LJ THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR WITH OTHER POEMS BY HARVEY MAITLAND WATTS PHILADELPHIA THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY 1911 35H5 I Copyright, 1911, by HARVEY M. WATTS Acknowledgment is made to The Century., Scribner s, Lippincott s, Ainslee s, The Critic, The Philadel phia Press, for permission torepub- lish poems appearing in their pages. TO I write; you inspire. Well if merit be mine, Whose art is the higher, Since beauty is thine? Do men praise the glass That reflects, when the real Is at hand to surpass And embody th ideal? I write; you inspire, If the taut string be mine, And heart, sounding lyre, Well the music is thine ! TABLE OF CONTENTS PAGE IN THE CITY IN THE COUNTRY . . 13 FROM AN AEROPLANE 15 STAINED GLASS 16 FOR SALE FACTORY SITES ... 17 IN MARCH 19 AURORA URBIS 20 CAPE ANN 21 NIGHT PIECE (Boston from Blue Hill) 23 IN APRIL 24 THE EQUINOX 25 IN MAY 27 To A BUTTERFLY IN THE CITY . 28 IN JUNE 30 THE GATEWAY 31 IN JULY 33 NIGHT PIECE (Summer in the City) 34 REVERIE 35 IN AUGUST 37 STREET PICTURE 38 MARIGOLDS IN NOVEMBER ... 40 AT CLOSE OF DAY 42 TABLE OF CONTENTS PAGE THE REPLY OF GIGADIBS 45 THE REPLY OF GIGADIBS .... 47 SONGS AND SONNETS 67 To AN AMERICAN BEAUTY ... 69 FOR ST. VALENTINE S DAY ... 70 FOR THE SPRINGTIME 71 COMMUNION 72 EVENSONG 73 UNAWARES 75 AT THE RECITAL 76 FASCINATION 78 Too LATE 79 AD UNAM 81 To AEOLUS (A Song of Seasons) . 82 UNIDENTIFIED 85 IN AFTER YEARS 87 AT HARVARD 89 FOR THE WINTERTIME 90 THE MEMORY OF THE GREAT . 91 FOR THE DEDICATION OF A HALL OF SCIENCE 92 To A ROADSIDE CEDAR .... 93 REVELATION 94 FRIENDSHIP 96 LOVE AND DEATH 97 TABLE OF CONTENTS PAGE SONGS AND SONNETS Continued AT THE STATE HOUSE 98 WHEN ABSENT 99 AFTER HEARING DVORAK S E MINOR 100 AWAKENED! 101 THE ELECT 103 UNRECONCILED 104 IMPRESSIONS OF NEW YORK . . . .107 IMPRESSIONS OF NEW YORK . .109 AMERICA A TRIPTYCH 115 AMERICA (A Triptych] 117 To CANADA AND KIPLING . . .120 FROM THE OTHER SIDE 121 IN VENICE 123 UNDER THE DOME OF THE IN- VALIDES 125 MONA LISA 126 IN COLOGNE CATHEDRAL .... 127 IN A NORTH GERMAN WOODLAND 128 TANNHAUSER S CASTLE 129 IN FRANCE (Souvenir of the Midi} 130 IN ITALY (Temple of Diana) . . 132 IN THE GARDEN OF GALILEO . .134 AT ST. PETER S . 135 TABLE OF CONTENT FROM THE OTHER SIDE Continued THE GREEK TEMPLES AT PAESTUM 136 ROME (Six Sonnets} 137 HUMORESQUE 143 HUMPTY-DUMPTY 145 A LINE OR So IN VARYING MOODS . 151 EVENING 153 MOONRISE AT SEA 153 FATE 154 DULLARDS 154 WHEN AMONG FOOLS 155 LOVE S SOLSTICE 155 ACQUAINTED 156 THE OLD DOOR KNOCKER . . . 156 PORTENTS 157 ACOUSTICS 157 THE BURIAL 158 CONTRAST 158 INEVITABLE 159 REAPING 159 SUCCESSFUL 160 CONFESSIO 161 CHOICE 162 MEASUREMENT 163 ON NE BADINE PAS . 164 TABLE OF CONTENTS PAGE A LINE OR So Continued BALLAD 166 LULLABY 168 WHEN VENUS VIES 170 TIME WHO CARES 171 HUNGER; OR, "THE BREAD OF LIFE". 173 HUNGER; OR, "THE BREAD OF LIFE" 175 PARAPHRASES 189 UEBER ALLEN GIPFELN . . . . 191 ON DRINKING 192 LA BONNE CHANSON 193 LA BOURREE 194 THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR 197 THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR 199 [xi] IN THE CITY IN THE COUNTRY FROM AN AEROPLANE FROM these swift planes, the earth whose myriads creep In insect guise below these new delights- Reveals enacred paves in changing flights; Glory unknown of old to storied steep, Though from high Pharos stretched the empurpled deep When Rome, a golden shimmer from the heights, Vied with the memoried ivory sheen of lights Of Athens neath the moon, or Corinth s sweep : For toiling upward man did e er aspire With ramp and vault to set his seal on high ; And in this newer realm the older leaven As when was fettered Jove s disrupting fire Works marvel! lo, athwart the vast of sky Disdainful at the very gates of Heaven! [15] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR "STAINED GLASS" (A Winter Sunset) A SHIMMER of fire in the sunset lanes, One star in the dying glow; A glory of gold on the flashing panes, All gem-embossed the snow. And etched on the melting amethyst, Swart lines of the ebon spires On the ridge where the cedars keep their tryst, And the north wind seldom tires. A rising arc on the eastern marge, Deep blue in a hectic flush, The dusky trail of the earth s vast targe; Sudden the evening hush. A final gleam in the dulling west, One gleam, and the night s broad pall, Silver en wrought, flings free Then rest: The dark is over all. WITH OTHER POEMS "FOR SALE FACTORY SITES" (On the City s Edge) If | A WAS here the anemone heard the call of Spring, The brook ran limpid and the fields, a-flower With gold and purple at the year s last hour, Were strewn as if for fairy welcoming. But now the reaches with harsh noises ring Of grinding wheels where whispering aspens grew, And, where their spires of green once cut the blue, Tall chimneys belch with sudden flame and fling Their smoky banners, while the brook s scant bed Shudders from searing touch of slag-lined lea; For lo, the woods and wilds are gone fore er Yet hold regret! Youth s Dryad dream is dead, [17] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR But all these throbbing steam-torn notes declare Dominion! earth and its deeps in human fee! [18] WITH OTHER POEMS IN MARCH THE rushing waters fill the brook, The sap is in the tree, The Whitlow-grass in sunny nook, Looks up at you and me! The frosty frown of winter s gone, The earth s in melting mood. Shall we untouched remain alone In self s chill servitude? No, no; like birdlings in the dell, Gleeful in springtide bout, Each with his mate, since all is well, We ll join the merry rout! [19] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR AURORA URBIS A" A IS not the elemental fitful gleam That gives a beacon to the ice- bound night, In drifting splendor at supernal height, Aloof from earth and man; ah no, this beam That tints the tell-tale clouds reveals the stream Of life, hot-blooded in the pent-up streets, Whose many-starred Shekinah boldly greets The dark with radiant contempt. We dream Of other days; of marvels, wonders, wrought Since man, freed from the beast that bound, first fared A-field, and rock gushed metal at the call Of Tubal Cain. But all the Past e er dared Before this glowing miracle is naught: Force serves, and Art enthroned is over all. [20] WITH OTHER POEMS CAPE ANN (Grapevine Cove East Gloucester} HE scent of roses o er the down, T The cool breath of the sea, Green paths where granite masses frown In gray severity. The waves, reluctant, scarcely seem To beat upon the shore, But, languid as a summer dream, Babble of Nereid lore. One reach of blue the morning sky, The eve all opaline, Save where the half-moon rides on high And trails a silvern sheen. The thrush is in the apple-tree, The lanes re-echo song, The bell-buoy s mournful minstrelsy The drifting winds prolong. [21] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR Here, far away from din of town, Is sweet serenity, With scent of roses o er the down, And cool breath of the sea. [22] WITH OTHER POEMS NIGHT PIECE (Boston from Blue Hill) FROM this roof tower all fairyland in sight! Toy constellations spilled among the trees, Revealed, snuffed out by whimsies of the breeze, Soft glint and gleam of distant city light! Lo ! there, by magic of mechanic might, Dark imitates the wont of garish day, Blots out the stars, and of its kindly ray Bereaves the moon, defying fall of night. But here the olden glory reigns supreme; Above the dead horizon, living sky! And, as in awe its massy drift we scan, A circling maze of myriad suns astream, Whose black abysses mark immensity How small yon mole hill seems, how petty man! 123] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR IN APRIL THE maple with its coral spray, Splashes the woodland edge; The line of unawakened gray Is washed by the greening sedge. The soft clouds drag the topmost hill, The slope is flower be-sprent, With life and love astir what ill? Look up and be content! [24] WITH OTHER POEMS THE EQUINOX (Spring in the City} THE desert streets knew naught of living green Though buds were bursting on the upland slope. Of Spring the dusty reach gave little hope, Nor walls unending, gray and grim of mien; But lo, the imperious sun of yestere en With equinoctial splendor smote the air Whilst highways golden paved, and win dows, rare With jacinth hues aflame, transformed the scene, And crimson glory limned the embattled west As burning fervor spread where erst the thrall Of commonplace held ways and men. A sign [26] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR Of souls inspired, who once the mean possessed, Yet, caught the ray of Love s deep fire, recall Life s halcyon days, reflect a light divine. 126] WITH OTHER POEMS IN MAY A NODDING smile, at every turn, Hardest of hearts unlocks Where croziered fronds of silvery fern Shepherd the violet flocks ; And mid-air dogwood drifts of snow Repeat the bluets spread below. At dusk, the lacery of green, Curtains the glowing west, As lonely thrushes sing and preen Upon the poplar s crest; And scented winds go sweeping by Whisp ring a summer lullaby. Sudden the change since all was bare, Seared with the winter s strife; Oh, that my quickened soul might share This swift rebound of life; Exult with joyous things of day As skies and woods proclaim the May ! 127] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR TO A BUTTERFLY IN THE CITY A OWN the blistering lanes of sculp tured stone, Whose towering fronts mark out the Midas bowers, Through sun-baked highways in the noon tide hours, O er glare of pave where jostling thousands groan For silent stretch of woodland- shade, alone, Or quietude of nook where brooklets sing, Thou flutterest, beauteous, on inconstant wing, Whilst commerce rales in hoarse, unchang ing drone. O, lost on Trade s uncouth, far-reaching strand That knows not banks a-flower, nor ripened bough, Nor wind-blown reach where all is fair and free [28] WITH OTHER POEMS Bright symbol of the poet s thoughts art thou, Bearing to men engrossed in merchantry Enchanting hint of far Arcadian land. [29] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR IN JUNE SOFT incense from the resined yews, The sun, entangled in the grass, With touch of passion hope renews; Desires will come to pass! The rose and grape, in happy strife, Yield odors, rare, beyond all art; Tis "open sesame" for life, And joy is at the heart! [30] WITH OTHER POEMS THE GATEWAY AFTER THE BATHS OF ROME (The Pennsylvania Railroad Station, New York) WHAT Rome in sheer abandonment of pride Flung free on high for Purple Ease a lair, Fretted with gold, a-gleam with spoils most rare, Here, to a nobler use soars purified. While from its silent depths controlled glide The slaving monsters as the people fare Of all things past the free, resplendent heir Holding the earth in leash with naught untried. Lo, neath these vaultings how oblivion sweeps The older portals ! What the Golden Horn? Or Venice, dreaming where soft waters swoon? [31] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR Or Atlas towering o er gray ocean s deep? Here, where this titan gateway greets the morn Glad millions press to life s exultant noon! [32] WITH OTHER POEMS IN JULY THE sun streams through a yellow haze, The topmost trees are still, The bank, with drooping phlox ablaze, Quivers beneath his will! The straw glows in the mow-heaped pyre, The pebbled spring runs dry, The far horizon s white with fire; Blue flame the very sky ! Cloudless the unrelenting day Burns to the set of sun; And night, fierce-passioned, holds its sway After one s work is done! [33] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR NIGHT PIECE (Summer in the City) THE stupid canopy of heaven hangs low Thick with the city s murk. Above the pave The Babel towers lift a narrowed nave, Whilst, deep embowelled, furnace openings glow On steaming forms, as stifling currents flow In reeking lair, the modern dragon cave ! For, mastering all but fate, man dare not save Himself the burden, nor the arm the blow. Goaded, he struggles in the sweaty hope That nature cowed, new heights attained, come peace And softer outlook o er some nobler scene. Ah, God, with baser things we more than cope, Yet, world in hand, toil on without surcease, To lose, in gaining all, the life serene! [34] WITH OTHER POEMS REVERIE (August on Conanicut) THE scented heath breaks rock-riven to the shore, The sea is still; The drowsy winds drift through the vine- clad door, And have their will Of downs a-flower and beach with tide-loot strewn, Whilst all the mist-touched coves where waters droon Quiver to dreamland under the August moon; A witching dreamland under the August moon, The August moon! Across the filmy path of light-tipped waves My fancy flies To silvern distance where the spirit craves Some glad surprise, [35 THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR And, of the hidden, asks but one sweet boon Love in lone life, as night winds croon And seas are magic under the August moon; All molten magic under the August moon, The August moon! [36] WITH OTHER POEMS IN AUGUST BY graveled roadside at the edge The creeping vine s white trum pets blare, Signaling across to tawny ledge Where orange milkweed blossoms flare. And, near the wood where reeds are lush, The roseate mallows riot free, Where regal lilies in the hush Of melting noons droop gracefully. At eve the insect myriads fill The fruiting fields with strident lay, And sultry night hours loudly shrill With echoes of the vocal day. [37] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR STREET PICTURE (The Reverie of the Blind) NO break of dawn with roseate hue Foretells the day to ravished eyes; Nor does the glowing noon review The flight of time, nor even s skies When all the street is color strown. Ah no, in one gray monotone The hours waste. I wait, alone. All day long here A coin in cup ? you hear my cry. For life to me is but the rush and rustle of the passers by. No doubt Madonna faces cheer, As tributes paid to wretchedness, Or painted Vice gives sidelong leer, Full mindful of the world s harsh stress. While Wealth, encoached, in noisy show Goes whirling by, the poor, who know The brotherhood of common woe, [38] WITH OTHER POEMS Drop in their mite, May God be kind! as loud I cry. For life to me is but the rush and rustle of the passers by. At times the shouts of crowding throng Proclaim some spectacle of state. Forgotten, while exult the strong, I catch the undertone of fate : Men come, men go, the mob s the same The plaudits go to place and name, And tramp of thousands echoes fame. To-day they press, to-morrow, curse Ah, hear my cry! For life to me is but the rush and rustle of the passers by. [39] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAB MARIGOLDS IN NOVEMBER YELLOW filched from gorgeous noons, Orange of the setting sun, Here a splash of warm maroons Seen before the night s begun: Though the air is bleak and cold You are laughing, marigold. Frost has touched the Summer blooms, Blight has marked them for its own; But, dispeller of earth s glooms You, unconquered, sport alone: Though the air is bleak and cold You are happy, marigold. Ah ! when gay the morn and eve Sunshine was your only store; Now, although the breezes grieve, Cheer they find about the door Where you, beaming in the cold, Nestle happy, marigold. [40] WITH OTHER POEMS So perhaps, one s duties done In the noon of busy life, Give their meed as seasons run Into chiller days of strife; Burst in cheer as hearts grow cold, As you, happy marigold. [41] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR AT CLOSE OF DAY (In the City} TOIL-FREE the workers haste on weary feet, And all is motion As level sunlight trails along the street. Life s restless ocean Frets its tired surges as the sixth hour peals, Then over all the twilight steals, The twilight steals ! The rush from out the busy marts is done; Ebb tide, swift flowing; The windowed cliffs reflect the ruddy sun; Sky, jewelled, glowing The ragged line of distant roof conceals, Then over all the twilight steals, The twilight steals ! Gloom, ashen, follows on the dying fire, All light is failing; 142] WITH OTHER POEMS Horizon girt, the towers of cloudy Tyre Are zenith scaling. Night s signet the Orient region feels, Then over all the twilight steals, The twilight steals! [43] THE REPLY OF GIGADIBS THE REPLY OF GIGADIBS (A DRAMATIC MONOLOGUE) (Being the Reverse to the Obverse of Brown ing s "Bishop Blougram s Apology"} AD so it fell that Blougram eased his mind To Gigadibs, the literary man, And, though the night had waned and gibbous moon Did peek and peer the banquet chamber in, Yet still the talk went on ; for Gigadibs Who sat there silent, eye intent on cloth, Arranging olive stones in rhythmic piles, Had otherwise been utilizing mind, And seeming perfect type of listener Yet kept his head as Bishop ambled on So nimbly in his vain-blown argument. Then came the smile contemptuous and it drew The corners of the mouth and held the lips Enchained, until the torrent of conceit Had run its rushing course; and, satisfied [47] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR With all the world, with self the most of all The Bishop ceased, and, patronizingly, To Gigadibs, as patron in the past Was wont to nod to poet at his gate Whose very presence there insured the fame Of that same gilded worldling, Lethe-loved, He nodded. Then with sweep of hand the pile Of olive stones was swept from snowy board And Gigadibs aroused thus made reply. WELL, Blougram, be it so; yet you confess In vino veritas, your rule in life. Nor fear, that is the gist, though I proclaim And spread your baseness from the very roof, And say in sooth, this Blougram is a fool A canting, lying eh, what not a fool? You choke at that? You re much too clever, eh? Would feel the bald insinuation less Should you be damned by somewhat graver charge? [48] WITH OTHER POEMS So then let s at it, where I stopped the flow, That wondrous flow of eloquence, your gift, By which you witch us all, make black look white By turning tropes and false analogies. You, in the converse touching on my work And your conception of theology, Did show, clean cut, a very hypocrite. Hold now! The word is ugly, I admit, But robbed of fine distinctions there you stand, As painted by yourself in coarse, black line, Arch hypocrite and what an adept too! Enhoused in church you use it for your ease; (Let sacrifices fall on other souls For why do penance where so many kneel?) And if your dogmas are but half the truth, Secure of earth, you re sure of heaven too; For lo, so famed a prelate s not o erlooked When faithful lift their orisons on high And dead or living you will get your due; At most your tomb may make an altar rail. Position and preferments, these you love; The flesh pots of an Egypt, greener far, [49] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR More fruitful too than ever Moses knew, And more unfailing, since the rich supplies Are endless where the zealot instinct rules. Ah, flesh with you is mighty, spirit weak. But why should flesh, since all too soon the goal, Not have its own full swing, its little day, And take its chances in the aftermath? And what the aftermath, do any know? And what and where the bourne whence none return, Not e en the Schoolmen solved, and so, to-day, The only creed that claims authority, That is, through fact not Apostolic faith, And fetches witnesses from t other shore Is Spiritism; but the Heaven it shows Through medium hid in darkened cabinet And evidence of the too, too certain shapes, That throng in sleezy tulle or mull well worn Or other soft material purchased clean [50] WITH OTHER POEMS But now as soiled as seem the astral shapes, Is tawdry, crass and crude and worse than earth. If Hades show no better we are curst. Some such complacent view has filled your soul, And, fatuous, you feel impregnable And, lording over all, so neatly wool The eyes of those who form the plastic mob That plaudits greet your every step. Secure? Yet there s a text, You have it well in mind, Since twas the best of last year s Lenten course, In Proverbs, chapter ten and six, quite brief, "Superba et praecedit," thus it runs, " Contritionem ! ante ruinam" Of course then " exalt atur spiritus"* As far as rusty Latin memory goes. This Englished in our current phrase would be, * "Pride goeth before destruction, and an haughty spirit before a fall." Proverbs xvi. 18. [51] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR Pride goeth but before a certain fall, And haughtiness treads but the road to ruin. In golden letters it should be displayed, Vermilioned capitals in missal style, Above your seat and for your eyes alone. BUT, let us to the theme we started on. You brought me here to state your naked thought. The mood s contagious, frankness suits me well. For you declass my comrades and myself And damn the whole profession in a name. You say in fine, that Gigadibs, that s I, Is in your estimation but a worm. And yet a worm has value. Darwin proved Its uses in a patient monograph And proved in other work, his monument, A state of things that needs must give you pain; Since not the best but fittest do survive. And in an age of sham and stucco faith When lip belief, not life, receives applause Tis such as you do grace the topmost seats 152] WITH OTHER POEMS That rest on rotten piles, too soon to fall. But in an age whose sun but lately rose In dim horizon murk, yet clear the burst When zenith splendor shall irradiate, You ll play th ignoble part your soul demands. You look on me as some zoologist Regards the organs of abortive type, Concedes the curious functions but denies The general value of specific form. And so it comes to this, that you advise The steerage, and a miner s traveling kit. And yet, you claim discernment is your forte And, just, your value of modernity. You re pampered, and your metal rings not true. Have you not learned from friendly oculist That e en the perfect eye has blinded spot? So in your mind, most perfect of its kind (A trained machine the which I must admire) One deadened spot exists, reaction fails, Which you have turned, I judge but by results, [53] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR Upon the press yet fail to see its worth! Just as the haughty lords of other days Saw nothing in the magnet but a toy, Till commerce hung upon its feeble power And continents were at the needle s point. But granted that, what else? It held up nails, Or, big enough, a weighty mass of iron. But in the blackened edge a mighty force Lay hid, now quickened into dynamo. So type in hand is scarcely more than lead, And e en one printed page is innocent; But whirl in form in fast revolving mass, E en as the armature is swiftly sent, And then the potent energy appears And takes its place as wonder of the world. And yet this force, and here I state my case, Appears distorted in your complex brain. Your aura but obscures the clearer view, Just as the photosphere, though in itself A glowing mass, yet lines the spectrum black. Tis medievalism clouds your intellect. You dream of that dark time, and think it now, [54] WITH OTHER POEMS When bishops fleeced the barons; popes, the kings, And printers devils had not yet appeared. For others, exorcism stood at hand. ( Tis practiced even now upon the sly) So therefore from your lofty state to-day The daily journal seems a trifle small And he who s part of it the merest speck. So some have thought before and come to grief Whose mien was haughtier far than Blou- gram s port. WELL, is the press so weak? Come, test its strength, And find how Blougram overrates himself. You ve set it forth, if I should play you false, Write down the frank confession as you spoke And print it word for word, none would believe; Not e en your enemy. And such your boast ! [55] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR Ha! ha! why this would make a dullard smile, And e en the street boy could enlighten you. Pray where has been your hidden diocese? And where encloistered have you spent your days? Such might have been the case, perhaps, you know, These many, many years ago, when, true, The week-old news and maiden verses filled The narrow columns and the type and ink Were on a par with what they badly blurred. The present s not the past, we ve changed all that; In vanguard of this age s storm and stress The very head and front of its advance, The modern journal moves upon its way. A Juggernaut, perhaps, some dub it so, But I amend, and make it Car of Light, Beneath whose wheels the error and the fraud, Corruption high and low, and crime and vice Are crushed, and all the hydra heads That spawning ignorance puts freely forth. [56] WITH OTHER POEMS Proved in the proving, tribune of the few And voice of many, think you it is weak? That all who know its value feel distrust? The wish in you befathers erring thought. Not disbelief, but trust has gained the day. Too many rogues have here been brought to book, Too many dragged from state they did abuse. All needs be done is set the facts in line And paint the swindler simply as he is. Where accuracy has slain its tens on tens And hundreds fall by deadly parallel, To be misquoted is to keep your fame And what you are not often wins the day, While what you are, if printed, crushing ruin. Lo, confidence has brought its train of ills, And e en the false finds many credulous. What, disbelieve? Oh, no; belief s the word. (I m sure your orthodoxy moves at that) And yet you, in your pride, despise all this And call it weakling force. It has its lacks; Its brooding Buddhas wear no striking robe 157] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR Nor sweep in august state up chancel aisle, And title s lost in anonymity, And reputation hides itself in deeds. Here is an altruism yet unmatched By you or yours, although the daily boast Of abnegation is your stock in trade. For every martyr e en has fame to spare, And ostentation is the very life Of Church, you know, as well as world at large. Lo, craze of name is epidemic now And heads are turned to notoriety. E en pilloried in crime has its rewards For those to whom to live and be unseen Is worse than death. This other worldliness Of those who do their duty, but must stand As X, unknown, in algebraic sum In forming the equation of success, Is truest sacrifice and self denial. And yet you talk as if twas cheap and mean And miss the whole while quibbling over part. Ignore its signal worth and do forget That tyrants, those enthroned, or those the mass 158] WITH OTHER POEMS Have set on high as demagogic boss Do tremble as they hear the mighty throb. Lo, roar of press has silenced cannonade, And "latest news" outwits the diplomats. Yea, smell of ink has made autocracy Grow faint where bombs were ineffectual. There s more of freedom, that they know full well, Where lives the press untrammeled than all laws Or special grants provide, where right divine Oft rules as if from nether world had come Its charter, title, to its rule of wrong. E en there the press enmartyred grows apace And all the censors fail to blank it out. It knows no bounds on land or heaving main To check the progress of its enterprise, And, more than argus-eyed and million- tongued, Proclaims the doings of the rough-rimmed world. And though you boast of heaped up treasury It soon would drain if one day s cost you paid. For penny a line has long been out of date, [59] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR And single words have cost far more, in fact, Than you have paid for ostensorium, Although a ruby glow amid the gold. And e en your fattest check, or signet ring, Though at its beck a treasury unlocks, Would hardly pay the telegraphic bills. BUT, come, suppose I take your gauntlet up And print your chatter, Blougram, word for word. Well then tis done. Th edition s on the street; Some hundred thousand copies at the least. You preach to seven hundred, do you not? Ah, yes, but doubled on a gala day. And then your printed slip in diocese, If all goes well, still spreads you further on, But at the most ten thousand is your all, (You see I even give the "devil" his due) To whom you stand as paragon indeed. But hundred times that number read the news, And hundred-fold repeat it everywhere. [60] WITH OTHER POEMS And when tis sent the country o er, ex changed And re-exchanged, why thousand-fold it flies, Till millions read and other millions tell. E en backwoods towns, and cross-roads villages Affect the news of the metropolis. And fame means fame when so tis spread abroad; When what is done in Zealand s praised in Maine, And Tangier chieftain dies in bulging print An inch in size in some Dakotan town. Since this is true the corollary stings; Disgrace is deep, remorse a scorpion s nest, And no retreat is found for broken life. For if there be some hidden nook, mayhap, Where telegraph s unknown and inter course In native tongue is yet by word of mouth, In some far distant island settlement, Your ship would hardly reach the port Ere from the hold the month-old journals rise [61] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR (For Nemesis assumes this modern form) And tell the story to antipodes. Perchance your portrait too would lead the page, And thus a wretched wanderer, you d find, In partibus, yes, infidelium The dark suspicion where you sought sur cease. But let us start th apology on its way: First head-lines set you out in bold-faced type. These point the way to richness yet to come; You ll not despise them when the ordeal s o er And Blougram, humbled, cries "Ha mercy all" For thus pinked out I see the expose Somewhat as follows : BLOUGRAM TELLS IT ALL. The Bishop s Method Clear He Dupes His Flock His Views as Seen o er Cordials and the Cheese Pure Piety Discounted Other Ways Succeed Would Rather Wine and Dine than Save a Soul, If it [62] WITH OTHER POEMS Would Interfere with Flow of Wit The Reason Why He Lingers in the Pale The Pickings Fatter There and Kine Less Lean. I hear the boys out shrieking on the streets. Your fame is bruited on the every breeze, "Here now the morning papers!! Blou- gram talks!!! "The great sensation!!!! Here you are, a cent." And then the comment. Those who knew you best. "We knew he was a rogue" "He flew too high"- " At least he told the truth for once in life " "Old Blougram overreached himself that s sure"- "The Church is blessed, he fooled it long enough "- "These after dinner talkers kill them selves Their very glibness cuts the edge of sense "- "Not what he said, his cry? Oh that s played out, [63] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR "So X, the boodler, claimed." And so the talk Would run in widening circle, and, the world At large, to whom you d be but shadowy name, Yet thick enough, like string in potash jar To which the crystals all attach themselves, About your simulacrum would collect A hundred anecdotes and wondrous tales. Believe the publication? Why of course! They d set it down for more than gospel truth. And I m convinced, for facts run all one way, Although a pure specific is a dream Of science, and not likely in our time (Save in the advertisements, paid in full) The best specific for the cure of pride, Though drastic, is a wholesome dose of print . Oh, I have seen most stubborn cases yield! And once will do, no failure mars the plan, Though testimonials rarely are produced. No fault in the medicament, howe er; Oh no, tis merely human modesty And reticence, twin virtues as you know, By hearsay, not experience of your own. 164) WITH OTHER POEMS And, if I should administer the dose, Although unwilling you d admit the truth, When, sans complacency, you d wish your words Were anywhere but down in black and white. Then you, not I, would take the friendly pick And seek the pier, the ship and newer land. WHAT was I saying? Oh; of course, in jest! There s naught so sacred as a confidence. We all are weak at times, the best of us, And wear our hearts out freely on our sleeves, Exhibit inmost thoughts, which proves, I think, How much the world is kind as well as kin. Your frankness really honors you. These walls Alone shall know our converse here to-night. The secret s sooner told by them than me. Though hearing much as your confessional, The daily journal prints but half it knows, 5 [65] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAB And holds the other half as guarantee Of good behavior. Ah, you re not alone In this predicament. The company Is large and goodly; yea, enjoys life too; As much as those who till a crater s edge. You say you preach next Sunday? What s the theme? On "Honor?" Good! I ll see somebody s there, (It s well to throw a sop to Cerberus) Who ll give your rich discourse its fullest meed. What almost break of day? I must be off! [66] SONGS AND SONNETS TO AN AMERICAN BEAUTY E^ELY in bud. Ah, who beholding The beauty of its petal clasped form Can marvel that, unfolding, The full blown flower takes all the world by storm. Fragrance, whose balm a New-World sweet ness Exhales upon the brisk, pulse-quickening air, A sense of rich completeness Its vigors with its subtler graces share. Then hasten, Rose ! ere yet the morning Of thy brief glory passeth all too soon, Full fit for her adorning Who at the threshold faces life s high noon. Queenly in poise, no Old- World clamor Of precedence, nor accidents of birth, Nor title s empty glamor Her charms enhance Go, Rose, and share her worth ! [69] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR FOR ST. VALENTINE S DAY UNTOUCHED, I laughed at love at sudden sight, Deeming it figment of a puppet art, Machine-made god to fit machine-made part, And dulled to finer things, denied the light; But since thy face has dawned upon my night, Radiant, I seize upon the poignant dart, Ecstatic, press it deeper in my heart; Welcome its pain, yield gladly to its might! Like Paul of Tarsus, now no longer blind, No longer deaf to voices from on high, That thrill the ear as thrush at eventide, A quickened faith and hope in thee I find, A newer creed to cry exultingly, Thy self my all, my gospel glorified! [70] WITH OTHER POEMS FOR THE SPRINGTIME OH, would thou wert a violet, And I the clasping leaf Heart-folded, chalicing thy life, Thy beauty all my fief! A vain conceit? Mayhap! And yet I would thou wert a violet And I the leaf. Oh, would thou wert a violet, And I the sunny nook Pervaded by thy perfumed grace, Thy love an open book. An idle thought? Mayhap! And yet I would thou wert a violet And I the nook. Oh, would thou wert a violet, And I the lingering breeze That stooped to kiss thy loveliness Under the burgeoning trees. A spring-tide dream? Mayhap! And yet I would thou wert a violet And I the breeze. [71 THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR COMMUNION WHEN every look is tell-tale with desire, What if bold words be wanting? Speech is naught, And the long silence with love s meaning fraught Quickens the cheek and eye with deeper fire; Whilst subtler essences of self conspire To stir the depths, outrun the very thought, As each to each, through wizardry unsought, Surely responds as strings in double lyre. And yet this mystery, too oft, in strife Is lost; and we, in crush of thing intense O erwhelmed the very way by flash con cealed See not, full-blinded by the glare of life, That in the twilight of the duller sense Lo! soul to soul, in beauty stands revealed. [72] WITH OTHER POEMS EVENSONG SOFTLY, at eve, let thy swift fingers sweeping O er the dim keys, from whence the music wells, Give me delight, a joy akin to weeping, As the low plaint its tonal anguish tells Of heart-strings touched, of song too dear for singing Heard as the candles gleam, the dusk thee closer bringing, Softly, at eve! Softly at eve, should we be haply straying, Mid memoried walks where cypress shad ows fall, Hearing the splash of fountains idly playing, May we that golden time of old recall, And both enraptured, every moment sating, List to the Thrush s note in fervid, spring time mating, Softly, at eve! [73] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR Softly, at eve, when words seem mere in trusion, May my hand-clasp suffice for murmured vow, And eye meet eye, with cheek in rich suffu sion, As, side by side, at hidden shrine we bow; Love, let me say, twill be no crass trans gression To thee, as antiphon, oh then, my last con fession, Softly, at eve! [74] WITH OTHER POEMS UNAWARES A I, unawares, we angels entertain: In humble flesh they clothe the spark divine, And, blind, we heed in naught the simple sign That tells the birthright; scarce indeed refrain From harsh unwelcome of the rack and chain. For so the world distorts us to its will That, unattuned, we miss the wondrous thrill And flout the weak, the strong s coarse smile to gain. And then too late, the past beyond recall When time s revenges come with turning sand, The sure reproach, the wormwood, bitter gall! And yet, what heart reward to those who gave The cup, the crust, the cloak, the ready hand And knew, in giving, joy that seraphs crave! [75] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR AT THE RECITAL (Stanzas with a Foreign Refrain) THAT note ! it thrills me through and through ! (Meine Ruh ist hin Du bist die Ruh !) Once more the poignant strain begin! Piercing my breast Meine Ruh ist hin And then, as if in echoing call, (Meine Ruh ist hin Du bist die Ruh !) Let consolation softly fall As benison while hopes renew Du bist die Ruh ! So swings life s pendulum, e er true (Meine Ruh ist hin Du bist die Ruh !) If self be lost, we haply win, Yet victor, cry. "Meine Ruh ist hin!" Oh, sick at heart, perplexed, full blind, (Meine Ruh ist hin Du bist die Ruh !) Restless, what peace at last to find, What calm of heights amid the blue Du bist die Ruh ! [76] WITH OTHER POEMS Welcome distress, for that I sue! (Meine Ruh 1st bin Du bist die Ruh !) Compassion! Ah, to love akin, Turns all to joy Meine Ruh ist hin Oh, then, as major harmonies roll, (Meine Ruh ist hin Du bist die Ruh !) Let the sweet cadence whelm the soul Fragrant with memories all too few, Du bist die Ruh ! [77 THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR FASCINATION WHAT is this charm that thy least actions throw O er all the simplest things? What is this grace Shown in the very touch, the very pace? Others more beauty have possessed I know, The Cyprian crew perpetually on show All sleek and golden in the market place; And dim, as dusty tomes the records trace, The pedant virtues of Hypatias glow! But these have naught in common, nor are part Of thee, since imaged thou, thy sex above, And fixed forever in my quickened heart As one whose ways reveal that law of love That shares, as shrined Madonna, calm and mild, Th eternal mother with the soul of child. [78] WITH OTHER POEMS TOO LATE (Presto Agitato ben Marcato) HURRY on! Hurry on! Precious must be the load, Hurry on! Hurry on! Horse a-blood from the goad, Fierce the rush down the road. Hurry on! Hurry on! Loud, loud, the herald cries, Open gate! Open gate! Life yields to hate s reprise, Too late the arrow flies. Too late! Too late! Click it on! Click it on! Lightning-swift o er the sea. Click it on! Click it on! Words of heart agony. "Love, love, come back to me." Click it on! Click it on! "Come, could you not divine?" [79] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR Break the news ! Break the news ! "I am entirely thine." Too late no answering sign. Too late! Too late! Oh, the knell ! Oh, the knell ! Too late we lay our plan. Oh, the knell ! Oh, the knell ! Cunning, with wit of man, But small the arc we scan, Oh, the knell ! Oh, the knell ! Fate runs the circle round, Toll the bell! Toll the bell! Low lies the simple mound. Too late Heart-rending wound! Too late! Too late! [80] WITH OTHER POEMS AD UNAM I WOULD, but dare not touch you lest you know The wild delirium a-rage within. And yet because of fear of earth-born sin Why should I halt me; why this bliss forego? How can the impassioned touch of love defile The very temple it would consecrate? Since in heart-alchemy is sublimate All baser mood; until the low, the vile, Transfused, transformed, as in refining fires, With dross of self, become full purified In mutual sacrifice. Eternal test Of this, the new communion which aspires To super-heights too long undared, untried, As love attains its solace, ends its quest. [81] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAB TO .EOLUS (A SONG OF SEASONS) (Winter) UNDER bare poles the forest bends beneath the hurtling blast, And the pine tree dreams of the wild sea days to come to its tapering mast; And the hemlocks on their rocky ledge give voice to a winter song, And the snow falls fast with a stinging dash And the birches creak and the oak-boughs clash As the north wind hastens along, along, As the north wind hastens along. (Spring) Under the sun the forest smiles and cheer is everywhere, And the tasseled alders shake in glee for Spring is in the air; 182] WITH OTHER POEMS And the gentle poplars on the slope are a-twitter with joyous song, Whilst blood-root blooms replace the snows, And arbutus buds forestall the rose As the south wind hastens along, along, As the south wind hastens along. (Summer) Under a dome of lustrous blue the peace of the earth is thine, As the cedarn sentries watch the fields in a steady, stately line; And the orchard thrush and the oriole vie together in melting song, And the wild grape scents the leafy lane, And the mimic waves sweep the growing grain As the west wind hastens along, along, As the west wind hastens along. (Autumn) Under the veil of dragging clouds the hilly crest is lost; 183] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR In the mad, mad rush of the gale at sea the ships are tempest tost; And the brook bank-full goes rushing by as it sings its noisy song, And the thirsty fields forget their drought, And the rain-sick moon comes peeping out As the east wind hastens along, along, As the east wind hastens along. [84] WITH OTHER POEMS UNIDENTIFIED (Suggested by the Unknown Graves on the Ocean Drive at Newport) A rest, asleep, where breaks the sob bing sea, Whose waves on hollow reefs make constant moan, As if in plaint and prayer for these alone Asking repose through endless monody, These twain lie nameless. Yea, no carven plea, In grudged remembrance, stares in massy stone To cheat Time of its rightful spoil. Un known, They, silent, speak but of humanity. And as, midst merriment of ancient feast, The death-head warned the heedless of the grave, So, here, where painted beauty sweeps in pride, [85] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR These mounds forecast, in face of wealth unleashed, The fate of these nor gems nor gold can save Doomed, all, to moulder "Unidentified!" [86] WITH OTHER POEMS IN AFTER YEARS A I, was it not but yesterday We two, love, you and I, Were all in all? The envious say The years have hastened by; But not so, love! It cannot be; I know no flight of time Whose favors are inconstancy And life s dull pantomime. All is unchanged. Come, give me joy, Though morning breaks in gray; Can one drear night our love destroy That blossomed yesterday? Ah, was it not but yesterday? In memory s magic glass The deeds of years in brave array In august pageant pass. A Circe web is woven wide, As mind s fast shuttles fly, And dreamland actions swiftly glide Just in the blink of eye. Success, defeats, and all their train Of joys and woes Nay! Nay! [87] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR The fleeting vision gives no pain, When twas but yesterday. Forgot is time, forgot is age; A plague on memory! Truth oft is hidden in its page, A palimpsest decree. For was it not but yesterday We two, together, here? Love is not dead, and life is gay, We weep beside no bier. Poor, sordid souls reproach the hour That wings its rapid way; Dear Heart, they know not love s sweet power, It was but yesterday. [88] WITH OTHER POEMS AT HARVARD THE "YARD" IN SUMMER (Majoresque Cadunt "Altis ab Ulmis" Umbrae) THE longer shadows stretch across the grass, Elm-woven traceries across the wall, The bustling, eager world is near, at call. And yet but o er this simple threshold pass And all is changed. Forgot the crude and crass Appeals; the Present with its mart and stall. Deserted, say you? Yet how thronged the mall As reverie fares free where none harass ! For lo ! before these fronts, severe in line, Before this foot-worn reach of spreading yard, A deeper touch than nature gives is thine, A deeper thrill than beauty of the glen Imparts, or glory of the sea, unmarred; A poignant sense of comradeship, of men. 189] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR FOR THE WINTER TIME THE wood s thin spires cut the western sky, Red, dull-red glows the day-done fire; And the hemlock branches swish and sigh As the starry herds fill the night s vast byre, And the winds, near-lulled, touch the reeds and die Like the last fond note on a trembling lyre The last fond note on a trembling lyre. Outside rules the chill; in this nook, apart, All ember-lit, let us rest, content; Ah, love, since I know how dear thou art Let me press thee, sweet, for that sure consent. And oh, that the promptings of thy heart I might seal with the kiss of acknowledg ment The long, long kiss of acknowledgment. [90] WITH OTHER POEMS THE MEMORY OF THE GREAT THE great are gone; the world, its grief expressed, Moves as before; the bustling marts resume, Men turn to merriment, forget the gloom, And those in whom authority is dressed Crowd to the van; and, eager, many fume To ope new ways, or quenched fires relume, And past is lost in newer, present quest This is the surface seeming, but not so! All, all is changed down to the deeps of life; Though masked and hidden, as the years goby, Lo, silently the subtle forces flow, And, working marvels in the later strife, Proclaim the due to name none may deny! 191] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR FOR THE DEDICATION OF A HALL OF SCIENCE GREAT God of nature, let these halls, The hidden things of earth make plain; Let knowledge trumpet forth her calls, And wisdom speak, but not in vain. Help us to read with humble mind, Thy larger scriptures, day by day- True bread of life! O be thou kind, If, erring, we should go astray. For deep resounding unto deep, Declares the wonders of thy plan; Life struggling from its crystal sleep Finds glorious goal at last in man. The mysteries of the eternal laws Are but the shadows of thy might. God, ruling all in final cause, Enshrine the world in love and light! [92] WITH OTHER POEMS TO A ROADSIDE CEDAR )f A IS not for thee in ancient walks to throw Thy pointed shadows o er the sculptured stone, Where marbles fix some Niobean moan Of art; nor, gathering gloom where waters flow Past groves Lethean, aisled with mortal woe, To lift thy cheering spires. Thy lot is strown In newer, happier climes and lands unknown To classic realms of storied feasts and show. For thou, dear gnomon of the passing hour, Green sentinel of sunny lanes and fields, Whose sturdy watch defies harsh win ter s knell, Art guardian of the humblest homes, where dwell The simple folk, the yeomanry that wields In peopled might all that men crave of power ! 193] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR REVELATION I TASTE the dragon blood of Spring, The mystery of the woods is mine! I know whereof the bluebirds sing And why the South wind, whispering, Brings Heaven to Earth, as hearts incline Responsive to the awakening sign. I taste the dragon blood of Spring The mystery of the woods is mine! I taste the dragon blood of youth, The mystery of the heart s unsealed! Desire in check, lest without ruth It crush in fleshly grasp the truth That love is more than lust; revealed The inner light so long concealed. I taste the dragon blood of youth, The mystery of the heart s unsealed! I taste the dragon blood of life, The mystery of the soul is clear! Though with dispute the air is rife Though lost in moil of wordy strife 94 WITH OTHER POEMS The harmony of the eternal sphere Rings true, and God is far and near. I taste the dragon blood of life, The mystery of the soul is clear! [95] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR FRIENDSHIP DAMON is dead and Pythias with the dust, The harp of David stilled; and yet the years Still echo with their names as disappears All coarser fact; and, as pure wine from must, Freed from the setting of barbaric lust The deeper meaning of the legend clears! And, golden, lo, the truth the more endears Type of all friendships, love and sacred trust. For though the sun, no longer in its flight, Gilds Judah s hall, or Syracusan gate, Levelled the pinnacles, man s potent creed, That lifts the humblest to immortal height, Remains to break the blow of crowding fate, When self is immolate for other s need! [96] WITH OTHER POEMS LOVE AND DEATH WHERE Love is tis sacred spot. Bow the head and reverence! Coo from cradle, cry from cot, Child at breast redeems the lot. Ah, to those who know this not, Joy is theirs in severance ! Where Death is tis holy ground. Bow the head and reverence! As Grief s litanies resound, Then Love breaks all earthly bound, Gazes rapt through vast profound, For it knows not severance. 197] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR AT THE STATE HOUSE (Independence Hall] NE ER through these arches walked the sceptred great, A-jest with Pompadours, a-blind with pride, Whilst millions toiled and, all-despairing, cried Against the burdens of the despot State. Ah, no ! these halls a nobler tale relate Of wilds redeemed, of labor glorified, Of equal rights to humblest ne er denied, Of men to liberty full consecrate. O walls, ye house a shrine of priceless worth ! O tower, thine outlook broadens with the day! O bell, unsounding, thou art far from mute. Lo, Freedom, here encradled, fills the earth With richest blessings ; lo its puissant sway Nor continents confine, nor seas dispute. [98 WITH OTHER POEMS WHEN ABSENT SWEET anguish of desire when thou art near, Sweet pain when far away; Yet, I were happy wert thou ever here; So, prithee, stay ! Tis true I learn anew thy priceless worth By contrast when alone; But, oh how small indeed the joys of earth When thou art gone! As one, awake, soul-sick for morning yearns As night drags wearily; So, absent, all my anxious thought e er turns To hope of thee. With thee beside I ll put to flight the drear And hail the newer day ! If I risk all to have thee ever near, Canst thou say nay? [99] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAB AFTER HEARING DVORAK S E-MINOR (NEW WORLD) SYMPHONY OLIST, what ecstasy as singers keep The chant a-swinging! Hark, a livelier tune As pace turns faster under the Harvest moon And, gourds a-rattling, ebon dancers leap With laugh and lilt. Such sounds this music steep, While plaint of flute and buzz of hoarse bassoon And wail of oboe (is it the beldame s croon?) Murmur a people s wrongs as viols weep. And yet, O race despised, what victory thine! The haughty master-folk confess thy power; Strength lies in weakness, for the whispered groan Of anguished song, sweet balm for weary hour, Transfigured, midst the harmonies divine, Becomes of art inspiring corner-stone. 1100] WITH OTHER POEMS AWAKENED After a Lapse of Time METHOUGHT I had forgotten all; Thine every look, thy way, thy life, O erwhelmed beneath the ready pall, We weave of things of daily strife; The casual things to which we turn For surcease when the past we spurn. But, no; though seeming hidden deep Beneath life s husks, its sophistries, As blooms brush-hid during winter s sleep Revealed by stir of April s breeze Perfume the air; so at thy name Love reasserts its olden claim. And lo, I find completely held Thine image, perfect, glorified; Naught has been lost, no day has knelled Affection s wane, nor hope denied; A brief eclipse, mere passing phase, As memory sets the soul ablaze. [101 THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR No longer therefore can the round Of chilling duties satisfy; No longer fettered, at one bound, I seek thy side; emboldened, I Ask but recall of thy decree Since, love, I live alone for thee ! [102] WITH OTHER POEMS THE ELECT WHOSE are these narrow homes of low estate? Green barrows, swellings of the field Scarce marked by pallid stones that yield Their runes to time, and so obliterate That nothing tells the tale of small or great, Or name, or deeds, in pompous line revealed? Mystery for shroud and all the past con cealed What is the meaning of their common fate? Lo, these sought Fame and were her votaries, Her dear elect, who knew no stress of pain Nor checked desire as long as fluttered breath; Who drank the wine of life to very lees, E en, impious, tore the temple veil in twain, Brake in the shrine to find the face of death! [103] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR UNRECONCILED (Molto Appassionato) WHY should I halt my grief? What is to-morrow? Hath it aught of relief? Can it heal sorrow? Bitter the cry before, Dregs now my portion; Hath time surcease in store? Is not Creed s mystic lore Mere mind distortion? What to me words of man, What comfort giving? Can they remove death s ban, Give back the living? Out upon soothing phrase, Empty, unstable! Canst thou those happy days, Brow fresh with manhood s bays Call back by fable? Is this the triumph of faith, Is this hope s guerdon, [104] WITH OTHER POEMS That wraith should meet with wraith? Heavier the burden ! I will declare my woe Here at life s portals, Unreconciled go, Lone, sad, nor care to know Mortal, immortal. [105] IMPRESSIONS OF NEW YORK IMPRESSIONS OF NEW YORK APPROACHING THE FERRIES (At Night in Winter} ROUGH Hunding s note the groping whistles bleat, Pale snowy Valkyrs scurry through the sky; Sudden, from out the mist of drifting sleet, A vast light-strewn Valhalla smites the eye! AT THE OPERA (" Fledermaus") Parterres of human peacocks after Frago- nard, Gay pride of person, such as Watteaus strew In gardened glades. And lo, with Courts afar, The Old World, robbed, doth gew-gaw out the New. 1109] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR (" Tannhauser") While jewelled fashion here, in pomp en throned, In silken satisfaction plays its part, All, all to music tribute, not disowned Pan leads his troop; Orpheus is at the heart! BROADWAY (Midnight) Is this the way the prophets saw White with the light of love and youth? Is this the way that knows no law Save passion without ruth? Under the thrill of quivering sense, Broad, indeed, is the way, and well, Under the glamor of life intense, May its swift reaches seize on Hell! DIGGING FOUNDATIONS AT NIGHT (Cortland Street) Here, where the forges sound their giant scale Of thud and groan, and braziers belch their smoke; [110] WITH OTHER POEM8 In depths, unseen, backs bent, nor fear, nor quail The myriads toil ; bearing in cheer the yoke, Knowing full well that soon, aloft, will rise Some new Aladdin s dream, scraping the very skies. THE PINES, SIXTY-SEVENTH STREET (Central Park Looking Southward) Though winds are bleak this greening tells of May, Lit by the winter sunset s trailing gleam, And the susurrus speaks of far-a-way, Some mountain scarp, some hurrying woodland stream Yet roofed sierras crowd on every side, And ceaseless flows this restless human tide. THE UNFINISHED CATHEDRAL (Evening Morningside Heights, from below) Sprung from a mighty hulk, o er-arched on high, Gigantic, elemental ribs protrude; [in] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR In deepening mist-swept eve, beneath a livid sky What aeon tale of horror here doth brood? THE "SQUARE" IN THE SLUMS Thine, though the city s squalor jars, A wildwood touch with grass a-dew; A hint of life beneath the stars, Contentment underneath the blue. ON LOWER BROADWAY In the fierce rush of storm-swept ocean Who counts the fleck of foam upon the wave? And who, O city, in thy wild commotion, One soul who treads this pave? ON "PARADE" Here where the coarse and tawdry spell of woman flares In vice, desire the bestial goad, A sweet-faced childling toddles, smiling, unawares A jewel set in head of toad. (112] WITH OTHER POEMS THE CITY AT SUNSET (From the Hudson River) Like some huge monster, gorged, misshapen, spread in blinking ease, Its bloated arms entangling all that s rare; The flash of gem, the enacred shell, life s loveliest argosies And slugs most foul swept up from slime- filled lair. THE RUSH AT THE BRIDGE All that they know of life and home the lure That leads to panic madness, as of brutes, this host! What will not sons of men endure To gain the side of those they love the most? MISTY DAWN FROM THE EAST RIVER (SOUND STEAMER) (August} Flushed are these fronts with hectic touch of day, i. . 8 [ 113 ] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR The quickening streets reek with the morning s murk Scarcely asleep, the all too-burning ray Awakens all to toil, to day-long work. [114] AMERICA A TRIPTYCH AMERICA A TRIPTYCH (Centripetal} THE endless prairies billow with thy grain, The forest fastness falls before thy will, The mountain barriers, cleft, proclaim thy skill, Nor gorge, nor desert reach, nor floods restrain Thy imperious way. Thy bulging coffers drain The frozen Ophirs of the trackless north; And lo, from out Earth s farthest bounds come forth The steeled leviathans ! whose hoarse refrain Of conquered steam, mid rush and stir of keel, Wakens the echoes at thy water gate, Where the dazed aliens greet thy sunlit way, Seeking new lands, new life, a deeper weal [1171 THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR Whilst thou, supreme, sitt st confident, elate, "Mewing a mighty youth" in time s new day. (In the Vortices The Cities) The hills, asunder riven, here pile anew Their corniced heights, whose precipices fret The half -hid heavens. Far below, the set Of human tide outpours its surges through The narrowed lanes, as mighty currents strew The shore with yields of opulent emprise; Ventures of Jotunheim, as giant vies With giant in the will to dare and do. And what from out this thousand-streeted moil? An epic, far more eloquent than tale Of heroes which Circean weft displayed. Here, where the altars rise to honest toil, Freed from the tyrant bonds of narrowed pale, Man s right to rise, in naught is checked or stayed. 118] WITH OTHER POEMS (Centrifugal) Nor yields this Croesus gift thy sole acclaim; Though to the marts at utmost set of sun Thy trade decretals undisputed run, And, ever-widening, spreads thy circling fame, Above the lure of gold the great win name, And genius, place, in thy forensic stress; Thy Letters shower remotest wilderness And Art finds here revivifying flame ! O, what, before thy splendor, purple Tyre? What Babylon, whose potsherds strew the sands? What Nineveh, or Thebes whose walls lie prone? Oblivion s realm; of pride the wind-swept pyre But here, the People, envied of all lands, Perpetuate, rule; thy seat their dazzling throne ! 119] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR TO CANADA AND KIPLING (On reading his Quatrain "Quebec," from the Canadian edition of the "Seven Seas," but which, through a desire of reciprocity in gain, was omitted by the "Laureate of Empire" from the American edition.*) If | A IS not at all that cockney souls should vent Their littleness in "absent-minded" spleen , (This is an olden tale with force unspent) That so revolts like blow from alley slut To those who ve "killed by kindness" through and through; But that a neighbor stoops to low and mean, And eke exacts, a small revenge to glut, From " bounder " bard this cheap time serving due! *QUIBEC From thy gray scarp I view with scornful eye* Ignoble broil of freedom most unfree, But fear not Mother, where the carrion lies There that unclean bird must be. [120] FROM THE "OTHER SIDE" IN VENICE THAT I with thee, along the tideless stream Might idly float as night s deep purples stretch A canopy and moonlit belfrys etch Their grace of line upon the wave and dream Of joys to be. That I with thee, whilst music steals the ears, Should let mine eyes alone reveal the sign Of heart desire, and find my fate in thine, Whose light of love gives hope to all the years And life to me. That I with thee, full-furled the hurrying sail, In some soft shallop, silken-hung, might drift [123] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR To where the mystic sunset portals lift Their burnished gold and find, behind the veil, New ecstasy ! [124] WITH OTHER POEMS UNDER THE DOME OF THE INVALIDES (At the Tomb of Napoleon) NOT as proud Pharaoh in dark cham bers laid, Not as great Caesar niched in crowded gloom, But shrined before the altar s golden brume Under the dome of kings, all unafraid, Whose sapphire lights, blue as Elysian glade, As marble walls reflect the gleaming tomb, A Hero s zodiac in stone illume. And yet, tis not what fame assembles here That strikes the soul as awe-compelling dream, Exalting those who, silent, humbly scan The accidents of homage at this bier, But since above this clay abides, supreme, The very boding presence of the Man! 125] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAK MONA LISA ("La Gioconda") A MARY who hath yielded more than heart, Serene, thou smilest in thy calm disdain, At thought of censor tongues a-tilt in vain, As envious Marthas eased the bitter smart Of loveless ways, knowing no nobler part, And found oblivion. Thine the eternal gain! Time yields its guerdon, whatsoe er the pain, Though sacrificed, thou liv st in deathless art! And so above all petty circumstance Of earthly fact we may e en now divine, Howe er inscrutable thy baffling glance Behind that beauty that exacts its toll, The marvel that the things of clay enshrine, The mystery of life, the human soul. [126] WITH OTHER POEMS IN COLOGNE CATHEDRAL A PURPLE twilight falls within the nave, As if some sunset, far, where bleak winds sough, Were seen through beechen forest, gaunt of bough; And all the aisles, as organ murmurs lave The up-reaching vaults, echo the chanted stave, Which, swelling, rises soft, a whispered vow And oh, what radiant joy, what thoughts endow These faces, rapt, with hopes: like those that gave To martyrs calm when Nero s lions pressed A look that awed the worldlings drunk with power. Yea, in the altar glow, the long, long Past Conquers the Present in this fretted vast, And Rome renews her full triumphant hour Through sanctuary in each faithful breast! [127] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR IN A NORTH GERMAN WOODLAND ("7m Walde") THE depths invite, beyond the sun- strewn park, Beyond red roofs, agleam at even tide; Past spectral birches, where cool waters glide, Guarding the edge, as beeches gray and stark In narrowing lanes the forest highways mark; Green depths that stretch fir-bounded far and wide, A leaf -flecked weft, full tapestried In mystic gold, ere falls the silvern dark. O, woods! what olden echo still resounds, What minstrel note of dim enchanted deed Sung at the cradle of a mighty race! What magic in this fairy land abounds, Throwing, o er hidden tarn and flowery mead, A haunting folk-spell time can ne er efface! [128] WITH OTHER POEMS TANNHATJSER S CASTLE (Nocturne The Valley of the Wartburg, Eisenach) THOU shinest there, serene in darken ing sky, O evening star! though long the aeon s toll Ere man, uplifted, felt the thrill of soul, And, quickened by thy grateful beaconry Above the mount, saw, in this sign on high, Emblem of Hope to those once lost in dole, Knight, saint and churl, groping in noisome hole Where love and faith lay, seeming doomed to die And, as these valleys ring with summer mirth, Thy radiant glory there proclaims anew The truth that man lives not by bread alone! And, though Trade s noisy wains go hurtling through These forest aisles, here Art, on leafy throne, Sees Spirit triumph o er the things of earth! o 1 129 ] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR IN FRANCE SOUVENIR OF THE MIDI (Near Carcasonne) A SUMMER glow burns on the fields, The poppy by the furrow drowses, The matin wind its treasure yields Of distilled sweets its breeze arouses In leisured, lazy, drifting flight Through shut-in gardens of delight. Beyond, where brave weeds climb the hill, O er sun-scorched path their pennons flaunting, The white road makes its way at will; Nor height, nor slope its ardor daunting, But hastens tree-embowered down, The long, long vale into the town. And lo, as carls in petty trade Seek there their gain with wit that s nimble, Above the New, all undismayed, The Old looms gray in grim cut symbol; 1130] WITH OTHER POEMS An eagle eyrie, broodlings flown, Telling its tale in serrate stone. Unchanged, these turrets seek the sky; Unchanged, the postern breaks the ingle; Fretting the same broad canopy The ruddy -channeled roofs commingle; Perchance some Sleeping Beauty waits The Prince s knock within these gates! For oh, the world of fume seems far Beyond this blue horizon hidden! No echoes from its Babel mar This bastioned close; its pomps unbidden Its gauds unseen, its voice unheard Disturb not song of stream or bird. Nations may rage and rulers plot, The great may wive and thrive or perish, Millions may look to turn of lot For weal or woe to all they cherish; But here life s currents go their way Serene in peace that knows no day ! 1131] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR IN ITALY TEMPLE OF DIANA LAKE OF NEMI (Spring on the Alban Hills) KOYAL mottlings on the green Of cyclamen and eglantine, Nodding close, or, waving free O er the rising terraced lea, Hidden in the ways embowered, Filling alleys orange-flowered, Gay mosaics, garden planned, Blooming fresh at Spring s command; Royal mottlings on the green Of cyclamen and eglantine. There the lofty height cascades Roseate blooms, where else pervades Spice of laurel, myrtle, box As the wind the scent unlocks, Spreads the attar on the breeze, Shakes the tassels of the trees, Scattering freely dust of gold O er the ivy-covered mould; [132] WITH OTHER POEMS Royal mottlings on the green Of cyclamen and eglantine. In the woods where Dian stalks Midst cupped Nemi s lovely walks, Lo, the cuckoo s echoing call Booms within the living wall, Tree-fringed, offering to the sky, Its sincerest flattery, Sweep of azure as above Smiling as if love to love, Shadowing there the hours serene Of cyclamen and eglantine! [133] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR IN THE GARDEN OF GALILEO- FLORENCE ("E Pur Si Muove") * ^ND still it moves," the master, /-\ broken, cried, Holding the vision of the turning earth Swinging its orbit round; a thing of mirth For the schooled dunces who the fact belied. And still it moves! Howe er they in their pride Turned from the miracle of the mind s rebirth The glorious later dawn, the newer worth Of man, with all things searched and weighed and tried. And still it moves ! O prophecy of light ! Beaconed by stake and consecrate by blood, And loosed from all the gyves of bigot power Lo, knowledge, in its new unfettered might, Sweeps on in one great universal flood To final triumph in predestined hour. [134] WITH OTHER POEMS AT ST. PETER S A CANONIZATION VISIONS of John on Patmos! Choir on choir Of witnesses in tribute throng, world sent, Crowding the aisles in awed bewilderment, Midst crimson glow of pillars lined in fire! And, in the chair, as incense rises higher, Sits one enthroned in whose white pomp is blent All that men know of state, of grave intent; While blazoned banners all the hosts inspire With marvels told of him who, e en despite The threats of ill won this immense acclaim; And lo, beneath the surface pageant lies The truth, near lost in this so dazzling sight, That to the humblest comes a deathless fame, Through sacrifice of self that men may rise. [135] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR THE GREEK TEMPLES AT PAESTUM (550450 B. C.) THE stately ruins of a Greece that dared Strange seas and lands, whose epic tale enthralls And holds one spellbound neath these gray-gold walls; Sun-leached and worn by all the winds that bared Long since their secrets to the skies, where fared Once happy throngs crowding the lofty halls, Rose garlanded as fading page recalls, Deserted, lone! All else the Past upreared Lies hidden, crushed, the broken sherds of Time. But lo, as gods their puissance oft unsealed While still encradled, in these fanes we see Majestic forecasts, triumphs still to be; In the proud lift of column full revealed The wondrous childhood of an art sublime. [136] WITH OTHER POEMS ROME The Palaces of the Caesars in May WHERE marbled heights uprose in tortured pride The nightingales are singing in the trees, While rose-scents weight the swooning even ing breeze, And temples, stark and staring, side by side Mark out the Forum though full shrunk the tide That sweeps across these scarred and broken leas Where trod the great of earth, whose masteries Of land and wave flung empire far and wide! O Rome ! whose golden hills salute the light Still wall begirt, all, all that man may do To force oblivion on thy storied years Can ne er efface this whelming scorn of might 1137] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR Writ large in dust that once escaled the blue This might that crumbled since it knew not tears! In the Coliseum Moonlight O er arch and curving rim the soft light steals, And all this circling vast yields to the spell, And looms a shrine where Night and Silence dwell, Since what the day, so pitiless, reveals Of gaping wound, this silvery haze conceals, The while evoking fleeting wraiths that tell The boding secrets of this shadowy hell, Whose riven beauty hauntingly appeals. For, as rare Venus, reft of arms, still daunts All new perfection; or Apollo maimed, Or Nike, from some island scarpment hurled, So this grim torso, summing Rome, e er vaunts Its blood-stained splendor, never yet out- famed, And rules the wonder city of the world! [138] WITH OTHER POEMS The Protestant Cemetery Asleep, unwatched by those whose names they bore Dear names and scripts that tell of home- loved ways They rest, beneath the laurel s freshening bays And myrtles, guardians of the nether shore; At last at peace, whate er their life before, Great or unknown, worthy of blame or praise, They sought the dalliance of sunlit days Whose magic roads lead Romeward as of yore, But heard, amid her ruins, Death s low call. And, oh, what pathos in these simple tombs, For some the very crypts of dull despair, Where else the hands of love do smooth the pall! What tears for them, exiled, amid these glooms, Forever from fond hearts of those that care! [139] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR At Hadrian s Villa Mid olive groves, pallid and ivy bound, Fantastic, gnarled in trunk and tracery, And where dark cypresses spring heaven ward, free, And terraces with massy oaks are crowned, Colossal vaults upthrust whose cliffs astound The wanderer from the long-sloped flowing sea Of broad Campagna, stretching distantly, Whose tinkling murmurs everywhere re sound. And can it be that this so great emprise, This filch of glories mirroring many lands, Greece, Egypt, Asia, yea, the very heart Of loveliness, when men dared all for art, Was sheer caprice, as one plays with com mands? Surely some god bid this enchantment rise ! From the Ilex Groves, Villa Medici The sun sinks barred in pines on Mario s crest; The swallows, screaming, fleck the golden air, [140] WITH OTHER POEMS Whilst all the myriad bells of Rome declare In silvern tones the hour of vesper rest; And, as the light fails in the dying west, And Night is loosed from out its Sabine lair, Through ilex boskage, dim, strange shapes do stare, As if the unquiet dead with hectic zest Of days afar sought here their old-time life- Giving quick gleam of Messalina s face Leering through treillage, sick for wanton boon, Or, the lithe line of death-defying grace Of Antinous. Ah! what fancies here are rife, Evoked of dust and the wan crescent moon ! On the Spanish Steps Midnight* In swift cascade the steps, scarce seeming stone, Fall double-sourced from mount to street below, * Hard by the house of Keats. 1 141] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR Eddying in broken ivory waves that flow Past moon-touched balustrades and bul warks thrown Against the slope, to where the pulsing moan Of fount, complaining neath the lamp s dim glow, Breaks the dark silence of the palaced row Whose rambling pave e er broadens, mem ory strewn. And, as the Poet s spirit stirs the square, Fancy, on fire from this unquenched flame, Moved as by visions glimpsed in mystic tome, Sees from the heavens descend the angelic stair, And, all transfigured, e en the alien name Senses the soul, th eternal heart of Rome ! 1142] HUMORESQUE HUMPTY-DUMPTY (As the Author of "Paradise Lost" Might Have Written It) HIGH on a wall that far aloft, uprist Above the stretch of plain extend ing far Till distance dimming hid the realm s extent, Resourceful in its might of means and men, Above the mass of barbican and keep, All crenelated in the Guelphic style, Whose deep machicolations told of strength And towering heights commanded the demesne, Whose sheer effect, unbroken, smote the sky Not roughly hewn in blocks ranged tier on tier, With line irregular or rudely stepped, But shining adamant laid evenly With joints concealed by cunning of the Ind, Whose swart artificers laid stone on stone And wrought the marvel as by wizardry, 10 ( 145 ] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR And topped the glistening face with pictured frieze High up, so high that Babel was surpassed, On jutting cornice, dizzily emperched, Lo, proud of station, Humpty-Dumpty sat! ***** Tell, Muse, who once upon the Roman hills Sang of the rise and fall of human pride, Who saw the Csesars humbled in the dust, Who erst had built them golden palaces On marble steeps and ruled the encircling world With kings as galley slaves and household guards; Or, of that older line beloved of Bel Whose habitations terraced all the banks, Where broad Euphrates spread his reedy waste, Tho naught now marks the site save shape less mounds, The refuge for the jackal and the owl, What once was seat of proud Assyria s lords Tell, Muse, still pondering o er the storied past, [146] WITH OTHER POEMS In stately number of this later woe When Humpty-Dumpty slipped and tum bled o er! What were the sad results to men set out; Since ages still do chant the plaintive lay, And hold the tragedy in awe, and cry Against injustice and too sudden fate By which God s ways are writ in rigid laws Inscrutable to mortal eyes at times, Nor justified by every prattling bard ! The why and how twas Humpty-Dumpty fell From periled state and lost his eagle poise When fortune seemed to smile and e en exult. Tell, Muse, and of that fall, lo, quick, relate How whizzing like a ball from ammiraFs gun, Sent upward then descending to the ground, Or, like some meteor, seen athwart the sky, Whose horrid trail of fire affrights the Popes, And, though forbid by bulls, goes streaming on, With swift acceleration falling down In unremitting flight till earth is struck [147] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAB Then dissipating into air is lost, How Humpty-Dumpty, from his eyrie shot, Fell through the shuddering air that could not hold The swift displacement of his weighty bulk. And so, fell on, past towers and pinnacles, Past parapets and balconies in line, Where fair ones shrieked to see the spectacle. Nor hand could save him e en had any willed, Past lower battlements with final cry, Until the courtyard pave with sickening thud Receives what once was semblance of a man ! Tell, Muse, moreover, as a hint to those Who oft in vain essays do waste their strength, In tasks Sisyphean, what the aftermath, The final consequences of this fall; relate How all the foolish, yea and e en the wise, With divinations strange sought out relief, To right the fallen; yea, but all in vain! In vain the lamentations of the host, In vain the grief of those of high estate, In vain the engineries invoked, [148] WITH OTHER POEMS All, all, in vain, naught, naught was of avail; Nor all the pomp and pageantry of power, Nor all the puissance of royal state, Nor all the king s great horse, a princely troop, Some forty thousand ready for the word, Nor men on foot, some myriads in arms, Acting in severalty, or all in one With mighty unanimity at work, Could set poor Humpty-Dumpty up again! For such the dire confusion of the fall That men, in wonderment themselves e en asked If e er he sat upon the wall on high, So scarcely seemed he built for such estate. They wot not if their minds were not awry When what had been was memoried in the face Of what was there before their streaming eyes; And, still amazed, still questioning what it meant, [H9J THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR Betook them to their tasks and went their ways * * * * * Tell, Muse, this tale, so that in years to come, As nursery jingles sing in sobbing rhyme Of Humpty-Dumpty and the uprising wall, The world may pause and drop its meed of tears O er him to fateful end predestinate ! 150] A LINE OR SO-IN VARYING MOODS "EVENING," BY GEORGE INNESS THE western sky, cloud woven, is quick with cunning fires, O er all the graying mystery of evening broods; Transmuting grosser things the very brush aspires, And man reveals himself in Nature s subtlest moods. MOONRISE AT SEA OUT of the wave-spun murk, a golden ball; Over the sea a wizard light, An elfin dance where the soft beams fall, A truce to night. 1153] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR FATE DARK-CENTRED in the garden path the busy life Of teeming ants; a little world in great Where all is mirrored; peace domestic, alien strife: Then heedless step of man and all s annihilate. DULLARDS! SOME souls, like worlds long dead, still circle round A central orb; their gloom the very heart of night outstrips; In dull opacity they hug their bound, Revealed alone by that which they eclipse. [154] WITH OTHER POEMS WHEN AMONG FOOLS THOUGH rare the gem, if but the sordid mass Of crude complacency returns, in dulled response, its gaze, Its facets flash not, lo, as through a glass Blurred and obscured its timid beauty plays ! LOVE S SOLSTICE (Christmas) EST human hearts grow cold and bitter in the endless drear Of world-strife, battling long with cankered self and guile Unhindered; lo, a day is set; life brightens with all cheer As love s dear Solstice rules, its sun a baby s smile! THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR ACQUAINTED! At, the joy in the greeting! Serene, for the moment no longer alone! And yet, in the meeting, A pang at the heart; one might not have known. THE OLD DOOR KNOCKER THESE hand worn knobs the years betray, Long years of many a miss and meeting; Yet freely lift and knock to-day, Doors gladly turn at friendly greeting Give hearty "welcome" while they may, Since life and love are ever fleeting. WITH OTHER POEMS PORTENTS THE crescent moon of yestere en Hung baleful in the tawny light, Its cusps, a-tilt, held blood between As fell the grisly night. The air from off the stagnant fen Came thick, a carrion-scented breath A lonely bird s shrill scream, and then A hush the hush of death! WRITTEN ON THE FLY-LEAF OF A BOOK ON "ACOUSTICS" THIS is the science that unlocks The mysteries of the quivering note, Whose lowest diapason rocks The walls, and strains the reedy throat; Whilst Echo, listening with all ears, Can scarcely catch the fairy tone True music of celestial spheres As the touched string yields up its moan Of harmonies, that rise and die In beauty that is ecstasy. [157] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR THE BURIAL AL day long dragged the weary hours, With tongue of bell, the throb of drum, the dole of those who mourn, Till lo, where sable curtain dowers The West with signs of funery, Beyond the marge of earthly bowers, The portals ope their jasper gates, reveal the sun-swept bourne, Set in a crystal paved sea, The dazzling sign of living hope to those who walk forlorn; The calm depths of eternity. CONTRAST SMILING, while others mourn, Joyful, sorrow we scorn; Mourning, as others smile, Sadly the hours we while. Wings the world too this way; One part night; one part day. [158] WITH OTHER POEMS INEVITABLE BLOCK by block we build, nor see Lever of grim destiny; Laugh in joyance as we pave Pathway to the open grave. While we pity others fate Death knocks loudly at the gate. REAPING E~ VE to Death: "O, reap not here, There are fields more brown and sere, Spare this tender, budding ear." Death to Love : " I garner where I may find the fruits most fair. Think ye husks fill up my share?" [159] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAB SUCCESSFUL (Croesus Speaketh) STRUGGLED? yes, for years; sought high and low, Nothing withstood; and then supreme command! But even soul was sold it did not count And now ah, God! the very last of woe! To stand within the glamor of the land And only know the shadow of the mount! [160] WITH OTHER POEMS CONFESSIO I DO not know whence all this sprang, The world-stuff of the stellar main, When morning stars together sang And harmonies most subtle rang. And what, the last dread veil in twain, The scene, where Cause alone doth reign, I do not know. Whether behind the mystic mien Of law in nature, force serene, The face of love can yet be seen I do not know. And though effects their secrets tell, Forecast the final end of all, Whether there s aught beside the pall, And life, that stands for more than cell, Lives on, eterne, and all is well, I do not know. 11 1161] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR CHOICE! THE path was broad; the reaches, open to the sun On either side, through pillared colonnade Gave free access, e en as the fleeting whim Might seize; enchanting vistas loomed, whose choice Was as the will to choose, without dispute, As invitation smiled on every hand. ***** For thus it seemed, as on the pilgrim fared Ere yet the milestone years had told their tale; Till lo, with heights well gained, and past in view In full perspective, wonderful the change ! One road but meets the eye, of narrow bounds ; Hemmed in; no turn to right or left; straight on; Closed as an alley pleached with marble walls, Unbroken as to base or fluted shaft; The way marked out, and inescapable ! [162] WITH OTHER POEMS MEASUREMENT DEAREST, the world indeed is small, narrow its plan ! Its millioned reaches but fan tastic dream Of seething marts, dark distances that hide Strange things afar, remote, beyond the stream Of multitude, beyond the swell of human tide. And yet, what if the gloomy ocean beds Stretch vastly, and the swelling land Knows every clime, from ice-bound polar dreads To tropic lures? Since we command Our fate, let others fight the crowding things that seem Dearest, the world indeed is small; two hearts its span! [163] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR ON NE BADINE PAS AVEC L AMOUR HIS love had kindled all her life Until there came the grievous wrong Too hurt for words, too cowed for strife, Honor, enmired, dragged scarce along. Woe came to her. He went his way; But master turned the slave that day. And rich in lands, in all else poor, On ne badine pas avec V amour. He traveled far in climes most strange, And many nestled by his side, Nor healed the ache. What profits change? Heart turned to stone at beck of pride, Youth wasted, spent itself in vain; Fled nor returned the old-time pain, Ah, rich in gold, in all else poor, On ne badine pas avec V amour. Years told their passage on the brow, Time ravaged all he held most dear, No hands outstretched to greet him now, And all but memory, withered, sere. [164] WITH OTHER POEMS Unloved, unsought, tho deep his lore, Full humbled could he ask for more? And rich in life, in all else poor, On ne badine pas avec V amour. 165] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR BALLAD (With a Double Refrain) " A | AIS some day soon the ship will away (Oh, it s work to-day and rest to-morrow) And bring my darling back to me. Tis^some day soon what is that you say? And a glad home-comin it will be." (Oh, it s work to-day, to-morrow) "So here I wait for him," she said. How could they tell her he was dead? "He s toilin hard for me And then (Oh, it s work to-day and rest to-morrow) He wasn t the likely lad to write; Sure, tis idle folk who are quick of pen, And there s not much chance in his tent at night." (Oh, it s work to-day, to-morrow) "So here I wait for him," she said. They could not tell her he was dead. U66] WITH OTHER POEMS "And you all mean well, but I heed you not; (Oh, it s work to-day and rest to-morrow) For the world is big and the world is wide. Tis not so easy to choose your lot And luck needs coaxing to take your side." (Oh, it s work to-day, to-morrow) "He s comin home to me," she said "How dare you say my boy is dead?" And the days rolled up a tale of years. (Oh, it s work to-day and rest to-morrow) And she still hoped on though her heart was sore. And dimmed were those eyes oft wet with tears ; Till lo ! one day, as she watched the door, (Oh, it s work to-day, to-morrow) "Why there s my darling, at last!" she said. "I knew he would come" And she too was dead. [167] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR LULLABY (For E. E. M.) SANDMAN o er the house is flying, Darkening all the purple sky; And the stars are peeking, spying From the windows up so high. Sleep and slumber, Who shall number Fays of elfland crowding near? Softly singing, Harebells ringing, Sleep and slumber; night is here! E en the birds have ceased their calling, Hushed and silent, lo, they rest; Heads are drooping, heads are falling Nestling close on mother s breast. Sleep and slumber, Who shall number Fays of elfland crowding near? Softly singing, Harebells ringing, Sleep and slumber; night is here! [168] WITH OTHER POEMS Lights in all the lanes are blinking, Every tot is snug at home; Only pussy sits a-thinking Of the chance in dark to roam. Sleep and slumber, Who shall number Fays of elfland crowding near? Softly singing, Harebells ringing, Sleep and slumber; night is here! Closer! closer! eyelids tighten; Fades the memory of the day; Shut for good! there s naught to frighten, Sleep and dream the hours away! Sleep and slumber, Who shall number Fays of elfland crowding near? Softly singing, Harebells ringing, Sleep and slumber; night is here! 1169 THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR WHEN VENUS VIES WHEN Venus with fair Dian vies, Emblazoned on the wintry skies, And lusty Boreas, rough of throat, Pours forth in hurtling blasts his note; The day in lovelier evening dies When Venus vies. Then comes the gentle hour, when glows The firelight on the cheek s pale rose; And softer gleam in Lydia s eyes When Venus vies. And, as beneath the tree-fringed hill The low moon hides, a subtle thrill Is felt as one star s magic light Illumes the dusk. As falls the night, E en dull-edged time serenely flies When Venus vies. [170] WITH OTHER POEMS TIME WHO CARES BECAUSE TIS FLEETING? T (Catch for a Class Reunion) IME? who cares because tis fleeting, Years are but a day? Older? well a heartier greeting, Sing a roundelay ! FAME? we ve courted, yea, and chaffed her, She s a jade, you know. Flout her; she s all smiles and laughter, Just won t let you go ! LOVE? we ve won, or lost, what matter; Make the best of fate ! Truly, vows are idle chatter; Cupid s blind, I d state ! LIFE? we ve lived its fullest measure, Sorrow they who may; Take no tale of gold or treasure, Here s content alway ! [171] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAK JOY? tis in the present hour; Why, we re not of age ! Sunlit now, whate er may lower, Hope on every page ! 172] HUNGER; OR, "THE BREAD OF LIFE HUNGER OR "THE BREAD OF LIFE" (Charity Under the Old Regime) The Elect. FRED. Hello, old boy! Why, what s your hurry? haste Ne er yet became your style. BOB. Just as you will. To-day Miss R. returns to town, you know. FRED. Oh, Polly Ritter! Good! I hope her smiles Will end this rain. Though, come to think, by Jove! She raised a tempest at the Pier. BOB.- Cut that! It takes a girl of brains to stir things up. And then, you know, well FRED. Hang it all, well what? You haven t? Out with it, old man. Confess ! 1175] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR You ve got to break the news some day, you know. Your face is eloquent whate er your words, And silence in such matters spells "I m hit." You ll dine with me this eve I hope. The Club. Miss Polly s charm will surely grant you leave At least, you haven t lost your appetite, And then I ll play the eager listener, And let you tell the "story of your life." No, no; I mean the story of your love. BOB (hesitating). All right. I ll come. You see, it s this way, Fred FRED. Of course I ll hear it all to-night. And Bob, at seven Remember, sharp! (Later entering the X Club.} Just half past six. I got here early. Boy, The evening papers! Dr. Marchand here? (Sits down by the large window in a low easy leather chair and reads.) More crimes ! And type that fills the page. I wonder which is worse, the deed, or print [176] WITH OTHER POEMS That magnifies it to the uttermost Till none escape it; into every nook Its influence sweeps and those who run Not only may but must, however pressed, Keep running hard lest they be over whelmed, And, like the rest, are swallowed up in "news." Another murder, and, a "mystery!" Of course, one hardly kills his man in fun, With witnesses to catch one in the act. That is the way among our Gallic friends Who prick each other with a gentle sword Or pepper with a pistolet in style, And keep the code duello up to date With vitascopic cameras at hand. Our murderers, true conservatives, Will none of that. They still work in the dark, Prefer the secrecy of old romance. And, tis surprising how so old a trade, Or art my bow to Cain, remains un changed In motives, methods, even in the tools. The Mafia, eh! I always told them so. 12 [177 ] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR Let down the bars, drag all the Latins in, Palermo s slums and Naples reeking lanes, And lo, your Sicilies will breed you germs, Social bacilli, that the state, With all its Boards and laws, cannot destroy. Germs of a feverish discontent, More to be feared than those that spell disease, With foot-long names that Loeffler isolates Or Haffkine worries with his antidotes. Lord, how it rains ! The very street s afloat ! (Reads a while longer, then goes out to the dining room to order dinner.) Ah, pleasant odor that! The dinner card! I hope the chef has some surprise in store, Some specialty to take away the blues, So! Sweetbreads, broiled with mushrooms, that s the jig, A salmi; timbales in the latest vein; John s table d hotes are devilish hard to beat. How full the room, the season s under way. McMaynooth s ordering supper with an air Of o er-ripe lord. No table d hote for him, [178] WITH OTHER POEMS At home he dines in bourgeois style, I bet. I m getting hungry, for these sight and sounds Are too suggestive Bob s a lucky dog, I hope he won t play Raleigh very long And keep me starving while he sits and spoons Gad, but I wish I had his chance, I know Old Barker must be famished. One would think His life had been a gastric phantasy Of lunches snatched in railway restaurants. Oh, yes, the menu! Dinner, as arranged. A trifle extra with the sweets and cheese. The soup? Oh, bisque of snails will do, I think; The usual wines. The coffee served down stairs And, mind! no camembert unless it s ripe. (Returns to reception room. Sinks into chair. A long wait.) This night s the devil s own. The rain comes down In sheets as if the skies were all unhinged. I wish that ass would come to time, it s late, 1179] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR And to my mind there s nothing quite so bad As waiting for a man behind the hour; To sit in body-anguish, hungry, mad, With nerves screwed up to expectation s point, Whilst he, forsooth, is calm as fate itself. I m like a year-old bride, who, late at night, In smart house frock with all the gas turned low Awaits her lord, all frowns. But he, serene, Surprised at naught, is ready with regret, No lame excuse upon his mellow tongue. Those mushrooms. Well, I wonder if They made me sick on that dire midnight hour I tackled one so ample that a toad Could well have sheltered self and warty brood Beneath its shade. Gad, this is getting worse ! It s rather classic though to sit and starve In sight of plenty. Tantalus has stood These many years for tropes to suit all tastes 180] WITH OTHER POEMS A regular Atlas for the nimble wits. If this keeps up I ll know the cow-boy s gripe Who travels half a day without a bite Oh, here at last; now don t excuse yourself. A lover s reasons need no diagram. It s good you came just now. Later, perhaps, A ravening man had seized your out stretched hand, And, famished, played the dusky cannibal With you the releve. Of course! She did? Why bless my soul, old man! But come, you re right, We ll talk it over here! (They go out to dinner.} The Unelect. TOM. Nobody s home. So jes beneath these steps, Close to the basement door sit still and wait. I won t be long. There s lots and lots of snaps Around this section. [181] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR MAGGIE. Yes, but hurry, do! (Tom goes away and Maggie huddles in the corner with ill success to get out of the driving November rain.) I feel so queer inside. All kind o raw. Poor Tom don t know how thin and gone I am. I ain t yet told him. He s like all the boys. He never sees as girls do what is up. I ain t eat nothin since the little scraps Old Mommy Foran gave me t other night It s chilly here. I wish the rain would stop. It blows so awful, too, as if in spite. It minds me of the night the p lice pinched dad. My how I cried ! But Mom was awful glad. He beat her so and never had a cent. I wish he d died in place of poor old Mom. We d never be at this. Oh, my, this rain! If Tom would come, and it would only stop ! It seems an hour since he went away. I ll take a peep. The wind jes bites your face. It blows all ways at once. My, my, the rain! [182] WITH OTHER POEMS My frock s all stickin to me, soakin wet There s men at supper just across the way. There s lots o lights and things and, ain t it nice. I wonder how it truly feels to eat Just all you want as long as long can be? I m trembly! How my forehead hurts! If Tom would only come. But p rhaps he s caught. But no, the p lice won t move in all this pour. Oh, won t it ever stop? My head, my head ! That woman said twas wrong for us to lie, Even to get a bite to keep us live. She wore black silks all trimmed expensive like. Mom said she d got religion on the brain. She prayed in all the flats and wa n t afraid. She said we needed light. I wonder why? I never heard no one who talked so queer. I ve got the yellow card she gave to me. With printing on both sides. I ve got it here. Perhaps it calls for soup, or something else. U83J THE WIFE OF POTIPHAB I feel so strange ! If Tom would only come ! The lights are queer ! I wish the rain would stop! My head! Oh my . . . the lights . . . are going . . . out! Oh, Tom! . . . (She faints. After an interval Tom returns with his pitiful spoil.) TOM (eagerly). Come, Maggie, wake! I m back at last! Oh, my, she won t wake up. She s dead! She s dead! Oh, help! my sister s dead! (Falls sobbing on his knee beside her body. Crowd. Then after an interval policeman, etc.) A VOICE. She s still alive. She s only fainted. Here, keep back the crowd. Is there a doctor? Come, don t take on so! Your sister isn t dead. Don t cry, my lad! (To policeman) Call up the ambulance. My God, she s thin! [184] WITH OTHER POEMS Here, wrap her up in this. Yes, that will do. Keep quiet, sonny. POLICEMAN. Here now, keep away, This ain t a circus. Give the girl a chance. No water; she s had all she wants to night, It s something stronger that she needs. That s what! (The ambulance arrives To ambu lance doctor) Tis nothing special, doctor, but a girl That s fainted on the street. She s coming to, But mighty weak and empty seems to me. But up your way she ll get the proper things. A square meal more than medicine. That s what. These alley rats just live from hand to mouth. (To boy) You come with me to-night. (Ambulance drives away, crowd dis perses.) 185] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR The Elect. FRED. Look at the crowd ! Oh, there s the ambulance. Somebody must be hurt. By gad! what rain! And so the day is fixed. Well, count on me, Old man, I ll see you through. What! going now? Well, if you must. Remember me for sure . . . (Leaves dining room together. Later in the evening Dr. Greyville of the hospital arrives.} FRED (from the card room). Hello, gay juggler with "afflictions sore," W T hat grist to-day ? A new and rare disease ? Has some queer mortal found a novel scheme To "shuffle off this mortal coil" for good, Or suicide disproved your lore of drugs? GREYVILLE. There s nothing new. I ve had a busy time. My respite only lasts till twelve o clock. Is Allen here? Ah, yes, I ve got a tale: [186] WITH OTHER POEMS In all that driving rain, a beggar girl Came in to-night. So thin, she made me creep. Just like a shriveled hollow reed; a reed With all the pith dried out. Half dead in fact. But you don t care. Now don t protest you do. The girl won t die. Perhaps twere better! Well, A problem for your philosophic pipe To draw upon, well mixed with Kidd and Shaw, And Mill for something old and out of date: She had, this waif, mere bloodless skin and bone, W T ithin the pocket of her rain-soaked frock, Kept there as if a precious, valued thing, An open sesame to sure relief, A tract, entitled, well "Cfce TBteaD Of Life," No doubt the donor, as the cards were dropped, 1187] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR Saw treasures ripen where the moth and rust Corrupt not; for herself, you know! What s that? Why yes, I ll take a hand. Sniff, hearts or bridge? 188] PARAPHRASES UEBER ALLEN GIPFELN 1ST RUH (After Goethe) PEACE, where the sun-glow lingers On the crest; Silent the woodland singers In their nest. As the zephyr softly dies A wondrous quiet lies. Wait, tis best; Thou, too, shalt close thine eyes Soon, in rest! [191 THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR ON DRINKING (After Anacreon) TT ~ H vr? THE earth soaks in the boundless main, The trees drink from the earth; The sea s refreshed by falling rain And so adds to its girth; The sun then gulps the heaving sea, And, in her turn, the moon Takes from her liege: So let it be With me my friends, a boon. Why quarrel with my primal need I simply follow Nature s lead? [192] WITH OTHER POEMS LA BONNE CHANSON (After Verlaine) THE whispering boughs, In the forest dim Where the moonbeams drowse, Raise the vesper hymn In the glinted dark: Oh, beloved, hark! The quiet pool, Neath the willow s tress, In the evening s cool, Speaks of peacefulness As the tired winds weep: Oh, beloved, sleep! From the darkening vast Benedictions fall; Calm, unsurpassed, With the night s soft pall, Mystery its dower: Tis the witching hour. 13 [ 193 ] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR LA BOURREE (After Catulle Mendes) SURE the clogs bind the feet, So off with them! There! What beauty ! How neat ! Ah, I m fond of them bare. Let us dance with the link, In the torches full glare. Ah, the feet firm and pink, Sure, I m fond of them bare ! The husbands limp by Like the cure s gray mare, But the young men are spry, And they re fond of them bare. All decked in their frills They have come to compare (Ah, the sight of them thrills And I m fond of them bare !) [194] WITH OTHER POEMS In the glimmering light, Ah, the ankles so fair ( Tis true a brave sight And I m fond of them bare.) And they know how to choose As the soft feet ensnare. Well, put on the shoes, But I d rather them bare ! [195] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR [The Wife of Potiphar has been set to music by Carl Linn Seiler, of the University of Pennsylvania.] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR DRAMATIC EPISODE IN ONE SCENE CHARACTERS INVOLVED POTIPHAR; an aged Egyptian official of high rank. (Out of action.) THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR; In full bloom of youthful wifehood. SARDIS; an Assyrian, lover to the wife of Potiphar. JOSEPH; chief of the household of POTIPHAR, a Hebrew. NEFERT; chief tiring-woman to the wife of POTIPHAR, and confidante. In scene. Eunuchs; Tiring-women; Slaves; Snake-charmers; Dancing girls; etc. Out of scene. Priests and populace in pro cession, music, etc. [199] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR THE SETTING (The apartment of the wife of Potiphar in the compound of the palace, on the main corridor and facing on the large court. Mats, divans and low seats in Egyptian style. At the rise of the curtain two eunuchs guard either side of the door, while two tiring-women assisted by meaner slaves busy themselves preparing the room for the arrival of their mistress from the great ceremonial at the Court of Pharaoh. The snake-charmers ply their trade, and the jugglers and traveling dancers divert the servants, and as the women rearrange the clothes-presses, jewel-caskets, chests for the garments of state, they indulge freely in idle gossip about their mistress, who is returning prematurely from the court, having feigned an illness. There is a soft light from latticed windows through which are heard the sounds of the outer world, while at the sound of the trumpets announcing the approach of the wife of Potiphar, the players and dancers retire hurriedly, being ordered out of the room by a servant.) {200J WITH OTHER POEMS THE SCENE A SERVANT. Out with ye, baggage, out, begone! Out, out! We have our tasks. Out, out, ye baggage, out! (To maids:) About your work, ye wenches ! (Then to the recreating players:) Out, begone! (As the players retire, and the servants resume their work, two maids of the wife of Potiphar enter breathlessly and greet their fellow-servants and start to gossip in a lively, bustling manner.) FIRST WOMAN. We left our lady dallying at the gate. SECOND WOMAN. "Tis well we fared ahead ; our lady might A SERVANT (interrupting). We hear strange rumors SECOND WOMAN. Yea, that Pharaoh s glance Consumed her quite was seen of all. The bearer of the wine cups tells the tale. [201 THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR FIRST WOMAN. I had it from the harpist at the door. None met the royal gaze so fearlessly And none was there so fair to look upon. And yet, the gossip runs, with all her gems In hair, on neck, with girdle thickly sown, Though all the lords of On wait her caprice, The wife of Potiphar had other thoughts That set soft yearning in her liquid eyes And made her seem a-faint. SECOND WOMAN. But who, in sooth, Could hold my lady s favor gainst my lord s? FIRST WOMAN. None know, and Khemat says SECOND WOMAN. Ah, yes, that fool! What courtyard clatter sold he thee to-day? The very stones and halls do tell him things To startle camel-boys fresh from the wilds. FIRST WOMAN. Out, out upon your shrew ish tongue! SECOND WOMAN. Well, now! FIRST WOMAN. Time was you hung on Khemat s every word. [202] WITH OTHER POEMS SECOND WOMAN. Well, fare ye on. I ll listen with all ears. FIRST WOMAN. So Khemat says that things were all askew, That while the ceremonies moved in state My lady sought escape. Lord Sardis watched SECOND WOMAN. Lord Sardis! Pah! I spit when he goes by. There s evil in his look. The gods my judge ! His eyes are red within from hidden fire, They glow as blood-stones from his own far East. Old Mafra says who once saw Babylon, As messenger from Pharaoh to the King That monstrous deeds are common there, that men By wizard arts lose shape and human form, Whilst fearsome animals become as human kind. FIRST WOMAN. Old Mafra prattles like a rattling gourd. If Sardis glared tis not so passing strange My lady took it ill. [203 THE WIPE OF POTIPHAB SECOND WOMAN. Yah! Sardis! yah! I know his ways. An asp among the reeds. For mind ye, wench, his favor FIRST WOMAN (cautiously}. Hush thee, friend ! What secret, hidden thing thou wouldst remark Had better go unsaid; for who are we, In service to our lord, idly to talk About our betters? SECOND WOMAN (sarcastically}. Yah, what airs indeed! Since when has gossip pained thee ? (Scurry of feet and bustle outside.) FIRST MESSENGER. Prepare ! Ye chattering maids, set everything to rights. Our lady s nigh. (Retires.) SECOND MESSENGER. See to it all is well! The wife of Potiphar is at the gate And all the favored ones of On attend. The crowds acclaim her. Lo! she steps ashore Without her consort. Potiphar delays, [204] WITH OTHER POEMS By royal call he deals with public needs And holds him counsel in the temple (Shouts and fanfares in the distance.} (Exit.) FIRST WOMAN. Ah, Haste thee thyself, we have been long pre pared ! SECOND WOMAN. Prepared indeed! None faithfuller than we! SECOND MESSENGER (returning). Curse ye for disputatious jades ! But soft, My lady s in the hall. Prepare! Prepare! (Great bustle and confusion as ser- vants, slaves, precede the wife of Poti- phar, who enters, attired magnificently, leaning on the arm of Nefert, her chief tiring-woman. As her maids surround her she sinks negligently on the divan, listening to their murmured welcome.) WIFE OF POTIPHAR (to the tiring-women): Peace, peace, good folk! And haste ye to your work! (Turning to Nefert.) Nefert, I faint! These garments bind me sore. [205] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR Remove the jewels! How their weights oppress ! This massy circlet cuts my head in twain. I fain would rest me after these fatigues, These irksome ceremonies of the court, Where I must play the puppet part to please, And keep my lord in favor with the King; Nor lose this luxury that is my life. (Muses, and after a brief interval, to her women:} But go ye now, and make ye holiday. I rest alone. The higher duties call And I release ye from my service. Go! (Claps her hands and all retire save Nefert, who on a signal from her mis tress hastens to her side and awaits her will. With more animation her mistress cries out:) No prying eyes! My mirror, Nefert, quick! (Gazes at herself in various poses for some time, whilst Nefert puts away her jewels. Then as if satisfied exclaims:) Much as of old. Ah no, not on the wane, [206] WITH OTHER POEMS Not on the wane, but ripe, full ripe (Then quickly, as if putting into execution a fond resolve:) To-day! To-day! I must no longer check desire Nor hold my burning love in self-made bounds. Ho, Nef ert ! tis my urgent will That Joseph he who came in humble guise, But now, by grace of Potiphar, is free And raised to high estate await me here. Our household duties need his special care. Then, to the temple, where the people crowd. Haste thee ! away ! No, no, forgetful I (Claps her hand and calls to slave:) Attend me here and find the jasper bowl In which I placed a wreath this early morn And fetch it me. Quick! quick! (Slave disappears and quickly returns with a wreath of white water-lilies or lotuses which she hands to her mistress, who in turn hands them over to Nefert.) Ah, Nefert, haste, [207] THE WIFE OP POTIPHAB Before the goddess plact these smiling flowers Enwreathed for Hathor by these hands alone, Though born of Nilish mud, sweet as the breeze, And softly white as wool of Caanan s hills, Or as the ostrich plumes from land of Punt, Hang them upon the altar, there await, And when the auspices are read, return ! A coney crossed my path, a bird fell dead, The crescent moon last night sank dipt in blood. Away, and let thy prayers win me peace! I must find favor in her sight to-day. (Nefert retires quickly. The wife of Potiphar loosens her girdle, falls back gracefully upon the divan and waits the coming of Joseph with a confident air. Brief silence. The house is still, but afar off the occasional chants and shouts resound which die away to a faint murmur as Joseph s footsteps in the corridor are heard and he appears at the threshold. With inquiring cour- 1208) WITH OTHER POEMS tesy he halts and awaits the word of his mistress, who waves him in with an easy gesture and addresses him in low, liquid tones:} Thou nearest afar the distant, broken shouts Of those who throng the temple gates of Ptah, That rise and fall as wind among the palms, Or murmur of the Nile when at the full. (Brief silence while the wife of Poti- phar negligently rearranges her robe, all the while looking significantly at Joseph, who is frankly puzzled.} The fete holds Potiphar, whose duties press And keep him captive till the set of sun; Whilst I, a-faint, the privilege of my sex, Await thee here, knowing thy daily round Had naught to stay it in the priestly show. For what, to thee, the mummied Gods of On? Art thou not servant to a mightier lord? Nor self art seen, nor offerings from thee grace The inner shrines. Thou laborest here instead, Indifferent to the lofty ones they praise. u [209] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR And yet, methinks, thy spirit at its wont Is not austere; thy modesty but mask That hides the passion of a soul unstirred; Thy comeliness (Joseph, whose embarrassment has been increasing, starts, and despite the effort of his mistress to continue, cries out as follows:) JOSEPH. O mistress, what am I! Oh, what am I to hear these words? for know, Humble in self, in household life a slave, From shepherd stock, familiar to the fields, No graces mark me. Let me to my work. I know not palace ways, and, out of place, As all the man within me cries beware, I ask, I beg that I may go in peace To duties waiting WIFE OF POTIPHAR. Ah, sweet slave, my love, List thou to my refrain and hear me out, Nor lose thy interest through this halting tongue. For I, whilst nature sulks at noontide heats, Impatient lie, intent to know thy heart; [210] WITH OTHER POEMS To know thee not as slave, but equal mate, Companion of these all-enticing arms; The sharer of my too unsated love. Lo ! I, voluptuous by sweet Athor s grace, Neglected by an aged and foolish lord, Long, long, have loved thee, sinned in eye and soul When thou wert near; yea, watched, unknown to thee, Thy every move, thy working hours, thy rests, The lift of shoulders in the furrowed field, The sinuous gleam at play in courtyard pool. (Joseph starts again, more and more perturbed, and takes a step toward the wife of Potiphar as if to remonstrate; but her resistless flow of words is not stopped, but gains in passionate inten sity as he interrupts her.) JOSEPH (interrupting). O mistress, let me serve unseen, unknown, Unknown, unseen, or I must flee this house ! WIFE OF POTIPHAR (continuing). No, no, my love. Perchance my words seem wild. 211] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR But let them be as music to thy soul, Inviting slumber on my heaving breast. Oh, let them be thy law, a newer code, So potent that thy flesh will cry " I yield " Ere yet thy lips have framed the words "full won." Be not abashed. Come, tell me of thy god, That hidden one whose worship fires thine eye And puts a song upon thy willing lips. Thy tasks, thy plans, thy hopes I fain would know, The sweet desires of springtide in thy blood; For youth doth diadem thy shapely head, And bursts in beauty on thy darkened cheeks. Thy chin, decision; e en thy stature tells Thy office, and, if countenance belie, The elder s place, what boots it sith it speaks Of pulsing health, of vigor Ah, of love ! (At this moment Joseph s embarrass ment is most obvious. In quick suc cession, emotional storms, a stern resolve, pity, disdain, endurance and determina- [212] WITH OTHER POEMS tion to hold himself in check sweep over him, and he again advances toward the wife of Potiphar as if to check her; but fails to stop her bold address as in greater excitement she continues:} Deny me not! No longer I command As mistress of this lordly house, these lands, But, clad as dancing girl who plies her trade, I yield myself ecstatic at thy feet. Mine equal, more than equal; I, the slave, Beseech thee. Give me joy, a free return, A quick response to this my sacrifice. Entice me with thy lips, thy firstling beard, For lo! I burn, my love shame to the winds And plead for close embrace of sinewed arms, Arms dark with sun, strong with the sea son s toil, And tell thee, what thou garnerest here is prize Above all prizes, gift of Maut indeed! I would be thine, reveal my very self, Would risk mine all, to lift thee, captive, up To newer honors, yea, to great delights 1213 THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR Thou hast not dreamed, ineffable. For race is naught, and rank falls with the belt; Encouched, thou rulest as the King. (Joseph outraged in feeling throws up both hands as if in tragic command, and looking straight at his mistress, who for the moment recoils on the divan, but as if for a spring, says:} JOSEPH. Halt thee, woman; stay thy mad dened words! O wife of Potiphar, what thoughts are thine ! What boldness stirs thy mind! Thou art distraught. The banquet wine was served o er-long, o er-strong. Calm thee. Forget not who thou wert and art The daughter of a royal line, the spouse Of him who rules a hundred willing slaves. And I, forget me; let me be as naught, As one thou wot st not of, save as thy house Reflects through duty done his every care. Have I e er failed in service unto thee? 1214] WITH OTHER POEMS Or, niggard, grudging as my office grew, As step by step, I touched the topmost tread, O erlooked the wife in favor of the lord? Why should I sin against thy caste, Against this sheltering home and Potiphar, Against my God, myself and thee? Oh, check this madness, lest upon its train Crowds ruin for this house and all within. I must away about my lord s commands. WIFE OF POTIPHAR. Ah, not aloof, my love, if but desire Would fruit, my yield with thee an hundred fold! Do I not tempt thee? (Joseph, though realizing his danger, has regained his composure and again advances as if to reason with the wife of Potiphar, and in answer to her ques tion cries as if in religious exaltation:) JOSEPH (as if in prayer). Tempt me? Hear my vow, Jehovah, Jireh, God of Abram, hear! Yea, hear me for my vows still unreleased, God of the silent reaches, God of light, [215J THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR Of a long-brooding people, duty bound The tense devotion of a youth s first oath, Hold, hold me to it, dull the senses, Shut out the world as if but seeming (To wife of Potiphar:) Check! Oh, check this madness, wife of Potiphar! Forfend against thyself! Mine eyes are closed, My ears now full estopped, blind, blind and deaf. Jehovah, Jireh ! He indeed will hear, Will hearken to my WIFE OF POTIPHAR. Art thou granite then, A being limned upon the templed walls; Some graven image, squat of trunk, in wood? No, no, my love, entice! Am I not fair? No sleek attendant with her gauzy robe Can e en compare with these revealed charms. Many the years ere yet my beauty fades, And dried as Ramses in the tombs, men pass Nor turn to see the parchment of these breasts, The stiffened limbs, the glassy stare of eye. [216] WITH OTHER POEMS To-day is certainty, aught else is doubt. To-day s for love and life; to-morrow, pah! The body rules to-day, so yield thee, love, Nor fear, thy path but leads (Joseph s composure gives way as he sees the insatiate passion of the wife of Potiphar, and with a look of horror on his face he turns as if to flee, but does not; instead throws his cloak over his head in gesture of despair at his inability to bring his mistress to her senses, crying:} JOSEPH. But leads, but leads To the swift hell of temple votaries Ishtar and Hathor and the wiles that kill; Then sated, beastlike to the carrion heaps Forget when use is o er ! THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR (in rage). Great Set his face! What, slave, thou spurn st me then, thou wouldst away? And this to me, to me, the wife of Potiphar, Consort and mistress of thy august lord? Have I been wanton, jested with a fool, Laid ope my beauty to the thieving air, [217] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR Unsealed my charms to dull, unseeing eyes, Unloosed my girdle that a slave might jeer? Ah gods, Osiris, judge me in my rage! Thou shalt not, Jew! thou shalt not thus escape ! Woman and weak, and stricken to the heart, I ll test thy idle sinew, hold thee fast Despite thy chaste and miscreated fear, I ll touch thee limb to limb, and know thy flesh, Despite thy god will try thy very reins, And prove his deep protection is a snare. Closely I ll cling, unrobed, and hair un loosed, And dare thee to contend! (Throws herself on Joseph, tearing off her robe and seizing him about the waist. Joseph wrenches himself free, but she holds him loosely by the girdle.) JOSEPH. Woman, away ! Though thou indeed art mistress of all here, And I thy slave, no coward blood is mine, Nor otherwise unknown the call of flesh. I strive with sin, not thee; thee would I help [218] WITH OTHER POEMS To exorcise this fury that impels And drives thee to betrayal of thy sex, That flaunts itself upon thy crimsoned face And in the wanton carriage tells thy shame Before thy gods and mine WIFE OF POTIPHAR. Thou pratest thus? Still adamant and chill as sunless shrines Thou wouldst away in unconcealed dis dain? (Savagely). So be it then, but know thou still art mine, I ll have thy badge of office, strip thee clean, Expose thy villainy to all the house And hold thy life at my accusing word. (Tenderly and distractedly). Ah no, what say I? Stay! Still naught but scorn? Then, wretch, away, lest anger strike thee dead! What say I? Ptah! I faint with growing rage ! (Joseph tears himself away, leaving his girdle in her hand, and flees rapidly down the corridor. For a moment of speechless rage the wife of Potiphar is silent, then bursts forth:) [219] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR Speech chokes! alone! alone! scorned by a slave! Revenge! alone! forsworn! Osiris, help! Scorned by a stripling, scorned and left afire, My passion at its flood-tide, flouted, scorned ! Scorned by a slave without a slave s fierce lusts, Scorned by a slave who knew not servile use! And I, the helpmate of a gibbering dolt Who dangles at the temple making vows, Whilst I in very heyday of my bloom Meet insult where I fain would quench desire. (Falls weeping in hysteric rage upon the couch. Then silence. Then re sumes:) Unhappy me, unhappy in my quest ! Shall I live loveless, though the many haunt My steps and oft in bold presumption force Attention for the favor of an hour, And find myself bereft, forsaken of all, [220] WITH OTHER POEMS Except my pampered oldlings, Sardis, Mnft? But, oh, ye gods ! their barbered beauty palls, Perfumed, familiar to the finger tips. (The fierce desire returns. She rises up, crouching upon the mats and clutches the girdle fondly.) I d play the tigress, seek a ruthless mate; Be desert lioness in blaze of sun ! (Muses; then breaks out:) His badge of office! Is there rest in rage! Shall I wreak vengeance on the helpless cloth, Who cannot hold the master in this leash? No! no! Ah, goddess, Hathor, be not deaf; Nor blind to what thy altars bear from me! Give me the Jew. Youth fresh of heart and limb! In vain! in vain! naught but the telltale scarf ! (Again sinks despairingly, but as footsteps are heard in the corridor, believing it Potiphar, she quickly re arranges her disordered robe in part, keeps the scarf in hand and cries out for revenge, expecting to be overheard:) [221] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR Ye faithful, loved and looser deities, Be with me and avenge me for this wrong, Dark desecration of the hearth and home The sanctuary of Lord Potiphar! Shall I the wife bear insult from a slave, That dareth, as vermin, when the sun is gone, To scurry forth and lift a loathsome head, To equal those the gods have set on high, To bandy words and seek with coarse (Sardis suddenly enters and the wife of Potiphar, terrified, hides the scarf and cries out:) Ah, gods! SARDIS (savagely and implacable). Thou well mayest cry! Thou thought st me far away, Fled st me at the court and fail d st me Woman, speak! Thou wert not at the temple. Speak, I say ! Thou wert not at the temple. Speak! WIFE OF POTIPHAR. (Still not in full control of her senses, but desperately endeavoring to gain time and recover her wits:) What, thou? [222] WITH OTHER POEMS Not Potiphar? But thou? I rave, I dream. I failed thee at the temple? True, my love, Thy sudden entry agitates my soul. But hear me: Lo! an illness overcame, And here at rest I waited thy return, Knowing full well by that rich love that s thine Thou wouldst not tarry, but to my relief. Heardest thou my ravings? Ah, believe them not; I slept and woke in terror of a dream. A midday madness held me, and I raved With all my wits in sudden, hideous rout. What said I, love? Come, lie in soft embrace. Thou heardest me then? I seem to thee distraught? Tis true; but, worn of soul awaiting thee, Delay did prey upon my troubled mind, And sharp desire of thee did in my sleep So fitful take a strange and vagrant form. No, no, my love ! I burned alone for thee. (Holding out her arms in order to overcome the suspicions of Sardis, the girdle of Joseph is revealed.) [223] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR SARDIS (sarcastically repeating her words). Alone for me! Alone for me! And this? (Pointing derisively at scarf, and then sardonically as if in the humor of it all:) Ha! Ha! I see it all! I see it all! Thou wert not at the temple. True. Ah, true! But here thou kept st the tryst. And this! And this ! A tender token of his love, his scarf. Ha! Ha! alone for me! alone for me! Thou baggage! this soft snare shall damn thee quite! Tis witness of the cattle thou wouldst lift From out the mire to mingle with th elect? For this thou f ail d st me. Oh, ye gods of ill ! Betrayed, betrayed like Potiphar. His scarf ! WIFE OF POTIPHAR. The scarf! the scarf! Oh, hear me, Sardis! I (Frantically). The scarf! Yea, yea, I know, the scarf tis mine! A household weaving. Yea, the truth, the truth. I swear it, Sardis. Harden not thy heart. [224 WITH OTHER POEMS The truth, by Isis, but the truth ! for thee I waited; thee alone, the house (Sardis advances in black anger as if to strike her, as his suspicion grows.) SARDIS. A murrain on thy lying tongue; a plague Upon thee, dost thou think that I, that j ByPtah! Why wait to parley? why delay? Thy guilt, O froward heart thy guilt Outflames in face! Am I so humbly born That thou cans t spurn me as a river slave Or field hand stabling with his master s beasts? Shall Babylon play second at thy gate And take the favors that a menial leaves? By Bel and Marduk! woman, thou WIFE OF POTIPHAR. Ah, gods! I ll tell thee all. Revenge me, love, revenge ! The Jew stole in the house was echo- less I here, 7 alone awaiting thee the truth And I, Osiris judge, was taken by force, Against my outraged will was forced to hear The craven insults of an unripe mind. 15 [ 225 ] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR Fear gave me strength. The thought of thee made bold. I tore myself from out his impious clasp, he fled- And fleeing, coward-wise, I seized the scarf As witness of this wrong to show it thee And let it win redress a quick revenge Against this upstart, vile, presumptuous Jew. (Sardis listens, unbelievingly.} Thou hearest me not! That look! Ah, be not cruel! My love, my love, entice ! All, all for thee ! Believe me, on the shrine of Ptah I swear Not false! not false! True SARDIS (snarling, seizes the scarf). G rr! thou liest! True? Then black is white. Here, wear thy badge fore er, And let the tomb depict thy history; Case-gilded for the final burial rites. In scarlet let thy wantonness appear ! (Savagely). Thou wert not at the temple. That is truth. [226] WITH OTHER POEMS Nor e er shall be. The truth, by Ptah! Betray ! Betray me now, thou witch of Memphis ! (Sardis takes the scarf he has seized and quickly throws it round her neck in a loose noose which he surely tightens.} WIFE OF POTIPHAR. Help! O Sardis, stay thy hand ! Ho, Nefert, help ! The scarf ! It chokes ! Ah, Sardis hold thy wrath ! My love of loves Have mercy! Oh, I choke A dream an evil dream naught else the truth. O love I gasp Is this the clasp of love? Osiris, save me Oh, I die of love. Osiris judge! of love of (Falls back dead at the feet of Sardis., who spurns the body with his foot and hastily leaves as the songs of those returning from the temple are heard on the highway. Ominous pause., and then Nefert hurrying in through a private doorway, is seen in terror carrying the [227] THE WIFE OF POTIPHAR wreath, mysteriously brown and sere. With horror-stricken countenance at the inauspiciousness of the omen she cries out:} NEFERT. O wife of Potiphar, the wreath (Then discovering the dead body, with a piercing shriek she exclaims:) Fulfilled! (And drops in a faint beside her dead mistress. The wreath falls on the body of the wife of Potiphar.) (QUICK CURTAIN.) [228] DATE DUE GAVLORD PRINTED IN U S A 000 664 164