I 1 JOHN CRICHTON A VISTA 1921 THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES OF THE CLASS OF 1857 A VISTA BY L JOHN CRICHTONj PREFACE BY SIR ANDREW MACPHAIL 1921 A. T. CHAPMAN. MONTREAL Copyright by the author 1921 CONTENTS A VISTA 7 I WONDER 9 THE CONFLUENCE 10 THE WHITE PHLOX . . . . 14 v FROM NEPEAN POINT . . . . 15 * A COTTAGE IN AUGUST ... 16 ACROSS THE MOUTH OF THE ST. CROIX RIVER 17 LILIUM AURATUM 18 TIMOTHY IN BLOOM .... 20 A BIRD'S NEST IN WINTER . . . 22 v NOW ALL THE TIRESOME CLOUDS HAVE PASSED 23 A YOUNG WOMAN SAYING HER PRAYERS 24 SHE IS AS CHANGEFUL AS THE SEA 25 FIRESIDE 26 A SONG OF THE SUMMER NIGHT . 28 A BLUE PANSY 29 v THE STARS 30 THE FLOWERS OF THE FIELDS . 30 THE WIND IN THE GRASS ... 30 FEBRUARY SNOWFALL .... 31 THE IRIS WALK 33 MY FRIEND 35 HOW I WANT YOU ! .... 38 LIFE 39 IN A GARDEN 40 COLOUR 42 THE EMPRESS DAFFODIL ... 43 III 5* ';* nun CONTENTS PA E WHITE TRILLIUM ..... 44 BREEZES AND SUNSHINE ... 46 TELEPATHY 47 RED TRILLIUM 51 * A HYBRID DELPHINIUM ... 52 BLUE HEPATICA 54 REQUIEM 56 A SPRING GARDEN .... 58 DURING THE FOREST FIRES . . 59 INSPIRATION 60 MOTORING IN WINTER .... 61 REMEMBER 62 V WILD COLUMBINE 64 SONG 66 IN A PINE GROVE ON A WINTER AFTERNOON 67 ILLUSION 68 TRANSIENCE 69 A ROSE 70 SONG 71 A QUESTION .72 AT NIGHT . .... 73 V THE GRAMOPHONE 74 / VIEW OF OTTAWA FROM A DISTANCE LATE OCTOBER 76 A WILD IMMORTELLE .... 78 THE UNFAITHFUL 79 AN ALTAR CLOTH 80 RETROSPECT 81 ADIEU 83 FINALE . . ... . . 85 IV INTRODUCTION Once again it is my privilege, and duty, to commend to all, who may be influenced by my judgement, the verse of an unknown writer. In the present case the appeal for consideration is made with more than usual confidence. This assurance is justified by the opening poem from which the book takes its title; and if all were of equal quality one might hazard the opinion that the author was entitled to take a place with authentic voice amongst the best writers of lyric verse, which is the mode of the moment. This new writer has a new way of saying things. The manner is free and fresh ; there is a knowledge of the inner meaning of words and a sense of their sanctity; the metrical arrangement is inter- esting and true, although it does not conform completely with any established type. This means hat the writer has style. When this manuscript reached me I was bewildered. It was obviously Canadian; but the customary vague and general dissertation upon river, lake, prairie, and forest was replaced by a fine and close observation of the intimate details of landscape, which more nearly touches the heart; and the impressions are conveyed to the reader through the direct medium of passion in a manner quite foreign to the tradi- tional Canadian verse, a passion which is ancient and almost Italian in intensity. The author appears to have beheld these scenes with newly opened eyes; it is this which gives to the verse a fresh and strange quality, which is the sign and virtue of all poetry. ANDREW MACPHAIL Montreal, September 1st 1921 A VISTA I. SOMEWHEN, upon this hillside way, When fern and moss were brown with leaves, She stood and breathed : a gust of day Swept all the fields forlorn of sheaves, Lit up the blackened branch and lit The black pools of her eyes. Ah ! this Is just how I remember it, And, unf orgotten, have her kiss ! Her lips on mine ! I scarcely saw Shorn fields below, and shivering herds : Or caught, above, the whirr and caw Of southward hurrying desperate birds : Or glanced where billowy deep blue fills The last horizon, with the snow Clouds balanced on the painted hills Where life's dead bluebirds seem to go! II. The young leaves twitter with the spring : Green noses push the crisp grass by; In earth and air the blade and wing Spread urgently: across the sky The young white babes sleep in the blue ; The same sleek herd chews joyfully The nibbled cud. I think, I knew This spot would bring her back to me ! Return! coward birds who fled My winter ! Gather, build and be Alive with joy ! and overhead . Let all the bluebirds pause where she Is standing. Loose your songs ! be sure That we have found the last lost string. Now for the sweet mad overture Of life and colour, love and spring ! I WONDER fragrant pannicles of phlox, Still in the moonlight gathering dew, I wonder if a spirit walks With me and bends o'er you? Ah ! then, you were so faint and sweet As if each flower bent an ear, To listen for her little feet That one could hardly hear. Ah ! tell me if a spirit walks Beside me. Does she bend o'er you Faint fragrant pannicles of phlox Still in the moonlight gathering dew? You who are just as faint and sweet As ever: larger, lovelier grown, can you hear her little feet As I walk here alone? THE CONFLUENCE A EUROPEAN IN CANADA I. ROBIN'S-EGG blue and mother of pearl Is the sky behind; and the water's swirl Angry and brown in the heather abyss, A split in the hills where two torrents kiss, And jostle and race in the selfsame bed But mingle not, till the sea ahead Catches them up in his careless strength And mixes and drinks of them both at length. II. Out on the platform, above the stream, She gazes long, and the sombre gleam Under a puzzled brow compares These wilds of ours with that world of theirs, Her friends. Ah ! well, she can go again To the vines of France, or the hills of Spain, Or Italy, where the azure bays 10 Blink in the blue. But now her gaze Is not of memory, but desire For breath, and air and colour and fire ! She cries for life as her nostrils spread To the pine and the tamarac overhead ! m. What does she think ? I make a guess She dreams of life in this wilderness ! The old world peoples and cities and art Seem unimportant : the human heart Beats primitive, where a wolf or moose May break the thicket without excuse ; And the music of joy is far more sweet In the birch and spruce than a cobbled street Mouldy with history, half as old As these oaks and elms, or the black leaf mould, Where the wintergreen's tiny feet make fast In the wrack of a million summers past ! IV. This for your street : your house a tent On the lip of a crack in a continent, Whose architect is the chance of force That gouged this gorge in the hills, a course II For the bursting lakes of the north to pour Their wood-stained waters. There is no more, wise-eyed stranger from over the sea, Than the untouched stage, where the scenery Was tossed by the workmen who struck on the stage Long before Babylon came of age ! V. Her dream is passing. Her heart regrets Her land of Popes and Plantagenets ; The land of art and the human graces, Music and parchments, and painted faces ! This place is lonely : there isn't much But the air and the sun to make up for such As the stately streets and the avenues, The ancient churches, and classic views Of Europe the lure of the Grecian shore Where a broken column is valued more Than the breath of life and the open sky, By the tired-out tourists trudging by. 12 VI. She turns her head. Can it be a sigh ? A quivering question in her eye : A word that never passes her lip? Who knows ? She has vanished by train and ship! vn. The sky is clotted with puffs of grey, With a splash of rose for an overlay. Where are you now ? O stranger ! you Will you come again, once more renew The touch that thrilled, and blow on the fire Of resinous birch? Ah ! one's desire Is a curious phase. In a little pool Beneath the trees I stare like a fool, To watch the splash and the wrinkle die Where a trout is leaping to kill a fly ! 13 THE WHITE PHLOX white phlox, slim and silent sweet Sways by a sea of violet, Where the mouths of the tide and river meet; It is only twilight yet : And the west is gay with orange bars And apricot : but soon Comes singing forth a choir of stars Walking behind the moon. The white phlox shimmers in the light And turns her eye on these White choristers who take delight In shadowy melodies; Unknown of horn or reed or string A music sweeps the sea. Ah ! things that bloom and live and sing Mean all of life to me ! The white phlox scents the night of love. "Ah! breathe abroad and stir The life to kisses gone: above Your comrades sing of her!" A breeze is dancing on the sea, The rough tide struggles higher. Can things as white as you and she Know love or love's desire? 14 FROM NEPEAN POINT CHINTZES of blue and silver Draping the window sills: The clouds and the sky descending Over the blue-black hills. Over the fading lintel A crescent sliver of light: It is the new moon shrinking Back from the night. Are these the hills we stared at, Years, is it years? gone by? This the same slit of moonshine, This the same painted sky? Two hundred years behind us Mayhap an Iroquois Gay in his paint and feathers Sighed for a Huron squaw. Two hundred years before us See in the selfsame place Strange eyes that wonder westward, Eyes of an unborn race. Chintzes of blue grew bluer, Hiding the window sills : Night draws the blind effacing Even the blue-black hills. 15 A COTTAGE IN AUGUST npUCKED behind a giant lilac Lies a cottage, white and green, Fronting on the shifting harbour, Not a stone's throw in between: When the flowing tide is highest Here he bites the land's red lips : Fleeing, ebbing, hardly leaving Way for little anchored ships. There's the garden. In this corner Dozing on the hammock's rope Smoking, sleeping, sighing, dreaming, One can smell the heliotrope. And the lazy landward breezes Loafing up across the rocks Catch the fresh delicious pungence Of a bed of double stocks. Sheltered by a row of cedar Roses seed and lilies blow, And a clump of blood-red dahlias Fronts a hedge oi golden-glow. Why return to troubled cities Dust and mildew, dirt and mould? Here the merry sun turns mellow Mimicking the marigold. 16 ACROSS THE MOUTH OF THE ST. CROIX RIVER IF I call you, you shall come to me Where the lilacs match the twilight sea, And wonderful mountains, wound in mist, Pile purple on grey and amethyst. The green goes out of the furrowed slope, That touches the sky's green rim. I hope That the stars will slip in with a quiet tread Softly as women watching the dead. Thus, and thus only, shall we two Meet. my friend, the soul of you Comes to me only in the mood Of colours softened in solitude. Here shall we sit: the world immense With its noise of war and insolence, Dwindles to this a lonely place, Where memory and love sit face to face ! 17 LILIUM AURATUM l-IERE in the moonlight, facing to- wards the sea Beside you, I have drawn my single chair. Your orient fragrance, risen minglingly With the sea's breath it is as if her hair Lay on my nostrils, as it used to be : Or her sweet bosom: or her shoulders bare: I loved to kiss them gently, stealthily As she lay sleeping. Is she anywhere In this wide night that she may think of me, Or is she in some rioting city square Love reaches not? Ah! well, in every- thing I see Her, feel her touch, or yet compare The sweetness of the universe with her ; while she Forgets ? it is glorious to be free ! Not planted 'neath the stars to dream and stare And say "I love you" to the empty air ! II. You breathe your fragrances over an acre Of slumbering garden and orderly lawn. 18 When she was yours, soul! why did you take her To lose her? The arrogant eye of the dawn Alarms the horizon : the sea-wind shrinks chilly, Blowing your breath over meadow and plain. Blown o'er the world! And her kisses, Olily Whose are the lips that will find them again ? 19 TIMOTHY IN BLOOM I CAME upon it suddenly, Beside a little grove, A patch of flowering timothy, It struck me as an oddity, Big furry bullrush heads that strove To cling to specks of dusty mauve, In regimental unity Swaying beneath the breezy sky. Beside a mass of briar rose, A clump of cedar, scattered spruce, Dark brilliant green, that always throws Mauve into soft relief: it goes Quite perfectly. But what's the use Of patting nature's back ? A goose In waddling past here, I suppose, Would know what everybody knows. I doubt not that I am a fool : I pulled an armful: in a jar Of deepest green, just like a pool In forest patches, dark and cool I put them. Doubter, there they are. Admire that flower, but have a care : It's very dainty : and a touch From even you, would be too much. 20 If you would keep them, leave alone The lovely things, or use the eye. For if you maul them, you must own, Your fingers are too rough : the bone Is made to crush : and so they die Like bubble rainbc % \vs: that is why Only a memory recalls The flowering of ephemerals. 21 A BIRD'S NEST IN WINTER THERE in the crotch of a naked branch Look at the nest of May ! Filled up with snow where the eggs once were And love dwelt for a day. But the little birds and the big birds Have flown to follow the sun, why did they leave the house of love When the day of love was done? It were better bird ! to pull it down, For the honour of what was there ! Now the sun and the rain will blacken it And the wind and the sleet will tear. Is there anything sadder in this gay world Than the tree that is shorn of green And the little pitiful ruined house Where the mystery of love has been ! 22 NOW ALL THE TIRESOME CLOUDS HAVE PASSED NOW all the tiresome clouds have passed, The sun has laid the wraith of March : The gay gold southern bird at last Is on his budding lilac perch. O may he puff his throat and sing ! Beloved! it is spring! Tread the glad crocus underfoot, Dance on the willing violets ! To welcome back your little boot The happy dandelion frets Impatient as a human thing! Beloved! it is spring! 23 A YOUNG WOMAN SAYING HER PRAYERS I SEE her kneeling by the bed Alone at night, that is her way. Again I watch her bow her head As she begins to pray : And one dark plaited braid hangs down Below her hips, to almost meet Her knees: and through her sheer nightgown I see her limbs and feet. I cannot hear the words that pause Upon her moving lips : her eyes Are lifted, open wide, because Of passionate emprise. There is no crucifix to mark The spot: no ikon bends above: She only calls into the dark. I think she prays for love. Or says a prayer because of love, The things good women have to say To those strange gods that they know of : That is a woman's way. Her head deserves the aureole The blessed wear in mystic art. Is it the flowering of her soul ? Or is it just her heart? 24 SHE IS AS CHANGEFUL AS THE SEA SHE is as changeful as the sea, Who wears her frock of blue and grey With ornaments of ivory Demurely through the summer day. At eventide she swiftly dons An amethystine robe, and gets A wrap of glittering golden bronze Trimmed here and there with violets. The hills their longer shadows throw ; A land breeze follows at the heel; Her skirts turn deep as indigo Edged with a frill as blue as steel. The constant tides : the star that burns Upon her forehead, and the rain: That is her soul, that rises, turns And like the tides returns again. 25 FIRESIDE I SOMETIMES think that I love you best When the dull grate fire burns low, And your cheeks take on just the very least Soft hint of its orange glow, And your eyes are lit with a kindlier light And your mouth with a merrier smile, And you seem to say, "Come, for to-night I will love you for a while." Then I forget that your heart is cold That you love me not at all, And my courage leaps, and my arm grows bold To embrace you: you enthrall Me, for an instant, to forget That your heart will never be All mine, and, a fool, I linger yet By the dull red fire, you see. At daybreak comes a sleepy maid With her duster and her broom, 26 To dust the hearth where my fire was laid And air the vacant room. But what does she care for your image there As she bang's the window sash By the emptied chair: and my fire's glare Lies dead in a heap of ash. 27 A SONG OF THE SUMMER NIGHT VTL7HAT time the closing shadows creep, And heaven blooms white and blue, I rock the baby flowers to sleep In cradles cooled with dew. Throughout the midnight silence deep I lean and watch above The tiny things that curl in sleep Unconscious of my love. When in the east the day beams leap, I slip away: my watch is done, And as I fade my babies peep With laughing faces at the sun. 28 A BLUE PANSY pROM my coat's lapel to a pretty bosom, With a summer's kiss and a laugh you passed: Then back, an unexpected relic. You're not enamel, you could not last! the things that look large and mean so little! Let's pick in the sweepings and save just such As you. It's odd that a wretched pansy Should be so little and mean so much ' W L THE STARS E spin and gleam in the net of night, We laugh, because we must: The earth is a babe in the lap of space, And man is a pinch of dust ! II. THE FLOWERS OF THE FIELDS The wind may blow us to and fro For a day. Are we any less Than the birds and the bees who wave their wings And fashion foolishness? III. THE WIND IN THE GRASS Consider well while the moons ascend And the grave grey twilights pass, That passion is emptiness at the end Of love, and flesh is grass. IV. Cry out to the stars that blink and dream Of the secrets they know and keep: For life, who knows? after death may seem Improbable as sleep. 30 FEBRUARY SNOWFALL HIS, will not meet her lips again: No grief's desire may compass it ! Nor lover's counterfeit of pain Bedrab the memory exquisite Of that rare red cool morning flower That bloomed to smile and closed to kiss Her mouth : nor ever any hour Dull dim the scarlet joy of this! n He has no querulous lament. And she, can she understand Into what radiant continent She drew him with a generous hand? And if they loved, why extirpate Flowers of the past with frosty lies ? Chance and not conscience is the gate Between love and love's paradise. HI Ah! questions, wistful as the day When in the snowflakes sleeps the sun, A silver orphan in the grey, He wonders, has he lost or won? 31 Now poise the swinging balance, sir, The rabble's honour for a weight, Against the love that gave you her, And read the dial of fate. IV Ah ! well, beyond the sea and sod A woman in her heart may hold, Self-wrought an idol like the god A pagan's fingers writhe in gold. Leave them illusion who shall dare Assay the ores of memory. The snow is shuddering in the air ; There is no silver in the sky ! 32 THE IRIS WALK I COME with me and see the young moon Slim and nude in the pool of the west, Afloat in the waters of rose : for soon She will slip to bed. Come quick ! It is best To catch her now as she bathes and lies In the corner of sky that she prefers Just over the walk where the irises rise To sweeten the eve for this bath of hers. II O here we are in the iris walk Where the crowded blossoms are, And a thousand new-born crane a stalk To the moon and the evening star : And quiet comes as the last birds cease,' And the breezes gather to take Their sleep : and the trees like a painted piece Stand stark by the lip of a shell-pink lake. Ill The iris walk : See, on either hand In the honey and lilac afterglow, The blue and yellow and purple, and Pure white. If the day should go 33 The yellow and white are the same at night, And the blue and the purple twine; The breath of their lips as they meet is light And fragrant cool as the young moon- shine. IV stay with me in the iris walk, For the moon's abed, and this Is the perfect hour when the shy stars talk And the lovers wish and kiss: And the flowers dream on, nor seem to hear, And yet they are glad thereof. what is the dream of the iris, dear, In the wonder of summer, and night and love? V. love ! men say, the slumbering moon Is a goddess. How would my feet pursue Her, slipping to sleep in the down of June, In the welter of darkness and tender dew, Were I but a god ! Like a goddess sweet Stay with me now that the moon is gone Till the dawn comes kneeling to kiss your feet. And I am a god, if you make me one ! 34 MY FRIEND AND when the lilacs blow White, blue and lavender Across the moonlit nights of June Shall I remember her; The feet of the fading tide To seaward slowly bend, And leave me lonely, yet aware Of you, my friend. Breath of the sea that lingered On twilight's bronzed sands, Across the tide-forsaken beach You caught her, lips and hands: She whispered "Death's hereafter Shall never see the end Of our soul's fateful handclasp, My friend, my friend!" From the dark womb of heaven Unborn white suns to be Call to the dead of life and change In spiralling nebulae "Our souls that barter beauty Like comrades, can death rend The gossamer that binds them, My friend, my friend!" 35 "0 lift the vision upward From east to Occident, Or from the blind sea burning white Behold the firmament. Some place commingling, stars and seas Where dawns and sunsets blend. There surely is a meeting-place For friend and friend!" No answer in the silence That dyes the twinkling night: No voice cries from the purple Amelt from light to light. "As one time on the grassy slopes Of summer, will you lend Your thigh my head to pillow, My friend, my friend 1" "See! kindred stars from edge to edge Of space stretch forth all night White hands. for our thousand leagues ;; They sigh through years of light! From rim to rim of our small sphere What fable shall I send 'Love leaps to life the gap of death ?' My friend, my friend I" And still the lilacs blow White, lavender and blue, Across the moonlit tides of June And I return to you: But only with unanswered lips I speak, and then I bend To brush your brow with one lost kiss, My friend, my friend !" 37 HOW I WANT YOU ! HOW I want you! What a pity London's farther off than Mars! If I lose you in a city I shall find you in the stars. Spring has strolled into October ; May is far away from me. Let's be godly, grim and sober, There's a winter yet to be ! No, we scoffed at things diurnal, "Pis the soul that understands; We can hold the spring eternal Like its flowers between our hands. That is it, you're always waiting Where the feet of beauty walk, Flowers and fragrance hesitating Till the trees and colours talk. True, it seems a thousand pities Lives are trudging to their ends. What's the odds ? Woods, stars or cities So that we can find our friends ? LIFE LIFE is the current of unrest Whose waters hurry down the hill. Ah ! the brave drops that did their best To hold some accidental rill ! Some swirling spot beneath the sun, With reeds awave and leaves ablow; Gay bubbles that must burst and run Pell mell into the sea below ! 89 IN A GARDEN /'TAY trespasser, betaking, ^-^ Your way among my flowers, I see that you are making Account of your brief hours, On wide spread wings of pleasure In gusty breeze and sun You seem to fill the measure Of life till day is done. You last until the even, And then, some say, you die, Or flutter off to heaven Blue-banded butterfly: Why not .another theory, (I dare say there are lots) That wings so blue and aery Become forget-me-nots? I love you, gay creation Of gauze and painted wing, When weary of vexation And bees that buzz and sting : I'd like to come to-morrow When air and sun and dew Are fresh and sweet and borrow An hour of life from you. 40 I'd like to rise and hover Above some pretty bud, And kiss it like a lover And feel joy stir my blood. Alas ! for our mad living We burn, awake, asleep, Till nought is left worth giving And nought remains to keep. What profits us our toiling, What have we for our pain? Satiety despoiling The pleasure that we gain: And ills and aches that fetter, And cares and griefs that weigh Are our dull years much better Than your one joyous day? 41 COLOUR WHAT is there other than colour and light? Spring has the brush, let her paint. Splashing the atmosphere azure and red : Out of the way ! it will drip on your head! Green of all shades green, living green, Oozing in patches of yellow and white : Blue, red and pink. There is no restraint In this artist's style: she's a heretic- quite ! A hundred yards from the top of the hill A dandelion is a daffodil. All is colour: what matters the rest? I love to lounge when the light is best And see black swallows swoop and glide Across the blue : Don't you ? The deep, strong, burning, beautiful blue? 42 THE EMPRESS DAFFODIL OYOU who flaunt a primrose wing And wind a golden horn, To you the year is only spring And day is always morn. An Empress ! So your pedigree Must be a royal one : Pray, deign to cast your eye on me, Daughter of the Sun ! Your sire his smile is bending hot To your translucent cheek. happy! to be loved a lot And burn up in a week! Good bye, my friend, your week is through : Farewell to horn and wing ! Return ! and I'll pay court to you A week again next spring ! 43 WHITE TRILLIUM THERE was the top of a little hill, A few scrub pine and a clump of fir. I wonder if any are flourishing still And if their children remember her? White Trillium; just like the lilies they place In churches, we said, between kiss and look, As the breeze of the morning blew in her face And her big eyes spoke like a printed book. Spoke, did I say? with words how dear, Hush ! they are not for a man to repeat ! What if the clouds should overhear, Or a cry be wrung from the moss at my feet! No spoken word, nor priest, nor ring : And only a bit of a bird in a tree Leading the wind who had come to sing, Witnessed the kisses that gave her to me. Gather, children! the gods of the spring Creep to the edge of the wakening woods, Laying the fires for the warm days that bring 44 You and your flock to the deep solitudes. Come like your forebears in hilltop and glade, Silent, discreet, in the pine and the fir, All that survives of the May day that made Lilies of you round the memory of her ! 45 BREEZES AND SUNSHINE DREEZES and sunshine, *-* Lilac and woodbine, Desired of the humming-birds, Fireflies of daylight: Daisies and grasses, Twilight who passes, Woman of no words, In star-spattered midnight. Mindful the dreary Dust, and the weary Grind, of the city ways, Give us the clover ! By a complacent sea Faced, one can surely be, Spite of destroying days, Glad as a lover. 46 D TELEPATHY I. A Man Alone EEP blue of night: the evening star! I sit and wonder where you are. True, miles of land and leagues of sea Make endless space 'twixt you and me. However wide, however far Your eyes may see the selfsame star, And seeing which, dear heart, you ought To have with me the selfsame thought. We met : we lived : you took a ship With my kiss red upon your lip. We will not meet again, I think, Though every star in heaven may wink, To urge a re-created past: The red mad joy of August last ! Most wonderful ! most exquisite ! Take one brief hour to ponder it : Bring back the vivid days, and tell My soul if we have lived them well. 47 II. At Midnight HOW dull the dolts who look askance At life and passion, fate and chance: And nailed to faith, yet fail to see The living soul's telepathy. Believe in idols, crawl to creeds, Outraging flowers to worship weeds ! These, scout the fact ! it isn't much-: That ardent souls come touch to touch, Though continents may lie between And bitter oceans intervene, With voice as sure as that which braves The sea of space in ether waves. One dominant wish pervades me, dear, One thought I have, as I sit here : "0 for some flash electrical To answer to me when I call" ! It cannons on, from star to star : It will not find you where you are ! 48 III. Before Dawn LIKE love's discarded souvenirs The best days shrivel in the years We leave behind, till things that are Lie lost in last year's calendar. How one would fill the future full Of days of joy, nights wonderful, And break time's burial plot to see Remains of all that used to be. Were it not futile to expect My friend of friends, to resurrect More than the skeleton and skull That life had once made beautiful! This is the barrier saturnine Between those lips of yours and mine, Stalemate! The game nor lost nor won! We could not kiss as we have done ! 49 IV. At Dawn PALE brow of dawn, faint morning star: I sit and wonder where you are. The earth spins on, and I believe To you it is the star of eve ! You, from your window, bending far May breathe upon my morning star, And some strange eyes may gaze with you Into the foreign twilight blue. But if my star you catch and see A second stolen to give to me Will not be missed. Alas ! the light ! It perishes ! dear heart, good night ! 50 RED TRILLIUM BLOOD-RED trillium in a pocket Of pine needles crisp and dead, What a pity that she crushed you With the pressure of her head! She is kind : she would have spared you Had she known that you were there. But, you perished like a lover With your red lips in her hair ! 51 A HYBRID DELPHINIUM LISTEN to me! You! Raising your head in an ardour of blue, By the lilac and phlox, Where the pseony knocks Big blossoms of red weighted down with the dew. II. I knew your mother, my friend. iThere she is wavering, down at the bend Of the deep border row Where the irises blow In the spring, where the clumps of the white lilies end. III. I knew your father him too : A stout lordly giant in blue, Spreading his chest Where the sunshine fell best He never had knowledge nor care about you. 52 IV. He put on the airs of a king : Monarch of flowers ! and a tiling Like marriage? The prig! He did not care a fig For an exquisite consort, a priest and a ring. V. You know how humming-birds gather Round your blue faces? they'd rather Balance and drink From your sweet throats, I think Than any. They captured your celibate father. VI. Pollen of pearl on a humming-bird's bill Wedded your mother to him, to fulfil What nature most needs, Strong sires and tough seeds, And babies of blue on the side of the hill. VII. That's where you were with your brothers, Lord ! there were myriads of others ! People don't cry Over millions who die That must be left to their mothers ! 53 BLUE HEPATICA I. O BLOOD-ROOT and hepatica And dog-tooth violet, Abloom in a rug of fallen leaves Bronzed and unbroken yet : There's a hint of grass in a grove of trees And maybe a cow or two, And a cool blue sky, with the good sun nigh, And you, my love, and you. II. little flowers that quicken the life In spring, I love, I think, Hepatica best, with her downy limbs And cheeks of mauve and pink ; Never forgetting the dearest one Which had caught such a tender blue From the dawn of a day in a bygone May, When I picked her, love, for you. ^ III. let us go back to the care-free groves Of spring, and the merry hours, 54 With a seat and a smoke on a sunny bank Or a kiss in a bed of flowers ! While the crows in pairs flew in the sky ; There were always only two, For joy. It was good in that wild wild wood With you, love ! with you ! 56 REQUIEM THOU who wert all men's desire, Roses and dew and the breath of fire! Where art thou now that the grim earth covers The body that craved for a hundred lovers ? Where is it now, that reeling kiss That made men drunk in passion ? This Is lost on the lips of the wind that whines Through the passionless limbs of the graveyard pines ! Where is the breast that men devoured : The shoulder and nape, where kisses poured From mad lips muttering and nostrils panting, Twined in thine arms? thy light heart granting All that men asked more than could give! O wonder woman! he did not live Could take full measure that thy love gave! Art thou at peace in this paltry grave? 56 That was thy body. What of the soul Behind those eyes ? Could death control That fierce and hungry and glad spec- tator Who widened thine eyes? O death is greater Than lust and hunger and love of man, That was thy soul ! Yes, stronger than Life's red desire in the stubborn breast Is the hand of death in his last arrest ! Lie in your mound till the final day When earth and heaven have passed away. Then, shall we know who is really master Life or death ? And the last disaster If the soul die as the body dies What is the fate of those wanton eyes That hunted men. It is sad, my friend This pinch of gravel will be thine end! 57 A SPRING GARDEN VIOLETS in sky-blue patches, And cowslips tinted sulphur In the half -shade, and sturdy beds Where golden tulips prosper! Out from beneath the trees Where space is open and sunny, Crowding the clumps of hyacinth Purple and blue and honey. The sun's on high: the tulips Open transparent faces : And the faint sweet blended odours Drift through the budding spaces, Where the flowers of the summer, like babies, Some day to grow to blossom Gaze on the pageant of spring, Tugging at earth's brown bosom. 58 DURING THE FOREST FIRES THE smell of smoke, the reek of fire, The wish of summer in the earth, Perhaps again has brought to birth Desire. The flowers are knocking at the door, The doves of heaven droop and coo. Alas! for voice and touch of you No more! H R INSPIRATION :ED as your maple tree On a clear September day, Is the blood of my heart aflowing Since you came in my way. Purple and gold my dreams, Crimson my songs, all through : I may sing to a thousand men: I am singing only for you ! 60 MOTORING IN WINTER SNOW with a crust of apricot And a gold sky welding tree to tree On the country road, and there is not A soul but you and me. So, stop the engine. See the motes Of ice in the air ! And we In spite of furs and overcoats Are free, O love ! are free ! far down hill the river steams With frost like a simmering pot : Two lean crows skim with famished screams Across the apricot. Then silence : silence. Here at least One is alone. Your lips ! So soon We turn to face the bitter east And the grim green circle of the moon. Snow with a crust of apricot And a gold sky welding tree to tree. This is our world : and there is not A soul but you and me ! 61 REMEMBER I. Remember only this, dear one, The fragrances of summer gone : And do not dwell with dubious eyes On rainy hours and mouldy skies. When flowers of memory flare and fleet Pluck only those whose smell is sweet : And for a vacant hour, may be, Wear at your heart in reverie A posy from dead pods that shed Live seeds in memory's ilower bed. II. A sheaf perhaps of heliotrope To hold : mechanically, Re-set the broken bones of hope In lily of the valley. The common rose and violet, Young sentiment's obsessions: Syringa clusters, mignonette Red moons and night-mad passions. III. Yet all are good at last, my friend : Life leaves this garden at the end, With pleasant ways where older feet Repace the paths where youth was sweet: 62 Re-making love, forgetting loss : Appraising fire and joy, because The one is spent, the ash is won : The other sped, the flash is gone: Marvelling at malice, envy, hate, And all bad weeds. The garden gate Opens on peace : each human thing Still loitering and remembering. 63 WILD COLUMBINE I. THERE is a roadway, known to few, Awinding into a maze of green, Where little rivulets run through The wildwood: here and there, be- tween Some rocky hills that rise up sheer With blackberry and bramble vine, And flaming patches far and near Of gay vermillion columbine. II. I see a hillside arching up, A shadowed valley bending deep : Caught in a glorious verdant cup A quiet fleck of browsing sheep: And thee who wert the voice of morn Made visible, those feet of thine Spurning the brushwood, burr and thorn To pick a sheaf of columbine ! III. thou who wert the woods' delight, Wherein arbutus, violet, And shy pale things that flee the light, Hoping their pallid Jove may get 64 A bridal twilight, that was thine Own element ! To match thy lip An armful of wild columbine Under thy bosom's guardianship ! IV. Thee, tripping down the rocky hill, Joy in thine eyes, thy voice in tune, To sing aloud of love and fill, The merry emptiness of June, I saw. I took thee to my heart, And in a picture-book of mine, Wild spirit, ever more thou art. Among the coral columbine ! SONG OLET me take you in my arms And kiss you on the lips : O let me look into your eyes As brown as apple pips. Deep in dark pupils as I gaze The iris curtains roll Back, further back, until at length I look into your soul. IN A PINE GROVE ON A WINTER AFTERNOON TO-DAY mislaid my memory Of you, Until I stood in lonelines : The blue Of winter on the bosomy snow, A sun illusion Ah you know ! I know, I know, I know, you know Because you knew. Beneath the blackened pines My hand Sought yours at once, remembering. This land Is overwhelmed in clouds slipped down In feet of feathery frozen down, From sun blue deeps that never frown You understand. Therefore I wish for you To see The simple, awful, empty beauty here With me. The black blue indigo and white, I swear, Find gold life vibrating the violet air, Panting for flowers and gums and woman's hair Yours it may be. 67 ILLUSION I BLOW my smoke in a ring. 1 It floats for a moment upward, Till it looks like a nebulous halo Round a big bright beautiful star. Alas ! it is only smoke ! And it fritters itself away : And yet I shall blow another ring For I love a fair illusion. TRANSIENCE LIKE the departure of guests, (After the lights on the gems and the shoulders, The flowers and the food and the wines of a dinner invests Commonplace life with a glamour) Bang goes the door like a hammer : Smashing the gold heels of laughter Fleeting away: and thereafter Emptiness squints like an enemy Into our breasts. True! mirth and laughter expire: Until unwholesome and fidgety people Sigh at illusion, blaspheming pleas- ure's desire ! Joyless what souls could be duller Seeking for substance in colour : Sunsets and moonshine and music and living, Move pass and perish, to transience giving Joy for a second detected Poking the fire ! 69 A ROSE I STILL have a little rose, Brittle and dry and dead: You kissed it and gave it to me When it was red. I still sit alone and think Of the best of its perfume and dew. It is here: I shall kiss it to life ! For it is you ! 70 SONG TO-NIGHT some stars are very white And some are green and blue: But all the light of all the stars Seems just to shine for you, For you, Seems just to be for you! Some flowers are golden in the fields And some are red and blue: But all the flowers of every shade Seem just to bloom for you, For you, Seem just to live for you! Some songbirds flash on scarlet wings And some on wings of blue : But every bird that mates and sings Seems just to sing for you, For you, Seems just to sing for you. Sometimes the sky is black with clouds And sometimes only blue: that's the sky, with the sun on high That seems just meant for you, For you, That seems just made for you ! 71 A QUESTION OTELL me, thou blue river That strainest to the sea, Will that salt death deliver The soul that urges thee? All life is but a torrent Af evering to the end Where the great deep and current In blue confusion blend. tell me, thou blue traveller What mystery resides Beyond the dead sea leveller The swallower of tides? 72 AT NIGHT 'TPHERE is no road but open air, * A lamp-black night of space and star: And the moon hangs low, an orange moon: We steer for that, and here we are. Just you and I. What matters, dear? The fresh cut hay dies in the dew, And the air is full of its parting soul : If it were not the clover, it might be you. O the road is bad, and the way is dark, And it's only the moon we're steering for: Yet, I say, as I kiss your finger tips, Though it's only an hour, can one live more? Good night, my friend, for our hour is gone: . The perfume dies from the distant hay As the City lights glare white again And the moon behind fades red away. 73 THE GRAMOPHONE I. YOUR voice thrills down the April street, And tired, squalid people stop With gaping mouths : grimed ears entreat A better hearing: aprons mop The swelter off the dirty brow. Sing on ! sing on ! glorious voice ! Your throbbing notes can make rejoice These faded worms, who nod and bow And rhythmically follow thee: singer knowest thou! II. The labourer lifts his dusty head : The washerwoman for an hour Foregoes the tub : a girl in red Has stolen a scarlet flower To put in her abandoned hair. each has felt the stroke of life ! The silly drunkard's bruised wife Forgives her beating, gaping there, To breathe the full fresh voice of thee : singer dost thou care! 74 III. Unconscious as the flowers that bloom To fill with joy the humble poor, You sing of love in that dark room : The listeners tiptoe at the door To touch the pulse of life that now Upon one flaming note is flung ! Joy ! joy ! mellow voice and young ! These weary loafers sway and bow Unto the living youth of thee: singer knowest thou ' IV. There's flower and grass in field and park, And benches where the weary rest : There's twilight and the cool sweet dark To sleep : and yet they love the best The pavement and the gusts that blow Hot dust and dirt upon the street, For life pervades them, crimson-sweet Wild life that makes them reach and bow To grasp the strong young life of thee. singer dost thou know ! 75 VIEW OF OTTAWA FROM A DISTANCE LATE OCTOBER '"IP HE city is snug in a wrap of grey 1 Chinchilla the earth has cast away: It is vesper time, and I hear a bell From a church: far-off looms the big hotel Where we lived and kissed and laughed for a day ! II. The sweet bell rings, and the daylight goes Over the hills in amber and rose. she as a bride and I a groom Loved for a night. Who has that room ? Likely, a stranger whom nobody knows III. a gust of flame, and your tale is told Love ! with your kisses manifold ! A coarse cheek lies on the very place, The pillow on which she laid her face As she slept, and the night waned into gold. 76 IV. I know it was so, for I did not sleep. I took one wisp of her hair to keep. They should treat that room like a little shrine Deserted a while. woman of mine! Now do you doubt that a man can weep? V. The trees are stark in a drape of tears Grey as the passions of other years. Tree, church and shop, and the big hotel Mean nothing to me now. It is as well That the glad flower fell to the hungry shears. 77 A WILD IMMORTELLE I. A MONO the soft pine needles ** In sunlight sweet as sighs, We settled down together To drink each other's eyes. Above, the leafy mountain : Below, a brambly dell, And growing up between us A single immortelle. II. Wild, white! It lasts forever! We took it for a sign Of all the ardent promise Between your eyes and mine : A flower, an everlasting, It must be symbol of The first white faith of lovers In everlasting love! III. Among the dead pine needles That gather like used years, I sit again reflecting. The sunshine dim as tears Drifts up the empty mountain Dips down the brambly dell. Ah ! love may be a flower But not an immortelle ! 78 THE UNFAITHFUL I. CANST thou forget the clover breath Of June ? The fields that swarmed With bees and butterflies, the heath The dandelions warmed: The deep birch gullies and the rills, The lakes where water! ilies grew, The skyline building clouds and hills In towers of battlemented blue ? II. Thee, best beloved ! when memory grips The hand of consciousness, thy hand Stretched ready, and thy passionate lips Hold, beckon, whisper, understand! Cast off in August's summer ark We drifted into flaming skies, And onward through strange seas, as dark As the wild darkness of your eyes ! III. Thou hast forgotten ! In the soul Of thee returns no more The sensuous fragrance from the bowl Of love's cut flowers! Before The fickle, fitful northern fires Turned green and rosy over me, New eyes that promised new desires Had laid their spell on thee ! 79 AN ALTAR CLOTH TpHE altar cloth that she vowed the Madonna, Of flowers worked into a bit of the sky, Is gathering dust, as forgotten, on a Chair it lies where she dropped it, why? A needle is stuck in the network, bearing The last lost blue of a strand of thread, For a sprig of delphinium, despairing It must die unformed. It is better dead ! Her zeal for the Mother of God dim- inished As love died too. these vows of ours ! So the altar cloth will remain unfinished Till the moth-worm feeds on its fateful flowers ! 80 RETROSPECT WHAT is left? Only the exquisite touch Of hands in the twilight: the intimate pressure Of lips in the darkness. So much That it fills up the infinite measure Of beauty for me. It was fine In the gloom of the dawn to find stealing Your arm, reassuring, while mine Groped under your arm, my hand feeling Its way to your neck. Ah ! the nape Where I grasped you and held your face to me! I raise that hand now: it is hid by a shape Like your head. Ah! the lips that thrilled through me! They live on my lips in my heart, for a beat! Your love was my garden, and memory is sweet ! II. All that is noblest and dearest survives. And the singing of music, or often the trilling Of birds in the dawn : the flame breath that lives 81 On the hem of the purple of sunset, fulfilling A promise of hope for a morrow of sun : The gay breeze of night through the window, and even The strangeness of moonset : a million and one White stars that walk deftly in heaven Bear witness to you and the love that we had ! As the seed pod may say of the blossom it wore "But for you, I could never have been !" Be not sad: For the landlord of life may have reckoned the score Too high at the time. But we paid with the last Of our tears. They have dried in the flowers of the past ! 82 ADIEU A HIGH cloud spreads a silver wing Across the noonday roof of blue ; It seems so sad just as the spring Turns life to flower in everything, To say, to say, Adieu ! II. Not yet the daffodil has died ! The tulip stretches out her stem : What promise may the broad fields hide For summer? One must put aside For good, the joy of them ! III. Spring and her train mean only this, The memories of love and you. New springs will come and lightly miss Your voice the mystery of your kiss; A vanished flower or two. IV. To me, the watcher by the stream Of blossoms passing in review, Their faces marching through my dream Of beauty, they will always seem To seek the soul of you. 88 V. For you are beauty. What is love, Who idly flies from old to new? A painted insect in the grove Of life's wild garden. Let him move To one more flower for you. VI. Let grey clouds spread a tender wing Across the happy roof of blue : it is sad, just as the spring Makes it so good to love and sing To sigh and say, Adieu 1 FINALE CONSIDER : destiny will lead Us mercilessly to the end Of all endeavour, and the dead Will welcome us, as friend by friend In passing by the hushed gates We slip from life's gregarious mob, Oblivious of old hopes and hates And laugh and sob. Then you will lie in one strait plot, And I beneath another stone. Perhaps a far-off foreign spot Will claim you. It is sad, I own, To think on distance, and the birth Of centuries, when both will be Conglomerate with the crust of earth Across a sea. What matter ? Priests may sing a mass : We will not heed, because The summer grass will flower and pass, The flighty bird will pause, To pick a straw, to build a nest : The skies will rage and weep, Above the places where we rest And merely sleep. 85 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9 15m-10,'48(B1039)444 LIBRAE? UNIVERSE 0.7 ILi LOS ANGELES PR Guthrie 5013 A -vista. G984v PR 6013 G984v UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL UBflARY FAOUTY 000 854 983 4