1R POEMS HENRY AYLETT SAMPSON WITH A FOREWORD BY JOHN CALVIN METCALF SONNETS HENRY AYLETT SAMPSON SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS BY HENRY AYLETT SAMPSON WITH INTRODUCTION BY JOHN CALVIN METCALF LINDEN KENT MEMORIAL PROFESSOR TJNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA NEW xr YORK GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OP AMERICA FOREWORD HENRY AYLETT SAMPSON belonged to that class of literary spirits who are so concerned with the joy of creation as to be quite indifferent to the rewards of publication. The inward sense of life and expression was enough. He was careless of fame. So it happened that only a few of his poems got into print during his lifetime. This verse was "fugitive" only in the sense that its author, modestly fleeing from publicity, had been caught, as it were, by a discriminating editor and finally persuaded to appear with some regularity in the columns of the Richmond Evening Journal. Thence discovered by a national anthologist, the poet found himself in the company of his peers: several of his sonnets were reprinted in the Boston Transcript and in Braithwaite's Anthology of Magazine Verse for 1918. Those who read the published sonnets at once recognized the accent of a real poet. Now that his work is done, the natural impulse is to collect into a volume such of his verse, published and unpublished, as those who knew him intimately think he might have chosen to preserve. This they would do both for the sake of his own fame and for the delight of a larger number of readers than that relatively small circle who already know his great merits. [v] FOREWORD With Henry Aylett Sampson literature was a passion, not a profession. His life of fifty years, spent partly in the West and partly in the East, but mostly in Virginia, to which he was tradition- ally rooted, was largely devoted to business. But he was a lifelong lover of books and for thirty years a writer of verse. He knew the best that had been thought and said in the world, and from such a background of culture his own writing was enriched. Lured by old, forgotten, far-off things and familiarly versed in legendary lore, he had a fancy for rare volumes and the flavor of antique phrasing. Old bookshops and their leisurely keepers attracted him, and he would find surcease from business preoccupations in these retreats. If perchance he found a favorite author in artistic covers, he was as happy as Charles Lamb over the capture of an Elizabethan folio. But his love for the old was hardly greater than his interest in the new. Although himself a conservative in the use of verse-forms, he was an open-minded, if some- what amused, reader and critic of the amorphous vagaries of the free-verse folk. He was no for- malist, however; to him it was the imagery, the magic word or phrase, the tone-coloring, rather than the mold, that made poetry. For these Keats-like qualities his instinct was sure; they are the qualities, indeed, that give distinction of tone to much of his own verse, [vi] FOREWORD The sonnet is the form in which Henry Aylett Sampson attained his highest poetic excellence. By long years of practice he achieved a mastery of this most exacting kind of lyric. "It takes a great deal of life to make a little art/' said Alfred de Musset. No one knew the truth of that better than this Virginia poet. To your true poet the fairy gift of song is vouchsafed by the gods on one condition, that he requite the deathless favor by tireless devotion to his art. Henry Aylett Samp- son left some two-score sonnets, the fruitage of thirty years. If read in the order of their compo- sition, they will show a notable growth of mind and art ; the early grace is in the later ones, but the blossom has changed into mellow f ruitf ulness ; the years have wrought a finer fabric and a chastening of spirit. The youthful sonnets show the poet as a careful student of technique, endowed with a rare sensitiveness to beauty and an unusual facility in the combination of pleasing sounds; but the years brought freedom of movement, sureness of touch, and a finer harmony of thought and emotion. In such sonnets as "On an Old Hymn-Book" and "To a Genial Old Man" subtlety and delicacy of senti- ment are perfectly blended, while in "Stephen Phillips Bankrupt" and "An Obbligato," for in- stance, there is a happy union of intellectual sug- gestion and solemn tenderness. And one would read a long time in sonnet-collections of these modern days before coming upon so musical and [vif] FOREWORD haunting a bit of fancy as "Prologue to a Book of Verse." In other kinds of verse less formal and less serious than the sonnet, Henry Aylett Sampson was equally successful. Light, graceful lyric forms the vers de societe of the old French singers, perfected in English by Austin Dobson, Andrew Lang, and others strongly appealed to the Virginia poet; in his youth he tried his hand at the ballade, the rondeau, the villanelle, and the triolet. Later in life he found a more enduring satisfaction in less exotic types, but in the familiar personal lyric his fancy was always happily at home. Lover of books, he was no less a lover of men, a very human, winsome soul. He had a poet's swift and sure intuition of spiritual values in an individual, and having once appraised him to his liking, he took their possessor to his heart. Many of his familiar lyrics record his friendship in a spirit of charming badinage, poems almost too intimately personal for inclusion in this volume; but some of them are so radiantly Sampsonian that they may not be omitted from a collection which would give the reader an idea of the poet's own personality. It is difficult, indeed, to be coldly judicial in the evaluation of verse that comes so near the heart, evoked, as much of it was, by some appar- ently trivial action clashing dramatically with an individual trait known to only a few congenial [viii] FOREWORD spirits. Of such stuff Henry Aylett Sampson made a score or more of little lyrical ballads, some touched with subdued comic humor, others voicing a recurrent note of gentle pathos, a few sounding an undertone of wistful sadness, the sense of tears in mortal things usually allied with the gift of poetic sensibility. In none of these personal poems is the artistry more delicate or the senti- ment finer than in the group called "Ju-Ju Verses," in which the poet whimsically and play- fully interprets the mind of childhood with his eye on his own child. Here more than elsewhere his fancy has an elfin touch, but the general tone is the good old human one of hearth and home. His excursions into Romanceland began and ended in his own domestic "enchanted island." For this Prospero, also, his "library was dukedom large enough"; and for this singer of old Ulysses, "always roaming with a hungry heart," there was gladness in the light of familiar faces. Lover of men and women and children, lyric humanist, gentle satirist, touching the minor chords of the harp of life into a music which those of us who knew him well would not willingly let perish such was Henry Sampson. In the selection and arrangement of the poems in this volume four persons have had a hand Mrs. Emma Speed Sampson, Archer G. Jones, Samuel T. Clover, and the writer of this introduc- [ix] FOREWORD tion. To the last the final editorial supervision was intrusted. The purpose has been to make available to the public such poems of Henry Aylett Sampson as seem most adequately to reflect his interesting personality and most likely to make a permanent appeal to lovers of literature. Thus the little volume should prove at once a tribute to his genius and a fitting memorial to a rarely gifted singer. To one of his friends in particular, Archer G. Jones of Richmond, grateful acknowl- edgment is due for providing for the publication of this book of poems. JOHN CALVIN METCALF. University of Virginia. CONTENTS A Sonnet Cycle PROLOGUE TO A BOOK OF VERSE ... 19 SONNET TO A SONNET 20 To ROSALIE AYLETT SAMPSON ... 21 AN ANNIVERSARY .... . . 22 Ir MEMORIAM 23 AN OBBLIGATO: To MARGARET PRATT . . 24 IN MEMORIAM: To HELEN MONTAGUE . . 25 STEPHEN PHILLIPS, BANKRUPT ... 26 AFTER READING AN ANTHOLOGY OF FUGITIVE VERSE 27 ON AN OLD HYMN-BOOK . . . . 28 To A GENIAL OLD MAN 29 DAWN ........ 30 THE WAVE .81 ALL HAIL, ROMANCE! 82 MAIS OU SONT LES NEIGES o'ANTAN ? . . 33 SUNDAY IN THE FOREST 84 CONVICTION .35 To SWINBURNE 86 "THE DUKE OF GANDIA" .... 87 DEATH OF ASE (PEER GYNT SUITE) . . 88 POE 39 BY THE SEA: A MEMORY .... 40 VENTOSUS 41 [xi] CONTENTS "SLAVE" OF MICHELANGELO . . . . 42 "VICTORY" OF SAMOTHRACE . . . . 43 To FRANK L. WOODRUFF . , . 44 JUDAS (I) . . . . . . .45 JUDAS (II) 46 GOLGOTHA 47 DEATH OF SAMPSON ... . . 48 DAVID'S GRIEF 49 ROBERT E. GONZALES 50 IN MEMORIAM: To GREAYER CLOVER . . 51 ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG BOY ... 52 A PRAYER 53 DUST 54 Ballads Personal and Patriotic STRANGER, PAUSE AND PRAY FOR THE REPOSE OF BRINDLE 57 To BLOOMERS, FAITHFUL BULLDOG . . 59 IN ARCADY 61 "FAR AWAY AND LONG AGO" .... 62 WATER 63 AN OLD SEA-CAPTAIN 64 THE COMET 65 SONG OF THE LIBERATED . . . . 66 A BALLADE OF NOVEMBER .... 67 "DE SENECTUTE" 69 AFTER MANILA ...... 71 OVER, OVER THERE! 72 "THE BELOVED VAGABOND" ... 74 "DOWN IN OLD VIRGINIA" .... 75 [xii] CONTENTS "CousiN JANE" 76 BEST LOVE 78 WEARINESS 78 GOOD NIGHT . 79 REUNION . 79 WHAT THE WIND SINGS 80 PRESENCES 81 "FiNis" ........ 82 From the Book of Ju-Ju Ju-Ju 85 "TRAILING CLOUDS OF GLORY" ... 88 SUPREME COURT DECISIONS .... 90 "THE FEMALE OFFENDER" . . 91 THE WANDERER . . . . . .94 FOR Ju-Ju IN 19 97 MIST 98 JUDY 99 FATHER'S SINS FORGOT ... . 100 WHEN JUDY READS 101 In Lighter Vein BUSINESS MAN SAMPSON TO POET SAMPSON 105 "ONE POINT OF VIEW" 107 "THE WORM TURNS" 108 MONTVILLE 109 FRIENDSHIP'S OFFERING 110 WHEN YOUR WIFE'S AWAY . . . .111 OLD YADKIN CORN 112 [xiii] CONTENTS REFLECTIONS ON DIETING AND DOCTORS . 113 To A POLYPHONIC POET 115 "WORDS, WORDS, WORDS!" . . . .117 COVERLY 118 BALLADE OF OLD TIME BARTENDERS . . 119 FORSAKEN 121 To OUR GREAT-GREAT-GRANDFATHER, PAT- RICK HENRY 122 Juvenilia "WITH PIPE AND BOOK BEFORE THE FIRE" 125 "I WAS A STRANGER AND YE TOOK ME IN" 127 "HENCE VAIN, DELUDING JOYS" . . .129 RETROSPECTIVE 130 A RIME WITHOUT REASON . . . .131 RONDEAU "THREE FIFTY-FIVE" Juvenis . 133 RONDEAU "THREE FIFTY-FIVE" Senex . 134 NOCTURNE 135 INSANITAS AMORIS 136 A HANDKERCHIEF . . . . . .137 "GOOD MASTER DEATH" 138 "Now SPRING Is BEGUILING" . . .139 "THOUGH CRITICS SCORN MY HUMBLE LAYS" 141 "!N VAIN I STRIVE" 142 ' 'Tis HARD FOR ME TO IMPROVISE" . . 143 "On, WHAT AM I TO HAVE SUCH LOVE AS THINE" 144 WILLIAM MORRIS 145 "THERE Is No HELL" 145 THALASSA! THALASSA! 146 [xiv] CONTENTS "I HAD KNOWN HER So LONG" . . . 147 "THE WIND Is MOANING ABOUT THE EAVES" 148 "REASON FROWNING ASKS OP ME" . . . 149 "You SEEM TO ME LIKE TERROR-STRICKEN FAUNS" 149 "SOFTLY THE SHATTERED LANCES OF THE RAIN" 150 "O LOVELY NIGHT" 150 "ANIMA ANCEPS" 151 "O BLESSED SLEEP" 152 "Jx THE FOREST ALL Is SILENT" . . . 153 RONDEL "TAKE NOT THY LIPS AWAY" . 154 EN PASSANT 155 "O LOVE, COME BACK" 156 Notes . . 159 [xv] A SONNET CYCLE A SONNET CYCLE PROLOGUE TO A BOOK OF VERSE OH, you, whose blood glows at the clash of steel, Seek not to sense it as you turn these leaves, Nor look for Love triumphant, or that grieves Deserted, old and maimed on Passion's wheel. And here no line of statecraft will appeal To him Ambition's shifting flame deceives; Here fades the world while Memory retrieves Dominions moldering 'neath long centuries' seal. Oh, ask not me what you shall see or hear, Mayhap, a rose, lone, virginal and white: A glint of moonlight on a lifting wave: Faint tones of bells, blown o'er a lilied mere: A star, new-born upon the breast of Night: Or withered leaves whirled o'er a nameless grave. [19] A SONNET CYCLE SONNET TO A SONNET WHERE lurks the elfin music of thy lines That sigh like surf upon a summer shore Yea, thy light magic showeth me far more I hear the melody of murmuring pines, Brown sheaves I see, and wealth of tangled vines, And dark-haired nymphs adrowse, lulled by the roar Of some far cataract whose waters pour Flashing with gems that mock at earthly mines. Oh, cosmic soul of man that jeers at fate Fate that would bind him to this iron age A word, a note, a vista, lo ! there springs Undying still the memory of the great Primeval world, his vanished heritage, While with the morning stars his spirit sings. [20] A SONNET CYCLE TO ROSALIE AYLETT SAMPSON I MAY not break thy sleep, so let me kneel Softly beside thee, dreaming that thine eyes Look into mine, where wistful tear-drops rise: Dream thy dear hand in wintry locks doth steal: Dream thy loved voice can once again reveal The love poor youth had not the wit to prize: Dream one last kiss upon my lips light lies, Then can the Angel Death mine own congeal. Thou art in paradise, and God's great peace, That passeth understanding, laps thee round; But, mother mine, remember me I say In that lone hour that marks my soul's release, And clasp me like an infant, lost and found, And, as of old, teach me again to pray. [21] A SONNET CYCLE AN ANNIVERSARY I WAS a child and when they came to me And told me, brokenly, that you were dead I could not sense it. How, when overhead, The sun shone on and in a budding tree Home-coming birds their ecstasies set free? I had not seen the angel, marked his tread; That night you'd hear my prayer, tuck me in bed; You would return and my vague sorrow flee. * You did return, for in brooks' singing flow I catch your laugh, and often in the leaves I hear you whisper, or some joyous rose Sways at your passing, as unseen you go, Smiling, because my heart no longer grieves Since I have learned what God would have us know. [22] A SONNET CYCLE IN MEMORIAM LET us not mourn for those who left us here, Whose feet press meadows of undying green, Whose eyes are radiant with a joy serene, Who may not know our sorrows, lest a tear Defeat God's plans that shall at last be clear. Oh, let us dream that over us, unseen, They hover lightly with triumphant mien In perfect love that casteth out all fear. They were as little children that lay down At day's decline to yield themselves to sleep, And as they dreamed came One with silence shod And they forgot the world's caress or frown Oh, blessed sowers who need never reap And waked, strained to the yearning breast of God. [23] A SONNET CYCLE AN OBBLIGATO: TO MARGARET PRATT ABOVE bowed heads of worshipers in prayer The priest's voice floats, besieging heaven's throne, Pleading Christ's name and depth of love unknown. Here once you sat and over your dark hair The sunlight lingered, limned a halo there. Ah, then it seemed, upon a light wind blown, Came music, delicate and dim, alone, Hymned by the angels in a breathless air. The priest prays on, but you, you come no more, You come no more, the sunbeams play in vain, For your light step has passed beyond our sun To greater suns, and radiant on that shore Have faded utterly your thoughts of pain While in your eyes the joy of life begun. [24] A SONNET CYCLE IN MEMORIAM: TO HELEN MONTAGUE THE blue wistaria hovers 'round her door To whisper soft the message of the spring And seems to sigh, "Where is she wandering While April skies the new-born earth bend o'er With dewy eyes, e'en as young mothers pore On dreamy babes, lulled by the murmuring Of circling angels on unwearied wing?" Ah, droop sweet blooms ! she will return no more. No more, no more : fall petals like quick tears ! Rain perfumed sorrow where her shadow passed ! Ye may not rise where her pure spirit rose, Where spring undying smiles through endless years Peace, peace, we know in all God's garden, vast, No saintlier soul, no lovelier flower blows. [25] A SONNET CYCLE STEPHEN PHILLIPS, BANKRUPT How shall men call you "bankrupt," you who hold The treasure of a deathless line of kings, Who, musing 'midst the surge of awful wings, With lifted eyes, unwearied, calm and bold Can span the infinite and see unfold The shrinking beauty of all hallowed things, While sun to sun in joy eternal sings And far-flung stars burn through a rain of gold? Life, Love and Death are yours to understand; The cry of winds and laughter of the sea, The lore of days to come and days long dead, All, all is yours; and if with empty hand Men pass you by, still shall your soul be free E'en though your body, fettered, lacks for bread. [26] A SONNET CYCLE AFTER READING AN ANTHOLOGY OF FUGITIVE VERSE THESE have survived the seas' vicissitudes And lie at rest within this quiet bay. No more of shifting tides and flickle winds in play These Tyrian galleys know soft interludes, When o'er their cargo some old lover broods And sees again a verse that slipped away, Or hears a mocking bird in moonlit May Make vocal Nature's holiest haunting moods. Dream ships, we never thought to look on more, Saint Anthony has tipped your spars with fire And salved you from the menace of the night. Rest, fairy craft, rest on a fairy shore! Faint bells ring welcome from a viewless spire, While in the dusk the evening star grows bright. [27] ON AN OLD HYMN BOOK PUBLISHED IN 1780 THE hands that turned the pages, long ago, Of this old hymnal, were they young or old? They were a woman's, see, the dim leaves fold A rusted needle ! small the eye ; we know No man could thread it, nor might old eyes show The narrow way : then, too, old hands are cold. Hence, she was young, blue-eyed, with hair of gold? Brunette? Maybe, none lives who light might throw. These pages reek of sinners and their hell. What were her thoughts when these sad hymns were sung? Stained are the leaves blest by her virgin tears? Shrined she his violets, to keep them well? Ah, they are dust, these two, who once were young Dust, in the wreckage of an hundred years. [28] A SONNET CYCLE TO A GENIAL OLD MAN PAN may be dead, but Santa Glaus remains, And once a year he riseth in his might. Oft have I heard, in silences of night, Tinkling of bells and clink of reindeer chains, As o'er the roof he sped through his domains, When youthful eyes had given up the fight To glimpse for once the rotund, jolly wight, Who in a trusting world unchallenged reigns. Last and the greatest of the gods is he, Who suffereth little children and is kind; And when I've rounded out my earthly span And face at last the Ancient Mystery, I hope, somewhere in Heaven, I shall find Rest on the bosom of that good old man. [29] A SONNET CYCLE DAWN ON earth was silence, even the vast seas In inarticulate whispers met the shore. Hushed were the woods. Unlearned in lyric lore, Birds flitted mute among the arching trees Untuned as yet to winds' slow harmonies. From towering heights unsullied streams did pour In leaping radiance, but to sing forebore; Without a sound they danced through fragrant leas. Slow, above all uprose the splendid sun ; Then for the first time, breathless land and deep Saw God's great banner of the day unfurled. Creation woke its awful race to run, While Adam stood, freed from the mist of sleep And gazed in wide-eyed wonder on the world. [SO] A SONNET CYCLE THE WAVE MAJESTIC, slow, full of mysterious grace, Where sea and sky unite in one pure tone, Rises the wave and journeys forth alone, Folding the spindrift in its huge embrace, Rearing its crest as if it would efface An ancient enemy, unseen, unknown, Who mocks forever from an ageless throne And sees, serene, the ending of the race. Now, a vast tremor leaps along its length; Irresolute, it seems to fear the shore; Then, with tumultuous onslaught, joyous hurls Its thunderous bulk, filled with demoniac strength, On the still sands with heaven-invading roar, While ravening foam in aimless eddies swirls. [31] A SONNET CYCLE ALL HAIL, ROMANCE ! WHEN from the grass the dew of Dawn has fled, When rose leaves fall unheeded to the ground, When larks' pure hymns seem only senseless sound; In short, when Age, Life's book has nearly read And closer than the living seem the dead, While we await their dreamless sleep, pro- found, All hail ! Romance, that enters with a bound, And leaves us not alone, uncomforted, Oh, glorious resurrection of dead Youth! Not dead but sleeping, ah, the hours were long, We deemed you stark beneath Time's careless sands. Hail, Splendid Lie! triumphant over Truth; Once more we live, clear-eyed, cour- ageous, strong; We are not old, not ours these trembling hands. [32] A SONNET CYCLE MAIS OU SONT LES NEIGES D'ANTAN? (But where are the snows of yesteryear?) THEIR disembodied souls, where do they stray, In Hell's mid murk, or in Elysian air? And are they changed, does song give place to prayer ? None, none can answer, either yea or nay. Perhaps they wander down a moonlit way, With eyes of haunting question, not despair, And seek, in vain, for one companion rare Whose memory, blazing, burns with purest ray. I feel it truth that Cleopatra's smile Makes glad the nodding fields of asphodel, That Sheba's queen her borrowed wisdom lends To Pluto reigning with endearing guile; That Helen's eyes still weave their ancient spell, While over all a perfect peace descends. [33] A SONNET CYCLE SUNDAY IN THE FOREST WITHIN the dim cathedral of the pines Floats subtly sweet the incense from far fields, And one lone worshiper, a wood lark, yields Light-hearted praise to One whom it divines Made the green leaves when sun too fiercely shines And in a nook undreamed of, yet safe, shields From the thin lance usurping Winter wields When o'er the world he hurls his conquering lines. The Lord is in His holy temple here, Unvexed by any thunderous organ's peal, Nor hedged about by warring, man-made creeds. Like to His lark, to me it all seems clear Lord, I look up and smile, I will not kneel Thou hast no pleasure in a heart that bleeds. [34] A SONNET CYCLE CONVICTION WHAT am I, Lord, that Thou shouldst stay Thy hand The while I wander on my aimless way? But still Thy mercy spares me. Day by day I see Life like a fragrant rose expand, Yet e'en Thy rose I cannot understand. Lo, there are those who walk Thy narrow way With tear-dimmed eyes and thinning locks of gray Who from their youth obeyed Thy last command Mayhap, in Thy mysterious design Thou hast a place I presently shall fill. Now, only this I feel convinced I know: That sullied streams and waters crystalline Alike do course obedient to Thy will Till whelming ocean purifies their flow. [35] A SONNET CYCLE TO SWINBURNE AFTER READING "THE DUKE OF GANDIA" FAINTS now thy fire unto the ashes gray That once assailed the stars in leaping flight; Here flitful flickerings foretell the night That holds no hope of any after day, No dream of verse like rainbow-tinted spray That, in a pagan, waked the old delight Joy that was man's ere came the withering blight Of labor o'er a world all flushed with play. Hail and farewell ! Thy gods be good to thee And bear thee to some island of thy dreams Where sighs the surf along a shadowy shore; Lull thee to rest with that old harmony Thou wovest here with light and wind and streams Until Olympian Jove the old days may restore. [36] A SONNET CYCLE "THE DUKE OF GANDIA" A MARBLE temple, lonely, on a hill, Chastely correct throughout its whole design But lacking that which stirs the blood like wine Or makes the pulse beat with a hastier thrill. Block after block rose at the Master's will To fill the space decreed by square and line, But absent is the touch men term divine; Distant it seems, forbidding, austere, chill. Within its echoing aisles there slowly stalk Strange figures alien unto every age, Having no heart for human love or hate, Sexless they seem and like a dream their talk: O Master, tell us why didst thou engage Upon a voyage for shores so desolate? [37] A SONNET CYCLE DEATH OF ASE (PEER GYNT SUITE) LIKE wistful ghosts beneath a waning moon, Seeking a land they have no hope to find: Roving as homeless as a fitful wind, Faint notes arise and soft to silence swoon. To silence swoon, but not to death, for soon They wake once more and in the soul unbind Vague memories that through dim ages pined To rend their cerements and stare at noon. For whom these tears that all unbidden rise? What star, now dust, looked on an agony That had no hearer as its grief out- poured ? No answer in the moaning music lies, And at the shadowy Gate of Mystery Stands the mute angel with his lifted sword. [38] A SONNET CYCLE POE His was a moonlit mind, where never strayed The candid sun. Among its hills and vales Danced ghostly shapes with wild demoniac wails That chilled the blood and made the soul afraid. Upon his peace, Want, like a vulture, preyed, While o'er him, fainting, sang the alien gales Of chill rebukes and, at the last, love fails, And then to rest his piteous clay was laid. Ah, we who jest beneath the genial sun And laugh along our mediocre way, Unwitting of the burden that he bore, Let us forget the calumny he won, And for his soul in love and pity pray Poor wanderer from Night's Plutonian shore. Across the peaceful skies of dreaming night, Through startled space a blazing meteor flies Flouting the sober stars who mark its flight Past their dim ranks to where God's spend- thrift dies. [39] A SONNET CYCLE BY THE SEA: A MEMORY BENEATH this roof may hours serenely glide Light-winged, like birds whose song is full of spring, Joyous with sun and faint sweet whispering Of flowers, new-born, that wind-swayed grasses hide. Here, may you dream, forgetful of the tide Of fierce endeavor; may its murmuring No memory of unlovely cities bring To hush Pan's pipe, old Pan who has not died. And when wild winter holds the ruthless town In icy grasp and winds cry mournfully, Closing your eyes, may you forget the blight And see again, where misty moors lead down, Unwearied still in summer's rhapsody The long waves languishing in golden light. [40] A SONNET CYCLE VENTOSUS UNDYING, ageless minstrel of all time, Lightly thy hand o'er viewless strings slow strays While once again the glories of old days Mirage-like rise in every age and clime. Tempestuous now, the storm of Homer's rhyme Whispers to silence, while young Marsyas plays To dancing Dryads, prodigal with bays, Forgetful of Apollo the sublime. Silence again whence was that sobbing moan ? With peaceful stars Night's azure dome is set And in rapt stillness dreams each olive tree Ah ! God of Mercy 'tis Thy Son, alone, Upon His brow I see the bloody sweat, In the dim garden of Gethsemane. [41] A SONNET CYCLE "SLAVE" OF MICHELANGELO UNDYING soul of utter loveliness Oh, kiss of God breathed on a drooping rose ! When I behold thee, lo ! a strange wind blows From some far land, where never weariness Nor pain nor sorrow may the heart oppress. In their sad place triumphantly there flows Majestic harmony, and with it goes The soul, abandoned to its strong caress. Thy lids are heavy, oh, immortal slave ! But thy veiled eyes see planets in their flight And read the pity in God's love-lit eyes. Thy anguished brows the winds of Heaven lave And 'neath thy head an angel's hand rests light While 'round thy feet the blooms of Paradise. [42] A SONNET CYCLE "VICTORY" OF SAMOTHRACE "THE Outcry of Old Beauty" ah, what spell, What witchery undying of old days Oft lures the soul down well-remembered ways The while it hears some far-off music swell. In that dim land where only spirits dwell The weary soul with languorous rapture sways, As Memory's hand o'er plaintive minors strays, While to the eye the eager tear drops well. Thou living triumph o'er destroying Time, Wide- winged Victory of Samothrace! Oh, mighty melody of carven stone ! Crystallization of an age sublime, Serene thou movest with majestic pace, Omnipotent immutable alone ! [43] A SONNET CYCLE TO FRANK L. WOODRUFF LIKE incense from the swelling buds of spring Bird notes rise softly in the purer air, Buoyant with hope, unshadowed by despair, Gone and forgot, their winter wandering. Again glad streams their world-old lyrics sing, God's perfect peace seems floating every- where, While all the world grows palpitant with prayer Grief rules my heart Grief with the broken wing. Oh ! what to me the pageant of the year, The miracles of water, trees and grass, The lark that carols blithely overhead, When he is gone, courageous, full of cheer, For nevermore shall speech between us pass Silent he lies, my friend, my friend, alas, is dead ! [44] A SONNET CYCLE JUDAS (I) BEHOLD, O God, Thy mandate is obeyed! What now remains for me whom Thou didst call In some dim age when Thou ordained the fall Of unborn man? I have betrayed Him whom I loved, yes, Him who oft hath prayed For my dark soul that knew no hope at all, Yet strove with Fate's inexorable wall That hemmed me till His purchase price was paid. Thou hast Thy Son, but I have lost my Friend, Yes, "Friend" He called me, bending to my kiss That made Hell shudder in its deepest hold; His look did both a love and sorrow blend, That stunned me so I scarce could hear the hiss From those who bought the sacrifice I sold. [45] A SONNET CYCLE JUDAS (II) WHERE shall I turn? Earth hath no place for me Thy pure stars pierce me, but they give no sign To me, poor pawn in tragedy divine. Fain would I take Thy place upon the tree Aye, set at naught Thy breaking heart's decree; Bear all Thine anguish: glory that 'twere mine! Alas! what is my feeble will to Thine? Still art Thou God though rent with agony. O Friend, O Brother Christ, I lay life down, And in the night my soul shall go, alone, Remembering the forgiveness in Thine eyes Give me oblivion now Thou hast Thy crown; Let me behold Thee, smiling, on Thy throne, Then, bid me sleep, sleep, nevermore to rise. [46] A SONNET CYCLE GOLGOTHA DEATH'S shadow lengthens in the anguished eyes That scan the faces of the throng in vain For answering love that might assuage the pain But only hate and mockery in them lies. Unto a thief a wanton shrilly cries And hums the light notes of a desert strain, While Caesar's men beat back the Jews again; Then all is silent save his piteous sighs. Withered and old, and racked by hopeless tears, A woman gazes on the nail-pierced feet. Lo ! Christ beholds her, then bursts forth His cry That rings undying through the rolling years, While Mary listens to her heart repeat: "Eli, Eli, lama sabacthani !" [47] A SONNET CYCLE DEATH OF SAMSON SIGHTLESS, between these pillars, see me, God, Mocked by these swine whose drunken jests uprise And make Thy night wince with their ribald cries. My soul still lives, though cowering in a clod A temple, blasted by Thy awful rod. Oh, if for me forgiveness in Thee lies, Or thought of vengeance on these who despise, Then by the wild ass let their clay be trod. Only this once, Lord, let me know again The bygone glory of Thy gift divine. Thy name be hallowed ! Lo, I feel the might Sweeping triumphant through each withered , vein ; Let me die with them! Oh, glad arms, entwine The lofty stones. Hail, ruin and delight! [48] A SONNET CYCLE DAVID'S GRIEF MY city sleeps. Oh, would that I could sleep Blot out the mockery of the peaceful skies That bend above me and o'er him who lies Guiltless in death. I sowed, and now I reap. Was it for this You lured me from my sheep To blind with tears an old man's dimming eyes, To see life's light fade out, no more to rise, To break the heart that doth his image keep? Ah, once again upon my cheek I feel The childhood glory of his hair, light blown. My arms are empty. Never more to run, The tireless feet no artless voice appeal. Death hath forgot me! Old, and all alone. O my son, Absalom ; my son, my son ! [49] A SONNET CYCLE ROBERT E. GONZALES WE cannot think your voice forever still; The words grow dim that tell us this is so, Alas, none dreams the mockingbird will go When bubbling notes the Summer's beaker fill And warm a sullen world, against its will, Until once more the flutes of Childhood blow From misty lands the Lands of Long Ago, Where Beauty, dancing, has no thought of ill. O brave Gonzales ! Unafraid you tread Amid the stars your homeward, happy way, Your welcome sure in the great Halls of Light. Farewell, bright soul! 'tis we, not you are dead, And speechless, by your unrememb'ring clay We sense the sweep of angels' wings in flight. [50] A SONNET CYCLE IN MEMORIAM: TO GREATER CLOVER UPON the bosom of undying France He lies at rest, who gave her all he had. Youth, love, old friends he left them all was glad; Knowing their love, he cast no backward glance. A kingly knight, he ran to meet his chance To battle with incarnate lust gone mad, Whose growing shadow made the whole world sad, Where children, tearful, met their mothers' glance. He is not dead ! Such souls can never die ! They are like stars, with paths beyond our ken; We glimpse them for a moment, as they go To thrill with glory other lands that lie Perhaps, in darkness. They will come again Or we shall find them God has willed it so. [51] A SONNET CYCLE ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG BOY Now sleep, forever, rests upon thine eyes And bears away all sorrow and all pain ; No pang at all does thy frail flesh retain; In viewless fields thy spirit singing flies Far from this shattered temple, and the sighs Of us whose tears fall fast like Winter rain, Remembering what was, and shall not be again Until we, too, forsake our earthly guise. Fold the small hands across the quiet breast, Hands that have found the door of endless peace. Ah ! if in benediction they could lie Upon our hearts so anguished and distressed, Mayhap our sorrow then would find sur- cease In that thou blest us as thou passed by. [52] A SONNET CYCLE A PRAYER HELP me to do Thy will, but not through fear Of wrath Divine. The flowers of fear are cold And have no fragrance. Let me then uphold To Thy glad glance, untroubled and sincere, The gorgeous blooms of love. Oh, let no tear Shine in their leaves: bid them be bright and bold To speak my love, which grows in being told And blesseth me in that Thou drawest near. Shall I not love Thee? Lord, can I forget Thy ceaseless care since I began to be? And all the griefs averted who can know? None, none, save Thee who their stern onslaught met. Ah, incomplete, thanks fail, how utterly ! Let Thou my love, reflecting Thy love, glow. [53] A SONNET CYCLE DUST SILENCE and night beneath the churchyard mold, Gone is the sky only the coffin's lid Have I for outlook all the rest is hid. Yet, far above, the wind along the wold Makes melodies as in the days of old. Perhaps, a lark in heaven's pure deeps amid Pours forth its soul, and I, how shall I rid My crumbling frame of this triumphant cold? In empty eyes strange shapes do writhing grope ; My folded hands their progress can not stay; Helpless I lie while red, liquescent rust Wages slow ruin in the House of Hope. Voiceless am I, either to curse or pray Upon the rayless road to dust, dust, dust. [54] BALLADS PERSONAL AND PATRIOTIC BALLADS PERSONAL AND PATRIOTIC STRANGER, PAUSE AND PRAY FOR THE REPOSE OF BRINDLE BENEATH this turf lies faithful Brindle, No more with love his eyes will kindle; No more his tail waves to and fro In eloquence men never know; Stilled evermore the honest bark We knew so well and loved to mark. In some dog paradise he strays With noble dogs of nobler days. Perhaps, he's one of Dian's pack, With Argus greets Ulysses back, Or Laelaps met him when he came And told the other dogs his name. His heart-beats ceased, but in the noble eyes There lingered yet affection's dying fire, So loath to go, so sad with foiled desire Dimmed by the mists of Death, so swift to rise. There was no sound, the golden words men prize Seemed mean and poor debased by earthly mire. He was, and is not thoughts that would not tire [57] BALLADS Stranger, Pause and Pray [CONTINUED] Moaned through our minds with pitiless soft cries. No more, no more, of all sad words the worst, That hold no blessing now or hope to be, That have no power to raise this languished head, That bring no water to our sorrow's thirst. He lived and loved and ne'er again shall be Old Brindle, our beloved dog, is dead. God grant that when our time shall be, When o'er Death's cold and sunless sea, That the first anthem we remark May be old Brindle's "welcome" bark. [58] BALLADS TO BLOOMERS, FAITHFUL BULLDOG THE night is dark, and the wild wind singeth A sorrowful song in the rain-lashed trees And my heart is sad with a grief that clingeth And cries for tribute for hours of ease. Far down at the foot of the hill out yonder She lieth alone in the cold and wet, And this is the thought that I sit and ponder Does she dream in her sleep I will never forget? Ah, this is the room where we played together In idle moments ere lamps were lit, And this is the chair with the old red leather Where when she was weary she loved to sit. Never again will she run to meet me, Bringing me home at the close of day; Never again will her glad eyes greet me, Full of the love that she could not say. Does she know that her memory runneth ever Like some clear stream through a barren land, [59] BALLADS To Bloomers, Faithful Bulldog [CONTINUED] Till death shall the heart and brain dissever? Does she know all this? Can she understand? If I knew that she knew but who shall discover The ways of death, whether pleasure or pain? I can see that the heavens are black above her, I can hear the scourge of the pitiless rain. [60] BALLADS IN ARCADY IN Clovercroft, Arcadia, 'Tis there that I would be To watch God at his miracles That seem wrought just for me Ah, blessed eyes that see! In Clovercroft, Arcadia, When gently thrills the wheat, I feel old friends are passing, Though I may not stay their feet But mine shall be as fleet. In Clovercroft, Arcadia, How soft the breezes blow ! They murmur like loved voices I never more shall know Hushed, ah, so long ago! [61] BALLADS "FAR AWAY AND LONG AGO" JUST the title of a book Wherein I may never look, Yet the magic of the phrase Raises ghosts of other days. Luminous they float along Bits of laughter, bits of song, Glimpses of forgotten dawns, Dewdrops on fresh upland lawns, All the beauty treasured so, Far away and long ago; Crescent moons by clouds half veiled, Mists along a river trailed, Whispers in gay autumn leaves, Stealthy raindrops on the eaves. Ah, vanished days of long ago, Why is it that we miss you so ? What subtle charm did you possess Whose mem'ry is a soft caress Whene'er we retrospective grow? Was it of life we did not know, And dreamt that joy outbalanced woe, [62] BALLADS "Far Away and Long Ago" [CONTINUED] That now we feel its emptiness, Ah, vanished days ? Or is it to Time's touch we owe The distant picture's roseate glow ? [68] BALLADS WATER MAKER of melody since time began, Sing on, sing on, till Time shall be no more. Oh, sing to me the old unwritten score That the young stars share with the dreaming Pan. Thy notes the gulf of vanished centuries span, But float unheeded on a lifeless shore. AN OLD SEA-CAPTAIN LOVER of ships and kinsman of the seas, Rapt rambler in far stellar spaces clean, Alien for you the cities' tawdry sheen Where Life's glad wine grows bitter on foul lees. These have no spell your hoyden Muse to please, Who laughs with glee when through the rigging keen Winds rage and buffet cloudy spars that lean To meet the spindrift's leaping, stinging tease. [64] BALLADS THE COMET HAUNTER of solitudes vast; Of awful, untenanted spaces Even the voice of Jehovah Whispering, dies at their threshold: Vainly seeking their confines, Weary his all-seeing eyes. Out of the ultimate night Thou rushest in terrible splendor. Wrecks of forgotten worlds Whirl in thy desolate train; Sweep past old orbits remembered Through millions of centuries gone. Shrinking, the virginal stars Reel from thy limitless pathway, While, like blown sands of the desert, Magnificent suns mark thy speed. [65] BALLADS SONG OF THE LIBERATED DEEP, deep, underground, Here is neither light nor sound. Here we lie in sleep profound, Dreaming when we shall awaken, Careless that we are forsaken, Many friends their way have taken To the small house 'neath the mound. Rest, rest, here is calm For our still hearts have no qualm Where Oblivion pours her balm. Overhead birds may be singing, Flowers amid the grasses springing, To the breeze their perfume flinging Like a soul's unconscious psalm. Life, Love, both are done. Tears, laughter, they are one. What care we? Our race is run. But to those above us straying We would whisper "Cease not playing, Let your lives be one long Maying, Here, none cares who lost or won." [66] BALLADS A BALLADE OF NOVEMBER NOVEMBER winds shriek by my door And drive the homeless leaves of spring; Where now their pageantry of yore? Where now their summer blossoming? Where now the birds once wont to sing Fleet songs of poignant ecstasy? I fancy Fate is murmuring: "Never again shall these things be." These fragile leaves, so stripped, so poor, Saw many a dawn its radiance fling Across high Heaven's shadowed floor And heard the day's awakening; Saw the moon's scythe unwearying Harvest the stars from sea to sea For you, dim ghosts, where'er you cling Never again shall these things be. Oft from the tales of Dryads' lore I've heard you faintly whispering Or rapt upon a river's shore You heard the Naiads' thoughts take wing, While rain elves would thin music bring Full of an ancient witchery. [67] BALLADS A Ballade of November [CONTINUED] Poor leaves, dead, unremembering ! Never again shall these things be. Prince, see our fire is languishing Pile on more logs, set new sparks free! See how they die a-hurrying Never again shall these things be. [68] BALLADS "DE SENECTUTE" IN youth, when success is a passive prize, Smiling we lift life's waiting gauge; Young blood is hot, and we quite despise The trifling battle that man must wage. But grateful the truce that comes with age, When the sun is stayed on the world's wide rim Ah, then is the time for the lettered page, When cheeks are faded and eyes are dim. Alone by the fire, when the daylight dies And the restless wind begins to rage, While the scurrying sparks in the chimney rise; Shall I in fancy a place engage With Laurence Sterne in the Paris stage Or have Uncle Toby and Corporal Trim A sounder claim on my patronage, When cheeks are faded and eyes are dim? Alas, alas, how Old Time flies When in such verdant pasturage. I' faith I must philosophize, And Seneca is the proper sage When nearly through life's pilgrimage, [69] BALLADS "De Senectute" [CONTINUED] Or Socrates why leave out him? Since he can also ills assuage, When cheeks are faded and eyes are dim. When the soul despairs in its rusting cage And deems forgetful the warder grim, Books are a man's best heritage When cheeks are faded and eyes are dim. [70] BALLADS AFTER MANILA HARKEN, O merciful God! Give ear to the pray- ers of a nation Treading with resolute steps the paths pointed out to our fathers. Bloody and blackened with war, let us kneel for awhile at Thine altars, Craving Thy blessing, O Lord! O do Thou guide and direct us: Make us the sword of Thy wrath: let our cannon echo Thy thunder! Vengeance is Mine, saith the Lord; I will repay, saith Jehovah. Strengthen our arms and uphold us, for without Thee we are helpless; Then shall our birthright of Freedom be shared with our down-trodden brother; And Thine be the glory, O Lord yea, Thine be the glory forever! [71] BALLADS OVER, OVER THERE! NORTH, South, East, West, They are sending forth their best O'er the Hun-infested brine, To their places in the line, With the Britons and the French In the hellish, hard held trench, See them stand! Mother, father, sister, wife, Could not keep them from the strife; With a courage high, eternal, They have dared the strife infernal; JEons hence will song and story Hymn their names and unsought glory Through the land. They will choke the German brute, End his ravishing and loot, Harry him with steel and shell, Bind him in his bloody hell; Then across the peaceful foam, Joyous will they journey home, Calm and bland. [72] BALLADS Over, Over There! [CONTINUED] North, South, East, West, Glory to thy children blest! Blood o' Christ were spilt in vain, Did they fail to forge a chain That would bring a lasting peace, And humanity's release From the Hun. [73] BALLADS "THE BELOVED VAGABOND" DEAR Allison, your likeness is enthroned Above my books a most congenial clime, That knows not rigor, nor the flight of Time. 'Tis holy ground, where fairy horns, faint toned, Still lure Youth's galley to a land disowned Yet lives forever in its prose and rime; Where Sorrow fades, like some far-distant chime And where one finds his ev'ry sin condoned. "A Land of Make Believe," I hear you say? Ah, no, old friend, 'tis very real to me, The silent converse of these quiet men. And thus, I know there will be many a day When I shall hear, in well beloved key, Your voice, e'en of old, and so Amen! [74] BALLADS "DOWN IN OLD VIRGINIA" WAY down in Old Virginia Where the mountains kiss the skies, And whose waters flowing seaward Croon their dreamy lullabies. Where the waving pines make music For every wand'ring breeze, While the surf on far-off beaches Seems the drowsy hum of bees. Within thy jeweled house of night The whip-poor-will makes moan, But all the golden deeps of dawn The mocking-bird will own. Above thy daisied meadows The vagrant clouds soft float So loath to leave thy loveliness For ruder climes remote. State love's no doubt a glorious thing, But this is what is true, Since you are in Virginia, Why for me Virginia's you. [75] BALLADS "COUSIN JANE" COUSIN JANE, Cousin Jane, Let me say your name again, For its mere enunciation Adds a brightness to creation, Ah, we are a blessed Nation Having you Cousin Jane. Always sympathetic, kind, To the faults of others blind, You are like a stately flower Lovelier with each passing hour, Drawing with compelling power All our hearts Cousin Jane. "Just a woman" that is all, And I'm glad of Adam's fall. You don't care to run man's race, Not for you the voting place, For serene, with queenly grace You're supreme Cousin Jane. Cousin Jane, Cousin Jane, Grateful sunshine after rain, [76] BALLADS "Cousin Jane" [CONTINUED] I must end this hymn of praise Wishing you unnumbered days, While "the Club" its homage pays. Au revoir Cousin Jane. [77] BALLADS BEST LOVE THOU art not my first love, I loved before we met The memory of that summer song Is pleasing to me yet. No, thou art my last love, My sweetest and my best; My heart but shed its outer leaves To give thee all the rest. WEARINESS THE wind sighs sadly through the quivering leaves, As though some mem'ry dreaming wakes and grieves Its restless spirit till its peace has flown And left it murm'ring to itself alone. Its sound recalls the dead, forgotten years, The old sweet days of mingled hopes and fears. Time for a moment stays his tireless flight. My soul is lonely, I am tired to-night. [78] BALLADS GOOD NIGHT GOOD NIGHT, dear heart; The moon's bright barque Sails softly down the western skies, And still I linger loath to part From the sweet spell of your dark eyes. Good night, dear heart; The day is long, But languorous night will come again, Sweet time for lovers set apart To taste love's cup of joy and pain. REUNION WHEN my time comes to die may I be lying in some low-ceiled room, dimmed by advancing shadows. By my head, an open window where light draperies float and cling, in gentle airs that greet the rising moon A moon half-veiled in drifting clouds and seen through budding boughs of gnarled old apple trees. So, let me dream, until my homeless soul shall merge, unnoticed, with the brooding night. [79] BALLADS WHAT THE WIND SINGS WHEN I was a child I loved to lie upon a green hill-side and watch the clouds drifting: Wondered whence they come and whither bound? The music of the wind in the somber pines thrilled me. Often I felt at the threshold of divining the mean- ing of the wordless cadences. And I went out into the world and strove as best I could. Now, I am old and gray and I should love to lie upon a green hill-side and watch the clouds drifting, incurious about their harbor. I know now what the wind sings to the pines, and I am very weary. [80] BALLADS PRESENCES FOR so many years Death seemed to me a horrible oppressor a cruel and malignant giant. When I was young he took my mother and later, oh, so many of my friends. And some of these so suddenly. It was as if he dashed his uncouth fist to a child's lips just parting in a song of the joy of Life. I have looked through tears into the open graves; felt the bereaved move back in mute agony, while my heart echoed the sound of the descending clods "No more, no more, alas, no more." But I know now that I have misjudged Death. When I lie in the quiet of a country night, I feel these vanished loved ones about me. I hear no word, but looking up at the Heavens, it seems as if the star-shine were made vocal: The air seems full of pulsations that cannot rend our atmosphere and become words. Un- hearing, I know, nevertheless, the message my beloved are calling. It is "Peace." And again, I feel the tears upon my lids, but they are not for the departed. [81] BALLADS "FINIS" THE coals are dying in the grate And it is late. The widening shadows on the wall Are like a pall. And ghosts of dead leaves scourged with rain Cling to the pane. Yet once upon a happy tree They danced in glee. And once was Youth, and Hope, and Thou, Ah, me ! but now The coals are dying in the grate And it is late! [82] FROM THE BOOK OF JU-JU CHILDHOOD VERSES TO THE POET ? S DAUGHTER, JUDITH AYLETT FROM THE BOOK OF JU-JU CHILDHOOD VERSES TO THE POET*S DAUGHTER, JUDITH AYLETT JU-JU THERE is a tiny shallop comes, Just at the close of day And into it my baby slips And softly sails away. Away, unto the land of dreams; A country free from care, And only little children Can ever enter there. The little boat is made of pearl, The mast of purest gold, Its sails, the wings of butterflies The roving night-wind holds. It does not keep to ocean lanes, Well known to mundane tars, But navigates the Milky Way And cruises 'midst the stars. [85] FROM THE BOOK OF JU-JU Ju-Ju [CONTINUED] Old Ursus Major kindly growls As she goes flashing by, The Dog Star romps along behind With joyous canine cry. They chase the fire-fly Pleiades And flit through Saturn's rings And never tire, for in that land Are most entrancing things. But sometimes she grows hungry, From all the boisterous play, Then Mercury takes the Dipper up And skims the Milky Way. And perched in Cassiopeia's Chair, She drinks her little fill, The panting Dog Star's mouth is wide To catch what she may spill. They coast down miles of moonbeams And plait the comet's tails, With Gemini the Heavenly Twins They skip the star strewn vales. But oh ! I am so lonesome This time she is away, Although she seems to be still here, As with her hair I play. [86] FROM THE BOOK OF JU-JU Ju-Ju [CONTINUED] And many times while she is gone I brush away a tear "Suppose she should forget the road From 'way up there to here?" I cannot hear her little boat Grate on the viewless sands, I only know that she is back By her tiny rose leaf hands. And so I want them both in mine When I lie down to rest So when she comes I shall awake And help her to her nest. [87] FROM THE BOOK OF JU-JU "TRAILING CLOUDS OF GLORY" So light her feet upon the earth One senses unseen wings Dear childish feet, that stir, perhaps, The homeless dust of kings. The light of Heaven lingers yet Within her wond'ring eyes Pure eyes that mirror naught of life And all of Paradise. To that Great Chord, we know as God Her soul still trembles true, But mine will never breathe again The melody it knew. She quivers at the flush of Dawn And reads the rhythmic rain, The hidden harmonies of streams Know they are found again. For her the new born Sun God flings Through forests, dim and old, Sheaf after sheaf, the prodigal, His javelins of gold. [88] FROM THE BOOK OF JU-JU "Trailing Clouds of Glory" [CONTINUED] The wind steals from the grassy mounds, Half hidden on the hill To linger lightly in her hair And dream that it was chill. Oh, lovely Child! would I could win To that bright world of thine, But I must worship from afar, Thy small hand clasped in mine. Into the outer darkness thrust, I kneel in eager prayer And hear the hopeless words "Too late, You can not enter there." [89] FROM THE BOOK OF JU-JU SUPREME COURT DECISIONS MY little Ju-Ju, just turned three, On yesterday, remarked of me: "My Dad's a good oF man." The wise and prudent know not this, The height of wisdom they must miss, According to God's plan. I had my doubts about myself, For I have none of this world's pelf And little knowledge, too. But now I have no care at all, I'm unconcerned o'er Adam's fall, I really think I'll do. For when St. Peter scowls at me Ju-Ju will cry, triumphantly: "My Dad's a good oF man!" [90] FROM THE BOOK OF JU-JU "THE FEMALE OFFENDER" I'VE many friends who live in books, Old friends, I made when young, And well I know just how each looks; How musical each tongue. And oftentimes I hear them call With voice untouched by time; How tenderly their accents fall, In classic prose or rime. But by the time I've put away My guest's cane, hat or wrap, I gasp in sudden disarray And Judy's in my lap. Dear child of Now, what does she care For Lear's tremendous woe, Achilles' wrath, or Circe's snare, Or topless Troy laid low? The blue .ZEgean had no deep Unfathomed like her eyes, O'er which her soul's reflections creep White clouds in April skies. [91] FROM THE BOOK OF JU-JU 'The Female Offender" [CONTINUED] But since my honored guest has fled With symptoms of distress, With clumsy hand I stroke her head Oh, aureate loveliness ! Yet, all the same I tell myself When she is tucked in bed I'll tip-toe back unto that shelf And read that book I read. I'll read and smoke Ulysses smoked, In fact, I know he did Because he never grew provoked But did what ladies bid. But when upon my antique back I've carried her upstairs, I've felt my soul upon the rack When light she lisped her prayers. I settle down and once again The old familiars come, But to be truthful, now and then, My mind will wander some. I crave forgiveness and once more My friend resumes his talk I wonder if I shut that door, And back upstairs I walk. [92] FROM THE BOOK OF JU-JU "The Female Offender" [CONTINUED] Yes, back upstairs and leave my friend, While I lean o'er her nest, Unheeding how the minutes wend Since each one brings her rest. How rhythmic is the rise and fall Of her untroubled breast; God seems no riddle after all But only dreamless rest. And so I never go downstairs When I've come back this way. Old friends won't talk to empty chairs, I'll lose them day by day. And oh ! I hate to lose them too, And they have prior claim, I don't know what to do, do you? Now isn't this a shame? [93] FROM THE BOOK OF JU-JU THE WANDERER "BELIEVE in transmigration" ? Sure ! 'Tis an old tale with me, And I know well how Noah felt When he put forth to sea. For I am known of beasts and birds And dwarfs and giants too, I am so used to all of these I make no more ado. But oh, it is the gentlest soul That animates them all, For Ju-Ju is the loveliest child I know since Abel's fall. I own, at first, I felt some fear When dozing in my chair To have a lion pounce on me And drag me to his lair. But one gets used to anything, As my experience shows; I could not count how many times The Blackbird's nipped my nose. [94] FROM THE BOOK OF JU-JU The Wanderer [CONTINUED] I climb the bean-stalk o'er and o'er And get the Giant worried, When in pursuit he falls on me I never now get flurried. Serene, Red Ridinghood I watch Go idling through the wood A Robber Kitten soon she'll be Who never more '11 be good. When Peter Rabbit homeward hikes From stern McGregor's field, I hide him in my scanty lap Until his fears are healed. And now and then the Pussy-Cat, Who called upon the Queen, Will whet her claws upon my legs Which are so long and lean. I've slept with bears and elephants And waked with pirate kings; Have seen the Cow jump o'er the Moon And various other things. Of all the changes that she has One, I love most of all, Comes with the dying of the day, When soft the shadows fall. [95] FROM THE BOOK OF JU-JU The Wanderer [CONTINUED] When she climbs weary to my lap, Her own dear self at last Secure from any further change, The long day's perils past. Lightly she lies upon my arm, Her voice a whisper grows, And sleep descends upon her eyes Like dewdrops on a rose. [96] FROM THE BOOK OP JU-JU FOR JU-JU IN 19 I WRITE these lines, that in some far off day Your eyes, that mirrored me, may look them o'er And hear me whisper from an unknown shore A deathless love, though I who write be clay. Oh! let me write them quickly, while I may, Each fleeting hour I loved you more and more; What my youth lacked your childhood did restore Ah, dear, how eagerly I watched your play! And I would tell you, little child of mine, You never gave to me a moment's pain, But many times your little hands did bless And turn Life's bitter water into wine; And so, I yearn to speak to you again And comfort you in unguessed weariness. [97] FROM THE BOOK OF JU-JU MIST SHE used to climb upon my knees; Hands, light as rose leaves, closed my eyes, Then, " 'tendin' like" the chairs were trees, She'd hide, while bird-like notes would rise "Daddy, come find me!" And sometimes in her dreams at night, Alarmed, may be, by culprit fay, She'd find my hand and hold it tight; In tears and laughter she would pray "Daddy, come find me!" The pity of the stars is mine; The requiem that the night winds sings Dies in a melody divine But ah, the golden bell that rings "Daddy, come find me!" [98] FROM THE BOOK OF JU-JU JUDY TO-NIGHT I left her while she slept With curly head upon her arm, And as I through the darkness crept I prayed; "Christ keep her from all harm. "Thou wast thyself a little child And looked with love upon the world To find thyself despised, reviled, And all thy blessings backward hurled. "But thou couldst gaze through fleeting space To where God sorrowed on his throne, And read the love writ on his face And know thou wast not all alone. "Therefore, I pray thee, Lord divine, Thy hand in benediction lay On her bright head, this child of mine, And smile upon her night and day. "Oh, let her glimpse Thee when the sun Bursts from the sepulcher of night, While golden streams ecstatic run Where sing Thy oceans in their might." [99] FROM THE BOOK OF JU-JU FATHER'S SINS FORGOT I WATCHED my child at play before the fire Croon softly to the dancing shadows there With eager hands which were full fain to snare The dusky shapes that mocked at her desire. At last the hopeless game began to tire, The little hands grew quiet, ceased the air, And slowly crawling to her mother's chair Soon gentle sleep paid all her labors' hire. Then lo! a ray of light illumed my soul, God's ways grew plain; old fears were dashed aside. O Christ ! I prayed, though I reach not the goal Thou wilt receive me, though in vain I tried; Thou wilt write fair my life's oft blotted scroll, Thy arms will bear me o'er Death's slumb'rous tide. [100] FROM THE BOOK OF JU-JU WHEN JUDY READS WHEN Judy reads, old words, outworn, Seem fresh as June's most dewy morn; They wear once more their ancient dress And dance in nymph-like loveliness To sun-beam notes from fairy horn. I hear the wind's feet o'er the corn, The doves amid the elms, forlorn Life's lightest music wakes to bless, When Judy reads. Yet, those trite words I viewed with scorn, Unguessed the rose, so plain the thorn; But when her childish lips caress Those worn old words, in tenderness, I wish I too, might be reborn When Judy reads. [101] IN LIGHTER VEIN IN LIGHTER VEIN BUSINESS MAN SAMPSON TO POET SAMPSON On the Occasion of his Fortieth birthday, April 26, 1910 TIME for you to settle down, Time to quit your fooling, Gray the hair that once was brown, Youth should now be cooling. Time for you to meditate On the years you've wasted; Sinner, turn ere 'tis too late And in hell you're basted. Forty years I've spent with you, Not without compunction, Yet, you've scorned my friendship true, Scoffed each fond injunction. Why can't you, a married man, With two winsome daughters, [105] IN LIGHTER VEIN Sampson to Sampson [CONTINUED] On Parnassus put the ban, Cut Pierian waters? Fill your pipe with natural leaf, Dream of business matters ; Man, you're on the road to grief, Penury and tatters! Let the winds and waves alone, They are busy working, When you rant of roses blown You are only shirking. Forty years have I been bored By your senseless habits, Seen them, heedless how I roared, Multiply like rabbits. Have some pity on me now, Some consideration, Or I'll pleasure have, I vow, In your deep damnation. [106] IN LIGHTER VEIN "ONE POINT OF VIEW" "THE Editor of Life regrets He can not use the stuff enclosed." Still, no hard feeling he begets ; "The Editor of Life regrets" Alas, poor man: coerced, he frets, And may not act as he's disposed "The Editor of Life regrets He can not use the stuff enclosed." [107] IN LIGHTER VEIN "THE WORM TURNS" WHY is it nearly all the verse In "high class magazines" Some occult ailment does rehearse Midst deeply tragic scenes? The authors diagnose their ills Of body, mind, or soul, And then neglect to take the pills That could these fits control. The editors compound these crimes By coddling them with cash, While countless healthy men of rimes Three times a day eat hash. If you, or I, a poem send That echoes not a groan, Before the week is at an end The "pome" comes back alone. O poets in the cultured east, Have pity on us pray In charity, the very least Poor dog should have his day. [108] IN LIGHTER VEIN MONTVILLE LONELY it stands upon a gentle hill And looks toward the pines across the moor Wistful and sad for vanished days of yore When song and laughter fleeting Time did kill. Now all is silent save a whip-poor-will, Whose melancholy notes ring o'er and o'er Like some damned soul upon an alien shore, Unwilling yet its shallow grave to fill. And this was Montville here came LaFayette And youthful Henry with his violin, Progenitor of mediocre Pats Yea, these dull walls that knew the minuet And echoed oft with revelry and din Are festooned, decked and garlanded with bats. [109] IN LIGHTER VEIN FRIENDSHIP'S OFFERING 'For thou shalt forget thy misery; Thou shalt remember it as waters that are passed away." I GRIEVE to learn you have succumbed to mumps I've never had them, but I feel for you. What do I care if April's skies be blue? They cannot lift me from the doleful dumps. Bleak visaged Sorrow on my shoulder humps And drapes my Muse in garb of Stygian hue. Music consoles me not, and "bridge" fails, too, For naught care I if hearts or spades be trumps. If sinners' prayers had any weight above I'd say a million masses for your peace, Or elbow planets from their flaming ways And e'en Saint Peter from his gate-way shove To speak the word that might win your release But these poor blooms how shall they light your days? [110] IN LIGHTER VEIN WHEN YOUR WIFE'S AWAY OF all the insidious Temptations invidious Contrived by the devil to pull a man down, There is none more delusive, Seductive, abusive, Than the snare of a man with his wife out of town. He feels such delightfulness, S tay-out-all-nightf ulness, 'Tis one without pain; A bachelor rakishness, None can explain. His wife may be beautiful, tender and dutiful; 'Tis not her absence would cause him delight; But the d d opportunity, The baleful immunity Scatters his scruples as day scatters night. [Ill] IN LIGHTER VEIN OLD YADKIN CORN OLD Yadkin Valley Corn ! Ah, amber tinted j uice That makes an ashen tinted world burst into flower, Annihilating Care; filling each barren hour With golden sunshine. Shall I abstain what use ? When I have thee, thou art thy best excuse. When patient merit bows to usurped power Why should I give my soul for Envy to devour? So 'raus mit care! Be on your way vamoose! Yes, let me tip the faithful jug once more And learn the legends of a hundred happy hills And know again the song the stars sang once before The days of saw-mills, cotton gins and other ills. Yet once again, until the unnoticed floor Glides gently up and further dalliance kills. [112] IN LIGHTER VEIN REFLECTIONS ON DIETING AND DOCTORS WHEN I look o'er a bill of fare And see the things there are to eat, My heart grows sick with grim despair To think that / must not touch meat. The coy Lynnhaven fears me not, Nor lobster, nor the shrinking clam. "Just vegetables" are my lot, And for them I don't give a damn. Black pepper, too, I must forswear, And vinegar, that adds a zest, So now for salads I don't care, When near the "Islands of the Blest." The puny pickle, too, is barred, The mango and the sprightly dill; Ye gods ! but life is passing hard When such wee things may make us ill. And Burgundy and Scotch and ale, Plebeian beer and Dublin stout, [lift] IN LIGHTER VEIN Reflections on Dieting [CONTINUED] Sauternes, liquors and gin so pale, The heartless Doctor has cut out. The liquor leaps within the glass; The planked steak's incense fills the air; But they mean naught to me, alas ! I have to think I do not care. No doubt for doctors there is use They bring us to this world of sin Yet, surely, with but small excuse They often send us out agin. The Doctor is all right, I guess, As poor misguided doctors go, But he has made my life a mess A dreary wilderness of woe. And when I take my golden harp And swat a husky chord in G, I trust I'll see that Doctor sharp Well damned for all eternity. SAMPSON AGONISTES. [114] IN LIGHTER VEIN TO A POLYPHONIC POET To your polyphonic prose God, perhaps, the answer knows. . . . As a dewdrop in the sun Mirrors all it looks upon, So should verse, it seems to me, Have a hint of verity. Verity, with changing hue, Unsuspected prospects, new. Where a brook slips o'er a stone Vocal makes its cryptic tone, Lift one to a high surmise That a beauty latent lies. Pushing old horizons back, Followed still by gleaming track Till no more life's baffling bars Block the pathway to the stars. All your statements seem so bald, Do your spirits come when called? Should you write "the skies are blue," Would one guess a wider view? Hear the whirring wings of birds, Scent the breath of grazing herds, Catch the secrets of the grass Told to vagrant winds that pass? [115] IN LIGHTER VEIN To a Polyphonic Poet [CONTINUED] No, I'd see the printed page Set like good Queen Bess' stage, "This a horse" and "this a tree," "This a castle by the sea." Ah, your words are lifeless, dead, Lapped in dull, funereal lead. I am sorry this is so For an old man loves the glow Loves to hear words hiss and burn Ere they back to ashes turn, Whispering of forgotten springs And of unremembered things; So I lay "Can Grande" by Would I did so with a sigh. [116] IN LIGHTER VEIN "WORDS, WORDS, WORDS !" I READ a poem yesterday That touched my world-worn heart, And I was not ashamed to feel Tears to my old eyes start. Those verses freed me for a time From every fear and care; I thought I heard the seraphs' wings Beat softly Heaven's pure air. But, gentle reader, ask me not That poem's words or sense, For neither could I understand Which shows it was immense. [117] COVERLY OF all the many visits I have paid That one to Coverly was far the best. I did not do one blessed thing but rest, By thought of host or hostess undismayed. I felt like Adam did when, neglige'd And all forgetful of his coming test, He loafed and loafed and thought himself well blessed That his Creator such a long time stayed. True hospitality, alas, is rare, Since self-effacement is too great a load For average hosts to bear with smiling face. Therefore, believe me, Lady, when I swear That Heaven for me will make no good abode While mem'ry holds of Coverly a trace. [118] IN LIGHTER VEIN BALLADE OF OLD TIME BARTENDERS "They are all gone, the old familiar faces." GAY priests of Bacchus that I once knew well, Take ye this farewell tribute from a friend; A sprig of mint, in fields of asphodel, May bring ye cheer and in its fragrance tend To breathe on Memory's ashes till they send Abroad, once more, their Apollonian gleam And drive the mists from Lethe's sleepy stream. Here's hoping that a happier day may dawn; Meanwhile, I drowse and query in each dream: "Old time bartenders, whither have ye gone?" Around your ruined shrines what memories dwell Of royal Bourbon and full many a blend! I had a friend who, blindfolded, could smell And call each famous brand. He could depend On nose alone. Where doth that nose now wend? Mnemosyne! we two could fill a ream, Keening these lovers with their single theme. Perhaps, now, on some paradisal lawn, They pour old Burgundy, with ruby beam: "Old time bartenders, whither have ye gone?" [119] IN LIGHTER VEIN Ballade of Old Time Bartenders [CONTINUED] Where are the cocktails that ye threw pell mell From hand to hand with careless, graceful bend? The frapped absinthe that could hurry hell And speed the traveler to his journey's end, And give the lie to "Ne'er too late to mend?" Where are the dusty cellars, wont to teem With laughter prisoned, eager to redeem From grasping age youth's melancholy pawn? Ye will not heed me, though distressed I scream: "Old time bartenders, whither have ye gone?" I/ENVOI Lord Bacchus, prithee, hold in high esteem These splendid brothers of old Polypheme; Bend down thine ear to me, alone, forlorn. When dead, my first request will be, I deem: "Old time bartenders, whither have ye gone?" [120] IN LIGHTER VEIN FORSAKEN SOMETIMES I think she has not gone away: Here is her book, just as she laid it by; Only the lilies faded in it lie In mute remembrance of a happier day. Her chair stands empty, in the firelight's play: All things that knew her seem her name to sigh And Hope is dead and mocks me when I try In Life's dun skies to find one golden ray. My little child, with piteous, tear stained face, Lisps sadly "When will Mother come again?" How can I answer her? Aye, there's the rub ! Oh, let us fly from this tormenting place, Whose ev'ry aspect thrills with cruel pain When Mother's playing "Auction" at the Club ! [121] IN LIGHTER VEIN TO OUR GREAT-GREAT-GRANDFATHER, PATRICK HENRY THE Belgian hare could nothing to you show, Prolific Patrick what a family man ! You made G. Washington an "also ran," And saw with pride your sixteen children grow To sixty grandchildren, ere Death laid low The founder of a universal clan: Placed on your infant industry the ban, And hushed the lullabies we fain would know. The cradle in your house was never still: It was the Rock of Ages, so to speak, And whilst you rocked, were dreams of freedom spun, 'Midst infants' cries, distracting, piercing, shrill. And yet, we learn, when History's page we seek "The Father of his country Washington!" [122] JUVENILIA JUVENILIA "WITH PIPE AND BOOK BEFORE THE FIRE" "May blessings rest upon the head of him who invented books." WITH pipe and book before the fire, Kind friends and true which never tire, I'd spend my life, if it might be, Nor wish for better company, Than pipe and book. So let the world wag as it will, A cure have I for every ill; Yet if its spleen my mind should sour, There on my shelf is Schopenhauer. Or if to satire I incline, With caustic wit in every line See there in yonder well-thumbed row Is Don Francesco Quevedo. Or should I wish wit sugar-coated, There's Q. H. Flaccus margins noted: [125] JUVENILIA "With Pipe and Book" [CONTINUED] And if in atheistic vein, I know just where to find Tom Paine. And would I view life's every phase, See every passion stripped of glaze By one who stands without a peer I need not say 'tis Will Shakespeare. The clock strikes twelve and finds me idle; I must to bed O where's my Bible? [126] JUVENILIA "I WAS A STRANGER AND YE TOOK ME IN" (To Mrs. Jane Ewing Speed) I DO not sing of strangled love, Mad kisses last caresses: For her as true as heaven above, My pen the paper presses. I sing of her whose kindly ways Bring me a world of pleasure. Sweet sunlight of my weary days, I love her past all measure. A sympathetic ear she'll lend To all my boyish troubles; And when an hour with her I spend, My cares dissolve like bubbles. My ragged socks she'll neatly darn, On my old clothes put patches: Look if you will, but let me warn 'Tis not on earth her match is. [127] JUVENILIA 'I Was a Stranger" [CONTINUED] God bless her cheery, loving face And shield her from all danger And give her heaven's highest place, Who took me in a stranger. [128] JUVENILIA "HENCE VAIN, DELUDING JOYS" COME, my old pipe, when love grows cold, When pleasure slips the eager hold, When trusted ones in anger turn, And low the fires of friendship burn Come, my old pipe. Come, my old pipe, your blackened bowl Holds solace for my weary soul; What care I if M.D.'s do say Your fragrant smoke curtails life's day? Come, my old pipe. Come, my old pipe, the smoke rings curl And glide and twist, and writhe, and whirl: And though old death your stem bestride, His fleshless phiz we will deride. Come, my old pipe. [129] JUVENILIA RETROSPECTIVE AH, to-night I need your cheering, Dearest heart that I call mine; In my mind your face appearing Vanishes like beads in wine. And to-night the miles seem longer That do keep us still apart: Maybe 'tis love growing stronger Makes this tempest in my heart. All alone of thee I'm dreaming 'Neath the rustling, moon-kissed trees; Is it real, or is it seeming, That your voice steals down the breeze? Yet my spirit feels your presence Though your face I can not see; In the moonbeams' iridescence See you smiling sweet, on me. In the gray east dawn is breaking, But you still are far away; In my heart the old pains aching As I enter the new day. [130] JtTVENILIA A RIME WITHOUT REASON IN the shadowy aisles of the forest The crimsoning leaves drift down, As the rare and radiant jewels Fall from a moldering crown. And caught by the idling zephyrs, They sail in the hazy light Far over the hills and the valleys, Till lost to the straining sight. The sorrowing wind in the tree tops Chants a requiem for the dead; Naught else is heard but their rustle, And the caw of a crow overhead. And the spectral mist from the river, Like the wraith of the summer that's dead, Glides slowly on through the valleys, As if sad for the golden days fled. And my heart as I stand in the gloaming Is full of unspeakable pain, A wild undefinable longing For something I never can gain. [131] JUVENILIA A Rime Without Reason [CONTINUED] Ah, I know that I never shall find it, Though I lived till the tottering world Is plunged headlong from its orbit, Through the depths of eternity hurled. But the sad-voiced wind in its moaning A nepenthe gives to my soul, For it too hath the same ardent yearning That knows not respite or control. [132] JUVENILIA RONDEAU THREE FIFTY-FIVE ! I would alway That we here side by side might stay; Alas, Love's reign seems ne'er complete; And yet such joys must needs be fleet The curtain falls on Passion's For see the East grows softly gray, Voluptuous night gives place to day. God but the hours had winged feet! Three fifty-five? But what shall pass the time away Till kindly night resumes her sway And I beneath your window sweet Shall wait, Love's old song to repeat? In whispered tones I hear thee say, Three fifty-five? JUVKNIS. [133] JUVENILIA RONDEAU THREE FIFTY-FIVE, the fire burns low. Half dreaming in its softened glow, My thoughts drift back to other days That faintly gleam through golden haze The dear dead days of long ago. Outside the wailing wind doth blow Wrung by some grief I can not know; The clock shows by the moon's cold rays Three fifty-five. Ah, mocking thoughts that wildly flow, Strange retrospect of joy and woe! One specter from its grave you raise To which my sad soul vainly prays. Ah, God! that night should be so slow! Three fifty-five? SENEX. [134] JUVENILIA NOCTURNE WHEN shadows fall at even-tide Sweet thoughts, that with the day must hide, Steal softly through the idle brain Ah, would they might always remain To tint with gold life's darker side. Alas ! the hours onward glide Too dear by far to long abide, Sad heart, they will return again When shadows fall. E'en though the weary miles divide And fears rush in a whelming tide Thy mem'ry comes, a sweet refrain, And stills the sighing chords of pain. Once more to thee my thoughts have hied, When shadows fall. [135] JUVENILIA INSANITAS AMORIS A DAINTY thing of patent leather, 'Tis useless quite in stormy weather, But in her drawing-room's confines My eyes will seek its graceful lines When now and then it haps to peep From where her skirts all jealous keep Their treasure from unhallowed eyes That dear "1-B," that is the size, And 'tis her slipper that I sing Ten lines for just that tiny thing. [136] A HANDKERCHIEF I THOUGHT it was dead though long was its dying, The love I had prayed to and cursed all in vain, I smiled when I saw it all motionless lying And I said "God is good," 'twill not waken again. But to-night in a dainty handkerchief's laces, There lingered all faintly a subtle perfume, The odor she loved God how my blood races, Its passionate rush would my hot veins consume. In vain, still in vain, the long years of forgetting, The peace that I prayed for has mocked me and flown j All useless the nights and the days of regretting, As futile as breath o'er a mirror once blown. And sadly and softly the night wind is sighing, The passionless moon to the horizon slips, And I list to the voice of the past and its crying, Alone with a handkerchief pressed to my lips. [137] JUVENILIA "GOOD MASTER DEATH" GOOD Master Death, when thou art nigh, And life is done and I must die, Give me no time for vain regrets: Perhaps, the good the bad offsets, If not there is good reason why 'Twould please me well if you would try In some lone place to put me by, Where life eternal never gets Good Master Death. Some place, you better know than I, Where I could take my ease and lie In dreamless sleep that nothing frets, That immortality forgets; Thou wilt not this small boon deny, Good Master Death. [138] JUVENILIA "NOW SPRING IS BEGUILING" For lo, the winter is past. SONG OF SOLOMON. Now Spring is beguiling The fancy to smiling, With proof of her presence on hill and on plain: The sunlight beholding Shy buds are unfolding And the brooks have forgotten the frost king's reign. The birds are all singing, The woodland is ringing With echoes of many a mad, merry strain: A truce to care crying, We banish our sighing, For Nature has waked from her slumbers again. His gay course pursuing, The South wind is wooing The flowers that long in concealment have lain: From petals unbending Rare fragrance ascending Diffuses its sweetness o'er Nature's domain. [139] JUVENILIA "Now Spring Is Beguiling" [CONTINUED] Uniting and rifting Light clouds idly drifting Their indolent ways through the blue skies main- tain: And in the brooks blending Their gay hues unending, Reflected they dance to its rippling refrain. Soft o'er the heart stealing An ecstatic feeling, A thousand desires awake in the brain: A rare time of dreaming, Of innocent scheming And fanciful building of Castles in Spain. [140] JUVENILIA "THOUGH CRITICS SCORN MY HUMBLE LAYS" THOUGH critics scorn my humble lays On finding naught therein to praise, And dub me upstart, tyro, fool, And quote the child and edged tool; I do not look to them for bays. One ray of comfort with me stays That all their heaped abuse repays, And leaves me careless, calm and cool Though critics scorn. Allons, Messieurs dissect each phrase. May peace attend you all your days, But I can ne'er respect your school, Or bow submissive to your rule. Her smile all else with me outweighs Though critics scorn. [141] JUVENILIA "IN VAIN I STRIVE" IN vain I strive to pen to-night A rondeau to her eyes so bright; But ah! my verse runs all awry, The muse is jealous, coy or shy And all my adjectives seem trite. Alas ! I am a luckless wight That, which they say makes labor light Should rob me of pretext to cry In vain I strive. But in thine eyes a tricksy sprite To mock my efforts takes delight And does the needful calm deny Which must be mine if I would try The theme I lay down hopeless quite In vain I strive. [142] JUVENILIA 'TIS HARD FOR ME TO IMPROVISE Lo! some we loved, the loveliest and best. RUBAIYAT. 'Tis hard for me to improvise, In nothing was / ever wise; But bowing to your sweet commands My fickle muse obedient stands. Emerson has said somewhere That Nature, ever just and fair, Is satisfied she's done her duty With making the one gift of beauty. So oft we find the brightest mind, Where we least dream of it confined; For Nature, he says, compensates (It seems her favors she pro-rates). In you she must have wished to see How well her gifts combined could be, And sweet success has crowned her pains In heaven naught more perfect reigns. [143] JUVENILIA "OH, WHAT AM I TO HAVE SUCH LOVE AS THINE?" OH, what am I to have such love as thine As freely given as the sun's bright rays ? But far more constant, since there are no days When in thine eyes thy pure soul doth not shine. Oh, why does God thus cast his pearls to swine, To lie polluted in their miry ways? Unless perchance he vainly hopes to raise In beasts like me some spark of the divine. If I had ever helped thee by one word, Or shared with thee one moment's weight of pain, Or laid a finger on thy cares that gird, I could take comfort be a man again; But no my selfish heart is never stirred, And meets thy sunshine with a winter's rain. [144] JUVENILIA WILLIAM MORRIS THE clang and tumult of these iron days Could win no echo from his hushed string* But softly sometimes came the whisperings Of years long buried in oblivion's haze And touched them gently as a wind "that plays 'Midst summer boughs with tender murmurings. Then clear and sweet the mellow music rings While life turns back to old forgotten ways. "THERE IS NO HELL" THERE is no hell save that which each doth make According to his wish or heart's desire. So fear it not, that fabled place of fire. A heart once still oh, never more will ache. Once vice was sweet but soon or late we tire, And then, alas ! we can but sit and rake O'er ashes cold that will no more awake. [145] JUVENILIA THALASSA! THALASSA! (The Sea! The Sea!} THE noise and tumult of the city breaks, Like some rude sea, against the buildings high That hem me round, and shut out the blue sky Which is man's birthright, although he forsakes The gifts of Nature, and his own god makes Of hard, bright gold, the while his youth slips by. And then Death comes and dims the eager eye, And earth once more her faithless offspring takes. I close my eyes for one brief moment's rest, And lo! the memory of a song of yours Hurries me off, far down the distant West, Where dash the waves on loud-resounding shores, And on my brows the wind's cool hands are prest, And then once more the city round me roars. [146] JUVENILIA "I HAD KNOWN HER SO LONG" I HAD known her so long She seemed like a sister. Do you think it was wrong! I had known her so long, And temptation was strong So I yielded and I had known her so long She seemed like a sister. [147] JUVENILIA "THE WIND IS MOANING ABOUT THE EAVES" THE wind is moaning about the eaves, The wind is chill and the night is black For the sky is blind with the blown storm wrack, And I dream of days that will ne'er come back. Love, they are gone like last year's leaves. Love, from an ultimate peak of Time, In Youth's glad meadows, I see us stand, While glory of Spring sweeps over the land Ah, Spring ! it was all we could understand, Love, shall we tremble at Winter's rime? When your dear hands in my own I fold, Who shall persuade me that Youth is fled? E'en though one rose from the ranks of the dead, Dear as of old is your beautiful head. [148] JUVENILIA "REASON FROWNING ASKS OF ME" REASON frowning asks of me, Foolish dreamer can there be Pleasure wherein profit lies In the spell of women's eyes? Can you ever hope to win Her that you delight so in, Think you that your love's returned That her soul for thine has yearned? Seek again her lustrous eyes, You have learned so soon to prize. In their calm, translucent sea, Mark you answering love for thee? "YOU SEEM TO ME LIKE TERROR- STRICKEN FAUNS" You seem to me like terror-stricken fauns Snared in the city's harsh, unlovely street. Vistas of stone alone your glances greet Vanished for aye the pure and choral dawns, The morning censers swung on misty lawns, Music of winds insufferably sweet. [149] JUVENILIA "SOFTLY THE SHATTERED LANCES OF THE RAIN" SOFTLY the shattered lances of the rain In glistening shards fall whisp'ring on the earth, The woods stand awed, and gone the careless mirth Of vagrant winds whose melodies retain Hues of the sunny lands that gave them birth. "O LOVELY NIGHT" O LOVELY Night, dear handmaiden of God, Triumphant Night, Thou wast ere Time began. Still shalt thou reign when worlds complete their span, When, spent, the sun reels from the path he trod, Faints and fades out, an unremembered clod. According to some incommunicable plan, Man fain would fathom and its purpose scan, Ere rings his roof to the exultant sod. [150] JUVENILIA "ANIMA ANCEPS" I OFTEN wonder if you know How fast my throbbing pulses go, When now and then, by happy chance, Our eyes meet in a merry glance, And when you laugh so sweet and low. Ah, does your blood still calmly flow When soft and sweet your dark eyes grow, Or does it onward, faster dance? I often wonder. Alas ! Drear doubt besets me so. Suppose my heart should tell its woe: Would you then coldly look askance, Or with the eyes that so entrance A light on all my darkness throw? I often wonder. [151] JUVENILIA O BLESSED SLEEP O BLESSED sleep that vanquishes mine eyes When all the world in lang'rous revery lies. A jealous mistress thou; who would adore Must love thee only, giving all else o'er, Lest from afar thou wilt but tantalize. With thy cool touch what splendid visions rise, What gentle play of unheard melodies Where noiseless waves wash on a phantom shore, O blessed sleep! The heart no more for empty nothings cries; Life is forgot, naught know we of its sighs. Alas, that day should consciousness restore, That thou art deaf to piteous implore: Too soon always thy weird witchery flies, O blessed sleep! [152] JUVENILIA "IN THE FOREST ALL IS SILENT" IN the forest all is silent Save the leaves' uncertain rustling; Gaunt and grim the gloomy arches, And the chill wind moaning through them Drives the withered leaves before it, Pallid ghosts of a dead summer Flitting through a ruined temple; And the moonbeams struggle faintly Through the clouds all gray and shapeless, On the branches restless swaying, Swaying impotent and helpless, Clutching with their knotty fingers At the cold gray sky above them, As an old man worn and feeble Muttering low in accents broken Wanders with his eyes uplifted Seeking vainly some lost treasure. Darkness Death Desolation. [153] JUVENILIA RONDEL TAKE not thy lips away, O love of mine, For naught is there in life one half so sweet That whelms the sense with rhapsody divine, Mocking all speech when I would fain repeat The tale thou knowest. Would my heart might beat Forever with thine own, my eyes meet thine. Take not thy lips away, O love of mine. Take not thy lips away, O love of mine, For naught is there in life one half so sweet. It is the pearl dissolved in life's rough wine That doth allure e'en with its mute entreat, And Time stays not his ever flying feet Nor will the sun for us forever shine, Take not thy lips away, O love of mine. [154] JUVENILIA EN PASSANT RONDEL AFTER DOBSON SOFTLY to-night is mem'ry turning The dim old leaves of her book of lore, And days forgotten rise up once more, Old days that were fraught with a useless yearning. Again in my heart I feel its burning, The old sweet love of the days of yore. Softly to-night is mem'ry turning The dim old leaves of her book of lore. Ah, well ! once more thy dust inurning, Again to oblivion I give thee o'er, Less the foolish prayers that I said before: Time gives to us all a little learning. Softly to-night is mem'ry turning. [155] JUVENILIA "O LOVE, COME BACK" O LOVE, come back, I fain would say, Though crabbed Wisdom whispers "Nay, Thou knowest well the sighs and pain That shall be thine if Love remain. Rejoice that Love is well away." 'Tis true I swore but yesterday That Love should lead no more astray, And yet my heart cries out again, O Love, come back! Leave me no more, but with me stay, Then all the year shall be as May. Live in my heart and in it reign And lift me pleasure's cup to drain; Though life should only be a day, O Love, come back! [156] NOTES NOTES STEPHEN PHILLIPS, BANKRUPT. Suggested by a notice in a London paper that Stephen Phillips, the English poet, had been declared a bankrupt. THE DUKE OF GANDIA. The Duke of Gandia is one of the later dramatic poems of Charles Algernon Swin- burne. DEATH OF ASE (PEER GYNT SUITE). Ibsen's poetic drama, Peer Gynt, Act 3, Sc. 4. By THE SEA: A MEMORY. Written for Mrs. David Van Alstyne's bungalow at Leonardo, New Jersey. "SLAVE" OF MICHELANGELO. The famous piece of sculpture, "The Slave," in the Louvre at Paris. "VICTORY" OF SAMOTHRACE. The statue in the Louvre, discovered in 1863 during excavations on the Island of Samothrace, JEgean Sea. The quotation in the first line is from Stephen Crane, the American novelist. [159] NOTES IN MEMORIAM: To GREATER CLOVER. In memory of Greayer Clover, a young aviator who fell to his death, August 30, 1Q18. THE BELOVED VAGABOND. Addressed to an old friend, Young Ewing Allison, of Louisville, Ky. COUSIN JANE. Addressed to Miss Jane Rutherfoord, of Richmond, Va. MONTVILLE. The deserted home of the Ayletts. Philip Aylett, who was the great grandfather of the poet, married the daughter of Patrick Henry. FRIENDSHIP'S OFFERING. To Ruth Sharpe Metcalf. To A POLYPHONIC POET. After reading Can Grande's Casile, by Miss Amy Lowell. COVERLY. The country home of Mrs. Archer Jones, in Amelia County, Virginia. THALASSA ! THALASSA ! The title of this poem may have been sug- gested by the exclamation of the Greek army, as recorded in Xenophon's Anabasis, when, after a perilous march, they caught sight of the sea. [160] UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY A 000133593 4