COPYRIGHT, 1906 BY HILTON R . GREEK THE SPIDERS AND OTHER POEMS So tt?p fHrmnrg of iKit Mother FOR permission to reprint a number of poems in this volume thanks are due the Delineator, National Magazine, Smart Set, Lippincott s Magazine, Sunday School Times, and other publications in which the verses originally appeared. CONTENTS. Page The Spiders . . . . . . . . .11 Dust of Stars . ...... 13 To Any Scoffer ........ 14 Memory . . . . . . . . . 15 A Village Street 16 The Gift . 18 After Much Wandering . ,. . . .19 Stanton * J * *&& fr...*,i.-*.- ^ -C-; m m 2O Shore Lights . ...... 21 Seedtime ......... 22 At Harvest . . ...... 23 After Storm ........ 24 The Truest Thankfulness . . . . . .25 At the Stahle Door 26 To a Little Child . 28 Quatrains . . ...... 29 Forgetfulness . . ...... 31 Out of the Dusk ....... 32 A Smile and a Song ....... 33 Then and Now ........ 34 The Bubble Chaser ........ 35 Who Dwells with Nature ...... 39 Conquest ......... 41 An April Lyric ........ 42 Inter-Pines . . . . . . . . -43 The Hills of June ....... 44 CONTENTS. Pa fff A Garden Romance ....... 46 The Goal . 48 At a Mockbird Matinee . . .... 50 To a Blasted Pine . . 53 The Thunderstorm ...... -55 Crossroads Schoolhouse ...... 56 The Hush at Harvest .... .59 The Wood Gypsy ....... 60 A Health to October 61 And One Had Love ....... 65 Love s Hour ......... 66 ./ Memorial Day ........ 67 Blossoms of May ........ 68 Castle and Cabin. ....... 69 Song of a Summer s Day ...... 70 Carita .......... 71 The Conqueror ........ 75 One Golden Day. ... ... 76 Where Love Holds Sway ...... 77 Buenas Noches. Senorita ...... 78 To a Red-Haired Maiden ...... 79 An Autumn Lure. ... . . 80 An October Song . .... .81 A Rose of Yesterday ....... 82 A Lover s Question. . . ... 84 A Dream in the Dusk. ...... 85 .- Texas . ...... -93 THE SPIDERS. THE SPIDERS. CLOSE by Life s gardenside, Silently, ceaselessly, Tangling the hearts of men Deep in its meshes, Spinneth a spider. Silently, ceaselessly. Weaving a web that is Fashioned of filminess, Sun-gleams and gossamers Dew-pearled and odorous ; Weaving a web that is Frailer than mist at times. Steel-strong at others, Tangling the hearts of men Ever and hopelessly In its soft thonging, Spinneth the blithe-footed Spider of Love ! Close by Life s gardenside, Swiftly, relentlessly, II THE SPIDER. Stifling the hearts of men In its thick meshes, Spinneth a spider. Silently, ceaselessly, Swiftly, relentlessly, Weaving a web that is Dull-hued and lusterless ; Weaving a web so dense Yet so impalpable, Soft and insidious, None may escape it Spinneth the thousand-eyed. Eager, implacable, Gray, gaunt, and terrible Spider of Death ! 12 DUST OF STARS. MEN are but clods incarnate, we are told ; Frail creatures, fashioned of a common clay. Hut soul-filled soil which, to the mother-mold From whence it sprung, one day returneth. Nay, Fashioned of dust are we, but dust of stars ! Why else this beating of wild spirit-wings, Striving to break earth s sordid prison bars And soar, sod-spurning, unto astral things? TO ANY SCOFFER. OUT on you, babbler ! You, and all your breed Who dare assail the potency of rhyme ! Saying the bard s best songs but go to feed The insatiate hunger of the tapeworm. Time ! Know st not, O fool, Time woke with song? That life Itself is one long epic, years on years, Pulsing with martial measures, stir of strife, And changing cadences of smiles and tears ? Know st not that spirit which, from David s lyre Outbreathed, drove demons from the breast of Saul, Has in it something of a living fire Which shall endure no little while, but all ? Yea, not for now, nor unborn years alone ; But when Earth s little peoples cease to be, The soul of Song shall echo round God s throne Through endless eons of eternity ! MEMORY. SHRINED in the inmost chamber of the heart There is a vase of sheer and beaten gold, A fragile thing and exquisite, wherein The fairest flowers of departed Junes Are kept perennial the slender vase Which men call Memorv ! A VILLAGE STREET. WHERE swaying branches lace and meet In canopies of green Above an old-time village street. Quiet and cool and clean, The mellow sunbeams filter slow And, interwrought with shade, Trace on the velvet sward below A shimmering brocade. No sound disturbs the holy hush That wraps the silent street Save when at times some trill of thrush Drifts tremulously sweet; Or else, when purple twilight flings A gauzy veil and thin, Wake echoes from the tinkling strings Of mellow mandolin. This is the street, serene and sweet, Down which in days agone I tripped with bare and buoyant feet Through dews of dusk and dawn ; 16 A VILLAGE STREET. Or romped at play with comrades gay While some long afternoon Droned slowly, drowsily away Like bees in fields of June. Old quiet street ! the steps that learn The city s crowded ways Once more and eagerly will turn To scenes of other days, And, sick of ceaseless fray and fret, Cacophonous and rude, Will seek, while eyes grow dim and wet, Thy restful quietude! THE GIFT. ONE gift he claimed as his and, miser-souled, Kept it close-prisoned, lest on sudden wing It seek some day a keeper new, and leave His life all gleaned of joy and colorless ; But looking in one morn, solicitous. Viewed, horror-eyed, a puny, shriveled thing. Void of all grace and strength and loveliness. Wide-flinging then the door that prisoned it, He bade it seek the outer, ampler airs, The stretching world ways, teeming haunts of men ! But ere the day had waned, it came again. Back to the selfsame door that prisoned it, And he who waited, leaping, flung it wide With eager, trembling fingers and beheld. Not the one hoarded gift, but ten instead ! 18 AFTER MUCH WANDERING. SOME day when you re tired of the toiling, And sick of the stress and the strain, When you ve mingled Life s rue with its hyssop, And eaten the fruit with the husk, You will follow the footprints of Fancy Down some old-fashioned garden again. Where the hollyhocks flame and the roses Gleam white on the breast of the dusk ! And you ll think on the years that were wasted For the place that you purchased with peace, Of how hollow a bauble is glory How fleeting the guerdons you gain ; And your eyes will grow blind with the blurring Of sorrow that knows not surcease, Some day when you re tired of the toiling. And sick of the stress and the strain. For the world may be yours for the winning, And the prospect stretch broad to the view, But the fruit that shone fair in the distance Seems shrunken when grasped in the husk, And your spirit, God knows, will be weary, And you ll long for the peace that you knew Where the hollyhocks flame and the roses Gleam white on the breast of the dusk! 9 STAN TON. WHEN Stanton, up in Georgia, tunes his magic lyre and sings, The very air grows murmurous with rhythmic riot- ings! The lisp of leaves and scent of sheaves blend in his song s refrain, The hum of bees in locust trees and meadows drenched with rain ; Beneath his spell Life s pathway lies through sunlit fields of June, Where Time trips lightly onward to a banjo s tinkling tune, And sluggish aims grow stronger, and newborn hopes upstart, And burst to bud and blossom in the gardens of the heart ! O Stanton, up in Georgia ! O singer, strong and true ! Here s one in Texas drains a bowl in hearty health to you! Long may you live to bless us and drive our woes away With songs that breathe the redolence and riotry of May! 20 SHORE LIGHTS. As one, adrift on some tempestuous deep. Of friendly port or favoring gale denied, Where black night rules, nor star-gleams wake to guide. And wind and wave demoniac revel keep ; As such an one might gladly note the sweep Of beacon light athwart the tossing tide And feel within the doubt gates sundered wide. And joy unpent through all the pulses leap So oftentimes on Life s uncertain main. When, tempest-lashed and wrapt in rayless night. With warring winds and hostile waves we cope, And, struggling, sink and, sinking, strive again There burst like beacons on our dazzled sight The lights that mark the smiling shores of Hope! 21 SEEDTIME. HASTE ye, my soul, for the sowing- Deep in the garden of years ; Truths that may grant ye in growing- Meed for the toil and the tears. Long have the furrows lain fallow, Waiting the husbandman s share ; Haste to thy task, while ye hallow All of the plodding- with prayer. Haste ye, my soul ; on the morrow Season and sun may be past. Haste ye, lest sighing and sorrow Strangle the seed that yc cast. Haste, while the green ways are glowing Off with vain doublings and fears. Haste ye, my soul, for the sowing- Deep in the garden of years. 22 AT HARVEST. WHEN comes Life s autumn time as come it must, Some not far-distant day, to you and me What shall we tell the Landlord of our trust, What shall we yield Him of our husbandry? Shall we bring ruddy vintage, stores of corn, Rich golden harvests from the yester-lands. Or shriveled sheaves, inmixed with tare and thorn, Or greet him, sadder still, with empty hands? Ah me ! when comes Life s autumn as it must. Some not far-distant day, to you and me What shall we tell the Landlord of our trust, What shall we yield Him of our husbandry? AFTER STORM. As some frail reed, that through a night of storms A stricken suppliant lies, Helpless, submissive, spent with vain alarms, Yet quickened, strengthened, robed in fresher green, Lifts to the wind beneath the blue serene Of cloudless morning skies So souls that, stricken in the gloom of grief, Bow to the storm-swept sod. Chastened and cleansed and clothed in newer leaf Of hope and trust and all-abiding strength, From the low earth may lift themselves at length In the clear light of Cod ! THE TRUEST THANKFULNESS. NOR song, nor speech, may fittingly express The soul s deep thankfulness ; There is a gratitude which stands confessed In lips slow-trembling, and in heaving breast, Which speaks, up-welling in the unbidden tear ; It is the most sincere ! AT THE STABLE DOOR. AWED by seraphic strains That stir and thrill the still Judean plains. Lured by the luster of a strange, new star. From alien lands and far To this low stable door Throng simple peasants, wizards learned in lore Rich gifts of frankincense and myrrh they bring To aid their worshiping. For one rapt moment s space Their glances sweep the shining stable place, Note the low rafters and the littered stall, Then, dazed and blinded, fall ; For, waking on their sight, Has burst a vision of celestial light Where lies, encradled in a manger dim, The Babe of Bethlehem ! A moment s space, then each Is bowed in homage far too deep for speech ; The homage, hollow words may not express. Of speaking silentness. 26 AT THE STABLE DOOR. Little you dream or know, Shepherd and sage in worship bended low, What paths of pain these baby feet must tread, What crowns must deck its head ! Not yours to pierce the rift Of years where grim Golgotha s crosses lift, To know this Babe of Bethlehem must be The Christ of Calvary ! 27 TO A LITTLE CHILD. COULD 1 but go before a little way Along the road your tender feet must fare, And put aside the bramble and the tare That wait to wound you on a later day ; Mark the low paths that, luring, lead astray With sight made clear long since in sterner air Point out the pitfall and the hidden snare That lurk to bring you sorrow and dismay : Could I but go a little way before Untutored child heart ! Trusting innocence ! How gladly would I suffer for your sake Old wounds reopened to the keen, quick core ! All-pitying God ! that such soft feet should take The long, hard highway of Experience ! 28 QUATRAINS. CONES. THE tree of Time a pine is, green and tall, Whereto, like clustered cones, we cling and cleave Our little season. Ah, God grant we leave Some after-breath of fragrance when we fall ! AT DUSK. O EK-RIPENED Day falls from its fading husk; And look ! where Sunset loosed her rosy bars, Deep in the purple pastures of the dusk A wan moon-shepherd leads the straggling stars! LOST. ACROSS the hot Sahara of the sky Long caravans of cloud, slow-winding, crawl ; Wild Bedouin winds sweep down with sudden cry, And the deep desert blueness swallows all ! CHALLENGED. PRAY, spend thy scorn, old Time, and wreak thy wrath ! Why should I reck though Fame and Fortune flee, If the blithe beggar, Love, along Life s path But choose to comrade me? 29 QUATRAINS. CANDELABRA. To the hushed house of dead Midsummer, lo ! Sandaled with silentness, October comes And sets each dusk-dim corridor aglow With candelabra of chrysanthemums ! ANTLIKE. MAN S but a little ant, say you, that crawls Down Time s hot, tortuous highway? Yea, in sooth! But not for naught if, haply, he but bear Some fallow field one golden grain of truth ! THE TRUMPETER. BLARING with bronzed lips till aisle and arch Of wood and sky with sounding echoes stir- Hark where, hard-galloping, rides trooper March, The young year s trumpeter ! APRIL. AND now comes April, fair and fickle maiden. Fit prototype of Life s vain hopes and fears : One moment bowed in grief and sorrow-laden, The next one smiling bravely through her tears ! FORGETFULNES3. I PLUNGED me deep within a solitude Of gloomy wood, Where I might rid me of the wild unrest That clamored in my breast. But ever keen remembrance followed me Relentlessly, And all the lisp of leaves and south wind s strain Seemed but to mock my pain. So, quick I turned, and sought with hasting feet The surging street, And there amid the unceasing strife and stress I found forgetfulness. OUT OF THE DUSK. OUT of the dusk a song, A mellow cadence, touched with tenderness, And sweet with solace as the soft caress Of mother lips that bowed them but to bless In twilights vanished long. Out of the dusk a song, A mist of melody more silver-sweet Than rune of rain in poppied fields of wheat To one who, loitering with slow-lagging feet, Halts -in the surging throng. Out of the dusk a song, Wafted from unseen lips, a breath of peace That brings the dim-eyed dallier release From thonging sorrows and a sweet surcease Of wrath and woe and wrong. A SMILE AND A SONG. GIVE to the world a smile. There is enough, God knows, of sullen scowls and churlishness ! What if thy footsteps fare through highways rough- Can futile frowning make thy burdens less ? Nay, though thy secret soul be sad the while, Give to the world a smile ! Give to the world a song. The very air Seems charged with keen complainings and with sighs That are but echoings of dark despair. What if a surly sun forsake the skies. Or if thy pilgrimage be overlong? Give to the world a song ! 33 THEN AND NO IV. THE olden days Were the golden days Aye, they were fair, I know- But the present days May be pleasant days If only we make them so. If the heart be light, All the days are bright As skies in the blossomy May; If the soul be rent With a discontent. Why, all of the days are gray. A smile and a song As we journey along May brighten the way a bit. For the world is a stream That will gloom or gleam In turn as we look at it. Aye, the olden days Were the golden days, Freighted with joys, I know ; But the present days May be pleasant days If only we make them so. 34 THE BUBBLE CHASER. To her side one day the mild-eyed Mother Called her Best Beloved, and for his joyance Blew from out a slender reed a bubble Like a sphere of sheer, pellucid silver, Shining with the seven hues of heaven, Miracles of color rose of morning". Tawny tints of noonday, twilight purples, Emerald glintings like the summer sea s breast. And the Best Beloved, with eyes enchanted, Watched the radiant sphere go floating from him ; Then with lips disparted, childlike, eager. Started forth on flying feet to follow : Far and far the burnished bubble lured him ; Onward still, and onward, ever onward. Near at times, yet, phantomlike, eluding Trembling, straining hands upraised to grasp it ; Onward still, and onward, till its luster, Blending with the bending heaven s blueness, Vanished from the range of yearning vision. 35 THE BUBBLE CHASER. So, with eyes grown pitiful with sorrow. And with feet outwearied from pursuing, Turned he then and sought the mild-eyed Mother, Who, with heart made tender by compassion, Loving arms outstretched, and to her bosom Strained the weeping child and gently told him : Know, my Best Beloved, this shining bubble Which afar on flying feet you followed Countless others have pursued before you. Sometimes touching, never all-possessing ; Keats and Poe and Shelley, all my children. Chased such silver bubbles and, despairing, Knew the glory of immortal longing ! Tis the spirit of elusive Beauty, Real in seeming, but as evanescent As the rose tint in the clouds of sunset !" WHO DWELLS WITH NATURE. WHO DWELLS WITH NATURE. WHO dwells with Nature, clasps her hand In cordial comradery, Her best bestowals may command ; No niggard hostess she. With lavish grace she offers up All wholesome gifts and good ; She bids him drain her sparkling cup And share her daily food. A roof of blue she arches o er As shelter for his head ; Spreads for his feet a fragrant floor With pine cones carpeted. She drapes his couch in curtains cool, Of sheer and lacey mist ; A mirror makes of some still pool By shifting shadows kissed. She wakes wild melody in sounds Of silver-singing rills ; The hoarse-mouthed bay of distant hounds At dawn among the hills. 39 WHO DWELLS WITH NATURE. Wielding a magic brush, she spreads Rare pictures for his eyes. And dazzles with warm golds and reds Of Autumn tapestries. She opens wide her book of days, A classic clasped with gold ; Creation s moving tale displays. And legends weird and old. She leads him to some cloistered shrine, Shut in from sordid gaze, Where deep-toned organs of the pine Chant solemn hymns of praise. And as he bows in worship there. She sets his spirit free From sordid care, and bids him share Her sweet tranquillity. 40 CONQUEST. SPRING and Winter met one day Near the huddled hills Scant his locks as lichens gray ; Spring s, like daffodils. They were known as open foes Over all the earth. Spring detested ice and snows ; Winter, blooms and mirth. Long his tense and tyrant clutch Prisoned fen and field, Long the streams to bar his touch Raised an icy shield ; Spring, to break their fetters free, Summoned all her charms. All her wondrous witchery To take the King of Storms. "May I pass, kind sir? she said. Beaming, blossom-wise. Up at him with lips of red. Eyes of April skies ; Winter wavered, loath to go. Smiled and stepped aside, Bowed his head and, bending low, "Certainly!" he cried. AN APRIL LYRIC. BURST of bud and miracle, Of snowy orchard blooming; Lures of laughter lyrical, Flung from tinkling rills; Stir and swish of swallow wing And purple lilacs pluming ; Wake, my soul, for following Tis April on the hills ! 42 INTER-PINES. FAR from the fevered fret of trade and town, Far from the noontide s pulsing hum and heat, I ast stream and stile, up shaly slope and down, A dim path winds And, winding, finds Deep in the pines a cloistering retreat Where ripened cones and needles crisp and brown Outspread a fragrant carpet for the feet. Like ancient monks, uplifting priestly arms High overhead in blessings murmured low, The pine trees stand ; and all life s vain alarms. Its wild unrest Of brain and breast, Speed swift as blooms when winds of Autumn blow, And in their stead, as silence after storms. Glides gentle Peace with noiseless tread and slow. The cravings keen for all the vain may vaunt. The tense desires for worldly power and place, Find sweet surcease within this holy haunt Where, spreading wings From sordid things, The soul mounts upward for a fleeting space, While winds and pines lift grand cathedral chaunt, And meets its God and Maker face to face. 43 THE HILLS OF JUNE. CRY truce in the struggle for place and gain, With its stress and its din and glare ! And it s off with the pangs of a nameless pain, And the gyves of a dull despair, And it s out for a day in the ampler air To the lilt of a lightsome tune ; O, it s hey and away from the house of Care, And it s ho for the hills of June ! When the ways rang shrill with the wild refrain Of the North wind s trumpet blare, It were well to house from the roar and rain And the joys of the field forswear; But now when the sun spreads a golden snare, And the dawn flings a balsamed boon O, its hey and away from the house of Care, And it s ho for the hills of June ! For a breath of balm for the breast and brain. Let the buoyant footstep fare, Through the meadows wide and the spangled plain, By the song-sweet hedge to where 44 THE HILLS OF JUNE. A dim path winds like a spiral stair Up, up, where the dark pines croon ; O, it s hey and away from the house of Care, And it s ho for the hills of June ! Envoi. Have done with the laurels that Fame may share, Like youth they are fled too soon ; O, it s hey and away from the house of Care, And it s ho for the hills of June ! A GARDEN ROMANCE. A DEWDROP lay on a leafy spray In the rosy morn of a summer s day. And the wee coquette with a shy glance met The flashing eye of the Day God, set In the heavens old like an orb of gold Whose beaming burnished the blossomed wold. He, wise old beau, for an hour or so Bethought to flirt with the wight below, And the court he paid to the mist-born maid The robins watched from the scented shade. How the sun would smile at the dew the while And her thoughts from earth to the skies beguile ! How the dew would blink at the sun and wink And change from opal and pearl to pink ! Till a moss-rose cried, near the dewdrop s side: "False one. thou hadst promised to be my bride! 46 A GARDEN ROMANCE. But the rose must sigh with no dewdrop nigh, And droop and wither and fade and die!" When the dewdrop heard, quick her slight form stirred. And she sprang to his heart like a frightened bird ! And when Ladye Grace in ye robe of lace Came tripping down through the fragrant ways, She found it is said in the garden bed A red, red rose and a dewdrop wed ! 47 THE GOAL. WHEN blue-eyed Alorn fares forth on fairy feet From out the envermeiled east, And chaste-lipped blossoms lift confession sweet To the great sun, their priest ; While the deep world-heart throbs with waking bliss And wild birds sing, and singing, soar the blue Ever my songs upon the day s first kiss Go speeding, love, to you ! Or when, betimes, in gilded halls of noon The day sits throned in state While amorous winds to fragrant fields of June Breathe vows inviolate ; When the slow hours in languid currents glide Like soundless streams with sungleams thridded through Then all my dreams upon the drowsy tide Go drifting, dear, to you ! And when Eve stands upon the blue day s brim Where Night s dim courtiers bow, Thronging with dream-shod feet to diadem With stars her dusky brow ; 48 THE GOAL. When from the heavens fades the last faint Hush And distant tinklings drown in seas of dew My thoughts go winging through the scented hush Always, my sweet, to you ! Always to you, for you, incarnate, hold Morn s virgin charms, and weave With all the Moontide s regal heart of gold The tawny tints of Eve ; Always to you ! In Daytime s transient gleam Or when Night stalks with somber retinue The goal and theme of all my song and dream Shall ever, dear, be you ! 49 AT A MOCKBIRD MATINEE. EVER spend an afternoon Of a day in jocund June At a mockbird matinee? Never ? Honest ? Well-a-day ! Where ve you lived at, anyway? Not a quicker cure for care Manufactured anywhere ; Not a better balm for blues ; Not a dull soul but will lose All its sluggishness, T say, At a mockbird matinee! Not a hint of trade or town In the path one loiters down ; Not a thought of shops or desks Where the sun weaves arabesques, Fragile-fair and fairy-hued, In the wood s deep solitude; Not a thing but God s pure air, Shine and shadow everywhere ! Pick yourself a mossy seat In some dim and cool retreat, And with sighs of deep content 50 AT A MOCKBiKD MATINEE. Settle down all indolent With your head against the trunk Of some hoary forest monk ; Bare your forehead while the breeze Plies its gentle ministries : Close your eyes in rapture deep, Feel yourself grow sleepy sleep Then a-sudden hist ! a stir From some hidden chorister. As along a branching spray Where the sunbeams plash and play Fares he forth in modest coat, Flinging from his throbbing throat Clear cascades of tinkling song. Silver-sweet and subtle-strong ; Strains of soul-compelling sound, Streams of symphony unbound, Lures of lyric riotry, Miracles of melody, Soft at times, and sweet and low, As the slow and measured flow Of some placid river tide Down through meadows lush and wide ; Or from breast aflame, afire, Wild with passion, hot desire, 5* AT A MOCKBIRD MAT] NEK. High and high and high and higher Leap the frantic notes until Fen and forest, haunt and hill, Pulse and pant and throb and thrill. Overawed and overcome By the keen delirium ! Then as if such riotings Had consumed symphonic springs. For a solemn space, a hush ! But once more a rhythmic gush Flashing downward fleet and free. Mad with mirthful minstrelsy; Ravishing the raptured ear With a cadence crystal-clear As the lisp of limpid rain In autumnal fields of grain ; Stilling spirit strife and stress With a rune of restfulness ; Purging blood and breast and brain Of their poignant pangs of pain ; Rousing noble aims and true In the slumbrous soul of you! Ah ! a man can drive away Care and sorrow any day At a mockbird matinee ! 52 TO A BLASTED PINE. STOUT yeoman of the wood ! Plebeian pine ! Good honest friend of mine, Fn cordial fellowship I lift my hand To meet your rugged clasp. I do not ask what scurvy trick of wind, What weight of storm or spite of summer suns, What sustenance of mother soil denied, Made thee low-statured, stunted, dwarfed of mien. Whilst thy patrician brother rears his head High o er his fellows, lordliest of the wood. And flaunts his princely purple in the sun ! Nor do I care to know That thou canst boast as proud a sire as he- Some honored patriarch of the ancient wood, Whose sturdy sap Courses through every fiber of thy frame For in the sight Of that clear-seeing and impartial Eye Which measures all things under sky or roof, 53 TO A BLASTED PINE. Trees and their little earthborn cousins, men, By service, not by stature, thou art thrice More tall than thy patrician brother pine Who flaunts his princely purple in the sun ! For thou, near earth, dost spread a denser shade Where weary pilgrims and sun-stricken kinc May rest them from the burning heat of noon ; And, bent to bear the brunt of wintry blasts. Dost grant a safer shelter to the birds, The little shivering orphans of the air ; Dost hold as much of healing in thy heart, And fling as fair a fruitage on the sward ! Would 1 might claim within my narrow sphere Of daily usefulness a service rare As thou in thine, stout yeoman of the wood, Plebeian pine ! Good honest friend of mine ! 54 THE THUNDERSTORM. LIKE hostile armies massing for the fray, Somber and dark, the westering storm clouds swarm And line on line in threatening array. Low-muttering, their grim battalions form. Then, like to wrath-dumb furies, black and still, They crouch one death-tense space with bated breath And hurl them headlong from their highmost hill To grapple in the fearful lists of death ! Hark ! how their hoarse artillery rends the air With peal on peal and deafening crash on crash ! Hark ! how their shrill-lipped battle trumpets blare ! Look ! where their sheathless lightning-sabers flash ! Then faint, then fierce, and fiercer yet again Listen ! a sweeping enfilade of rain ! 55 A CROSSROADS SCHOOLHOUSE. Two country roadways writhe and wind Like lizards lithe and lazy Down shaly hillsides, purple-pined. And clearings dim and hazy. Past shallow fords where brooks that run Through shoals of painted pebbles Blur robin songs with antiphon Of tuneful trills and trebles, Till deep within the woodland s dusk, As if to shun detection, They join and pass with meeting brusque To form an intersection. There, stained by storm and Summer s frown And warped by Winter s fingers, Dingy and dark and bare and brown, A country schoolhouse lingers, Just as it did when, days agone, Through shiny, steel-rimmed glasses, Professor Biglow beamed upon The crossroads lads and lasses, Who dulled the sweets of simple lives Above their blue-backed "spellers," Droning like bees in orchard hives When June the apple mellows. 56 A CROSSROADS SCHOOL HOUSE. These aisles which now no note disturbs Once rang with struggling stammers Of youth and maid o er nouns and verbs Of Smith s and Butler s grammars, Or haply caught the teacher s zest Of sudden satisfaction When some apt pupil led the rest And multiplied a fraction ; And oft on Fridays heard the calls For essay, song, and story, While loud-lunged bumpkins stormed the walls With rustic oratory. Or caught, perchance, an exchange fleet Of glances laughter-laden When book or flower from seat to seat Passed to some anxious maiden. At times, along the drowsy ranks, There swept a chorused giggle When some bold youngster, caught at pranks. Would squirm and writhe and wriggle Within the master s brawny grasp, The while with footsteps jogging He circled round with groan and gasp Beneath a storm of flogging. 57 A CROSSROADS SCHOOLHOUSE. Ah, me ! more fleet than rose leaves blown The years fly fast and faster ! Full many a spring have daisies grown Above the kind old master ; While we, who, struggling, strove to learn Beneath his admonition, Have long since grappled lessons stern Of Life s severe tuition ; And some have caused strong hearts to thrill With eloquence and beauty. While some, unknown, are greater still Through simple lives of duty. And Time on many a joyous brow Has set his seal of sadness ; And many a heart is careworn now That once brimmed full of gladness ; Yet, stained by storm and Summer s frown And warped by Winter s fingers, Dingy and dark and bare and brown. A country schoolhouse lingers Just as it did when, days agone, Through shiny, steel-rimmed glasses, Professor Biglow beamed upon The crossroads lads and lasses. 58 THE HUSH AT HARVEST. How speaking seems this hush on wood and field ! As if the year, all suddenly grown mute Before such opulence of harvest yield, Gold-glinting sheaves, and orchards bowed with fruit, Had bared his head, and for a moment s space, From deeps of soul surcharged with gratitude. Upbreathed a prayer of thankfulness and praise I Into the Giver of all grace and good ! 59 THE WOOD GYPSY. IN scarlet skirt and bodice gay, A bold-lipped, tawny thing, Comes brown October down the wood, A gypsy wandering. Her light limbs shame the leopard s lithe Abandonment of grace, Her dark eyes prison all the old Wild passion of her race. Crooning, she lifts her voice in song, Some strain of weird romance, And, timed to clashing tambour bells, Whirls in a wanton dance. And ere the cadence dies away In echoes wild and sweet, The oaks and maples shower gold About her twinkling feet! 60 A HEALTH TO OCTOBER HERE S a health to October, dream-sandaled October. Queen of the quiet lands, dusk-eyed and sober Long be the reign of her, gladsome and good i The fay folk have kept her A golden-rod scepter, Have raised her a shrine in a still solitude, Where crisp, crinkled dead leaves, gold-dappled and red leaves. Mellowly, Yellowly, Flame in the wood ! Long stilled is the singing, the silvery singing Of brooks that down June-lands tripped blithely, out- flinging Notes soft as the chimes of a clear-cadenced bell : The quail s shrill insistence Has died in the distance ; Sabbatical silence wraps all in its spell, Save when through the hushes some brown-throated thrush s Lyrical Miracle Drifts from the dell. 61 A HEALTH TO OCTOBER. Each dawning of day grants a boon of wild fragrance, Borne in by light-hearted, light-footed wind-vagrants From haunts where the sumac and wood-aster gleam ; The morning light lusters The pendant grape clusters. Empurpling the glens by the dim-shadowed stream ; Its light kisses strike some to soft shining, like some Shimmery Memory Burning in dreams. So, a health to October, dream-sandaled October, Queen of the quiet lands, dusk-eyed and sober, Long be the reign of her, gladsome and good, And dark days not seek her ! Up, up with a beaker ! A health to October I pledge her again ! A beaker of darkling, light-beaded and sparkling Muscadine Dusky wine- Bright to her reign ! 62 AND ONE HAD LOVE. AND ONE HAD LOVE. ONE man had riches for his gift, and knew The emptiness thereof ; Another, where Fame s topmost summits lift All pigmy peaks above, Felt the keen pangs of lofty loneliness ; And one had love ! Down in the lowly valley paths of life His years were spent Where, far removed from moiling din and strife. Brook-song and bird-song blent Babbled of quiet things, of restful peace And deep content. Yet there was something in his cup of days Ineffably more sweet Than e er he knew who in the giddy maze Of fortune set his feet Or quaffed Fame s goblet, wreathed with rue and bays. And found it incomplete ! LOVE S HOUR. THIS is love s hour, sweetheart mine and yours! This fleeting hour the dreamer s soul deems best Of deepening dusk-time, when the sunset pours A warm cascade of color down the west, And tinkling strains of twilight troubadours Float from the poplar s crest. This is love s hour, sweetheart gracious gift ! When, hand in hand, alone, tis ours to go Down purpling paths where white-lipped roses lift Their light-blown kisses in the starry glow, And o er the sward the locust blossoms drift As soundlessly as snow ! The clashings keen, the clamors that infest The noon-wrapped city and its clanging mart. Subdued to silence all. have sunk to rest ; No sounds discordant from the marshes start ; This is the hour the dreamer s soul deems best This is love s hour, sweetheart ! 66 MEMORIAL DAY. FAR in the gloom-wrapt wilderness. Where crooning pine trees wave. The wild winds wail a requiem Above a soldier s grave ; No gleaming shaft uprears its head To mark the nameless tomb. No comrades come with martial tread To deck the spot with bloom. Yet ever when the fields are clothed In richest hues of May, One woman holds within her heart A lone Memorial Day : And on that distant, unmarked grave In somber shadows set, She lays a wreath of fadeless love And garlands of regret. BLOSSOMS OF MAY. BLOSSOMS of May at your feet, my sweet, Dew-dappled blossoms of May; Would that the lips of them, sweet, might repeat All I am yearning to say ! Yearning to say of a heart that is true. True unto you as the dawn to the dew ; Ah, could they whisper Love s secret to you. Then might I treasure them aye and for aye, Redolent, meadow-lent blossoms of May ! Blossoms of Ma) at your feet, my sweet. Wind-rumpled blossoms of May ; Look how I pluck them and lift them to meet Smiles that are sunny as day ! Take them for pledge of a heart that is true. True unto you as the dawn to the dew. Sweet, let them whisper my secret to you, These were Love s messengers ever and aye, Dutiful, beautiful blossoms of May! 68 CASTLE AND CABIN. I. A MELLOWED light through stained-glass windows falls On marble stairways and on stately halls. With old rare portraits on the frescoed walls ; But silence reigns and sadness and a dearth Of woman s laughter and of childish mirth. When Loves a stranger, what s a palace worth? II. A low-roofed cabin and a rude-built floor, Pink-petaled roses romping round the door. And God s unfettered sunlight streaming o er ; The happy housewife at her sewing sings, The vine-clad porch with baby laughter rings. With Love for guest, pray, who would sup with kings ? 69 SONG OF A SUMMER S DAY. O, IT S gold of the meadows and blue of the sky- Was ever a June day rarer. With a breath of the pines from the purple inclines And the breeze for a balsam bearer? O, it s gold of the meadows and blue of the sky- Was ever a June day rarer ? O, it s gold of your tresses and blue of your eye. Was ever a charm denied you? And was ever a bliss that is equal to this Out here in the fields beside you ? O, it s gold of your tresses and blue of your eye, Was ever a charm denied vou? 70 CARITA. Do you ever dream, Carita, of a twilight long ago, When the stars rained silver splendor from the skies of Mexico? When the moonbeams on the plaza traced a shimmer ing brocade, And the fountain s tinkling tumult seemed a rippling serenade ? When the velvet-petaled pansies, lifting light lips in the gloom. Breathed their yearning for the night-winds in a passion of perfume? When in soft cascades of cadence from a garden dim and far Came the mournful mellow music of a murmurous guitar ? Years have flown since then, Carita, fleet as orchard blooms in May, But the hour that fills my dreaming was it only yesterday ? CARITA. Stood we two a space in silence while the southern sun slipped down, And the gray dove. Dusk, with brooding pinions wrapt the little town. Then you raised your tender glances, darkly, dreamily to mine, And my pulses clashed like cymbals in a rhapsody divine. And the pent-up fires of longing burst their prison s weak control, And in wild hot words came leaping madly from my burning soul ; Wild hot words that told of passion hitherto but half- expressed ; And I caught you close, Carita, clasped you, strained you, to my breast. While the twilight-purpled heavens reeled around us as we stood, And a tide of bliss swept surging through the currents of our blood ! 72 CARITA. And I spent my soul in kisses, crushed upon your scar let mouth ! Carita! Senorita! Dusk-eyed daughter of the South ! It was well that Fate should part us ; it was well my path should lead Back to slopes of high endeavor nay, and was it well. indeed ? You were of a tropic people, steeped in roses and ro mance, Lovers of the gay fiesta, music, and the mazy dance ! 1 was from a northern country, scion of that colder race Who have missed the most of living in their foolish phantom-chase ! You have wed some swarthy Southron ; long have learned his every w r him, Rolled cigarros, poured the mescal, sung the Southern songs for him ; I have fought my fight and triumphed : all the world repeats my name ; But I prize one hour of loving more than fifty years of fame ! 73 CARITA. It was but a summer madness that possessed me, men will hold, That the mellow moon bewitched me with its wizardry of gold. As they will ! But oft, when wearied of the world, I close my eyes, And in dreams drift back where stars rain silver splen dor from the skies, And I clasp you close. Carita, while each vibrant pulse is thrilled With a low and mournful cadence that shall nevermore be stilled. 74 THE CONQUEROR. E built about his heart a mighty wall. Thick-moated, bastioned, ample-based, and tall. And laughed secure at Love s first bugle-blast ; Scoffed at the next ; but at the third and last The thick wall trembled, crumbled, crashed, and fell Love leaped the breach and stormed the citadel! 75 ONE GOLDEN DAY. DEEP in her casket of old treasured things September hoards for us one golden day ! Ah me ! how joy made murmurous the way And young Love lured us on with shining wings ! A day to dream of ! What if dreaming brings No shimmer of lost other days ? For aye Deep in her casket of old treasured things September hoards for us one golden day ! What though the swarming years with waspish stings Have brought us smarting sorrows? Though astray Youth s rosy feet forsook our wanderings? Not all is lost, for smiling, we can say : "Deep in her casket of old treasured things September hoards for us one golden day !" 76 W HE RE LOVE HOLDS SWAY. Tis always summer where Love holds sway. Though skies be glooming" and clouds hang gray ; For a glint of June Lights a wintry noon If Love be lord in the heart, I say ! Tis always summer where Love holds sway Though sad rains croon down the desolate day ; Though a wild wind shrills Through the haunted hills December harbors a glimpse of May ! Tis always summer where Love holds sway. Glad hearts heed not what the wind-lips say. For if Love be king They are like to sing With a rollicking lilt in the roundelay ! 77 BURN AS NOCHES, SENORITA. SLOWLY from the southern sky All the silver stars arc fading : Tremulously drift and die Sounds of distant serenading- ; Yearning moon and sighing sea. Breast to breast, impassionedly. Cling in close farewell : ah me ! Moon and sea part; sweet, must we? THienas noches. Senorita! Wooing night-winds long have left Pink-lipped petals spent with kisses Homing fireflies have reft Oleander hearts of blisses : Swiftly down the garden close. Like a fragrant whisper, goes White moth lover from his rose : Rose-queen regnant ! Adios ! Ruenas noches, Senorita ! TO A RED-HAIRED MAIDEN. DECOROUS damsel ! Pink of paragons ! I sing the glory of thy tawny tresses Blown by a wild wind s wantoning caresses About thy brow in arabesques of bronze ! Say, did the garish flame of wintry dawns Stream on thy head from the sky s far recesses? Didst filch thy fire from autumn wildernesses Or ruddy splendor from envermeiled lawns? I know but this : that it accentuates Thy blue-veined temples white transparency And frames thy face a lily, snowy fair : But ah ! that the inexorable Fates In Freedom s noon should thus imprison me And bind me captive with a strand of hair ! 79 AN AUTUMN LURE. A LUKE from the lands of autumn And a prospect rare unfolds Of the dusky wine of the muscadine And the maple s flaunting gold ; A lure from the lands of autumn, And who could such lure withstand? Through the keen, crisp air let us blithely fare- Carissima, your hand ! For out where the sumacs beckon With beacons that glimmer red, And a murmurous music wakens In the pine leaves overhead, Comes a stir to the vibrant heart-strings While the soul from its care leash slips, And your eyes seek mine with a warmth divine- Carissima. your lips ! 80 AN OCTOBER SONG. WHEN October flings her banners Over all the russet hills And the thrush-choirs lift hosannas In a thousand tuneful trills, When the summer-haunted heather Swims in mellow, yellow haze. Let us wander, love, together Through the golden autumn ways ! Let us take the paths that bring us Where the sunlight gilds the sod, And the bandit breezes fling us Fragrances of golden-rod ; Let us breathe the old, sweet story Where the sumac shimmers red And the maple leaves, in glory Flaming, flutter overhead. Let us pray when Life s October Comes to dim the summer flowers, Waking thoughts half bright, half sober Deep within this soul of ours, That it brings Hope s sun, dispersing Cares that may encloud the land, That it find us, love, traversing Sunset meadows, hand in hand ! 81 A ROSE OF YESTERDAY. WITHIN a book of Browning s, where he weaves Symphonic sunshine for our winter s gray, I found, close-pressed between the songful leaves, A rose of yesterday. Time s thievish touch has robbed it of its scent, No mid-year luster lingers in its leaves : And yet to me tis richly redolent Of bygone summer eves. The moonlit glamours of a night in June Stream, as I dream, about me mellowly. The lisp of leaves, the cricket s low bassoon, Waken again for me. Just for one fleeting space I catch the gleam Of soulful glances, surf of billowy lace, Of locks, cascading down an auric stream, About a flowerlike face. A flowerlike face, a lily glorified With Love s impassioned pureness, strangely sweet And once again my soul, a pulsing tide, Lies, throbbing, at her feet. 82 A ROSE OF YESTERDAY. Trembling , from oft" her bosom s heaving snows, She plucks one rosebud, wet with twilight dew : "Know, love" to me "that with this summer rose I cfive mv heart to vou !" Ah, me! ah, me! that all Youth s golden charms Are for one joyous June decreed to last ! That I should reach outstretched, imploring arms To a relentless past ! ( if me with their blossoms are the days that were, About me falls December s gloom and gray ; And in my hand one lone remembrancer, A rose of yesterday. A LOVER S QUESTION. You plucked a purple pansy from its bed And pressed its perfumed petals to your lips. And then with rosy, ruthless ringer tips You tore it into fragments, shred by shred. And flung it from you, odorless and dead. Pray, if Love s flower were yours to pluck, perchance. Would you uplift it for a space and press Its petals to your lips in brief caress, Then fling it down in sudden petulance As if no longer worthy of your glance? A DREAM L\ THE DUSK. OFTTIMES, outworn with warring in this strife That men call Life. This hotly raging fever of unrest At battle in my breast, When the keen clash of day, its clamors rude, Sink, half subdued. Dulled to a low and muffled monotone, 1 dream alone While Twilight s fingers shatter one by one The roses of the sun, And lightly over purpling copse and hill The fading petals spill ; And truant thought on Hermes sandals speeds As Memory leads Where snowy dogwoods star the dusky shades Of tranquil glades, 85 A DREAM IN THE DUSK. And shy, brown-dimpled meadow brooks trip fleet On silver feet. Past league on sunny league till Fancy sees, Shut in with trees, Green-girdled by a dim-aisled garden place Whose shadows race Where slim crape myrtles strew the sward below With blossomed snow. And brown bees balance on light lily stalks Beside the walks, A quiet Southern country seat, that stands As if with hands Outstretching welcome to each wayworn guest. Bidding him pause and rest. All things about the place bespeak repose. Broad porticoes. White, ample wings, wide hallways, cool and clean. And shutters green. 86 A DREAM IN THE DUSK. The dawnlight smites the rooftree as of old With shafts of gold ; At noon from beds of sweet, old-fashioned pinks The cricket clinks ; The far, faint flutings of the mocking bird At dusk are heard, When through the gloom each swaying jasmine seems A star in dreams. Twined to the trellis honeysuckles swing. And coil and cling, Flinging thick shadows on the hall below. Where long ago. Within a quaint-carved armchair, used to sit, And rock and knit, A wee old woman with soft locks of snow And smiles, I know, Such as the saints must wear in Paradise ; Her gentle eyes 87 A DREAM IN THE DUSK. Beaming fond blessings on the urchins gay, Who romped at play Down the dim pathways of the gardenside, All happy- eyed, Routing with upraised hands and sudden cries The dappled butterflies ; Seeking the swallow s fragile house of leaves Beneath the eaves ; Chasing the lizard to his cell of stone, Mocking the bumble s drone : Finding fresh pastime for each restless mood Of youngsterhood. Would God that feet, grown older now, might press Those paths of pleasantness That once they knew ere. truantly, they turned Worldward and learned How lying are the luring lips that call, How poor and small 88 A DREAM IN THE DUSK. The little laurels that Life s battlefield At last may yield ! Would God that ears, sore-sickened of the blare And tumult, where, Neath clacking wheels of Commerce, whirring round, Men s souls are ground To golden powder for the price of bread ; Where Truth seems dead, Sincerity a shadow, simple Faith A formless wraith Might catch the changing cadence of the pines On far inclines, The quail s shrill pipe at dawn ; might list again The croon of rain In autumn twilights, and the rhythmic beat Of tinkling sleet Clink on the pane, while up the chimney wide A ruddy tide 89 A DREAM IN THE DUSK. Of flame sweeps surging, and each pulse is thrilled At sound of voices stilled ! Would God that eyes, which latterly have known But streets of stone, Might glimpse the quiet beauty of some wood s Deep solitudes. The changing hues of summer dusks and dawns ; Star-lighted lawns : Mad miracles of color springtime throws Athwart an orchard close ! That sordid souls, forgetting place or pelf, Stripped bare of self, In Heaven s all-cleansing sunlight purged again Of smirch and stain, Might claim the wholesome candor and the truth They knew in youth ! 90 TEXAS. TEXAS. THIS is no stripling, sirs, no yokel youth. This bronze-limbed Hercules of giant girth ; This is the stoutest-thewed, the stanchest-souled In all the brawny brotherhood of States! Time was, perchance, when, indolent, outstretched. Sprawled like a lazy urchin at his ease. He dozed and dreamed the drowsy hours away Reside the shallows of some singing stream. Or else, upblinking at a Southern sun, Watched while a snowy squadronry of cloud \Yaged mimic Trafalgars on skyey seas. His was the fragrance of the fallow field. The burst of bird-song and the ample air. Purple expanses of primeval pine, And undulant wide reaches of the plain. But, with the lapse of adolescent years, Through his slow pulses swept a sudden thrill, The quick, keen impulse of an ichor new That stirred his slumbrous soul to stinging life ; And swift off-flinging from his lithesome limbs Inaction s shackles and the gyves of ease, 93 TEXAS. Up to the stalwart stature of a man Leaped he, erect, and Godlike in his mien, And looking worldward with a questing eye Saw where his kindred commonwealths had swept Far past him on the stretching slopes until Dim showed their outlines on the upper steeps ! Thrilled by the thunders of their Titan tread. Stung with a sense of sluggish slothfulness, Waked to the wanton wastefulness of years, He turned his back to ease and dull content And, upward faring, set his steadfast step Straight toward the peaks of high emprise, nor breathed A half-regret for deedless days forsworn ; Nor paused he in his pilgrimage until High on a proud plateau of aims fulfilled For a brief breathing-space he stood and swept World-ways with gaze far-reaching in its scope ; Saw the dusk pine lands, that were wont to lie Flecked with the saffron sheen of summer suns And flinging lures of balsam to the breeze. Freighting the creaking cars and groaning ships With the upyielding of eon s growth ; Looked on the prairies, girt with golden sheaves. Where full-flanked cattle stalked in sleek content ; Saw the old haunts, which erst were overgrown 94 TEXAS. With brier and bramble and where roamed at will All countless crawling creatures of the wild, Ribboned with streets of stretching steel that led To city steeples signaling the skies ; Heard the low croon of commerce and the hum Of whirring engines and the lisp of looms. Panting of pistons and the strenuous stir Of keels, outveering from the harborsides ! Then with fixed purpose and a large resolve Upward again and upward turned his tread Forward and starward to the highmost peaks ! 95 DATE DUE 000 567 293