER WHEN summer days are long and sweet The maples that o erarch my street, My linden and the crimson rose That round my southern window glows, Efface the outer world for me, Scarce past the vine-clasped wall I see, Nor longer flight my eyes are led Than to my neighbor s canna bed! But when the leaves have vanished quite New vistas broaden to my sight; December s broken arches give Visions less faint and fugitive Of Mabel, Grace and Josephine, Who have not yet known seventeen! Of Gwendolen, a few years more In her brief audit I must score! And Nora, she whose teasing eyes Make wisdom futile, and unwise! Ah, easy tis in summertime Within to find thoughts winged for rhyme; But when the skies are gray and cold And all the summer s tales are told, My eyes leap eagerly to greet Youth down the long aisles of the street. From Mabel, Josephine and Grace My pulse derives a quickened pace; Hope s vanished hours grow gold again Whenever I see Gwendolen ; And age-won wisdom meetly flies From Nora of the teasing eyes. "IN WINTER I WAS BORN" In winter I was born, So all my years I ve loved the frost and snow And the strong, tireless winds that, passing, blow A battle note forlorn. I love the year s long night. The tumult of great storms, the biting air Make my heart s summertime, when days are fair And yield me true delight. In winter I was born, And as I came so let me pass away, Out from the world on a December day When the delaying morn In the far east shall creep Last time for me; then let the winds I love Come from their far-off homes and sing above The place where I shall sleep. 38 THE WINTER WIND IN THE ROCKIES s NOW-crowned the mighty Babels round me rise! Long the rude towers and battlements have rung With furious speech, in many a thunderous tongue, Till a fierce clamor fills the wondering skies. Anon, when the discordant chorus dies, Low oratorios to the plains are sung, Voicing the ages when these peaks were young And echoed first the wind s confused cries. Hark! How at midnight the tumultuous throng Blend their harsh dissonance in one deep roar Whose note through lonely canons wanders long Hymning the north s withholden splendors hoar, Chanting the stilled sea and the imprisoned shore, With twice a thousand winters in their song! 40 GOD SAVE THE STATE! ASK of me not that in the loud acclaim I join, to laud the day s victorious name, Whether your choice or mine, though I am prone To plead inexorably for my own, And flout your creed as false, proclaim mine wise. Yet not with man or cause the triumph lies, For what has been established, what disproved? In the November midnight I am moved Less by exultant shouts that o er the town Herald the chief new-laureled for renown, Than by the thought that, safe from strife and hate, August, serene, triumphant lives the State, Immutable and steadfast like the hills! Though over it a thousand warring wills Storm fitfully, they only prove it strong. And you and I, who prate of error and wrong, Hear many a challenge neath the citadel While the calm sentry answers "All is well," And starward lifts his eyes! Man s faith in man Remains the secret still of God s great plan Whereof He gave to us the golden key That seals our covenant with Liberty And makes her holy ark for aye our own, To hold for Man and not for men alone! Your hand, my friend! The heavens decree our fate; Who loses or who wins, God save the State ! November, 1904. THE EARTH WITH gathering years the earth has not grown tame, In man s firm clasp a mere imprisoned ball, Though conquering feet have trodden nearly all, And even the uncharted has received a name; There still loom heights deserving of man s aim; Forbidding isles still lie beyond his thrall; The silent Polar doors heed not his call, And inmost tropic wilds he scarce dare claim. Yet, when at last the globe is mastered quite, And prying man has left no inch unscanned, He still must pause before earth s moods of might That lift the sea and toss the desert sand, That set the dread volcano s torch alight, And send strange tremors through the startled land. 43 AN OLD GUIDON THROUGH this torn scarf my father s hand Set, mid the battle s thunderings, More truly I can understand The strifes of ancient chiefs and kings. Faintly to-day Thermopylae In song and story clangs and rings; Shiloh and Kenesaw bring me Nearer to all heroic things. THE HEART OF THE BUGLE T HAVE heard the bugle blown * Where the southern seas make moan ; And have followed east and west At its trumpeted behest; By the mighty mountains marge I have heard it sing the charge, Till old battles in my blood Were a mighty tide at flood O bugle! I have seen the bugler stand With the trumpet in his hand, When the winter s dawn-light gray Brought again reluctant day, Very silent, very lone, With the whole world for his own, Till he woke it with a note From the brazen trumpet s throat O bugle! 45 Then I saw old battles fade Far across the dim parade, And a thousand knights went by Like a moving tapestry; Old crusaders riding fast Down dark vistas of the past, Worn and broken in their mail While the bugle sang them hail O bugle! As within the fort s grim bound Swift the bugler made his round, Dawn and youth were in the call That he sent from wall to wall! I saw Troy and Marathon In the faint light of the dawn; Battles old and battles new Agincourt and Waterloo O bugle! Now my blood more swiftly beats Victories and brave defeats; 46 Shiloh passes and I see Swing in place a battery With plunging horses seared and scourged, By an undaunted leader urged, And in that smoke-hung, fire-swept place I see through tears my father s face O bugle! SHILOH THOUGH the blest winds of peace down the highways are blowing, And blithe birds are singing where bullets once sped; Though the wheat and the corn on the old fields are growing The ground is still hallowed by blood of the dead. O battery boys, can you hear it, the roaring Of great iron engines along the gray lines? The bugles sing sweetly; the eagle is soaring Where on the far borders your old guidon shines. On the lumbering caissons you rode to your glory ; The lanyards were latch-strings that opened to fame! 48 While the rolling discharges gave rhythm to your story, Your armor was woven of smoke blent with flame. Is it riven and faded, or is it still gleaming To mark, here the bivouac, and there, bat tle-lines ? Wind and sun have been kind, so that still in your dreaming On life s farthest margin the old guidon shines. 49 CUBA SHALL we who in the mighty west Set foot upon a king s decrees Let vulture Spain hide in her nest The fair pearl of the southern seas ? In selfish ease we watch the fight And say "How fine their battle-rage!" Yet, lending nothing of our might, We forfeit our own heritage. We mock the Briton s cautious plan Amid the Sultan s bloody work, But while we prate of love of man, May not the Spaniard match the Turk? We praised Kossuth. Mazzini s name And Garibaldi s warmed like wine; Remembering them, tis to our shame We aid not Cuba s wavering line! 60 I know not whether black or white They be who strive to make her free; They seek the sun at darkest night And prove their right to liberty. I know not whether black or white Nor care, since Lincoln s strong arm caught The curled whip o er the bondman s back And a wronged people s freedom wrought! A Latin people gave us aid And dared for us to break a lance; To Cuba let the debt be paid We owe to liberty and France! Hark! the long Caribbean wave Moans on the island beach and dies ; We, with our lion s strength to save, Feel the shame growing in our eyes. 51 No! we are not a coward land! A sword-flash with our sympathy ! Let us help rear, with practised hand, A new republic of the sea! January, 1898. "BLESS THOU THE GUNS" HID in earth s caverns deep, In the cold ores asleep, Or in the lightning s thrall, Force waits for Freedom s call! Out of Thy mountains old Thou gav st the iron we mold, And the stern, tempered steel To liberty we seal. May we Thy gifts of might Use well to serve the right; And may our solemn wrath Leave clear for peace a path Bless Thou the guns! Not worn with ancient hate We the first shock await; 53 Not that our Saxon kin Hemmed the Armada in, But that Thy word may be No empty prophecy ; That faith may rise, restored By the avenging sword, We out of peaceful ways Turn to the power that slays. Out of the battle s flame Lord, bring us free from blame Bless Thou the guns ! Lord, at our very door, Death clutches at Thy poor, And stricken liberty Raises her hand to Thee; Lord, tis our task to do If Thy own word be true! Thou who the bright stars blent In the flag s firmament Thou who to Freedom s hand Gav st the new western land, Thou who didst Israel lead Forth, free of Pharaoh s greed- Bless Thou the guns! April, 1898. 55 THE HORNS MY soul had died for joy what time The violin sang out alone, And requiem bells in solemn chime Grieved through the viol s moan. Then harp and cello led me on Through maze of tender harmonies, Beyond the hour, beyond the dawn, Beyond the utmost seas. But through that realm by music bound, Like a bold blast of freshening air, Sudden I heard the trumpets sound With harsh and militant blare. Then, as to Joshua s trumpet-call, Seven days repeated, Jericho Yielded its stern, reluctant wall, So were such dreams brought low; 56 And, their poor ruin quickly spurned, Into fierce conflict I was hurled, Where fields and cities brightly burned, And battle shook the world. BELLONA (Gerome s Statue) WHAT wanton bold, exultant in her shame, What monster art thou in this woman s guise? Think st thou with blatant shout the world to tame, Or awe man with thy terrible great eyes? Thou art Bellona, the fell scourge of earth, Who set st for man his false, ignoble goals; Thou the destroyer of love and bane of mirth, Thou the relentless trafficker in souls. Death s lure thou art, on his dark mischief bent, In splendor clad his livery gray to hide ; His cry thou bellowest from the battlement ; On ruddy fields before him thou dost ride. 58 Art thou so glorious? Are thy deeds so great? Canst thou awake earth s myriad slaughtered hosts, Or summon from the sea s unpillared gate Thy drowned armada-sepulcher of ghosts? I cower- not before thy shining blade Thou hold st upraised and bloodily dost wield; Nor fear the serpent that doth give thee aid, Nor shrink before the radiance of thy shield. Where thou destroy st I build; where thou dost blight My hands restore; I thy lorn thralls release; My pinions touch thy darkened world with light And healing for its wounds: Lo, I am Peace! 59 A TENANT T I ^HIS spirit with its boundaries wide * Is not my own to hold in fee; Through all my days therein I bide As one of God s great tenantry. Tis not as unsown fallow land To lie, the playground of wild weeds, But lent me from the Sovereign s hand To grow the fruitage of fair deeds. And I ill-pay His faith and trust If the field be but weakly tilled, Unsown the rich unbroken crust, Or sown in labor feebly-willed. But tis for me to tend my field Till white with harvest my life be, And I full-handed bring its yield In proof of honest tenancy. 60 NEW YEAR S COLLECT LORD, another year has wrought Changes with deep meaning fraught ; Give us larger understanding Of the lessons Thou hast taught. By Thy hand our stars were sent Forth into the firmament; Help us lift our starry guidon To the height of Thy intent! Slow in anger to condemn, May we Wrong s dull tide-wave stem With the righteous wrath of Sinai, And the love of Bethlehem! Oh, twere shameful if, at last, All forgetful of the past, We should weld in roaring forges Tyrant chains to bind us fast! 61 In our hearts let hatred cease, And tranquillity increase; Teach us that the God of Battles Is not less the God of Peace. It sufficeth not that we High before the world stand free, We must still with infinite striving O er ourselves the victors be! In our pride doth lurk defeat If with dragon-wrongs we treat; Strengthen us that, like Saint Michael, We may break them neath our feet! FROM BETHLEHEM TO CALVARY F 1ROM Bethlehem to Calvary, the Saviour s journey lay; Doubt, unbelief, scorn, fear and hate beset Him day by day, But in His heart He bore God s love that brightened all the way. O er the Judean hills He walked, serene and brave of soul, Seeking the beaten paths of men, touching and making whole, Dying at last for love of man, on Calvary s darkened knoll. 63 He went with patient step and slow, as one who scatters seed; Like a fierce hunger in His heart, He felt the world s great need, And the negations Moses gave He changed to loving deed. From Bethlehem to Calvary the world still fol lows on, Even as the halt and blind of old along His path were drawn; Through Calvary s clouds they seek the light that led Him to the dawn. MEA CULPA NCE I have seen you press against your heart A hand, in sudden pain; Oh! it was mine, the pain, the cruel smart! O Once, only, pain made shadow in your eyes My own were void of light, For they the seas are that reflect your skies. By day or night the clenching hand I see, And eyes by pain possessed; There is no other sight or thought for me. This penance ceaselessly I must withstand The pain in your sad eyes, And close against your heart the clenching hand. 65 NEWS SWIFT runners through the Mahdi s land Dart tirelessly to bear the word When first the hot Egyptian sand By some mysterious foe is blurred. Through listless tropic jungles speed Dark men, alert, intent and keen, Who bid their scattered tribesmen heed Some startling portent they have seen. Lithe island messengers ply deep Their paddles in the southern sea, When first on dim horizons creep Strange masted things of mystery. 66 Slow rousing from his night of days The Eskimo awakes, reborn, Hearing first time, in awed amaze, A gun salute the Arctic morn. O er desert sand and neath the sea The lightning s instant message goes, To tell the whole world speedily What now some lonely village knows. We scan the path outside the door By day and night, with eager eyes, And only things unknown before Can yield the charm of fresh surprise. The gossip of the world flies fast, The idlest rumors far are blown, And swiftly gathered to the past Are all the deeds an hour has known. 67 A c FOR A PIONEER S MEMORIAL CROSS the world the ceaseless march of man Has been through smoldering fires, left by the bold, Who first beyond the guarded outposts ran And saw with wondering eyes new lands un rolled Who built the hut in which a home began, And round a camp-fire s ashes broke the mold. 68 ORCHARDS BY THE SEA ALONG the northern coast they stand, These groups of rugged apple-trees, Grim outposts of the fruitful land, Defying winds and seas. The waves that beat the rocks below For long have shaken branch and root, Yet the gnarled boughs again will show Their meager yield of fruit. And inland apples, softly kissed On quiet boughs by dew and rain, Unflavored by the salt-sea mist, Untaught by the sea s pain, But tamely live, and never share Those secrets of the elder seas Once held inviolate by the fair Fruits of Hesperides. 69 IRELAND IRELAND, weary mother sitting, Lorn amid thy seas ; When shall thy far-scattered children Gather at thy knees? Thou art worn and old and broken, Thou art lean and cold, When shall they again assemble In thine island fold? They are aliens, they are wanderers, Driven far to roam, But with querulous voice thou call st them, Call st thy children home. Other lands thou gav st to freedom, Through thy dauntless sons; O er the round world they are buried Dead beneath their guns; 70 Seeking liberty thou sent st them Through far field and flood, But they may not fight thy battles, Shed for thee their blood! Other soil has known their valor, Willing heart and daring hand, But again thy voice is calling, Calling home to motherland. Thou art in thine age majestic, Queenly in thy rags, Like an eagle mother stricken In her native crags Who, in her riven place of nesting Sees by cruel hands far-flung Her new brood of fledgling eaglets, And cries fiercely for her young! Ah, thou, too, art lonely, dreaming In thy desolate home apart, Yet thy foes may break thy pinions, But they can not break thy heart! 71 Thou art still a royal mother By no child disowned; To thy loyal sons and daughters Thou art still enthroned! Let thy fingers, slow and feeble, That were once so quick and strong, Wake thy harp s note, that, exultant, Led of old a nation s song; And thy dimming eyes shall brighten Through the full-flood of thy tears, As thou hear st afar thy children Marching home across the years. WATCHING THE WORLD GO BY SWIFT as a meteor and as quickly gone A train of cars darts swiftly through the night, Scorning the woods and fields it hurries on, A thing of wrathful might. There, from a farmer s home a woman s eyes, Roused by the sudden jar and passing flare, Follow the speeding phantom till it dies An echo on the air. Narrow the life that always has been hers, The evening brings a longing to her breast ; Deep in her heart some aspiration stirs And mocks her soul s unrest. Her tasks are mean and endless as the days, And sometimes love can not repay all things; An instrument that, rudely touched, obeys, Becomes discordant strings. The train that followed in the headlight s flare, Bound for the city and a larger world, Made emphasis of her poor life of care, As from her sight it whirled. Thus from all lonely hearts the great earth rolls, Indifferent though one woman grieve and die; Along its iron track are many souls That watch the world go by. GRACE CHIMES EAD, kindly light," I heard the glad bells ring, And thought how God existeth everywhere; *Twas in a city strange that, sweetest thing! "Lead, kindly light," I heard the glad bells ring, And summer quickened in the heart of spring, For where the kind light leadeth all is fair. "Lead, kindly light," I heard the glad bells ring, And thought how God existeth everywhere. 75 DERELICT A HOPE once sailed me through the summer sea, And bravely through the waves I plowed my way ; The captain and his crew in praise of me Sang all the happy day. Forth on my spars the nimble seamen drew The snowy sheets to catch the sturdy breeze ; I thought, "How blest am I with captain, crew And willing sails like these." A great storm came and to my very heart I felt the shattering wind that charged and wheeled, Driving me into deeps no guiding chart Had ever yet revealed. 76 On calm sea meadows fell the gradual dawn ; Lifeless and helpless on the waves I lay, By winds and ocean currents guided on And with no hand to stay. For my good captain and his merry crew Abandoned me when, snapping like a reed, One tall mast fell; quick to their boats they flew Cowards in my dire need. My rudder does the waves behest, my keel Unheedf ully skims over hidden bars ; I answer not the noon sun s fierce appeal Nor challenges of stars. No longer matters it if storms prevail; Of my decrepitude the waves make sport; My decks will never hear a welcome hail From any wide-armed port. 77 Or far or near pass joyous peopled ships And gaze at me with strange distrustful eyes; Through fogs their pilots steer with tightened lips Lest my dread ghost arise. 78 o THE WAYWARD MUSE N pleasant days I m prone to shirk My well-planned hours of indoor work; I find that fleetly speeds the time, With no words caught in nets of rhyme. I see my muse (the inconstant fay!) Across the threshold dart away, And through the woodland disappear When first the breath of spring is here. On all the long, bright summer days She guides me through enchanted ways, Through meadows fair, by singing brooks, And scorns to speak of men or books ! 79 When autumn s golden days are brief, And earthward slants the withered leaf, She leads me down the street s long aisle Into the country, many a mile! But when the skies in gray are set And all our pleasant walks are wet; When keen winds blow and snows are deep, At home we twain our vigil keep. She sits there in the ingle-nook And dreams, or turns some mellow book, And tends my fire, or, happiest chance! Bends on my page her favoring glance. Now I am glad when I can see The summer skies arched over me, And glad, when bluebirds bring me news, To follow country ward the muse; 80 But well I love these golden times When from the fire I coax my rhymes; When in the flame of hickory wood I read new poems, sweet and good: For then I need not turn the key To keep my faithless muse with me; I need not threaten, then, nor scold, At home that errant girl to hold! For when the first thin snows appear, Her foot upon the step I hear, And she steals in with smiling face, Again to her remembered place, And in her peaceful corner croons Light-hearted songs of bloomy Junes, Or, haply, she and I together Send song-barbed shafts against the weather! 81 MEMORY THIS hour the fateful tide runs up the beach, As the sea wills it; It seeks each hollow loved of yesterday, Finds it, and fills it. UNMAPPED WHOSE hand shall limn the final chart, Complete, with every stream that flows, With pathways which the bold of heart Have trampled through the Polar snows? Perchance to-morrow s sun will shine On outposts by some desolate shore Where man s advancing picket-line Must pause and camp forevermore. E en now the wide-strewn island host Within the map s net has been drawn, And soon no mere adventurous boast Shall lure the tropic traveler on. 83 But when the maps are finished quite, And all the stranger world is known, Still shall abide the elusive light On coasts where Fancy s winds are blown. And fearless eyes for long may strain, And steady hands may guide the helm; But none may ever hope to gain The farthest shore of Fancy s realm. JOHN TYNDALL OBIIT DECEMBER 4, 1893 SERENE on cheerless seas he drove his bark, Skirting with dauntless heart the ignor ant shores; Crossed roaring reefs and set his finder s mark Beyond Imagination s open doors. The oldest mysteries of this spinning ball He solved, and at the door of Silence beat, Nor was dismayed by echoes of his call That broke afar, his purpose to defeat. 85 The potent elements of giant force, The heat and light girt on the earth s great tire He watched, as fast it flies its channeled course Along a daily changing track of fire. Nor as a dreamer who may vigil keep, Seeing the mighty planets spin afar, But with precision sounding deep on deep And linking to the lamp the golden star. High on the muffled line of ice and snow He sought where others had not dared to seek; There Knowledge made for him a new dawn s glow, Lighting his beacon at the farthest peak. 86 THE DEAD ARCHER MAURICE THOMPSON, OBIIT FEBRUARY 15, 1901 THROUGH what dim alleys of the wood Has he, the keen-eyed archer, gone? By what bright lakes and bubbling streams And o er what golden hills of dawn? Nor here nor there he gains the trail His eager feet have known of old, No eye may mark his careful track Printed upon the winter mold! Yet all the faint elusive things His spirit knew and counted good, Hark to the archer going forth Through the still, twilight-shadowed wood. And where afar the dying sun Burns in the west its fiery mark, Still with his song the archer goes, Unawed into the Greater Dark; 87 Nor knows that lie has crossed the line Long set to be the bound for men; Nor knows that when the long trail ends He never can return again! His woodman s craft at last has failed, At last the archer s eyes betray; His own song lures him down the path, His own song lights the darkening way! The echoes fainter fall and die, And grieving winds from cold seas blow, Moaning above the gathering dark: "It was not time for him to go!" For him there still was much to do To stay the audit hand of time, New bows to bend, new trails to seek, New songs to wed to mellow rhyme. 88 In youth the bugle s challenge note Had led him mid the clang of war, But happier he to roam the fields An archer and a troubadour! When clouds hung near and woods were gray In olden books renowned and wise, He learned the miracle that makes Bright pages of the dullest skies; And songs he gathered from o er seas With his own music woke and sang, Till through the unhindering western hills Hymns of immortal singers rang. But not in alien soil he sought The faded trappings of romance; He saw by western elm and beech Fresher enchantments flash and dance; 89 And dipped his blade and sped his shaft In valleys men have little known, Hearing faint chimes from elfland towers, Mingled with songs the wind had sown. His heart was like a bow of yew That nature tempers fine and strong, And from it the glad arrows went Keen with the music of his song. April her brimming cloud will bring, And May her odorous charm repeat, But here no more the happy grass Will leap beneath the archer s feet. Still, in far glades and by clear streams, Where soft airs blow and glad birds wing, The blithe, brave arrows of his song Through the bright weather fly and sing! 90 Spirits that guard the woodland paths, And lie in wait beside the streams, Lead him where he shall find anew Green meadows, and his morning dreams! 91 "SHE GATHERS ROSES" O WINTER night, O muffling snows, From dolorous mountain summits blown! So wild the night, so bleak and cold, Twas far to send a child alone ! But from our own poor watch and ward, And our weak aims and needs and fears, Her spirit sped and left behind The untouched harvest of her years. Blessed are they, who, old and worn, Across the threshold creep at last, With many a lingering glance behind At the gray shadow-peopled past! But thrice more blessed they who look Scarce through the door Time opens wide, Then back into the Father s arms, From earth s untranquil strivings hide. 92 And whether Heaven indeed may be A gated city, builded strong, That hath no need of stars or sun To light the beatific throng; Or whether in the home of spring The haven lie of flower and grass, O er which the elect with tranquil mien Through a perpetual morning pass, I know not, yet however fair May be God s hidden garden-lands, I know that there, with happy heart, She gathers roses in her hands. The autumn gave her, and her eyes Knew never s-pring s enchantment sweet, Nor saw the mighty summer stars Above the still earth throb and beat; 93 And yet she loved the light, and turned In childish wonder toward its glow, She loved the light ! and now has seen The light perpetual round her flow. Kingdom of Heaven, toward which we pray, Whether alight of sun or star, Kingdom of Heaven toward which we yearn, Tis there the little children are! They keep for us, secure and sweet, Youth, unassailed by winter s rime, And are a hostage given to be Our shield against the wars of time. And there amid the ways of peace, Through Christ s love-lighted garden-lands, She wanders with untroubled heart, And gathers roses in her hands. January 30, 1901. VOICES OF CHILDREN VOICES of children breaking On eve s delaying hour; Voices in low mirth calling From the dusky garden-bower; They mock the late robin s chanting, They call the young moon in glee, And through the sweet lingering twilight They steal in to me. Shy girl with your low glad laughter, Wee boy with your bubbling mirth, The odorous garden around you Is a playground twixt Heaven and earth! And what can I do to keep you, O sweetest and dearest twain, Ignorant of earth s harsh discords And free of its stress and pain? 95 Soft treble and golden laughter Fall faint through the starry eve; And the robin in the maple Wings home and ceases to grieve ; While with drowsy step and reluctant To their cots the children climb, Their throats still bubbling laughter And their lips still murmuring rhyme. I turn away to the garden Their good night sweet in my ears, And ponder and dream and wonder At the mist-veiled tide of years; Ah! if only the mirth and laughter From their hearts might never die; If the sweet, shy awe and wonder In their gaze might always lie! But the slim, young moon fades westward; The night wind murmurs low, And above me the planets question What man nor star may know. AT THE MONUMENT MY little child about the Monument, Climbs with slow step and awed and wondering eyes, And in soft treble questions me and tries To gather something of the shaft s intent. And as on me her trusting gaze is bent And she repeats her many "whens" and "whys," She hears, as of some fable of the skies, Why the gray column toward the heavens is sent. And I am moved, thinking how tales of wars Mean not so much to her as foolish rhyme In her sweet ignorance of wounds and scars ! This is a plot to play in for a time, The shaft a mighty pillar of the stars With easy steps for baby feet to climb! 97 MARJORIE A^" arch of blue above a quiet lake, And still low shores where languid rip ples break: In quiet deeps of wood the brooding June Watches the shadows of late afternoon, And o er the water idle swallows slip With startled cries, to find their wings adrip ! But pleasantest of all it is to see There, in the swaying hammock, Marjorie, Repeating rhythmic tales the while her eyes Mirror the lake, the wood, the shore, the skies. Her grave voice leads afar through golden ways Up sunny slopes among the fair dream days, Where trumpets faintly blow from guarded walls And Youth (or Marjorie!) the answer calls. 98 HORATIO AT ELSINORE THERE is no luck at Elsinore Since death came by and barred the door. None enters now save ghost of thee, (And ghosts of every lock make free!) The bat and owl now rule alone, And spiders weave about the throne; Never has there been any rest Since jealous hate was here a guest; And never more shall prince or king Know love, or any kindly thing; So through the chilling autumn rain I call, and do not call in vain, Good night, sweet Prince! The watchman in the lonely tower Calls plaintively the passing hour, And I who walk the parapet, My face with autumn rain made wet, Have bartered all my hopes for fears, My future days for vanished years. 99 I I alone at night may stand Where once the Prince held fast my hand, Or walk, where once as brothers twain We walked, and shall not walk again; And dreaming thus I cry to him, Across the Deathland s border dim, Good night, sweet Prince! I promised that the world should know The wretched crimes that wrought his woe; And long to dull, unwilling ears Have I discoursed, and known the jeers Of doubt or mere contempt. I pause At last, and leave my dead friend s cause! I know that it is well with him Beyond the Deathland s border dim. Though luck be not at Elsinore Her shame and wrong touch him no more. So through the cheerless autumn rain I cry, and do not cry in vain Good night, sweet Prince! 100 LABOR AND ART WITH bits of metal, ivory and wood Man makes an instrument and calls it good; But he that wrought with joy the fair design Can not evoke the hidden chords divine. 101 THE BLIND BOYS I SAW three blind boys in the park at play, Piling with murmurous glee The new-fallen leaves that round about them lay, And rearing them in forms they could not see. Their sealed eyes had not known The spring s leaves when new-blown, Caught high on boughs they might not hold or touch, Yet they found sweet These poor, dead, crumpled things about their feet. And passing them thus, I thought That from the fair green tree of life not much Is ever within sight or touch Through the bright springs and summers of our years, We, too, are blind! The blindness of weak faith and idle fears, And reaching we scarce find The budding leaves when they are young and sweet, And gain them only at last When on the earth about us they are cast To be a worthless plaything neath our feet. 103 IN THE STREET 1MET a dusky foreign woman, young And curiously dressed, With quaint coins hung Above the yellow kerchief on her breast; And by her side A little child, dark-eyed, Clutching some foolish plaything in its hand. Such then, I thought, as these We pick as flotsam from the ancient seas, The tossed and helpless straws upon the flood- And bring to this new land, To share what we have wrought with Saxon blood. And you, with pedagogic lore, Insistent that we close the great wide-open door, Chide me not in hard supercilious tone! 104 I am as proud as you Of Saxon liberty and Saxon law, Promised of old and by our hands reared true, Yet would not stand apart While under Pharaoh other peoples moan. That half-barbaric child With fear and awe Of long-dead Caesars lurking in its heart, God does not quite disown, And we are weak if we may be defiled! 105 MIRIAM: AT A CONCERT WHEN the great chords with mighty tumult rose, Far-borne upon the trumpets brazen cry, While the sad cellos mourned and over all As from spring meadows sang the violins; When on dim shadowy frontiers the soul heard Not sound nor melody nor taunting theme, But challenge from a fairer world than ours, Twas then I saw you through the listening throng, Lips parted, dark eyes wondering and grave, Head reverently bent and fingers clasped To stay their trembling. What did you behold On those near coasts of golden harmonies? Did Israel s fallen harp wake in your blood A hymn of glorious deeds on sacred plains? Heard you the crash of trumpet-shaken walls, 106 Or, neath the moan of viols and call of drums, The hosts of Zion clanging forth to war? Ah me! Your snowy throat breaks in a sob And tears are bright in your dream-haunted eyes As the bold chords climb to the heights and die; For you have seen a world-old pageant pass, And the dumb sorrows of a thousand years Have clutched your simple girl-heart; you have known The ghetto s squalor, cringed beneath the knout, Flinched at the bargains of the market-place, But heard from Time s gray gulfs the ring ing voice Of Deborah, lifting Israel s fallen spears, Marshaling the starry hosts gainst Sisera! 107 AILEEN THE gods were sad the night that she was born: The faery lights shone over darkling moors, And voices whispering through the lonely hills Stole seaward to dark shores and told the waves, And wave and star conferred in wonderment. The gods were sad the night that she was born. She sang to-night, and in her voice I heard Those whispers and those voices and beheld The faery lights, and from the plaintive shore Saw wave and star commune. . . . She does not know How in her eyes the ancient marvels burn, Or that the dreams flow in her blood like stars 108 On quiet floods by night. There at the harp Her voice caught up the centuries in a song As old as heartache and as young as morn; And armour rang and spears were glad with blood . . . Ah me! Those eyes, that voice, that eerie cry! The gods were sad the night that she was born! 109 TO THE SEASONS SEASONS that pass me by in varied mood, As on the imaging land you leave a trace, Molding sometime a delicate flower s sweet face, Touching again with green the somber wood, Or drawing all beneath a snowy hood, Am I not worthy as they to find a place In your remembrance? Am I made too base To know what weed and thorn have understood? Fair vernal time, I need your quickening Even as the sleeping earth! O summer heat, Make flower and fruit in me that I may bring Full hands to autumn when above me beat The serious winds; and winter, make me strong Like the glad music of your battle song! 110 Poems M11U219 953 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY